“You need to stay put in case Emma shows up. She’d get all worried if she arrived at the hotel and you guys were gone. Let me take care of this.”

“Please find her. I want to talk to her real bad.”

“I know you do. I’ll be in touch.” As soon as I hung up, I called DeShay. He answered on the first ring.

“What’s up, Abby? Think of something else you need?”

“No. It’s Emma. She didn’t show up at her hotel,” I said.

“She’s been gone a couple hours,” he said. “Maybe she had a flat tire or-”

“But she didn’t contact her brother and sister, and she would have done that.”

“Abby, come on. She’s a big girl. She can-”

“Would you mind checking with Don White or even traffic patrol? Meanwhile I’ll start calling hospitals. My gut tells me something’s wrong.”

He sighed. “Hospitals won’t tell you squat these days. I’ll get back with you in a few minutes.”

I was still pacing and chewing my cuticles rather than enjoying Haagen-Dazs when Kate came in through the back door.

“Hey,” she said, which was immediately followed by, “What’s wrong?” The shrink knew her sister.

“Probably nothing,” I said. “The house came down early, some unexpected things happened and now Emma didn’t show up at her hotel. She should have been there by now. Her brother called and sounded pretty worried.”

“And so are you.” Kate bent to scratch an excited Webster’s head. He started barking, then ran over and pulled his leash from the hook on the wall near the back door, hoping for a walk. “Okay, buddy. In a minute. What do you plan to do, Abby? Because you aren’t the kind to wait around.”

“I called DeShay for help.” My cell rang and I snatched the phone up from the kitchen counter.

“You were right,” DeShay said. “Emma Lopez was taken by ambulance to Ben Taub. Her car hit a cement barrier on the freeway. That’s all I got.”

“Oh, my God. Thanks, DeShay. I’m on my way to the emergency room.”

I closed the phone and grabbed my car keys and purse. “Emma’s been in a wreck. You want to go with me?”

She didn’t even need to answer. We took her 4Runner, and on the fifteen-minute ride I told Kate all that had happened today. She agreed we should wait on calling Luke until we knew Emma’s condition.

We hunted for a parking spot for what seemed an hour but was probably more like five minutes, then made our way to the emergency room. Ben Taub Hospital is a county facility, and the waiting area was swamped with sick and injured people. Kate and I weaved through the filled chairs, and I thought, This is where you come when you cannot pay. This is where you sit for hours to find out what’s wrong with you or your loved one. This is where you cry when you learn that the bullet your son or husband or brother took in the chest killed him.

The unhappy, pained faces only made my anxiety level rise. More than thirty minutes later, we finally convinced someone with access to the mysterious goings-on behind the closed double doors that we were friends of Emma’s and that her brother and sister were minors who had no clue about their sister’s accident. The convincing factor, unfortunately, was a call to the hotel where Luke and Shannon were staying. I’d hoped to be the one to call them, but it didn’t work out that way.

They gave me the phone then, and Luke insisted we come get him and Shannon. He sounded close to tears. Kate agreed to be their taxi while I was allowed into the belly of the ER. Behind curtain number one I heard a woman squealing like a pig caught under a gate, and I was also engulfed by more smells and sounds than my brain could sort. The nonsorting was probably a good thing.

A nurse’s aide pulled back curtain number four, where Emma lay, her gurney raised at the head. No hospital staff was with her, and the nice person who’d helped me left us alone. Emma’s upper body was wrapped like a mummy, her left arm bent at the elbow and secured against her stomach. Other than looking like she could use about a week’s sleep, she seemed in far better shape than I had imagined. She didn’t even have a mark or a bruise on her face.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” Emma said. “They took my clothes and purse and put them in that closet next to you. I couldn’t call anyone. Did Luke or Shannon tell you I was here?”

I explained about Luke’s call, then said, “The kids are on the way here.”

Emma’s eyes flashed with anger. “But the policeman said he’d call them.” She closed her eyes. “Oh, no. My fault. I think I gave him our old number, and with the house torn down… how could I-”

“It’s been an awful day, Emma. Don’t be so hard on yourself. What’s the word on your injuries? Nothing serious, I hope.”

“I have a cracked collarbone from the air bag. My car’s totaled, and this little visit will cost me a fortune.”

“Try not to obsess over things you can’t control.” I rested a hand on her knee. “Tell me what happened.”

“I’m not sure. The car behind me was tailgating, I think. I was distracted after all that happened today, not paying much attention to my driving. But the lights got so close and I thought that car might drive into my trunk. Then the headlights swung to my right, and next thing I know, I’ve got an air bag in my face and this serious pain in my shoulder.”

“Kids, probably. Or a drunk driver.”

“Funny, but the cop asked me if anyone was mad at me-mad enough to run me into that barrier. Could have been my own fault, though. I should haven’t been in the left lane.”

“The officer implied someone did this to you on purpose?”

“He asked a lot of questions. I think he was trying to understand why a woman who admitted to one margarita that didn’t even register on the Breathalyzer would drive her car into an immovable object.” She nodded with her chin toward her left shoulder. “Think this little problem will make Venture delay shooting their damn show?”

I smiled. “Wishful thinking. A broken collarbone may slow you down, but not them.”

“I can’t imagine they’d want the world to see me on TV like this.”

“More bad luck to exploit for ratings,” I said with a wry smile. But I wasn’t sure this incident had anything to do with luck, and the thought sent a small chill down my spine.

8

The following morning I showered by seven thirty, made a pot of French-roast coffee and then took my mug and a muffin to my office, ready to hunt down Xavier Lopez’s relatives.

Emma had been released from the hospital last night, not long after her brother and sister arrived with Kate. The kids were relieved to see that Emma could walk and talk. Before we all drove back to the hotel, my practical sister made sure Emma called her insurance company to inform them of the accident.

Then Kate took the phone from Emma and arranged to have a rental car delivered to the hotel-this over Emma’s protests when Kate told them to bill her. After we’d arrived home, my sister and I were asleep within a half hour. It had been a long day.

Today I would search for any of Xavier Lopez’s surviving relatives, and after devouring my blueberry muffin, I booted up my computer. Since Lopez had died at a young age, around thirty-three, his widow was probably still alive. The obituaries of fallen heroes, I soon learned, are easy to find, especially those related to a news-grabbing event like the marine barracks attack in ’83. It was one in a string of terrorist bombings that year, which offered more than a hint of what we now faced in the twenty-first century.

When I found Lopez’s obit, I sat back in my swivel chair and said, “Uh-oh. More surprises.” The article listed the surviving relatives as not only his widow, Gloria, but his two children, Xavier Junior and Raul. Did Emma know about them, too? She had to if she’d read the same obituary I was reading. Yet she’d failed to mention them. I wondered why.