"No one's saying that it is." Jill could hear that Victoria was feeling criticized, and it reminded her that Victoria was just as sensitive as Abby, maybe more, but would never let it show. Jill turned to her, trying to make peace. "Is that why you're so angry?"

Victoria's face flushed. "No, I'm angry because you and Abby are turning my father's death into yet another drama, and it's all about her. You should've seen her at the memorial service. She made that scene of running after you, and when she came back in, every man in the church was standing in line to console her."

Jill ignored the jealousy in Victoria's tone and pictured the memorial service, intrigued. "Does that include Neil? Did he say anything to you at the service?"

"I don't know Neil, and the service was chaos. I didn't see him or half of my friends, because of you." Victoria threw up her manicured hands. "You're making everything worse, Jill. You're making Abby worse. We're not yours anymore. Go home to your own family. Leave mine alone. In fact, leave now. Go."

Jill felt slapped. "I understand how you feel, and I'm sorry, but I'm not going, not this time. I want to make sure Abby's okay."

"She's not, and she never will be. You should've thought about that before you ditched us." Victoria's tone changed slightly, her anger giving way to the pain, beneath, and Jill realized, like an epiphany, that Victoria was feeling as betrayed by her as she was by William.

"Victoria, I didn't ditch you, I want you to know that. I never ditched you. If I had my way, I would have seen both of you, anytime, but your father told me not to-"

"Shut up!" Victoria shouted, as if newly provoked. "Can't you leave my father out of it? Will you ever stop hating on him? He's dead, Jill!"

Jill felt stricken. Between fighting with Victoria and worrying about Abby, her head was about to explode. She looked back at the house. She didn't know what was taking the cops so long. The crowd was gathering. Suddenly, Jill took off for the stairs to William's house. She couldn't wait another minute to know if Abby was safe. She was going in.

"Jill, no!" Victoria shouted. "Don't go in! The cops said to stay here."

Jill hit the stairs just as Victoria's friend Brian came hurrying up the street.

"Brian!" Victoria called to him. "You're not going to believe this woman! She's driving me nuts!"

Jill hurried inside.

Chapter Twenty-three.

Jill scanned the living room, relieved to see that Abby hadn't fallen down the stairs, and everything looked as it had last night. She could hear the police walking around on the second floor, and they were talking and joking with each other, their voices echoing in the large, open house.

Jill felt a wave of relief wash over her. If the police had found anything wrong, they wouldn't be joking around. But she didn't hear Abby's voice among theirs, which left her more confused than ever. Abby's car was here, but she was gone, and Jill wondered what had happened after she'd left that night, after dropping off the groceries.

She sneaked into the kitchen, which was large and ringed with gray enamel cabinets and black marble counters. Sunlight emanated from a window that overlooked the car park, and the kitchen was clean to the point of being unused. She wondered if Abby had ordered her Chinese take-out for dinner, so she opened the chrome trash can with a step-on lid, releasing the odor of a scented garbage bag. The can was empty, and there was no take-out debris.

Jill turned and opened the refrigerator door, but it was full of the food she'd bought-salmon, cold cuts, even blueberry yogurt. None of it had been opened or eaten, and it suggested that Abby had left before dinner.

She closed the door and looked in the dishwasher, but there were no used tumblers. She noticed two bowls on the floor, one filled with triangle-shaped kibble. She remembered that Abby's cat drank half and half, but she didn't see the cat anywhere.

He always hides when people come over.

Jill went over to the bowl. It was full of half and half, and its surface had thickened, leaving a yellowing ring around the bowl. The bowl of kibble was also full. Just then she heard a commotion in the living room, and it sounded like Victoria and Brian entering the living room, and the cops, coming down the stairs, so Jill left the kitchen to meet them.

"What were you doing in there?" Victoria asked, frowning. She stood next to her friend Brian, who was tall and good-looking in wire-rimmed gla.s.ses, a starchy white oxford shirt, pressed jeans, and Gucci loafers, looking every inch the Manhattan lawyer, on the weekend.

Officer Mendina turned to Jill, disapproving. "Dr. Farrow, I asked you to wait on the sidewalk for your own safety."

"I know, I'm sorry. What did you find?"

