I stared at the clear space on the floor and the piled papers. Was this a connection to the Ballerina Doll murders? I had to consider the possibility. But it could also be something more mundane. Something ordinary. I felt my hackles drop and I took a breath, smooth and steady. Okay. Someone with security knowledge, perhaps specific only to my house, had been here. They—no, he or she, not more than one. The space was too small for two people. He or she was here to rob. I came home and they hid in the vault room for us to go up to sleep. “Yeah,” I said aloud, breathing easier. “That makes more sense.”

  Along that line was the possibility that my intruder was one of the young cousins, intent on mischief, testing the waters of thievery. Yeah. That felt right. Wicked Owens had started out that way. One of the cousins might have learned the security code by watching us come and go. My fear receded further with the thought.

  Nevertheless, I arranged to have the security company come look the house over for listening equipment and change the code. You aren’t paranoid if they really are after you.

  I spent the remainder of the morning driving back and forth from the hay field to the house, overseeing the lock changing and the hay baling. When the security team left, I was reasonably satisfied that the bad guy or girl couldn’t get in, not without waking me. The warning tone announcing that the door had been opened was now set to eardrum-blasting volume. I wouldn’t sleep through it. Not again.

  The security team had also taken fingerprints and physical evidence from the little vault room. They assured me they could process it, and while they couldn’t promise speed, they would give it top priority, whereas the cops would put it on the bottom of their list because no property damage or loss of possessions had occurred, and no lives had been lost. They could even run the fingerprints through AFIS, which law enforcement used to ID fingerprints. The company had a man on the inside who did work for them under the table. Which sounded like a good way to lose a job, but I wasn’t complaining.

  Near noon, I was eating my lunch in the front seat of my SUV, parked on the side road near the hay field. The growing season had started early this year, and the clean smell of fresh cut hay mixed with the less agreeable scents of gasoline and diesel. English and Spanish dialects carried on the air. The temperature was warm. It was a perfect day.

  From behind the partial concealment of a rotted three-board fence, I spotted a familiar gray Crown Vic. It rocketed down the adjoining state road, shaking my vehicle in its wake. Three heads were visible inside, at least one of them female. I considered the road they were traveling. There were four Chadwick families within a two-mile radius. All of them had a white or mixed-race male living in the house; some more than one. I dropped my chicken sandwich in the zippered chiller packet on the passenger seat, flipped open my cell and called Nana as I pulled out and followed them. The Crown Vic was nowhere in sight, but I knew where all the Chadwicks lived. I wasn’t in a hurry.

  The backup I had called would be nearly a half hour getting there, and I wondered who I could channel to get through the next thirty minutes without getting arrested. Josephine wouldn’t do. My mama wouldn’t be caught dead in jeans, T-shirt, boots and a straw hat. I couldn’t do Nana if my life depended on it. But maybe I could do me, the me that handled irate doctors and drunk patients. Hmm. Maybe so. And for once, it might be fun.

  I arrived shortly after the cops knocked on Erasmus Wilcox Chadwick’s door. From the street, I called Nana’s cell and said three numbers. “Three-oh-eight.” The address. I snapped the phone shut.

  Heads turned toward me as I cruised into the yard. Fully aware that I was about to kick a hornet’s nest, I stepped from the truck, stuck my thumbs in my jeans pockets and walked up the five steps to the wide porch. I looked at Erasmus, standing protectively, half-hidden behind the door. “Howdy, cousin,” I said.

  He nodded to me. He was from Aunt Mosetta’s side of the family, a well-educated professor. He had taught history at an all-black college up North and had returned to Dawkins to retire. He was a light-skinned black man, or a dusky-skinned white man, and his green eyes were like emeralds in his narrow face. “Cousin,” he acknowledged me. “Welcome.”

  “No. She is not welcome.” Emma Simmons’s voice vibrated with fury. She looked at me with enough sparks in her eyes to set off a good-size forest fire, then turned them to Jim.

