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habit. No woman came home from a hard day’s work and changed, did her make-up and spent time on her hair just to sit in front of the television alone for the evening.
    Lilley turned away for a moment, glanced over her shoulder into the kitchen, and when she turned back, the pins were gone and her hair tumbled in a long wavy black cascade over her shoulders. She shook it out like a fashion model, then sighed.
    “That’s better,” she said, sounding genuinely relieved. “Having my hair up all day gives me a headache.”
    She came further into the room, her steps light on the threadbare grey carpet. She had her hands clasped in front of her body in a kind of defensive posture, still a little uncertain, maybe a little hesitant. “I know it’s not much…”
    Stone shook his head. “I’m grateful. It’s a lot better than sleeping in a motel,” he said. Then, without pausing he asked, “How long have you been divorced?”
    She tilted her head to one side and gave him a little look of surprise. “What makes you think I’m divorced?”
    Stone shrugged. “An educated guess,” he said. “You don’t wear a wedding ring, and any married woman who invites a man to her home would have made the fact very apparent, so a guy like me didn’t draw the wrong conclusion. And second, there are no photos. I figured you took them all down after the divorce. It’s something a woman would do. If you had been married and your husband had died, you would have had photos of him everywhere, like some kind of a shrine. That kind of thing.”
    Lilley started to smile, and then stopped herself. She put her hands on her hips and tried to look outraged and defiant. “What makes you think I was ever married at all, mister?”
    Now Stone smiled. “Because you’re too damn beautiful to have stayed single.”
    She laughed then, and the sound was light and sweet and suited her. She shook her head. “Eight years,” she admitted.
    Stone raised an eyebrow in surprise. “You married young then.”
    “And divorced young. He went to Phoenix for work and didn’t come back.”
    Stone knew there was a lot more to the story but he let it go.
    They stood there, three feet of awkward uncertain tension between them, saying nothing. Then suddenly Lilley made a gasping sound like she had been holding her breath for too long, and twirled on her heel, headed for the kitchen, calling to him from over her shoulder. “I hope you like homemade pumpkin soup.”
     
    Eight.
     
    The soup was good. Stone helped himself to seconds, and then Lilley poured him a cup of black coffee and came to sit across from him at the old wooden kitchen table.
    “Jack – can I call you Jack?”
    “Sure. Can I call you Lilley?”
    She smiled again. She put her hand flat on the table, fingers splayed like she wanted to reach out for him but stopped herself. Stone looked into her eyes.
    “Jack, what are you really doing here? And how long will you be in town for? Do you know?”
    Stone sipped at his coffee to buy himself time. Decision time. Stone went with his instincts. He set the cup down on the table.
    “I am looking for my kid sister,” he said. “Her name is Susan.” He reached into his back pocket and took out his wallet, flipped it open to a passport-size faded photo behind a plastic window. He laid the wallet open flat on the table so Lilley could see. She leaned closer and peered down.
    The photo showed a pretty teenage girl with smooth clear skin. She had long blonde hair, and big eyes. She was smiling at the camera, sitting on a back-yard swing set, wearing a floral dress.
    “My mother took this photo on Susan’s sixteen th birthday,” Stone explained. “She sent it to me. At the time I was serving in the Middle East. It’s the only photo I have of her, and the last one that was taken before she died.”
    “Died?”
    “Only she didn’t.”
    Lilley frowned her confusion. She pursed her lips. “You’re looking for your dead sister?”
    Stone sighed,