Colleen Boardman Hicks was a vivacious blond 26-year-old newlywed. She had a loving husband, successful career, and strong local ties. Then, one evening in 1976, after a day of shopping and dinner with a friend, she vanished, seemingly into thin air.

Now, more than forty years later, officials say they are no closer to solving the puzzle of the bay area’s most enduring mystery than they were on the day she was discovered missing.

In fact, Ralph Pflieger, a now-retired St. Petersburg Police detective who was involved with the Colleen Hicks investigation in the late 1970s, says the case has gotten murkier with the passing of time.

“For a while there, every five years or so, me or one of the other detectives would pick it up again, chase down some leads, talk to some potential witnesses. But we never really got anywhere. And then, not long after I retired, when I asked about the Hicks case file, a buddy of mine said it had gone missing,” Pfleiger said.

“I couldn’t believe it. Back then, we didn’t have computers. All our work was typed or handwritten. The interviews, the evidence logs, the detective’s notes, all of that, years and years of investigative work, was in that file. And it’s gone just as sure as Colleen Hicks is gone.”

Drue looked down at the dusty black binder sitting on the floor beside her. Was this the missing file?

10

“Drue?” Wendy stood beside her cubicle, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. Her Hermès scarf was haphazardly knotted around her shoulders and her eyeliner was smudged. “I need you out in reception. Right now.”

Drue finished the referral form she’d been working on. “Why?”

“Because I’m your supervisor and I asked you to, that’s why,” Wendy snapped, turning on her heel. “And bring your headset.”

Drue gave a martyr’s sigh and trailed Wendy out to the reception area.

“You’re covering reception today. It shouldn’t be that busy. Brice is OOO, so he doesn’t have any appointments until this afternoon.”

“OOO?”

“Out of office,” Wendy said.

“So, where’s Geoff?”

“He called in sick. Impacted wisdom tooth.”

“Why me?” Drue asked. “Why not Jonah? Or Ben? Or Marianne or one of the other paralegals? Or the girls in accounting?”

“Because I asked you,” Wendy said. “The others are busy.” For the first time she stopped to take in Drue’s outfit, which today consisted of her usual skinny jeans and a navy-blue-and-white-striped T-shirt.

“Don’t you own any dresses? Or something that even vaguely resembles what a grown woman wears in a professional setting?” Wendy asked.

“I’ve got a dress I wear for funerals,” Drue said defensively. “And why do you care what I wear? I never interact with any of our clients in person. I’m stuck in the bullpen all day. So I wear what’s comfortable. Is that a problem for you?”