  I knew what she was thinking and who she was about to accuse, so I said, “You folk from the big city should slow down when you travel country roads. You might see interesting things on the byways. Like a friend’s SUV parked in a hay field, overseeing the workers. Jim didn’t call me, Emma. I saw your car. I’m pretty sure it was speeding.” I looked at Jim and raised my brows. “Shame on you. Besides—” I transferred my gaze back to Emma “—you couldn’t spit in a ditch in this county without my nana hearing about it, if she was of a mind to know it.”

  “You can’t do this, Ashlee,” Jim said, and I knew he meant it. I knew I was putting pressure on a man in ways no girlfriend should. I should step back, walk away. Julie Schwartz watched me quizzically, a half smile on her face. I inclined my head at her.

  “You are impeding a federal investigation,” Emma said to me.

  I narrowed my eyes. This was family. I’d stay. “Well, that’s one way to see it, Emma. Another is that I’m visiting my cousin. And he might invite me in. Erasmus?” I pulled off my wide-brimmed hat and dusted it against my leg.

  “Happy to have family.” He held the door open and I preceded the cops into the room. “When will Nana be here?” he asked, knowing that I would have called in the big guns.

  “Shortly. With Macon.” I sat in the wingback chair in the corner and smiled at the feebs as they filed into the room. I could tell that nothing was going according to their usual plan. I had presented them with a quandary. I glanced at my watch. Twenty-two minutes to go. I was sweating, but they didn’t know it.

  “Mr. Chadwick doesn’t need a lawyer,” Emma said. “He’s not being charged with anything.”

  “He’s a good boy, our Macon,” Erasmus said, looking from me to the cops. “What should I do, until Macon gets here?”

  “You tell them that your lawyer is on the way and you’ll be happy to talk with them. That you’ll answer any questions as soon as he arrives. Till then, Nana suggested that you offer the cops something to eat, maybe some coffee.” I looked at Julie and smiled. “Erasmus makes a great espresso. And his homemade doughnuts are to die for.” Julie’s lips twitched.

  Erasmus’s shoulders relaxed and he sent me a relieved smile. “As my students would have said—” he jutted his chin at me “—what she said. Coffee? Espresso, anyone?” He turned to his compact kitchen and started fresh grounds. Emma, Jim and Julie fidgeted and looked from the furniture to each other. The seating was sparse. Julie took a comfortable chair with the air of a woman at a Broadway play. The other two sat on the couch with ill grace.

  The petite brick house was of a style last built in the sixties, four rooms and a bath, a few small, high windows, with the only comfort being the large screened porch out back. I had never been here, but I had seen houses like it and knew it would have two bedrooms in the rear, with a bath and the back hallway between, and the kitchen as part of the dining room, just off the living room. I shifted in my seat, following Erasmus as he bustled in his kitchen, and spotted the laptop open on the dining-room table, its screen marked by geometric forms floating in the darkness. I had no doubt that the cops had seen the laptop, too.

  Seventeen uncomfortable minutes later, two cars arrived from opposite directions. Macon pulled in from DorCity, the name the locals called Dorsey City, the county seat. Nana eased into the drive in her old truck from the direction of the farm. Erasmus stood, looking uncertain in his own home.

  My grandmother walked into the room without invitation and without greetings, her boot heels sharp and purposeful on the wood floor. She took a seat on the couch next to Emma, jostling her quite deliberately. Macon stopped at the door and surveyed the group. His eyes lingered a moment too long on Julie, and I read volumes into the gaze.

  Though I wanted to stay and watch, Nana looked at me with quiet purpose and then at the door. It was a clear order to leave. I got up and touched Erasmus’s shoulder; he bent so I could kiss him on the cheek. He smelled of coffee and newspaper ink and faintly of aftershave. Patting my back, he walked me to the door and whispered in my ear, “Never mess with Chadwicks. We stand together.”

  “Always,” I said. I looked at Nana. “Give ’em hell, Nana.”

