Sondra bit her bottom lip and smiled. "Hi. My name is Sondra, and my sister owned this house before you and I was wondering if it might be okay if I took a look around."

"Yeah, I don't think that's a good idea. Goodbye." She went to shut the door before Sondra called out.

"Wait!" The woman stopped and gave Sondra another wary stare.

"Okay, that sounded stupid. Let me start over. My sister and her husband lived in this house a few years ago. She disappeared and later di... died... " Sondra swallowed, trying to compose herself. "And, I'm just trying to get some closure, and I wanted to take a look around... to say goodbye."

The woman narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if she believed Sondra's story. "What was your sister's name?"

"It was Tracy. Tracy Ellis. Her husband was Phillip Pearson."

This seemed to reassure the woman. "Yeah, we used to get their mail for a while."

Sondra swallowed. "Did you get a forwarding address by chance?"

"No, we were just told to send anything we got to the guy's-Phillip's-attorney and he'd make sure he got everything."

Sondra cocked her head. "Do you still have the name of the attorney by chance? I'm sorry to be asking all these questions, I'm just trying to sort through some things. I was out of the country when my sister disappeared, and then had to leave again after her funeral. I've got a lot of loose ends."

The woman softened her stance somewhat. "Um, yeah, probably. If you come in for a minute, I can look for it."

Sondra smiled. "Thank you," she said as she stepped inside. She carefully closed the door behind her and looked around. It was jarring to be in Tracy's house and see that it was now someone else's. The formerly rich red walls were now butter yellow and the decor had transformed from urban chic to French country. The maple hardwood floors were buried under a swath of beige Berber carpet, a bright yellow baby swing stood where the TV used to be and toys littered the floor. The living room reeked of spoiled fruit juice, kitty litter, and dirty diapers. Sondra stopped breathing through her nose. The woman reappeared holding a card in her hand and handed it to Sondra.

"I think this guy was handling the sale of the house and a bunch of other stuff for the guy-Phillip. You know, come to think of it, there was a box of stuff that got left here. I tried to give it to the lawyer to send on, but the guy said he didn't want it. We just never got around to getting rid of it. It's out in the garage if you want to take a look."

"What's in there?" Sondra asked as she shoved the card into her back pocket.

The woman shrugged. "Some books, other odds and ends. We found one of the books shoved behind a panel in the garage. I think it was a diary, so we threw it in there, too."

"Uh, yeah," Sondra nodded. "I'll take whatever you've got."

"My name is Maureen by the way," the blonde said as she led the way to the garage behind the house. "We moved in a little over a year ago. It's a beautiful old house."

"Yeah. Tracy loved living here."

Maureen clicked the remote for the garage door, which yawned open. Maureen went in and maneuvered around a dusty red SUV before she came out holding a medium-sized box. She set it down in front of Sondra. "Do you have a car?"

"No. I'm staying downtown, so I'll go out and get a cab." Sondra nudged the box with her toe. "It's not heavy, is it?"

"No, not really. You can walk out here to Belmont and you should be able to get a cab pretty easily."

"Thanks. I'll do that." She shot her hand out to Maureen, who returned Sondra's firm grasp. "I appreciate your time."

"Sure."

Sondra smiled and reached down to pick up the box, which was relatively easy to handle. Maureen went back into the house and Sondra made her way out to the street, where she quickly hailed a cab.

THIRTY-THREE.

"So she flipped out over some Sweet 'N Low?"

Cindy nodded and swabbed an arm across her forehead. "Yup. Totally nuclear. Kind of scared me, to tell you the truth."

Cindy and Mira had become jogging buddies and were coming up on their fourth of six miles. Cindy had relayed the story about the grocery store and the Sweet 'N Low episode.

"He's got to be hitting her. I really think this could be some kind of domestic situation," Cindy said.

"You really think so?"

"You saw that movie, what was it, with Julia Roberts? Enemy something? Remember, if she didn't have things exactly the way he wanted them, he'd beat the shit out of her?"

"Oh, God, you're right. This sounds exactly like that movie. We should go to the police."

Cindy nodded her head slightly as she continued to pump her arms and search for the final surge of adrenaline she needed to finish the last two miles.

Cindy looked over at Mira. "You could go. You've known her longer."

Mira snorted. "Have you forgotten the bloody locksmith story?"

"Oh, right. Still, though... "

The two women continued jogging for a few moments, the only sounds they made being raspy breaths.

"Maybe it's like you said," Mira finally wheezed. "She's not all there and he's trying to protect her."

"I don't know," Cindy said, defeated. "I just don't know."

The two women kept jogging down the trail, unsure of what to do about Paula.

THIRTY-FOUR.

It was as Maureen said; a box full of odds and ends. A small black lampshade; an alarm clock, some books Sondra knew must have been Tracy's; an umbrella; a few old purses. It wasn't until she had taken everything out of the box that Sondra noticed one last book at the bottom. She reached in and picked it up, turning it over in her hands. It was red silk with a swirling, gold Asian-inspired design and a lock across its opening.

She flashed back again-that last journal ended three months before Tracy died.

"This must be her last journal," Sondra said, turning the book over in her hands. Was this the one Maureen said had been stuffed in a garage panel?

