Letty felt the now-familiar tickle of fear. Could Trudi have spotted her in one of her rare television appearances over the years? She’d adopted a stage name early in her nascent acting career, because she didn’t want to be confused with the megastar Scarlett Johansson, but it wouldn’t take much digging for a shut-in with an uncanny memory for faces to discover that Chynthia Chase was actually Scarlett Carnahan, who was wanted for questioning in New York in connection with the murder of her sister and abduction of a small, adorable little girl named Maya.

“Isabelle, let’s go to the beach!” Maya said, tugging at her babysitter’s braid. “Swimmy, swimmy, swimmy.”

Ava watched the two girls walking hand in hand toward Letty’s room so that Maya could change into her bathing suit.

“That little one about broke my heart with that picture she drew of her mama. Do you think she really understands what happened to your sister?”

Letty busied herself stacking the assembled flyers. She wanted desperately to confide in someone, and Ava seemed like a person with a genuinely good heart, but she knew she couldn’t divulge what was troubling her, especially to a woman whose son was an overly inquisitive cop.

“No,” she said finally. “I’ve told Maya the truth, or as much of it as I think she can handle. I’ve told her that her mother has gone to heaven and isn’t coming back, but she doesn’t really believe it. She keeps thinking she sees her mama, on the beach, on the television. I keep thinking it too.”

“Can I ask?” Ava said gently. “How long since your sister died? How did it happen?”

Letty shook her head. “I can’t … I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. It’s too soon. I haven’t really processed it myself.”

“I understand,” Ava said, patting her hand.

“I wish I could say the same,” Letty whispered.

Evan arranged to meet Vikki Hill in an apartment he’d just purchased in SoHo. “Nice place,” she said, running her hand over the marble countertops in the kitchen. They were seated on chrome-and-acrylic barstools in the kitchen. “How much does a place like this rent for?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he said, feeling rising irritation. He gazed out the floor-to-ceiling window.

“It’s been nine friggin’ days now.”

“Yep.”

“And yet you still can’t find her?” He turned and fixed her with a cold stare, but she was not a woman to be intimidated.

“I warned you from the beginning, these things take time,” she said.

“The police have been all over me, asking questions,” Evan snapped. “It’s total harassment and it’s affecting my business. I need this thing settled.”

“What’s the hurry?” she asked. “They haven’t said you’re a suspect, right?”