The Hartswells lived on a pleasant suburban street lined with houses that had once probably resembled each other more than they did today. They had been built along a couple of general designs and changed through creative landscaping, additions, some second stories added on ranches, and a variety of windows. I parked at the curb in front of a two-story white house with bright blue trim, and went up a concrete walk to the front door.

Susan Hartswell was well into her pregnancy. She opened the door and we introduced ourselves as she took my coat.

“Has anything new come up?” she asked as I followed her to the kitchen.

“Nothing that I know of. Sandy is desperate to find her.”

“Sit where you feel comfortable. They’re both the same.” She was referring to two attractive fruit salads.

“Where’d you find such beautiful fruit at this time of year?” I asked.

“We have a great produce market in the next town. They fly stuff in from South America and California, and most of it is pretty good. You can drink juice or bottled water. I cleaned out all the tea and coffee when I got pregnant so I wouldn’t be tempted.”

I accepted juice and we dug in. “I have no record of what the detective asked you, or the police, so if I sound repetitive, please bear with me. Do you know how old Natalie is?”

“Probably older than she told Sandy. I’m thirty-six and she said she was three years younger than me, but I’d guess she’s my age, give or take a year.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Little things she dropped about high school graduation and what she was doing when Kennedy got shot.”

That was good thinking. I was talking to someone who used her head. “Do you remember when she met Sandy?”

“Maybe three years ago. Then they got married about two years ago. They weren’t married for long.”

“Do you remember where she met him?”

“In one of the museums, I think. I didn’t go with her that day.”

“Did you go together sometimes?”

“Lots of times.”

“To pick up men?”

“To see the exhibits and meet interesting people. You can meet men that way. Not a lot, but it happens.”

“How long have you known her?”

“I probably met her about four years ago. Maybe four and a half.”

“Where?”

“At this advertising agency we worked for. Hopkins and Jewell. She was there when they hired me.”

“And you just became friends.”

“We went to dinner sometimes, saw a play, gossiped about office things.”

“Did you meet any of her other friends?”

“Not that I remember. I don’t think she’d been in New York very long.”

“Where had she come from?”

“Somewhere in the Midwest. She sounded Midwest.”

I ate a juicy piece of watermelon. “Had she been married before?”

Susan didn’t answer right away. For the first time she seemed to weigh her words. “Natalie wasn’t the kind of person to let it all hang out. You always got the feeling about her that there was a lot beneath the surface. I respected her for it. She never told me she’d been married before. In fact, she told me she hadn’t been. But I thought there might have been someone once who meant a lot to her, someone she’d had a hard time forgetting. It doesn’t mean she was married.”

“But you got the feeling she wanted to settle down.”

“We both did. She wanted to get married, to have a baby, to be a family person, but she wanted to do it with the right man. She wanted to love him.”

“Did she love Sandy?”

“Passionately.”

“I saw your picture in the Gordons’ wedding album. You were Natalie’s maid of honor. Tell me about the wedding.”

“It was small, tasteful, expensive, traditional.”

“How did she do with Sandy’s relatives?”

“There were only a handful of relatives there. I’d guess most of the guests were his old friends and their wives. He joked that one of the men had gone to kindergarten with him.”

“She get along with them?”

“Natalie gets along with people. She knows how. Wherever she is now, she’s getting along.”

We had finished our salads and Susan moved the plates to the kitchen counter. “Feel like a cookie?” she asked.

“No thanks.”

She smiled. “Bless you. If you’d had one, I’d have had to join you, and I don’t need the calories. I just keep them in the house because of my husband.”

“You’re really doing everything right, aren’t you?”

“You have to. In the dark ages—when I was born—there was so much people didn’t know. They ate the wrong foods and drank the wrong drinks, they were afraid to exercise. This may be my only child, and I’m doing it right because with a baby, you can’t go back and correct your mistakes.”

I kept my opinion of her rather strong views on child-bearing and generation gaps to myself, but I was pleased she had led into a subject that I wanted to ask about. “Did Natalie confide to you that she was pregnant before she disappeared?”

It was the second time she paused and considered. “She didn’t know for sure, but she thought she might be. She was waiting to be tested. She was supposed to go the Monday after Thanksgiving.”

“I see.”

“Sandy had changed his mind about having a baby. When they were dating, he said he didn’t want another child. He has a couple of older children from his first marriage and he didn’t want to start over at his age.”

“But she married him anyway, even though she wanted a baby.”

“I told you, she was crazy about him.”

“Had she told Sandy her suspicion?”

“No. She wanted to surprise him when she knew for sure.”

“It’s nice that he changed his mind,” I said. “It really shows the marriage was working.”

“It was working. It was a great marriage. And I’ll tell you something. I was jealous to the core when she said she might be pregnant. I can’t tell you how much I wanted a baby. Do you have kids?”

“I was just married last summer.”

“Don’t wait too long. The clock is ticking.”

“What clock?”

“Your biological clock. Let that body of yours do what it was born to do.”

I promised her I would. “You’ve been very helpful, Sue, and it’s been a great lunch.”

“Anything,” she said with feeling. “I want her found. I want to know what happened to her.”

“I’ll do my best. Do you happen to know where she lived before this address?” I showed her the one Sandy had given me.

She shook her head. “That’s where she lived when I met her. I think she said she’d moved there around the time she started working at Hopkins.”

“Do you know if she ever had a roommate?”

“No idea. She didn’t when I met her.”

“Old boyfriends?” I asked.

“She went out, but if there was anyone important, I don’t think I knew about him. She would mention names sometimes, but mostly first names. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“You’ve helped me a lot.” I opened my bag and took out the ring of keys. “Do you recognize these?”

She shook her head. “Can’t say I do, can’t say I don’t. Should I?”

“I don’t know.” I wrote my name, address, and phone number on a piece of paper and gave it to her. “In case you think of anything. Did you tell the detective substantially what you told me?”

“Substantially. I didn’t tell him she thought she was pregnant.”

“Why not?”

“He didn’t ask and I didn’t think it was his business.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you for talking about her in the present tense.”

I had noticed she had done the same. I shook her hand, wished her well, and got my coat. Outside it was still bitter cold. As I walked to the car, for the first time I thought I heard my biological clock ticking.

7

It was two o’clock when I started the car and ten after when I spotted a pay phone. I didn’t know if Friday afternoon was a good time to call for an appointment, but I wanted to get one at Hopkins and Jewell as soon as possible. A very self-possessed sounding woman answered and I told her I was looking into the disappearance of Natalie Miller Gordon and wanted to talk to someone who had known her.