At the top of the stairs, Marisa entered what used to be their mother's bedroom. Why she'd thought her mother's things would still be there, she didn't know. Instead, Marisa found that Leslie had moved into the space. New paint, new bedroom furniture, new everything. She stifled a sigh as she crossed to the bureau and the many photographs there. Leslie with a host of people, all wearing the logo of Leslie's office cleaning business. In these photos, she looked different than she had when Marisa had lived here. She looked different than she had in Acapulco, too. She'd never spent a lot of time on personal grooming. Maybe the new boyfriend had encouraged her to try a little harder. In the pictures, her hair was sleek, and she wore more makeup than Marisa was used to seeing on her. Leslie wore nicer clothes fitted to her shape. She looked...pretty.

She hated that the thought of her sister as pretty had come as a surprise. She'd always thought of Leslie as kindhearted and honest, if not a little homely.

Seemed she'd been wrong on all counts.

Marisa studied the photos again. There were none of Leslie with a man.

Interesting.

She perused the rest of the room. It seemed perfectly normal. Normal except for the fancy clothes, jewelry, shoes, and handbags, which hadn't been normal for Leslie eight years before. In the adjoining bathroom, Marisa found makeup galore, not to mention various hair styling implements—a curling iron, straightening iron, and blow dryer, along with expensive hair gels. It seemed that frumpy Leslie had transformed. Funny how she hadn't bothered with any of that stuff when she'd gone to Mexico. Marisa would have assumed her lack of grooming had been due to fear, but now she knew better. She hadn't been afraid. She'd been...what? Maybe trying to look the part of the grieving sister? Maybe trying to pretend nothing had changed? Marisa took in the updated bathroom and thought of the designer clothes hanging in her sister's closet. Leslie had apparently changed everything.

Marisa went through the drawers in the bathroom. Mostly Leslie's stuff, but one drawer held a man's razor, a can of shaving cream, a toothbrush, and a box of condoms. Lovely.

She returned to the bedroom to search. Aside from Leslie's things, she found a drawer filled with men's clothes. T-shirts and sweat pants, all larges, along with boxers and white socks. Seemed the man didn't live here, but he stayed over often enough to need his own drawer.

Marisa crossed the hall and checked out Leslie's old room, which had been converted to an office. Marisa dug through the drawers and file cabinet looking for something, anything that might shed some light on what was going on. No photographs of any mystery man. No files labeled kidnapping scheme—wouldn't that have been convenient? Nothing to give her a hint about what her sister was doing.