Sondra searched to see if there was a key for it and found none. After looking around her room for something to use to pick the lock, she finally resorted to slamming the hotel hair dryer on top of it several times before it busted open.

"Whatever works," she mumbled as she carried the book back into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. Sondra flipped back to the front of the book and began to read.

The first words stopped her.

I made a mistake.

"Oh, God," Sondra whispered as she licked her lips, afraid of what she would read next.

"I feel like Phillip lied to me. When we were dating, we talked about having children and he said nothing would make him happier. So now, here we are, three months into our marriage and I asked him what he thought about trying to have a baby in another year, year and a half. And he fucking freaked out.

He said it was way too soon to be thinking or talking about this and why was I bringing this up and that he'd been thinking about it and he really didn't want children after all. I was stunned. I mean, I thought that's what we both wanted. He SAID that's what he wanted. And now this??? I feel like I got sucker punched.

Later passages revealed jealous rages, obsessive behavior, temper tantrums, crying fits, and Tracy's growing disillusionment and downright disgust with the man she'd married.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take. I pictured a long and wonderful life with this man, of growing old together but now... it's time to look for the exit row. I suggested counseling. All that got me was crying and begging and 'I love you's' and please don't leave me, he just needs me, not a shrink. He's driving me fucking crazy. Every day is a new drama. It's not like when we first met. He hangs on my every move. It's almost like... like he can't function without me. He calls me constantly, questions everything I do. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's been snooping through my diary. I didn't see him, but the way it was turned in my nightstand drawer... I don't know; it just didn't look right. I didn't dare confront him about it, 'cause God only knows what kind of havoc would have rained down on my head. To be on the safe side, I bought this new one and am hiding it in a panel in the garage he doesn't know anything about. I don't know what happened. It was never like this.

Yesterday, I had lunch with Cicely and didn't hear my cell phone. So by the time I got home, he was furious, accusing me of having an affair and telling me what a liar I was. I checked into the Park Hyatt and turned my phone off. I turned it back on and he'd left me fifty messages. FIFTY. I CANNOT live like this.

Sondra put down the diary, stunned. Her mind whirled like a vigorously shaken snowglobe. And like a snowglobe, the bits of fake snow began to settle down inside Sondra's brain and the scene became clear.

Phillip.

Tracy.

Tracy was leaving Phillip.

And that's why she'd told Jack she was unhappy.

Not because there was infidelity.

Because she wanted out of her miserable marriage.

She flashed back to those awful days after Tracy had been found. Phillip, so broken up over his wife's death. Phillip, so guilty that he'd been gone when she disappeared. Phillip, so supportive of Sondra and her parents during and after the funeral. Phillip, weeping about how he didn't know how he would go on without Tracy.

"He lied," Sondra whispered. "It was all a lie."

THIRTY-FIVE.

He had spent hours practicing in front of the mirror. They always looked at the spouse first and he had to be convincing when they questioned him. He had written down a list of questions they might ask him on a yellow legal pad and rehearsed his answers in front of his reflection.

"Mr. Pearson," he said aloud in a voice a good three octaves lower than his own. "When did you say the last time was that you spoke to your wife?"

Phillip took a deep breath and said in a shaky whisper, "Saturday. We talked Saturday."

"What'd you talk about?"

"Um, I don't know. I told her how the conference was going; I asked what she'd done that day. She told me she was going jogging and would call me when she got home."

Okay good. Good tone, the definite sound of a worried husband who was still holding out hope that his wife would be found alive and well.

"Was that something she did often? Jogging, I mean. At night?"

Phillip cast his eyes down and looked back up at his likeness in the glass. "Sometimes on the weekends, yes. Not late at night. She works nights during the week. But occasionally she goes jogging on a Saturday evening before we go to dinner or a movie."

That was a lie, but no one would know any different.

"And the last time you talked to her, what was her mood?"

Phillip shrugged in confused disbelief. "She was fine. Her usual happy self. Tracy is a very upbeat person."

For good measure, he wrung his hands, but not too much. He didn't want to seem too nervous, tip them off that something was up. Just enough to seem worried, but not suspicious.

"What's her jogging route?"

"Usually down by the lake, right along Belmont Harbor, up to Oak Street Beach."

That was good. It wouldn't seem weird when she was found along the lakefront.

"Mr. Pearson, what was your marriage like?"

"God... we're basically still newlyweds... we're happy... we have a good marriage... " Dissolve into tears, but don't overdo it. Don't want too seem phony. And refer to her in the present tense. That was key.

"Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt your wife?"

Give incredulous laughter. "God. No. Everyone loves Tracy."

Fight back the tears as you think about the fact that her life could be over. Wring hands some more.

"Please, you have to find her. It's cold and she could be hurt... hungry... alone. Please. Please find my wife."

Let his voice tremble ever so slightly on that last bit. Hold the gaze of the detective and then ask feebly if they were through; he wants to get back to passing out flyers around the neighborhood.

The detectives would give him a sympathetic smile and nod. Of course, they would say. We'll let you know if we have any more questions. He would put on a brave face and usher them out the door. The detectives would compare notes on his demeanor, check his alibi and determine that he had nothing to do with his wife's disappearance. Phillip straightened up and smiled.

This would be so easy.