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automated checking account software, as Andi didn't have the computer password protected. That was typical for Andi; trusting and open. This was Andi's own bank account.
    The automated checkbook showed Andi had about $5,000 in her checking account. Her bank statement revealed no savings account. Andi made monthly payments to her cellphone company, a credit card company, two clothing store accounts, and Beach Property Management. I guessed that last one was for the beach home in Rehoboth that she inherited last year when her mother died. These recurring payments totaled $2,500 per month. I closed that software and quickly scanned the other software programs.
    The computer also had software for estate planning. I opened it and the only file was a will dated seven months earlier, in October, 2003. It defined Walter Hines as her attorney. That was Andi's lawyer and it confirmed what Cyn told me earlier. I printed out a fifteen-page copy.
    As the last page of the will finished printing, Cyn walked in holding a folded sheet of paper.
    â€œWhat are you printing, Stevie?”
    â€œAndi's will. It should be interesting reading. Do you know if this is official, Cyn?”
    â€œI don't know.”
    â€œOK, well, I'll read it later. What did you find?”
    She answered, “It's an itinerary for a trip.”
    â€œReally? Where'd you find that?”
    â€œIt was in one of those suitcases on her bed. Look.”
    The itinerary was dated eight days ago. It detailed a trip that began the next day, last Friday, a trip to Denver, with round-trip airline tickets, a rental car reservation at the Denver Airport, and hotel reservations at a Holiday Inn in Fort Collins, a college-town north of Denver. The return trip should have been Tuesday, three days earlier.
    â€œCyn, why would Andi go to Colorado?”
    â€œI have no idea.”
    â€œDid she ever mention knowing anyone out there?”
    â€œNo, not at all.”
    â€œOkay, well, let's get out of here.”
    I shut down the computer, gathered the itinerary, bills and bank statement and we quietly exited. Within a minute, Cyn and I had locked up the penthouse and returned to her office downstairs. Cyn unzipped one of her portfolios and slipped Andi's will and the sealed mail envelopes inside. She turned off the lights and we headed to the elevator.
    On the way down, Cyn said, “I need a drink.”
    Â 
    ***
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    Five minutes later we were at the bar of Rouge on Rittenhouse Square sipping our drinks; a double Jack Daniels for Cyn and a vodka tonic for me.
    â€œCyn, we've made some progress. I'll call that Fort Collins hotel as soon as we get back to your apartment.”
    â€œDo you think you should go to Colorado, Stevie?”
    â€œYes, especially if we don't reach her,” I answered.
    â€œI just don't understand why she'd go there.”
    â€œSo, you wanted to talk more about Andi's manic depression.”
    Cyn began her story. “Andi gets a ton of energy when she's manic. Sometimes, she gets creative. I've seen her do some amazing work in our remote shoots, where she gets real vision on the best locations for photo shoots, the time of day to shoot and which models would be best and what they should wear. But, other times, when she gets really out there, it's not good at all. When Andi is really stressed, a manic episode can come on. In those times, she's incredible to watch and really scary. She doesn't sleep, she gets horny and she does wild stuff.”
    Cyndie paused, then, snapped her fingers. “You know Andi was manic when you saved her life in Los Angeles?”
    â€œSure, Cyn, you're right. Andi was so freaked out that she made me promise not to say one word about it to anyone, ever.”
    Cyn smiled. “Well, I know you didn't, but she told me the story. Being so crazy got her into that jam. Plus, she couldn't remember anything.”
    â€œThat was unbelievable, for sure.”
    â€œWithout you, she'd be in prison