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We’ve done some of that already.”
    “Anything like that can be useful. I’ll work on getting somebody interested in writing an article about you that people who know you might read. However, that will be hard to do until we have more information about you. You’re not a celebrity, and we don’t know what part of the country to concentrate on. It would be nice if we could get you on Oprah or a news show. Unfortunately, that puts you in competition with half the world. Everybody wants their fifteen minutes of fame. If you remember things you’ve done, where you might have lived, trips you’ve taken—every piece of information helps. Rigo, I’m sure you won’t mind exposing her to different activities to see if anything jogs her memory.”
    “Aye aye, sir.”
    ***
    This was the third evening meal Carol had eaten with Tina and Ernie. Rigo was at the restaurant. Sunday evening was one of their busiest times. Carol helped Tina prepare the food, something she enjoyed doing. She was learning about Mexican cooking. At the table, Carol asked them when they came to the United States.
    Ernie said, “We were both born in Mexico, but we met here. We came over many years ago. Our children were born here.”
    “Do you ever go back?”
    “My mother still lives there, in a little town south of the border. She won’t leave. We go there at least once a year to see her.”
    Tina had been watching Carol. “You know, dear, you eat like the English.”
    “I do?” Carol hadn’t paid any attention to the way she was eating.
    “Yes. You always keep your fork in your left hand. You don’t change hands like Americans do.”
    Carol compared the way she was holding her fork to the method used by Tina and Ernie. When cutting and eating meat, they constantly changed hands. She didn’t. She held the fork in her left hand with the tines pointed toward the plate and her index finger along the back. The knife was in her right hand with her index finger on the top.
    “I didn’t realize it.”
    “Another thing. When we were buying you underwear, you referred to panties as knickers. That’s English terminology.”
    Ernie was excited. “Those are clues. You’ve obviously spent time in Great Britain. When we went there, we were amused to watch them eat—and they were amused by us.”
    The significance dawned on Carol. “My God. That’s right. I’m sure I’ve been in London. I have a picture of the London tube system in my head.”
    Tina looked thoughtful. “You must have been there for a while, and yet you don’t have a trace of an accent.”
    “I can speak English English.” Carol was confident she could imitate Winston Churchill. She lowered her voice. “We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.”
    “Bravo.” Ernie and Tina clapped. “You’ve got to pass this information on to Frances.”
    “I’ll call her right after dinner.”

    CHAPTER 6
    Frances was doing a routine check of her e-mail on Tuesday morning when one caught her eye. The subject was “Carol Golden.” She quickly read the rest of it:

    Hi Frances,

    I am a probate attorney in Chapel Hill, NC. I first heard of you 2 years ago when the daughter of one of my clients went missing. I have been checking your website weekly since then since you are in the business of identifying dead people, hoping that if Cynthia Sakai (the missing girl) is dead that someone might have contacted you to identify her body. I believe I even emailed you information about her at one time.

    My clients are a wealthy couple in Chapel Hill—excuse me, were a wealthy couple because they were both killed in the crash of their private plane in the Atlantic about a month ago, along with their son, Michael. About a year ago they each made an addendum to their wills to the effect that I, as their executor, would have 2 years to find Cynthia. If I don’t find