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you see this morning’s paper? There was a sketchy little article in the local section. Not much detail.”
    “I saw it. Pretty matter-of-fact.”
    “It looks like the field is wide open. You could take the ball and run with it.”
    “Couldn’t I get in trouble?”
    Gen chuckled. “You’re asking the wrong person. I’ve never been good at following the rules.”
    “Oh, right. It’s all coming back to me now.”
    “Here’s my proposition,” Gen said. “Let’s do our own research on the key players. It’s not like Garcia or Vonnegon are going to call in the press, so until they get wind of it, the story is yours. It’s a great way to find out if reporting is still your cup of tea.”
    Bree sat up straight. “I see what you mean.”
    “It could be fun,” Gen said. “I’ve never seen the value in giving up. Where you trip is where the treasure lies, right?”
    “I like it,” Bree said. “Look for the upside when life is upside down. My mom–” She stopped.
    “You must miss your mom.”
    “I don’t know why I said that.” Bree looked away, out over the bay, then dusted her hands on her pants. “I don’t let myself think about her much. I remember when Madison’s parents were killed in that car accident. I thought my heart was going to burst. That’s the last time I visited my mother’s grave.”
    Gen covered Bree’s hand with her own. “So what are you afraid of?”
    “Do you want to know the truth?”
    “Of course.”
    She leaned forward and tapped her chest. “Deep inside is a little girl who knows there’s something wrong with me. When I get close to anything I want, it runs away. Every time.”
    “Running says more about the other person’s character than yours.”
    Bree angled her head and regarded Gen
    “Everybody questions themselves, Bree. Don’t let it keep you from going after what you want.” Gen reached for her handbag. “As for the interesting situation we find ourselves in, well, let’s just put one foot in front of the other and see where it leads.”
    “Thanks for showing up when I needed you.”
    “It’s a gift. Now let’s get going, we’ve got work to do. I think the first order of business is to take a hint from Vonnegon and do some more Googling.”
    They stood. Gen gestured toward her parked car. The pair joined arms and ambled toward the street, heads together, deep in whispered conversation.

Chapter Seven
     
     
    Marin County is literally the jewel in San Francisco’s crown. Dotted with wealthy bedroom communities and a half-hour commute across the Golden Gate Bridge, it’s easy enough to access by car. In terms of lifestyle, however, North Bay is a galaxy away from the city.
    Of the 3,000-plus counties in the United States, Marin ranks among the richest in the nation. But the residents are not universally privileged; the area boasts a mixed bag of humanity. The locally born and raised collide with newly-minted millionaires jockeying for a limited number of starter palaces overlooking the bayside coastal waters.
    Less fortunate residents make do with secluded inland Mill Valley homes that, although not nearly as impressive as those along the cliffs, are perfect for a certain element whose desire is simply to disappear, for a weekend or a lifetime.
    Bree hadn’t made a trip to North Bay since she was twelve. Her parents had bundled her and sister Cooper into the car and drove aboard a ferry that carried them across to spend the day on Angel Island.
    In the early 1900’s, hordes of immigrants were detained in the old wooden buildings until they could obtain official clearance to enter the States. Most of the arrivals were Chinese, but that day Cambria learned her mother’s Russian parents had also landed there. They’d suffered through a two month internment.
    She realized now it was a pilgrimage. Lilia Butler was sick, although she hadn’t told her daughters yet. Her mother needed to go to Angel Island that day to say good-bye to her own ghosts