“We could try going over to the address on the label.”

“Right. Let’s have dinner, then drive over there. If that doesn’t work, we can call every Burkhart listed and see if they’re related to Crystal.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes. Adam finished with the boxes of books and joined her. “Finding anything?”

“Not really.” She showed him the box she was working on now. “There are photographs in this one. It looks like Miranda just tossed them in. You know how people end up with dozens of photos. Most of the time you never look at them again.”

He moved nearer. “True, but let’s take a close look. Photos tell you where a person has been. Ever heard of ComStat?”

“No. It sounds like a computer program. What is it?”

“Hey…” He touched her arm. It was just a fleeting brush of his hand but she felt it everywhere. “You’re smart. It is a computer program that analyzes crime statistics. It can tell you where in a city a certain crime is most likely to occur, right down to the time of day.”

“Most people can figure that out by reading the newspaper.”

He chuckled. “There’s some truth in that, but ComStat goes further than simple stats. It can tell you a lot about victims and perps. Most people have what we call a Com-Z. That’s a geographic comfort zone. Killers don’t strike far from home-usually.”

Whitney thought about the person who’d tried to kill Miranda last night. She’d believed someone from far away had been after her cousin, but now she realized the killer probably lived in the area.

“People who go missing usually return to someplace where they’ve already been. It’s rare to find them in a totally new location.”

“Then Miranda’s in the state,” Whitney replied. “My cousin only left California once. A boyfriend took her to Hawaii.”

“Once that you know about. Isn’t it possible Miranda went other places during the years you were apart?”

“Anything’s possible,” she admitted.

They went through the photographs one at a time. They put certain photos that Adam felt needed a closer look in better light in a pile to take up to the house.

“You know,” Whitney said, unable to check the excitement in her voice, “this might be something.” She showed him a series of photographs with dates in the lower right corner. “These shots were taken last December on the eleventh.”

Adam took them from her and studied them closely. “She’s sunning herself at the beach. Not surprising.”

“I don’t think she was anywhere around here. I might be wrong but I believe it rained that week. I remember because Lexi’s birthday is December seventh-Pearl Harbor day. I was house-sitting at the time. I’d planned to take her to the Bark Park but we couldn’t go out for days because of the rain.”

“Really? All we have to do is check the National Weather Service Web site. It’ll tell us for sure.” He pointed to something in the background of one photograph. “See that?”

Whitney squinted. “An umbrella, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m wondering if it’s the kind we’d see around here. There’s a magnifying glass up in my uncle’s office. Let’s take a closer look.”

They set those aside and inspected the rest of the photographs. “Those pictures seem to be the only ones with the date on them,” Adam said. “That makes me think they were taken with someone else’s camera and given to Miranda.”

“I saw her pack a camera. It wasn’t a new digital model.” She closed her eyes and tried to see Miranda sticking the small camera into the side of a bag. She didn’t recall anything more about the camera and opened her eyes.

“Look at this.” Adam showed her another photograph. A beautiful dark-haired girl was tilting a large cake toward the camera. Rows of lighted candles lined the top. Garish blue icing proclaimed: Happy Birthday, Crystal.

“Ohmygod.” Whitney gazed up into Adam’s eyes. “We’re going to have to talk to Crystal Burkhart.”

RYAN CAREFULLY PLACED ASHLEY’S ring just under the bottom rim of the chest of drawers built into her enormous closet. She usually put her ring on top of it, near a photograph of them taken on their honeymoon. Last night, she’d left it in the kitchen. He’d noticed the ring when he’d been watching her rinse off dishes.

Right then a germ of an idea had begun to form. The huge ring had cost him a bloody fortune. He’d willingly spent it, not just because he loved Ashley, but because back then he’d been winning big-time. He’d wanted the ring to be really large so Ashley could flaunt it.

He knew if he took the ring and had the diamond replaced by a cubic zirconia, he could raise a lot of money. He’d been right. The jeweler grumbled but gave him a nice check. True, it wasn’t nearly as much as Ryan had paid, but he knew better than to expect to receive what he’d spent. Jewels were like cars-the minute they left the shop, their price dropped.

Ryan had taken the money and had gone straight to the casino. It was the middle of the day and only blue-hairs and the pros were playing. He’d won and won and won. Shit! Nothing could have stopped him except his love for Ashley. He left-in the middle of a winning streak-to pick up the ring refitted with the CZ.

He knew Ashley would have tried to put on the ring after she’d dressed. Hiding it under the bottom edge of the dresser as if it had fallen was the only plausible way to return the ring without arousing Ashley’s suspicious. He faced the CZ away from the light and dug the ring into the carpet a little bit.

He heard a noise and bolted out of her closet and flew into his. He yanked off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt so quickly that he almost ripped off the buttons.

“Ryan, what are you doing home?” Ashley called.

“I’m not allowed in my own home?” he joked as she appeared in the door of his closet. She still had on her workout clothes and looked rumpled, which was unusual.

“Of course.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m just surprised to see you. I thought you were in the office.”

“Not today. I was looking into something for Aesthetic Improvements. That’s the name we’ve chosen for the new group.” He noticed her brow crimp into a frown. She might have called Walter Nance, trying to locate him. “I didn’t mention it to anyone, but there’s a guy in Newport Beach who’s developed a cream to apply after laser treatments to prevent ghosting.”

“Really?” Ashley perked up.

She knew better than anyone that some laser treatments resulted in pink skin that took days to return to normal. When it did, the lasering often left a line of demarcation called “ghosting.” A light application of makeup concealed the ghosting, but some women resented having to use makeup, especially when working out or participating in athletic activities.

Ryan “feathered” his lasering to make the line less noticeable and blend it in, but it was still there. If anyone found a way to prevent “ghosting” it would be priceless.

“Does it work?”

“I’m iffy,” he responded. “I would want to test it on a few patients first. But the guy wants a fortune for a three-ounce tube. I don’t know if we want to ask our patients to buy it.”

“But if it’s so good I’m sure-”

“Let’s not worry about it.” He put his slacks in the wall-mounted ValetMaster to press the creases back into them. He usually sent his suits to the cleaners after he wore them once, but he needed to cut back expenses. “Let’s go out to dinner. How about Pomodoro?”

“I thought-”

“You’re right. We’re saving money. Let’s go to Sea Catch and buy some swordfish to grill.” He’d said this impulsively. After the mess she’d served last night for dinner, who could blame him for wanting to eat out? But she was right; they did need to economize. He couldn’t tell her about the money he’d won. He had it in his pocket. Tomorrow, he would pay down the loans on the house. The loans reminded him that she’d promised to contact a broker. “Did the broker agree to a reduced listing fee on the house?”