All in all, the laptop’s files were a disappointment, but they were not a surprise. After Europe, Nikki’s life had been remarkably self-contained. She’d gone blading, walked Jack, and kept almost entirely to herself. Other than that, and her sessions with Duran, she hadn’t done much of anything except, perhaps, watch television. So the blandness of her calendar did not come as a shock.

But it did raise an obvious question: why did Nikki need a computer at all? She could have done as much with a pad of Post-its. So maybe it wasn’t the computer they were looking for when they turned her apartment upside down. Maybe it was something else. (Then again, maybe she’d overlooked something.)

Suppressing a yawn, Adrienne went through the calendar, month by month, looking for something—anything—that might be unusual. But there was nothing. A dental appointment in July, a trip to the kennel in October, a reminder to see Little Feat at Wolftrap.

Adrienne frowned. Kennel?

Returning to the October entries, she clicked on the 19th, and brought up a screen:

Subject: Jack to kennel.

Location: Arlington

Start time: Sun 10/07

End time: Fri 10/12

Adrienne sat back in her chair, and eyed the screen with a look of puzzlement. Nikki never went anywhere—so why would she put Jack in a kennel? She thought back to the month before. There were a couple of days—she remembered, now—when she’d tried to get in touch with Nikki, but couldn’t reach her by phone. What was that all about?

She remembered being concerned, concerned enough, at least, to send an e-mail—which Nikki ignored, just as she’d ignored the messages on her answering machine. Adrienne had been about to go over there, to see if she was all right, when Nikki finally got in touch, acting as if nothing had happened.

Where have you been?

Nowhere.

‘Nowhere’?

I was busy. I forgot to call you back.

Adrienne thought about the date. October. Beginning of October. Right about then. A surge of guilty pleasure ran through her, riding the realization that her sister had lied to her. It was right there on the computer, and in her own words: Jack to kennel / Where have you been? / Nowhere.

She shut off the computer, got to her feet, stretched and yawned. Nikki had had a secret life. Somewhere.

In the morning, she woke to the sound of rain—a lot of rain—and the muted roar of surf, the unfamiliar feel of a bare mattress under her skin, and a scratchy blanket.

The cottage didn’t come with linens and this had slipped her mind when she and Duran went to the outlet mall. There were a couple of tattered beach towels, though, so at least a shower would be possible. Her head hurt and she put her hand to its side, gingerly exploring the swelling above her ear, a swelling that seemed, if anything, more tender than it had the day before. Swinging her feet out of bed, she glanced at her watch and blinked with surprise: it was almost noon!

She dressed quickly, pulling on a T-shirt and running shorts, although her plans for a morning run seemed overruled by the rain. Duran had been up for hours. He sat on the couch, showered and shaven, the remote in his hand. When she entered the room, he pressed the Mute button.

“Hi,” he said.

“You watch a lot of television, don’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question, but the irony went right past him. He thought about it. Finally, he said, “Yeah. I do.”

Like it was a realization.

He snapped the TV off, and tossed the remote aside.

“You should have woken me,” she told him.

He shrugged. “Why? It’s pouring outside.”

“There are things to do—before we go to New York.”

“Like what?”

“Coffee first,” she replied and, turning, went into the kitchen to put the teakettle on the stove. There was a plastic Melitta cone and a box of filters on the counter. Putting a filter into the cone, she placed it atop a blue cup, and spooned a couple of tablespoons of coffee into it.

“Did Nikki ever go away that you know of?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Duran replied, joining her in the kitchen.

“I mean, did she ever go out of town—as far as you know?”

Duran frowned.

“It would have been in the beginning of October,” Adrienne continued. “About ten days before… “ The teakettle began to scream, and she let the sentence die as she poured the boiling water over the coffee grounds.

“She missed an appointment,” Duran told her. “Around that time.”

“Did she do that often?” Adrienne asked.

He shook his head. “No. Hardly ever.”

“Do you know where she went?”

Duran shrugged. “No, but… when she came back, she was tan. I remember kidding her about it. I asked her where she’d been.”

“And?”

“She said she’d gone to the beach.”

“Which one?” Adrienne asked.

“She didn’t say. And I didn’t press it.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t want to get into it. And, I guess I wasn’t that curious.”

The wind had begun to kick up, the rain turning into a storm of interesting proportions. Lightning flared behind the windows, which rattled to the thunder. For a moment, it seemed as if the sky was coming apart.

“Nikki was terrified of lightning,” Adrienne remarked.

“She never said.”

“Really? She used to put on tennis shoes when she was a kid—for the rubber soles. Then she’d hide in the basement.”

A shutter tore loose outside and the wind bashed it against the house, smacking the wall over and over again. Duran headed outside to fix it, but Adrienne stopped him at the door, tugging at his arm. “Are you crazy?” she asked, and they laughed like kids, giddy with excitement.

Her hand was still on his arm, and for a second it seemed as if a kiss might happen. But then the air exploded like a bomb outside the windows—the lights blew, Adrienne jumped, and the house was plunged into a dark and sudden twilight.

When she caught her breath, Adrienne gulped and said. “Well, there goes the power.”

Duran grinned. “For a second, I thought it was the Rapture.”

So they played chess, which seemed safe enough, and didn’t require a lot of light. Duran improvised some missing pieces, using bottle caps as pawns and saltshakers for rooks. Adrienne wasn’t much good at the game, and Duran beat her in just a few minutes, playing in an effortless and distracted way.

“I think you’ve played this game before,” she remarked.

Duran shrugged. “Seems like it.”

“Take it from me,” she said, setting the pieces back in their squares. “I’m not much of a player, but Gabe…”

She stopped herself. “I had a friend once who was pretty serious about it—I mean, he was in a club or something. Anyway, he tried to teach me, so… it’s not like I’m an idiot at it.” She thought for a moment, then swivelled the board around and replaced the pieces she’d lost. “This time,” she said, “you play black. And don’t be so polite. See if you can really kill me.”

He did. And it didn’t take long. In fact, the only time it took was the time that Adrienne took to think through her moves. Duran’s moves were almost automatic, as if he knew every situation by heart—whereas she had to think her way through every pitfall and trap-that he’d set for her. After her ninth move, he looked at her and said, “Mate.”

She stared at the board, then shook her head. “I don’t see it.”

He shrugged. “It’s there.”

She looked at the board and frowned. “Where?”

“Coming right at you.”

Her eyes darted from piece to piece. Finally, she looked up, suspicion dawning in her eyes. “What are we talking about?” she asked.

Duran gave her a look of puzzled innocence. “Chess,” he told her. “What else?” Then he took her pawn, en passant, and in so doing, placed her king in check. Two moves later, and the game was over.