Since Emma had houses to show, we didn’t have time to do much more than agree to continue our talk that night. She agreed to bring her brother and sister to my place in the evening so Kate and I could interview all three of them together. Her other brother was away at school, but Emma said she would call him hoping he’d participate via speakerphone.

For my part, I promised to send a copy of the contract Emma had signed with Venture Productions to a lawyer friend. Because she now mistrusted Erwin Mayo for failing to reveal up front that he knew about her missing sister, Emma was willing to give up everything he’d promised her in order to reclaim her privacy. Mark Whitley, my attorney friend, is a defense lawyer, not a contract specialist, but I was hoping he could get an opinion from a colleague, see if there was any way Emma could escape from the deal she’d made.

The minute we arrived home from Green Tree Realtors, Kate went straight upstairs for a nap. She probably hadn’t slept a wink last night. Me? I was hungry, and PBJ sounded good. Either that or a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. I chose the healthier option and I made the sandwich, spreading peanut butter on both slices of bread. I was already feeling Kate’s holistic health presence and could only hope I wouldn’t be force-fed organic bulgur wheat “meat loaf” or a tofu stir-fry for dinner. Diva jumped on the counter and sniffed my sandwich, offered me a look of disdain, then scurried away to parts unknown. But Webster? He was at my side, anxious as a kid on Christmas Eve for any crumbs to fall his way.

While I ate I called Jeff, and he answered right away-something that never happens when he’s in town and working cases.

After our initial hellos, I said, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too,” he answered.

I wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing so far away-he’d actually taken vacation time-but I decided to stick to my plan and not question him. We ended up talking about my new case.

When I was finished summing up, he said, “No murder victim?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I was pacing in the kitchen, Webster shadowing me.

“You seem to attract those kinds of cases. PIs don’t have to be involved in murder on every job, hon.”

I smiled. He’d started calling me “hon” about a month ago and I loved it. My ex had always called me “babe,” and I thought I’d never be a fan of sweet nothings again. “Jeff, I’ve done plenty of reunions without murder involved. And maybe you haven’t noticed, but I pick my cases because they’re challenging. Murder is pretty damn challenging-or at least you seem to think so.”

“True. Guess I worry about being way up here if you run into trouble.”

“I can get your advice on the phone, and believe me, I will.”

“It’s not the same,” he answered.

He sounded down, and I was proud when I chose not to say, Then get back here and help me! Still, restraint was uncomfortable territory. Maybe I could learn from this experience. “Needing help doesn’t always have to do with cases. You might have to talk me to sleep while I snuggle with Diva. She is a poor substitute for you, as much as I love her.”

“I would very much enjoy talking to you while we’re both in bed, if you know what I mean.”

I could picture him with one of his rare grins, and I laughed. “Oh, I know what you mean. Glad we have a plan.”

We talked for a long time, moving on to Kate’s breakup with Terry. Jeff was no more surprised than I was. The man’s an ace detective who can read people in a minute. Apparently he’d assessed and formed an opinion about their relationship even earlier than I had.

I said, “There’s some book called He’s Just Not That into You, and I think the title should have included both sexes. No matter how many times Kate said she loved Terry-and I think she tried hard to make those feelings real-maybe she was never that into him. I had sensed resistance building in their relationship, this tiny hint of tension between them.”

“I remember you telling me she didn’t want to move in with Terry in the first place, but he kept bugging her, and she, being compassionate and sweet, gave in,” Jeff said. “Yup, not that into him.”

“I am very into you, by the way. Call me tonight?”

“Will do.”

After we disconnected, I went to my office and called Mark Whitley at home. Without hesitation he told me to e-mail him the contract and promised to get someone on it. Mark is the go-to man for getting things done in a hurry. The lawyers at CompuCan, the company Kate and I inherited from Daddy, probably knew plenty about contracts, but if I gave them the job, I could join Jeff in Seattle for two weeks before I’d hear a word-and then the word would be a question and not the answers I needed.

After I hung up, attached the contract Emma had e-mailed me and hit the send button to Mark, I began researching Venture Productions and the two names that might help me learn more about the company-Chelsea Burch and Erwin Mayo.

Burch, I learned, had once been an evening anchor at a San Diego TV station, but there was precious little else on the Net about her life or career. Erwin Mayo’s Google results turned into a resume of all the shows he’d produced. I figured he probably owned a giant share of Coyote TV, the station that aired Reality Check. When my eyes grew tired of clicking from one Web page to the next, I quit. The man was obviously a seasoned veteran, probably knew every word in that contract Emma had signed. There would be no loopholes.

But that wouldn’t stop me from working for Emma. A missing baby? A missing mother? Those problems were right up my alley, and I wanted to know more, wanted to help her… Every new case was unique, often filled with surprises, and I couldn’t wait to get started.

Emma, her sister, Shannon O‘Meara, and her brother Luke O’Meara arrived at seven o‘clock that night. Emma brought a folder with more family pictures and her copy of the Venture contract. We all sat in the living room rather than cram into my office. Thank goodness no one was allergic to or afraid of animals, because Webster chose the eighteen-year-old, fair-skinned and blond Luke as his new best friend. Not to be outdone, Diva settled into Shannon O’Meara’s lap. She was sixteen, freckled and red-haired. What a difference a father’s genes could make. She was Emma’s opposite. Scott O’Meara, the nineteen-year-old, was supposed to call in from college.

After all the introductions were done and everyone had a soft drink in hand, we’d visited for a while and Kate and I made sure all three had our cards with our cell numbers. Kate began the interview, starting with Emma.

“Your brother and sister seem like great kids,” Kate said. “They’re polite, sound like they take school seriously, and they have the clear eyes of sober adolescents. Seems like you’ve done a fine job raising them.”

Emma had shed her business suit and was wearing khaki capris and a peach T-shirt, but she looked just as exotically gorgeous in casual clothes and with little makeup. “These kids made it easy. They’re smart, they help me, they’re…” Her voice cracked, and Luke, who was next to her on the couch, put an arm around her.

“Emma’s way cool, too,” he said.

Kate glanced at her watch. “It’s a little past seven thirty. Can we get your brother Scott on the line, since he hasn’t called us?”

But though Emma tried several numbers, she couldn’t find Scott.

“He’s probably mad,” said Shannon, staring down at the cat. “He stays that way.”

“Mad about what?” Kate scribbled something on the legal pad on her lap.

“How about everything?” Luke stroked Webster’s head. The dog sighed and settled on the floor, his head on Luke’s feet.

“He’s had his problems,” Emma said. “If he won’t participate, does that mean we can’t go on with this?”