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Detective Carlisle.”

    Friday morning Clara was already dressed and ready to go when the detective called her. She planned on moving her things to Madeline’s apartment that day, but didn’t want to take the time to pack right now. Actually, boarding the plane at Logan Airport in Boston, her hope had been that she would fly to Seattle, spend a few hours figuring out where her sister was, half an hour berating her for scaring the shit out of everyone, and the rest of the weekend eating good food and drinking good wine with Maddy before flying back home on Sunday.
    Instead, she had awoken this morning with an ache in the pit of her stomach. This was really happening. Maddy was gone.
    The call from Detective Carlisle had been reassuring and she was eager to let the detectives look around her sister’s apartment, figuring they would have a better chance of finding relevant information since they knew what to look for. Besides, Ben Radcliffe hadn’t responded to her friend request yet and she wanted to get to Maddy’s computer before the detectives arrived.
    She found a cab right outside the hotel and in fifteen minutes, she was unlocking the front door and scratching Bea’s ears. She made a beeline for the laptop and prayed that it wasn’t password-protected. The cops would be there soon and she didn’t want to give up her best clue until she had a chance to talk to one of the last people to see Maddy before she disappeared into the mist.
    Turning on the old flat black ten-pound MacBook, she rifled through the desk drawer while she waited for it to boot up and found a sheet of paper with a catalogued list of letters and numbers. She looked at it incredulously. Everything from Twitter to bank account log-ins was listed. The screen lit up before she could dwell on how careless Maddy was to keep such a record. As it turned out, she didn’t need to use it. The desktop opened and she clicked on Safari, finding a bookmark that took her straight to Maddy’s Facebook page. Easy.
    She found Ben and started looking through his profile information, but a quick check of the time made her change tactics. She clicked on the message icon and typed quickly.
    Ben, give me a call at this number.
    She added her own cell phone number and hoped that Ben Radcliffe wouldn’t be too suspicious of the unfamiliar phone number, thinking it was Madeline who wrote the message. Of course, if he was involved in her disappearance, he would probably panic. Before she could think too much about it she hit send and went back to searching through his profile and newsfeed until the doorbell chimed.

    The sister was standing in the open door to apartment 6A when Carlisle and Kincaid got off the elevator. Carlisle made the introductions and they went in.
    “This is Bea,” Clara said as a fat black cat approached and gave them a plaintive cry.
    Kincaid studied Clara for a few seconds before she turned her attention back from the cat. In spite of her obvious distress, she was attractive and her face was remarkably similar to the photo he’d seen of her sister. Different hair color, a little skinnier, but same features and she looked like she could use a good night’s sleep.
    “I’m going to make some coffee. Do either of you need a refill?” She indicated the paper cups each detective held.
    “We’re good,” Carlisle answered for both of them, looking around the apartment. It was a comfortable size for one person, but nothing luxurious. Open concept, as they said on HGTV, with a hall at the back end that probably led to the bedroom and bathroom. A door to a half-bath stood ajar next to the living area and another closed door by the entrance was probably a coat closet. She could see the steel railing of a tiny balcony at the far end of the living room. “Nice place,” she concluded over the hissing of an espresso machine.
    “I haven’t really touched anything,” Clara said with just enough defensiveness in her voice to let the two detectives