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sitting in a sunny designer office full of glass-and-teak furniture.
    "I was just going to ask you
the same thing."
    "About Anna?"
    "Yes," Daisy said.
"We seem to have lost contact, and I was wondering if you could ask
her to call us."
    "But… I haven't seen your
sister in months."
    Daisy focused on the faded buttercups
on the wallpaper. "When was the last time?"
    "Hold on. Let me check."
    "What is it?" Lily hissed,
but Daisy shushed her.
    "Let's see… yes, that's
right." The doctor fumbled with the phone. "We decided to end
her sessions last October."
    "So… six months ago?"
    "That's right."
    "Six months ago what?"
Lily whispered.
     
    "She seemed to be adjusting
very well to her new environment," Dr. Averill said, "so I let
the decision rest with her."
    "Okay. Thanks."
    "Is something wrong?"
    "No, it's okay. Please don't
worry about it." Daisy hung up.
    "Well?" Lily said anxiously.
    "Anna stopped seeing Dr. Averill
about six months ago."
    "You're kidding me!"
    "It wouldn't be the first time
she's lied to us, Mom."
    "So that's it, then," Lily
said resignedly. "She's gone off her meds."
    "Do you have any idea what could've
triggered this?"
    "I told you." Lily plucked
at the embroidered sleeve of her blouse, her soft features folding in
on themselves. "We were getting along fine."
    "Did you notice any tension
in your last phone call?"
    "Daisy, honestly. If I had a
clue, I'd tell you."
    "So you really have no
idea?"
    Lily frowned. "You were such
a quiet baby. Not a peep. I nursed you, but not Anna. Maybe that had something
to do with it."
    "Mom, stop it."
    "Stop what?"
    "Blaming yourself." She
sat for a moment, then said, "I'm calling the police."

6.
    The blistering heat was expected
to last throughout the weekend, with temperatures hovering in the
high nineties. Jack drove past tacky-looking restaurants and motels toward
a cluster of gray apartment buildings on Godschalk Road. The car's A/C was cranked, but his hands burned on the hot steering
wheel. He kept changing the radio station, since certain songs made
him cry. He'd never told anyone about it before, but he couldn't listen
to "Pretty Woman" by Roy Orbison without shedding a tear or
two, and his reaction to "Stand Inside Your Love" by Smashing
Pumpkins was downright embarrassing.
    Jack took a left on Godschalk and found a parking space between two
dusty construction trucks, then got out and was instantly overwhelmed
by the oppressive heat. Even the flies were lethargic.
    The Sea Breeze may have been appealing
once, but it'd long since fallen into disrepair. The peach-colored
stucco was soot-stained and crumbling around the windows, the swimming
pool filter was clogged with jacaranda leaves, and the swimming pool itself
was a vivid, astonishing green due to some strange species of algae
growing on the bottom. The three-story structure was surrounded by other
multistory buildings of similar styles and differing sizes, and next
door was a weed-choked vacant lot where drug deals took place late at
night. Jack knew this, because he used to work vice. Not the greatest place
in the world for an emotionally unstable young woman from Vermont to
end up in.
    Twenty-eight-year-old Anna Hubbard
had been missing for five weeks now, according to her sister. Jack
didn't hold out much hope as he climbed the front steps, then paused to inspect
the cheap hardware. You could break into this building fairly easily.
All you needed was a metal slot cover from a computer. Insert it into
the doorjamb, jiggle it around a little and presto. Some security.
    He rang the doorbell. "It's
Detective Makowski."
    "I'm in unit twelve. Take a
right after the mailboxes," the building super said before buzzing
him in.
    The interior of the building
was sweltering, and Jack felt himself melting faster than a pat of butter
on a baked potato as he proceeded down the fake-oak-paneled hallway
and took a right after the metal mailboxes. The door was open. He passed
through an arched entryway into a dimly lit