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asked this question—or some version of it—a hundred times. But I have to ask it too; there’s no other way I’ll hear their answer. The cops aren’t in the habit of sharing their files with me. Our District Attorney isn’t, either.
    “No,” Warren says. “That’s not possible.” Catherine shakes her head. Meredith does too.
    “What about college friends?” I ask. “Might she have gone to stay with an old UVA buddy?”
    All three shake their heads now. “My parents are sick with worry,” Meredith says quietly. “Michelle would never do that to them. Never.”
    “She wouldn’t,” Catherine concurs. “That’s why we’re thinking she may have had an accident. That fancy car of hers is so tiny. And she’s always had a lead foot. She could be in a hospital—unidentified—anywhere between here and Hyannis.”
    She’s not, of course. The Massachusetts and Connecticut authorities would have covered that base on day one. I don’t say so, though. I don’t intend to yank that straw, or any other, from the Forresters’ collective grasp. I change the subject instead. “Is there a boyfriend?”
    Catherine shakes her head yet again and actually smiles a little. “Boys,” she says. “Michelle always has plenty of boys around.”
    Warren nods in agreement, leans back in his chair, and closes his eyes.
    Catherine points toward the kitchen. “Most days that phone rarely rings,” she says. “But when Michelle’s home—whether for a weekend or a week—it doesn’t stop.”
    “But no one in particular?” I ask. “No one steady?”
    “No,” Catherine says. “Not that we know of.”
    Warren nods again, his eyes still closed, and it occurs to me that I’m wearing out my welcome; these people were spent long before I showed up. And besides, I’m hoping Meredith will walk out with me; I’m eager to hear whatever it was she wanted to say earlier.
    I stand, take two business cards from my jacket pocket, and hand one to Meredith, the other to her mother. “I won’t keep you any longer. But please call if you think of anything—anything at all—we might have overlooked. Senator Kendrick will do everything he can to help.”
    Warren’s eyes open at the mention of the Senator’s name. “Don’t forget to thank him for us,” he says as he stands.
    “I won’t,” I assure him.
    Meredith gets to her feet as I say my good-byes to her parents. “I’ll see you out,” she says as she walks toward the kitchen ahead of me.
    “Wear a coat,” Catherine calls after us.
    Meredith is quiet as she hands me my parka and then dutifully dons her heavy black overcoat. We exit into the late afternoon cold and she pauses on the porch, at the top of the steps. “There is something else,” she says. “It’s what I wanted to tell you when you first got here. I don’t think it matters, really, but since you’re the Senator’s attorney, I guess it’s okay to mention it to you. Maybe you already know.”
    I stop one step below her and shrug, hoping to give the impression that I probably do already know. But I’m pretty sure I don’t.
    “My sister is in love with Charles Kendrick,” she says, fingering her top button. “And I believe he loves her, too.”
    This news isn’t exactly a shock. Honey’s performance this morning gave me a pretty good push in that direction. Still, I’m grateful to have my hunch confirmed. Maybe that’s why I came here in the first place.
    “They had an affair,” Meredith continues. “They started seeing each other—secretly—after she’d worked for him a couple of years. He ended it four months ago, when his wife found out.”
    I nod.
    “Michelle was distraught,” she says. “I went to D.C. and spent a few days with her right after it all fell apart. She was devastated, couldn’t even go into the office that week.”
    I nod again, thinking I need to have yet another heart-to-heart with my not-so-candid client.
    “I know it sounds tawdry,” Meredith says as she starts