"Nothing. She's not up there, and there's no sign of anything to worry about."

"Is the bed slept in? It's the blue one."

"No, it's made and didn't look slept in."

"Is there a suitcase out, or anything?"

"Nothing like that. It all looks normal, nothing out of place."

"When you were upstairs, did you see a cat?"

"No, she has a cat?"

"Yes, but it hides."

"Then it hid." Officer Mendina took out her long pad and slid a ballpoint pen from her shirt pocket. "Our procedure is to leave a 48A, an incident report, in plain view. It says we've been here, so when she comes home, she knows. But that's the most we can do."

"It just seems odd. She didn't eat last night, even though she told me she was hungry when I left. I went to get her groceries."

Victoria rolled her pretty eyes. "Oh, brother," she said, under her breath.

Officer Mendina c.o.c.ked her head, her expression sympathetic. "Dr. Farrow, I have a twenty-year-old daughter, myself. She doesn't cook. n.o.body cooks. Mom-to-Mom, don't worry about it. She'll be home when she gets home."

Jill wanted to believe her. "I'd agree if it weren't such strange circ.u.mstances, with her father."

Officer Mendina shrugged. "You still got questions, I'd take them over to Central Detectives. If there's a body on a floor in Philadelphia County, a detective gets called. Two, usually, and they work it up. Central Detectives has jurisdiction over the Sixth District, and they're the ones who decided it wasn't a suspicious death."

"Do you know which detective I could ask for, in particular?"

"No." Officer Mendina scribbled on a pad. "Whoever caught the case when the daughter called. That's what happened, right?"

"Yes, I believe so." Jill glanced at Victoria for verification, but Victoria only looked daggers at her.

"Then ask them." Officer Mendina tore off the sheet of paper, set it down on the coffee table, and gave the keys to Victoria. "Ms. Skyler, thanks for your cooperation. Looks like your sister isn't here, and I didn't see anything suspicious. Just the same, you're lucky to have somebody like Dr. Farrow worrying about you two."

"Thank you." Victoria dropped the keys into her big purse.

Jill caught Officer Mendina's eye. "Thank you for your help."

"You're welcome," she said, and the police left for the front door.

Victoria turned to Jill, frosty. "Leave. Go. Stay out of my life, and Abby's."

Jill composed herself. "I'm sorry for what happened, for everything. I was trying to help Abby, and I'd do the same for you, if you needed it."

"I won't need it." Victoria's eyes narrowed. "So now what? You're going to the police station? You're investigating my father's alleged murder? You're buying into Abby's craziness?"

"I'm going to see what I can find out in the hope it will shed some light on where Abby is. I'm not investigating any murder, I'm looking for your sister. Good-bye now, and please call me if Abby calls you." Jill started to walk to the door, but Brian caught her by the arm.

"I'm Brian Pendle, and I don't believe we've met." His blue eyes flashed behind his gla.s.ses, and his grip on her forearm felt oddly firm.

Jill pulled her arm away. "I'm Jill-"

"Oh, I know who you are." Brian's tone was calm and controlled. "Let me break it down for you, Dr. Farrow. Victoria's been through h.e.l.l since her Dad's death. It's hard enough for her to deal with that and her sister, while she's in law school. I don't know what your agenda is, but you need to step off."

Jill felt taken aback. "I don't have an agenda, except helping Abby."

"Nevertheless, you don't belong. I'm an attorney, and if you keep this up, calling Victoria at odd hours and taking property that is part of her father's estate, I'll file for a restraining order against you."

Jill bit her tongue. "Good-bye, now," she said, going to the door. She wasn't afraid of restraining orders anymore. She was afraid that something had happened to Abby.

Not even a lawyer could stop a mother.

Chapter Twenty-four.

"I'm Jill Farrow, I'm wondering if you could help me," she said to the affable detective sitting at the front desk. She'd never been inside a real squad room before, and it looked distinctly less photogenic than on network TV. Two detectives worked on outdated computers at old gray desks stacked high with files and papers, and the sun struggled through dirty windows on one wall, barely illuminating a panel of mismatched file cabinets and a cork bulletin board cluttered with Wanted posters, official memos, wrinkled cartoons, and an old March Madness office pool.

