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either.”
    “Well, there you go. They’re probably together.”
    “You obviously don’t get it. Jake often spends the
    night away.”
    The coffee would be ready soon. I wanted to drink in
    peace. I had to feed the pets. I had to go to the market.
    “Listen, I don’t think I can help you with this, so goodN O T
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    bye.” I dropped the sticky spoon into the sink. “He’s going to turn up any minute. Jake, too. You shouldn’t
    worry.”
    “Bitch,” he muttered as he hung up.
    It was way too early for this.
    The phone rang again.
    “You’d catch more bees with honey than vinegar,
    you know.”
    “Cece?”
    “Oh, Clarissa, hi. How are you?” It was a little early for Nancy Drew–related matters. All My Children
    wasn’t on for hours.
    “I’m in a bit of a panic, actually.”
    “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s my daughter, Nancy.”
    “The one who lives in L.A.? The singer?”
    “Nancy is an artist who sings. And I only have one.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Well,” she blurted out, “she’s missing. My daughter
    is missing.”
    What the hell was going on this morning?
    “What do you mean, ‘missing’?”
    “She hasn’t answered any of my calls in days.”
    I sighed in relief. “Daughters are like that. You’d be in trouble if she did answer all your calls.”
    “We’re very close.”
    “My daughter and I are close, too,” I said, bristling,
    “but she doesn’t jump when I call. She’s got a life.”
    “Nancy has a life, too, believe me, but she would
    never do this. She’s supposed to be helping out in Palm Springs this weekend, for one thing, and we needed to work out the details. She knows how important this
    convention is for me. And I’m supposed to fly out from 36
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    Phoenix tomorrow. It’s just not like her to ignore me when she knows how much I need her.”
    “Take a breath. It’s going to be fine.”
    “Cece. I wouldn’t ask this if it wasn’t important.”
    Warning bells began to sound in my ears.
    “Nancy doesn’t live too far from where you are, out
    there in Hollywood.”
    So easily confused with Sodom.
    “If you could just go by her apartment and ring the
    doorbell, that would be wonderful. And if she answers, that’s that. Case closed. My mind would be at rest.” She paused. “So you’ll do that for me?” It was unclear
    whether she was asking or telling.
    How could I say no? I really wanted to say no. I was
    going to say no. I said yes.
    “Oh, Cece, I knew I could count on you. It’s the
    Holly View on Orange Drive, 1337 Orange Drive.”
    I jotted down the address on the back of a Thai take-
    out menu. When I got back home, I’d be ordering mee
    krob for lunch. And unplugging the phone.
    ACCORDING TO THE RUSTED directory posted out front,
    Nancy Olsen lived in apartment 4B. I pushed the
    buzzer a couple of times but didn’t get an answer. And I’d spent twenty whole minutes finding parking. Such is life. I was ready to pack it in when a middle-aged
    woman loaded down with shopping bags approached.
    She fumbled in her purse for her keys.
    “Do you need a hand?”
    “Oh, thank you.”
    I held her things while she opened the gate.
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    “I’m usually not much of a shopper, but they were
    having a special on recycled envelopes.”
    “I can never resist a special either,” I said, trying to be friendly.
    “The cashier didn’t know what they were made of,
    though.”
    “What what was made of?” I asked, following her in.
    “The recycled envelopes,” she said impatiently. “I’m
    going to be licking them, after all. With my tongue.”
    I had nothing whatsoever to add.
    The Holly View was a classic fifties courtyard build-
    ing, two stories, bougainvillea-draped, the apartments all surrounding a classic kidney-shaped pool. I could imagine Marilyn Monroe before she was Marilyn
    Monroe holed up in a place like this, waiting for a call from the studio. A starlet living