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alpine slopes. I fetched it, sidestepped a box of extraneous kitchen gadgets, and sat back on the sofa. I put the legal correspondence aside and began to examine the manila folders. The contents were mostly forms for offers, photocopies of signed paperwork and inspection reports, and bids from plumbing and tile businesses. Apparently someone was demanding a remodeled bathroom before the purchase date. There was a booklet of listings, with terse comments written in the margin. The house in Hollow Valley did not appear on any of the paperwork.
    “Maybe she’s hiding at home,” Caron suggested.
    Her business card had only her office’s address. “I guess I can try the telephone directory,” I said.
    “Stay here and drink your coffee,” my darling daughter ordered. She went to her bedroom and returned a half minute later. Handing me a scrap of paper, she said, “Here are her home telephone number and address.”
    “How did you get these so quickly?”
    Caron gave me a pained look. “On my computer, naturally. Nobody uses a telephone directory anymore, Mother. In a year or two, there won’t be any telephone directories. You have a computer at the Book Depot. All businesses, even bookstores, have online sales. Do you even know what an e-mail is?”
    I dialed Angela’s home number, which greeted me with a male voice announcing that Danny and Angela weren’t home but would return my call. I thought of several colorful Anglo-Saxon expletives but kept them to myself. “All I can see to do is drive to her house and pound on the door. If she’s not there, I’ll go to her office and find someone with information about the listing.”
    “Sherlock couldn’t have come up with a better plan,” Caron said as she headed for the bathroom. “Let me know if you find out anything.”
    “You have twenty minutes to get ready,” I said to her back.
    “Inez and I are going to the mall to hang out. Joel said he’d be there unless his mother pulls some obnoxious scheme to ruin his life.”
    “Shall I e-mail her and offer some suggestions?”
    The bathroom door closed with unnecessary vigor, but not quickly enough to muffle the “Oh, Mother!”
    *   *   *
     
    We picked up Inez and drove to Angela’s. I told Inez about the Hollow Valley house. She sounded excited, despite what I’m sure was a barrage of dirty looks across the backseat. Angela and the wretched Danny lived in a pricey neighborhood. Their house was a two-story brick mini mansion with imposing trees and ivied walls. I parked in the driveway and walked to the front door, keeping an eye out for twitching curtains or glimpses of an ashen face. Unlike in the black-and-white movies of yore, the windows remained blank. I rang the doorbell, waited for a moment, rang it again, and began to knock as loudly as I could. I kept this up for three minutes before acknowledging both the futility of it and the soreness of my knuckles.
    Caron and Inez joined me. The former said, “We looked in all the ground-floor windows. I don’t think anybody’s home.” Inez happily described the frilly decor and panoply of china vases and marble bowls, but I ignored her as I considered my next move.
    “May I help you?” asked a Hispanic woman walking up the driveway. “I am the housekeeper. Do you want to leave a message for Mrs. Delmond? I can give it to her when she gets here.”
    “I’m a friend of Mrs. Delmond, and I’m worried about her. I’ve called and called, but I haven’t heard back from her. We need to find her now. She could have tripped and broken her leg and be lying on the floor.” Or worse, if Danny Delmond had lured her to their house with a mendacious claim concerning arson or vandalism.
    The woman was not an easy mark. “You wait here and I’ll see if she’s home.” She took a key out of her purse and unlocked the door, then went inside and closed it firmly. Caron and Inez took the opportunity to discuss Rhonda Maguire’s new haircut and the way she’d