  Julie smothered a chuckle. Jim finally almost smiled. Nana and Macon laughed. Emma nearly swallowed her tongue, her face taking on a hue that looked distinctly unhealthy. If I lost Jim over this, the expression on Emma’s face made it all worth it.

  As I walked across the porch, I heard Nana say, “The Chadwicks number in the hundreds. In Dawkins County alone there are nearly two hundred of us. Within the next hour, each and every one of them will have been notified that Macon Chadwick will be available to represent them during questioning by the local police or by the FBI. Should you wish to speak with any of them, they will refuse to do so until they have Macon by their sides. You will be wasting your time and ours to show up without an appointment unless you have an arrest warrant or intend to take someone in for formal questioning. And even then they will not talk until Macon gets there. We will help the FBI and any other law-enforcement agency to solve this case. But we will not be targeted. Do we understand one another, Miss Simmons?”

  I had reached the bottom step and missed the SAC’s comments, but I headed back to the hay field comfortably sure that my family had proper representation. It was only after I had reopened the remains of my lunch that I considered why they had chosen Erasmus. My cousin, second or third or fourth, I never could remember which, had taught advanced studies in old-world history. If any Chadwick had the knowledge and skill to make the Web site and to know about the Muses, it was Erasmus.

  A cold chill whispered through me. It had to be someone who hated Chadwicks. Had to be. Or, at the worst, one of the Chadwicks who had left Dawkins and never returned. Every family had them. Chadwicks called them lost sheep.

  He pulled his car into the strip mall where the new tae kwon do gym was, and watched through the lit front windows. She kicked high, the right leg bent at the knee, the left heel extended. She missed the black belt she was sparring with, but he knew that was by intent. Had she wanted the kick to land, it would have, and with amazing force for such a small body.

  He would have to take great care with this one. The bruises from the last one were only now beginning to fade, and this girl would pack much more of a punch. The previous girl had been a dismal and horrifying failure. He would make sure that this one would be perfect. He had learned with each, and the lessons—and fate—had led him here, to this perfect girl.

  The sun was setting behind the building, and the glare made it hard to see. Pulling his hat low on his brow, he slid from the car and moved to the front window to watch. No one noticed him. Why should they? He was just one more parent waiting to pick up his daughter—the girl who had just won her brown belt.

  I was finishing up a stroke code, sending the patient to a room in ICU, when Rhonda sidled up to me and whispered, “There’s another Amber Alert. Another blonde.” I nodded to show I had heard and handed my patient over to the crew to transport him to his room. I washed my hands and went to stand in front of the TV. It was overhead in the back corner, volume turned low. With three others, I stood and stared, listening as the local commentator brought breaking news, her voice overlaying a night scene in front of a strip mall.

  “The child, who had just finished a tae kwon do class, walked out of the building and disappeared. According to a source, her mother had a flat tire and called the class to tell them she would be late. But the teacher forgot to pass along the message and allowed the little girl to leave the building anyway. Her name is Jennifer Burton, a blond, blue-eyed girl who recently won her brown belt. Police have already confiscated the security camera and have taped off the entire parking lot. We’ll be showing the girl’s picture as soon as we have one.”

  The camera angle widened and slid to the side to reveal the entrance to the gym. Police cruisers cast flickering blue lights and the people at the doorway resolved into individuals. It looked like a mob scene, with two people exchanging blows, or one hitting and another blocking each strike. “We believe the distraught woman seen attacking the instructor is the mother of the missing girl,” the reporter said. “If what we have been told is true, she did everything right in calling the martial-art school to say she would be late.”

  On impulse, I said, “I’m taking a break.” In the lounge, I activated my cell phone and listened to messages while getting a Diet Coke. Jas was ticked off. She had been met at the door by Nana and given the list of changes in the Davenport household. All of them. The one she was most angry about was the one Nana had come up with on her own. “Nana says I can’t leave the house without notifying you first. I have to call my mommy to leave the house like a four-year-old kid?” she complained, her voice rising. “I am twenty years old, Mother. You have to talk some sense into that old woman. She may be the family matriarch, but she isn’t queen.”

