Her expression was impassive. “Never heard of her. But I only got here a couple weeks ago. My family dumped me here so I wouldn’t embarrass them on their holiday trip to Klosters.” She was chewing a thick wad of gum, which tangled up her vowels. Embawwass. “You want into the office?” She pulled out a key and opened the door. “Membership has its privileges,” she said, though it came out pwivleges. “I need to use the phone. Help yourself.”

“Everyone get a key like that?” I asked her, and she laughed. “Ask Gori.”

I almost asked if she meant Bela Lugosi the houseboy, but I held my tongue. The idea of cozying up to Gori to get phone privileges made me sad, and I hoped that Claudia had never done anything like that. The office was tidy but, like Zelda, it was not aging well. There was an ancient monitor housed in beige plastic sitting atop a particleboard desk, with a moldering computer tower on the floor next to it and a printer on a side table. The beige plastic phone looked like a vintage 1985 model, with pulsing red lights and a curly cord. Idylhaven wasn’t wasting patients’ money on office supplies, evidently. The blonde made her call, whispering frantically while I zeroed in on the gray metal file cabinet. The computer would be a natural place to store files, but given the state of the hardware, I was guessing it wasn’t often put to use. The filing cabinet contained manila folders naming patients and their admission dates in black ink. The files only went back four years, making me wonder where the rest were. Had Idylhaven only existed for four years? That would be a question for Zelda. The files were organized by admission date and I scanned through them for my sister’s. I went through the past September’s files and didn’t see it, backtracked through August’s and then fast-forwarded through October, November and December. There was nothing for Claudia Moore.

“Are you going to be much longer?” asked the blonde. “I need to lock the door.”

“Give me a minute,” I said.

“If Zelda catches me in here, I’ll be locked in my room.”

“Hold on.” I’d just found a slim folder with Trina Greene’s name on it. Her resume and social security number were inside. There was an address in Boston. Was it possible that Claudia was there, pretending to be Trina?

“I’ve got to go.”

“Okay, just go.”