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that family must have made money—and they must have kept it somewhere. Tell me again about the last appointment with the manicurist. You said that was the day before the woman called you?”
    “Yes. Rosette had a morning appointment. The woman called me the next day in the afternoon, a little after lunch, I think. Palermo should have that in the file.”
    “He should. You’re right.” I wasn’t sure whether he was being sarcastic or merely stating a fact. “Finding them through the bank isn’t going to be easy. With ATMs, people can withdraw and deposit money without personal contact except for the first time, when they open the account. And who’ll remember them from years ago?”
    “But don’t you think they’d have had to use Mitchell as their name? The statements had to be sent to their apartment, and it was rented under that name.”
    “Could’ve used a box number.”
    “I hadn’t thought of that.”
    “And we still don’t know if she’s the woman who called you, Mrs. Brooks. Just because she lived in that apartment doesn’t mean she made the call.”
    “Well, I guess there should be blood work coming in soon. That may answer some questions.”
    “There will, and I will share it with you. Don’t give up while you’re getting results.”
    I left it there for the weekend but I didn’t stop thinking about it. I’ve found that even when I’m not actively involved, my mind keeps working and tosses me ideas when I least expect them. We now knew that Holly Mitchell and Rosette Parker were the same person, but that would only be useful if we could find other places where those names had been used. It certainly sounded as though Holly/Rosette was keeping a low profile, but I couldn’t imagine why. What I thought of was the complications of collecting insurance and eventually Social Security without a consistent name. If Holly worked for ten years and Rosette worked for another ten, that didn’t add up to twenty years of benefits. And if she had a job and wore fairly expensive clothes, a lot of people had to know her under one name. She had to have picture ID to fly to business meetings, although I assumed an old driver’s license would suffice. It had for me before I acquired my first passport last year to take the trip to Israel when Jack got a two-week assignment in Jerusalem.
    Joe Fox had mentioned that the victim might have a record, which they would discover when her fingerprints were run. That could account for her not wanting employers and landlords to know her real name. Of course, it might have been her husband who had been incarcerated, and we knew nothing about him. It was dizzying.
    But other explanations could account for her use of several personas. Topping my list was the possibility that she was hiding from someone, running away from someone who was hunting for her. One hears frequently about the government giving mobsters and their families new identities and homes in locations distant from their original homes. Were Rosette and her husband in that situation? Again, the fingerprints should provide an answer, unless the files were sealed even to the police.
    I was starting to think she could not possibly have children. I couldn’t imagine raising a child who went to school with one name and took piano lessons with another. Thinking about this became exhausting, and I was glad I would have Sunday off to think about other, pleasanter things.
    My cousin Gene, who is mentally retarded, lives in a home for adults. When my aunt was alive, she had to get herself to the neighboring town to visit him, a difficult task after my uncle died, as she never learned to drive. But when I moved into her house a few months after her death, Greenwillow, the residence, also moved to Oakwood. I am a frequent visitor there, often with Eddie, who plays with Gene as though they are equals. Gene is very gentle with Eddie and I know they love each other. The day may come when Gene is in Eddie’s care, and I