  My lips twitched, but my humor faded when she continued. “And she said I have to call you and her when I get home and hold on while I walk through the house, carrying my gun. So I did that. I called her. I’m home.

  “But I’m not stupid. You change the locks and the security code and the way I have to operate. Somebody got into the house, didn’t they? You better call me, Mama. I’m ticked off that you didn’t let me handle part of this. That you didn’t tell me yourself.” She paused and I could hear her breathing. “I’m not a little girl, Mama. I’m a grown-up. You have to start being honest with me.” She hung up.

  I sat on the worn couch, popped the top of my cola and took a long gulp, feeling the Diet Coke burn its way down. Jas was right. I was being unfair. I would continue to protect her as long as she lived, but I could be more up-front with her. I could treat her more like an adult. She had certainly acted like one on the phone, no sulking, no hysterics. I smiled and took another drink. My baby, my Jazzy, was growing up. Jazzy. A baby nickname.

  On the lounge phone, I dialed my daughter. When she answered, the first words out of my mouth were “You’re right. I am sorry.”

  “Oh,” she said. With mild surprise, she added, “Mama?”

  “Yes. You are grown up.” Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring the room. “And I love you very much, and I am so very proud of you. I will endeavor to treat you as an adult, as a grown-up.” I set down the can and wiped my nose. “Do you want to know what happened?”

  Softly, Jas said, “Yes. I do.”

  I told her about the disarranged vault room, and the alarm system being off, and that I had the security company checking in with us two times a day. I told her everything.

  Jas listened silently. When I finished she said, “Mama, you think whoever was in the house was after me, don’t you?”

  I breathed through my mouth as my nose clogged up. Yes. I had been thinking that. I had believed that.

  “I’m too old to be one of the kidnapped girls,” she said. “He could be after you just as easily. If it was the kidnapper at all.”

  Which had been my thoughts as well. I was worried over nothing. Then Jas ruined my fledgling sense of safety.

  “He could be wanting to hurt a Chadwick, any Chadwick. So you be careful. And you follow all the rules that Nana set up for me. We’ll look after each other. And we’ll get through this just fine.”

  I chuckled. “I feel like the kid, and you sound like the mother. Okay. We’ll both take precautions. Love you, baby.”

  “Love you, too, Mama. Oh—Paz and the other girls are bringing pizza over. If I have to be in jail, they’re going to keep me company. And Nana’s buying,” she added smugly.

  “You’re just milking this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”

  “Oh yeah. Later.”

  “Later,” I said.

  I hung up the lounge phone and my cell rang almost instantly. Nana’s number was displayed in the view screen, so I flipped it open and said, “Evening, Nana.”

  “You see the Amber Alert?”

  “I saw it,” I said.

  “Mosetta and I started calling every one of ours the moment it went out. I called all of the men the FBI visited today. Erasmus isn’t answering.” She stopped for a long silent moment. Softer, she said, “I rode by his house. His car is gone.”

  A sense of disquiet settled in my chest. “Have you called Macon?”

  “Macon was supposed to meet him at seven-thirty at his office in DorCity. He didn’t show. Did we…Did we make a mistake?” Nana sounded broken, lost, as if the world had pulled the rug out from beneath her feet. “Is it one of ours?”

  I stuffed my own fears deep inside and lied. “Nana, he could have cut his finger cooking and gone to the all-night clinic in Ford City. He could have forgotten he had an appointment with his barber, and left Macon an e-mail. You know how unreliable the Internet provider is in Dawkins County. Macon is always griping about it. That’s why so many of us switched to AOL. It could be anything. Just be patient, Nana. He’ll call. You know he will.”

  Nana heaved a long sigh. “Thank you, Ash. You’re right, of course. It’s nothing. Erasmus is good as gold. I just got worried when I saw the way he looked when that woman took his laptop.”

  The apprehension that had been whispering to me all day became a roar of worry. I gripped the little phone tighter. “Emma? She had a warrant for the computer?”