"Yes, hi, I'm Detective Pitkowski." The detective extended a hammy hand over a half-eaten Egg Mcm.u.f.fin, which filled the air with the aroma of steamed sausage. He was in his fifties, completely bald, with an unusually b.u.mpy head and steely gla.s.ses that perched atop a bulbous nose. "What can I do for you?"

"It's about my former stepdaughter, Abby Skyler. She's nineteen, and she didn't come home last night. I'm worried it has something to do with her father, William Skyler, who was found dead in their home on Acorn Street, last Tuesday."

"Skyler? I know that case." Detective Pitkowski nodded, pushing up his gla.s.ses from the bridge. "It wasn't a homicide."

"Abby thinks it was. Were you the detective on the case?"

"No. And you are-"

"His ex-wife."

"Is this a joke?" Detective Pitkowski chuckled, and his pot belly jiggled, straining the b.u.t.tons on his shirt, above his belt. He had on a striped tie with his white, short-sleeved shirt, and an old-school tie clip. "I got an ex who'd throw a party if I kicked the bucket."

Jill managed a smile. "No, it's not a joke. I'm trying to find Abby. Can I talk to the detective who worked on the case? Do you know who it was?"

"Detective Reed, but he's not in, and he couldn't meet with you, anyway. You're not immediate family."

"But I was."

"You're not now. Sorry."

Jill felt momentarily stumped. "My problem is that Abby has been gone all night, and she was raising questions about her father's death, so I'm worried that something bad happened to her."

"Like what?" Detective Pitkowski asked, c.o.c.king his shiny head.

"Worst case scenario, some form of foul play." Jill shuddered at the very notion. "She thought there was something fishy about the prescription painkillers that killed her father, and it turns out that they were gotten via a forged script, and the guy who filled the script was in disguise."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Detective Pitkowski put up his hand. "Let me ask you something. How did you find this out?"

"I went to the pharmacy and checked. Also, I think there's been a black SUV following her lately, and maybe even me. The license plate starts with a T."

Detective Pitkowski frowned. "How do you know it's following you?"

"I saw it, twice." Jill saw his expression change to skepticism. "What do you advise I do, if she's missing?"

"She's not a missing person after only one night."

"I would agree with you, if not for whatever happened to her father. She lives with him, and if he was murdered, maybe she saw something or knows something, or the killer thinks she does, and that's why she's gone."

"You're speculating wildly here." Detective Pitkowski eyed her. "Tell you what, when she comes home, and I bet she will, have her come in. Detective Reed will sit down with her, talk to her, and answer any questions she has. You can come with her, if you like."

"Let me ask you this. Detective Reed took her father's cell phone, wallet, and the pills. Would he give them back to her?"

"The phone and wallet, yes."

"Would he show her your file, your investigation of her father's death, if she had questions about whether it was really a murder?"

Detective Pitkowski shook his head. "No, not even immediate family sees our files. It has crime scene photos and the like. We show that to no one."

"If she got a lawyer, could he see it? Or if she hired a private investigator?"

"No. No charges were filed, so it should never come to light."

Jill took a flyer. "Do you happen to know if Detective Reed spoke with any of my ex-husband's business a.s.sociates about the case? There's a man in New York named Neil Straub whom he should call. I have Straub's address."

"Hold up, I suggest we do it this way." Detective Pitkowski slid a ballpoint from a Phillies mug on the desk. "Give me all the information you have, and I can pa.s.s it on to Detective Reed. The prescription, the SUV, the whole kit and caboodle. He'll look into it."

"Will he get back to me?"

"Only if he has a question, he will. Otherwise, he's not gonna discuss this case with you. If the daughter calls, he'll discuss it with her."

"Okay, thanks." Jill told him the story, and Detective Pitkowski listened in a professional way, taking notes and asking questions. It took about twenty minutes, and when she was finished, she hurried from the police station, checking her watch on the fly. She'd make it back just in time to see Megan swim.

She hustled to the car, chirped it open, hopped in, and started the engine, but couldn't stop worrying about Abby. Jill remembered what she'd said to her, only last night.

There's me, Abby. You always have me.