It was quite spacious down here. Wooden bookcases lined chocolate walls that were bare of any artwork, but there were family photos on the mantel. I was drawn to them. All looked recent and most were of Christa and Rufus.

"All the older pictures were lost in the fire." Christa stood behind me.

Sean threw the chicken again and headed toward an L-shaped desk built into the corner of the room.

"It must have been a horrible time."

"Did you know my grandma?"

"Not really. Just to say hello. My grandmother was good friends with her."

"Would she have any pictures?"

Why hadn't I thought of that? "I'm sure she would. Do you want me to get you some copies?"

She nodded.

I glanced around. There was a small kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. Near double doors leading outside, an easel sat empty. Open-faced cabinets held hundreds of tubes of color, dozens of paintbrushes, and canvases of every size imaginable. "Your granddad was still working?"

"He'd just finished a project when he went missing."

"Had anything else been going on around that time?" I asked, hoping I wasn't pressing too hard. She was old enough to know what was going on, but that didn't make it any easier to understand.

Sean went through files, pausing every few moments to throw the rubber chicken.

"Not really," she said.

"Did Mac have many friends?" Two dog bowls had been placed at the end of the kitchen peninsula. One bowl was filled to the brim with water; the other had kibble spilling over its edges, chunky brown blobs littering the floor as if Rufus played with his food more than he ate it. On hooks near the double doors hung a small silver dog whistle and two leashes-a plain blue one and a red retractable leash imprinted with rubber chickens.

"To hang out with?" she asked. "He had his weekly poker game at Mr. Ross's house. Every Wednesday night. He never missed it."

Fred Ross lived right across the street and had been a friend of Dovie's for close to three decades. I made a mental note to talk to him.

Sean walked over, holding a sheet of paper. "Christa, how was your grandfather's health?"

She shrugged. "Good. He was hardly ever sick."

Sean tucked the paper into his coat pocket and gave me a look that said he might have found something.

"What do you think happened to Mac?" I asked her.

She bit her lip. Her eyebrows dipped. "I don't know, but the night before he went missing, I heard him on the phone. He was angry."

I glanced at Sean. He said, "Do you know who he was talking to?"

"No." Her cheeks turned pink. "Granddad didn't know I was listening."

That girl could sneak up on a flea.

I had a feeling Christa knew everything that went on in this house.

"Do you remember what he said?" Sean asked.

"Something like, 'My life is my concern. My decisions are my own. Mind your own business.' "

"This was right before he disappeared?" I asked.

"The night before," she said. "I told the police."

"That's good," I said. Maybe they had checked phone records and knew who he'd been talking to.

"Do you know if anything he was wearing the day he went missing was a gift from someone else? Your mom mentioned an ugly sweater-had someone knitted that for him?"

"Granddad bought it to drive Mom crazy. She was always trying to get him to change his look. She buys him leather pants for Christmas every year. She told him he dresses like a geezer. He told me that he'd show her geezer. He bought it at a consignment shop in Hingham. Said it was the ugliest sweater they had."

I bit back a smile. "It must have been truly ugly."

"It was bright orange with colored shapes all over it that looked like confetti."

"Yep, that sounds hideous."

I wanted to ask about Jemima and Mac's relationship but couldn't bring myself to do it.

"Do you think you'll be able to find him?" Christa seemed more curious than desperate.

Sean picked up the chicken, tossed it. Rufus scaled the leather sofa, slid across the wooden floor, and collided with an end table. A lamp teetered, then fell over with a crash.

"Not again," Christa mumbled, rushing to pick up the pieces. I went to help.

Rufus grabbed the chicken and brought it back to Sean.

Jemima ran downstairs. "What happened now?"

"It was my fault," Sean said, holding up the chicken. Rufus took it out of Sean's hand, brought it over to Jemima, and dropped it on her bare feet.

She shuddered.

"I'll gladly replace the lamp," Sean said.

"I thought we threw this thing away?" Jemima held the chicken by one rubber leg. "After the last lamp incident?"

Christa had found a paper bag and was putting chunks of broken porcelain into it. I opened a closet, looking for a broom. Next to the broom was a recycling bin no one had emptied in the last month. Mixed in with empty water bottles, a mayonnaise container, and a plastic strawberry container was a brown prescription bottle. I picked it up. The label had been torn to remove the patient's name, but the medication and strength remained. I quickly pocketed it.

"I can't take it anymore," Jemima said, shaking the chicken. Rufus jumped around, following each jerk of the chicken with an eager eye.

I quickly swept little shards into a pile.

"It won't happen again," Christa said. "I promise."

