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he’d just brought her. She kept her shoulders lifted slightly and her hands folded gracefully in her lap, and as he looked at her, Frank thought that perhaps in a continually shifting and uncertain world, she had learned that only her dignity could be kept in place, that it was the only thing in her life over which she truly had full and personal control.
    â€œThere’ll be questions, of course,” he said.
    Karen continued to stare straight ahead. “Yes, I suppose so.”
    â€œAnd it’s important to move quickly in something like this,” Frank added.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI’m sure you have a few questions, too,” Frank said, still hoping to draw her out, but without coming on too fast.
    â€œYou said you didn’t notice that she didn’t come home last night,” he said, finally.
    â€œNo, I didn’t.”
    â€œIs that unusual?”
    â€œThat she didn’t come home, or that I didn’t notice it?” Karen asked.
    â€œBoth.”
    â€œShe had her own room,” Karen said stiffly.
    â€œAnd her own life?”
    â€œYes, that too.”
    â€œWhat did you know about it?”
    â€œThat she kept it to herself.”
    â€œWhat about friends?”
    â€œI don’t know if she had any.”
    Frank looked at her doubtfully.
    â€œI mean, if she had friends, I don’t know who they were,” Karen explained.
    â€œOther kids, maybe. Didn’t anyone ever come by to see her?”
    â€œNot that I know of,” Karen said. “I have a studio in the back of the house. I spend a lot of time there. People could come and go; I wouldn’t see them.” She shrugged. “But as far as I know, Angelica was very isolated.”
    â€œIt sounds like you are too,” Frank said, before he could stop himself.
    Karen looked at him sharply. “Maybe I am. So what?”
    â€œLook, I know how people can lose touch,” Frank said quickly. “In families, I mean. They can lose touch. My own daughter. It’s just that it was only the two of you in the house. That’s right, isn’t it? Only the two of you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSo you had to have some contact,” Frank said. “No matter how little, there had to be some.”
    Karen said nothing. She turned back toward the street and stared straight ahead.
    â€œWhen a doorbell rings,” Frank went on, “someone has to answer it. Was there ever someone there who was looking for Angelica?”
    â€œNo,” Karen said crisply.
    â€œNever?”
    â€œNot when I was there, no,” Karen repeated firmly. “Maybe somewhere else, she had friends.”
    â€œOn the Southside?” Frank asked pointedly.
    Karen did not reply.
    â€œDo you know what Glenwood Avenue looks like?” Frank asked.
    â€œVaguely,” Karen said, almost in a whisper.
    â€œThen you know it’s not exactly West Paces Ferry.”
    â€œI’m aware of that, yes.”
    â€œWe don’t know exactly what happened to your sister,” Frank said, “but she ended up a long way from home.”
    Karen said nothing. She kept her eyes on the road ahead.
    As he glanced at her from time to time, Frank tried to come up with some idea of what she had felt for her sister. He’d had enough experience to know that it was hard to tell where love began or ended in a family. His own mother had appeared to love his father, and yet on one raw afternoon she had simply disappeared, left him with two boys on the brink of manhood and not so much as a note to tell them why.
    â€œI know how it is sometimes,” Frank said tentatively. “Sometimes, people just don’t get along. Blood’s not everything. I know that, believe me. But you did live in the same house as your sister.”
    She turned toward him. Her eyes widened somewhat, as if she were seeing him for the first time.
    â€œWhat happened to you?” she asked.
    For an instant he thought