“No reason she would. We left Santa Teresa in July. Memory was born in Canada the next April. Greg was pissed about the whole deal. He said the last thing they needed was another mouth to feed. He wanted Mom to put the baby up for adoption, but she was having none of it. They went after that subject hammer and tongs. He said since she’d dumped Rain, she could dump this one, too. Mom wouldn’t budge. Personally, I don’t believe the baby was his.”

“Wow. Whose, then?”

“Who knows? Anyway, if we’ve covered the subject, I’ll get back to work.”

“Sure thing. I may call you later if something new comes up, but for now I appreciate your time. Do you mind if I tell Rain about Memory? I’m sure she knows about you, but I’m guessing she’d want to hear about her sister. Deborah, too.”

“You can tell them anything you like. I’d love to see Rain if she ever has the inclination to come up. Or maybe Memory and I will drive down.”

“If I talk to her, I’ll tell her you said so.”

“Give both of them my love.”

Driving south again I had a lot on my mind. I was still mulling over the account Hale Brandenberg had given me about Grand. When it came to Greg and Shelly’s departure, I confess I felt vindicated. They hadn’t turned around at all, let alone snatched first Rain and then Mary Claire. I understood Deborah’s reasoning, but the points she cited were circumstantial, a crude cause and effect that didn’t hold up to scrutiny. This was the kicker from my perspective: if Greg and Shelly weren’t guilty, then who was?

When I reached the office, I parked, snagged my shoulder bag, and got out of the car, locking it behind me. I noticed a car parked directly across from mine, a sleek white Corvette with a woman in the driver’s seat and a guy in the passenger seat next to her. The sun reflecting off the windshield prevented a clear view of the driver so I shrugged to myself and continued up the walk. I unlocked the office door, and as I was letting myself in I heard two car doors slam in quick succession.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw Diana Alvarez moving in my direction. Her male companion was someone I’d never seen before. Oh, joy, I thought. She looked as buttoned-down as ever—loafers, black tights, and a black corduroy jumper worn over a white turtleneck. I could see that any outfit looked spiffier when paired with black tights, and I vowed to add more to my wardrobe. Since I was already the proud owner of two skirts, I’d be all set.