"You promised the last time, too," Jemima said. She sighed. "It's time Rufus found a new home."

Christa slowly stood up. I paused mid-sweep.

"It was my fault," Sean said again. "Not Rufus's."

Jemima's eyes flashed. "It's time you left, too. Your five minutes are long up."

"Where will Rufus go?" Christa asked in an even tone, as though she'd been preparing for this day a long time now.

"The shelter for now." Jemima finally dropped the chicken and Rufus pounced on it. "Someone will adopt him."

I didn't think twice. "I'll take him."

A slow smile spread across Sean's face.

Christa looked at me, her eyes watery.

Jemima shrugged. "Suit yourself." She turned toward the stairs. "You can see yourselves out. Be sure to take the rubber chicken. Christa, dinner is ready."

"But I should get Rufus's things together. His food..."

"Now," Jemima said softly.

"You can come visit him," I whispered. "Whenever you want."

Christa nodded once, sharply. "His leash is by the door. The chicken one is his favorite-Granddad special-ordered it. His dog bed is in the bedroom, and his brush and comb are in a basket by his bed." She gave Rufus a big hug and ran upstairs.

Rufus dropped the chicken at Sean's feet. He picked it up, tossed it, and looked at me. "Grendel's going to be pissed."

I cringed at the thought of my cat having a hissy fit. "Don't worry. I have a plan."

My plan included my grandmother.

"No. No way," she said, tossing the rubber chicken.

She didn't mean it. I could tell. "But just look at those eyes."

"What do you think this is? A halfway house?"

"Hey!" Em cried. She was searching Dovie's fridge for something to eat.

"No offense," Dovie said to her. She made kissing noises in Em's direction.

Emerson Baumbach, one of my two best friends, had been living here since breaking off her engagement and moving out of the condo she shared with her ex shortly before Christmas. She would have moved home to her parents' house, just down the road, but there had been a big fight about the wedding and the ex and there was a lot of puffed-up pride stuff still going on.

Em kissed back.

"You two are making me queasy," I said.

Sean had headed back to Sam's place to pick up Thoreau and a change of clothes, then was coming back here. It was like Sean already lived with me, but making it permanent seemed to be tempting the fates a little too much for my liking.

Em, apple in hand, laughed as she sat next to me in Dovie's morning room, which was my favorite room in the house. It was dark now, but in the morning, sunlight flooded this room, filling it with happiness and life as it bounced off the blue walls, the overstuffed furniture, the knickknacks Dovie had collected over the years. This was the room where Dovie spent most of her time, and it showed in everything-the indent in the seat of her favorite chair, the teacup on the table, and the crossword puzzle folded, unfinished, on the floor near the fireplace.

Rufus trotted over, sat in front of Em, then dropped his chicken on the floor and his head in her lap. She rubbed the underside of his chin.

"He likes Em," Dovie said. "Give him to her."

"Okay," I said. "Congrats! It's a boy!"

Em, wild-eyed, looked between us. "Dovie, you do realize I live here, right? Don't you remember the halfway-house comment?"

Dovie snapped her fingers. "Marisol."

Marisol Valerius was my other best friend. She and Em had been part of my life since we were little things, running amok on the beach as topless toddlers. The topless thing hadn't lasted (except in Marisol's case), but the friendship, after a rocky start, had.

Marisol was a veterinarian who often left her unadoptable charges at my place, which explained my three-legged cat, Grendel, and my one-eyed hamster, Odysseus. Turnabout would be fair play. "I'll call her."

"He is sweet," Em said. Rufus looked up at her with adoration. "And when I find a place of my own, it would be good to have some company."

"I was kidding about the halfway house!" Dovie quickly said. "Don't go thinking about moving out because of that."

Em bit into her apple, chewed. "It's about time I start looking, don't you think?"

The conversation brought me back to Sean and his apartment hunt. He was due at my place in less than an hour. How easy it would be if he just stayed ... forever.

"No," Dovie said. "Tea, anyone?"

My nerves were jumping. "I'll have some."

Em's red hair had been pulled into a sloppy bun atop her head. Her full cheeks glowed with happiness. She'd put on some weight since the breakup, but she was happier than I'd seen her in a long, long time. "How's school?" She'd recently quit her job as a pediatric intern to go back to school for a degree in elementary education.

Em smiled. "Really good. Spring break starts in a couple of days."

"Are you going anywhere?"

"I'm a little old for spring break, don't you think? I'm going to rest, relax, and catch up on my reading."

"Exciting."

She bit into her apple, ignoring me.

"You should go somewhere, not mope around here."

"I'm not moping."

She was totally moping.