“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve known you too long. I could sit here and tell you what I’ve been doing, but you probably already knew in the first twenty seconds. Tell me.”

“Janet, I don’t see why I should waste your time—”

“I need to know I didn’t come here for nothing. Tell me.”

Kendra sighed. “You’re still volunteering at the ballet, but for some reason you’ve been focusing on the American Ballet Theatre instead of the San Diego Ballet Company, even though it meant driving all the way down to Costa Mesa every night when they were in town last week. And you did drive down there five nights in a row when they were performing Giselle, didn’t you?”

Janet stared at her for a long moment. “Okay, that’s amazing, even for you.”

“And even though you were upset and spent the morning staking out the police station, you didn’t come right here, did you? You still pulled it together enough to go to work and teach a swimming class this afternoon.”

“There was no one else qualified to fill in. The kids would have been disappointed.”

“Of course they would. I would have been when I was your student. And you’re still fond of those overpriced coffee drinks. You had one on your way over here.”

Janet brushed her lapel. “Don’t tell me I spilled some on myself.”

“Not a drop. But it’s possible you may have spilled some on the seat of your new Volkswagen Bug.” Kendra pointed to a yellow VW parked just a few feet away. “That one. Nice car. It suits you.”

Janet smiled for the first time since confronting Kendra. “There must be fifty cars in this lot. How did you know it was mine?”

“Modern-day VW’s have a unique fob that swings out the ignition key with the press of a button, kind of like a switchblade knife.”

“But you couldn’t see it. It’s been in my sweater pocket the whole time.”

“Along with your hand. You’ve opened and closed it a few times since we’ve been sitting here. Nervous habit? I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it. It’s a very distinctive sound. There’s only one Volkswagen in this entire lot, so that has to be yours.” Kendra pointed to the car. “I see five parking stubs on your dashboard with Segerstrom Center for the Arts clearly printed at the top of each. None show a great deal of sun fading, meaning that they were put there recently, no more than a week or so, and probably on consecutive days, since there is some variation, but not a lot, in the fading between the various tickets. I happen to know that ABT’s production of Giselle played there Tuesday through Saturday last week, so it wasn’t a great leap to figure that your volunteer work has recently been centered in Costa Mesa.”

“And the swimming class? My hair is dry.”

“It is. But I can still smell the chlorine. It’s kind of hard to miss even after you’ve shampooed. I have fond memories of that school’s over-chlorinated pool.”

“What about my iced coffee? Was that just a guess?”

“They’re all guesses. I work the odds based on my observations.” Kendra pointed back to the trash can next to the building entrance. “There’s a clear coffee drink cup in the trash over half full of ice with no trace of any melting, meaning that the last of the liquid had been slurped up just seconds earlier. I didn’t see anyone entering the building or leaving the parking lot, so I’m thinking it was yours.”

Janet nodded. “You never disappoint, Kendra. It doesn’t surprise me that the police come to you for help.”

“But I’m not a cop. I’ve helped the FBI on a few cases, but my work is in this building, helping people and doing academic research. I don’t want to be anything but a music therapist.”

“I know, and believe me, I wouldn’t be here if I had any idea where else to go. If the police won’t help me, what else can I do?”

Kendra stared at Janet for a long moment. She resented the intrusion that her occasional investigative work made in her life, but this was different. Janet was a friend, and she was clearly distraught. And what’s more, Kendra owed her. When would she ever get another chance to repay Janet for all the wonderful things she had done for her?

“I’m really not sure what I can do for you, Janet.”

“Okay. Okay,” Janet said jerkily and jumped to her feet. “I knew it was a long shot when I came here. I’m sorry I bothered you with this, Kendra.”

Kendra took her arm. “But I’m willing to try. Of course I’ll help you any way I can.” Kendra stood up. “Normally I might like to see his house, but if it’s been cleaned out like you say, that might not do us much good.”

Janet breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re going to do it? So where do we start?”

Kendra thought for a moment. “Go back to your place and gather every piece of information you have on Dale. Every photo, every vacation video, and everything that belonged to him. I’d also like the name of every friend he has. Is he on any of the social networking sites?”

“No. He says he doesn’t believe in that stuff. And he says he doesn’t keep in touch with anyone from his past. He says he’d rather look forward than back.”

“Where did he work?”

“He ran a business out of his house. Computer support for local businesses.”

“Interesting. And he doesn’t believe in using computers to promote his business?”

“He said that his business only makes him aware how insecure our personal information is on the Internet.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with that.”

“I’ll pull his stuff together. Do you want to meet tomorrow?”

“No. Tonight. The sooner I get started, the better chance I’ll have of helping you.” Kendra walked toward her car. “I’ll be at your place in an hour.”

An hour later Kendra stood in the kitchen of Janet’s modest Escondido home staring at a mound of photographs and personal mementos on the glass dinette table.

“Are you sure you only dated him for a year?” Kendra said. “There’s enough stuff here for twenty years of marriage.”

“You said you wanted everything. And I’m too sentimental to throw anything away. I still have the ticket stubs for every movie and concert we saw together.”

“I can see that.” Kendra picked up a stub. “Who’s the polka enthusiast?”

“Neither of us, but we both like beer.”

“Ah.”

Kendra held up a photograph and studied it. “Is this him?”

Janet looked. “Yes. It’s not a great shot, though. Here, let me find a better one.” Janet pulled several more photos from the pile, but in each one her fiancé’s face was turned away or partially obscured.

“He wasn’t crazy about having his picture taken, was he?” Kendra said.

Janet continued looking through the pile. “Not really. Almost every time I was about to snap a shot of him someplace, he asked to take my picture instead.” She finally pulled another photo out. “Here’s a good one. I guess I surprised him.”

Kendra took the photo from her and looked at the handsome fiftyish man seated at the back of a catamaran. Dark hair, tanned skin, and a warm, inviting smile. “Good-looking guy. Where was this?”

“Catalina. It was just a couple of months ago.”

“Do you have any video?”

“He gave me an iPhone for my birthday, and we shot some video on it at his house. It’s not of him, though. He was doing the shooting.”

“I’d like to see it. Is it still on your phone?”

“No, it’s on my computer now.” Janet flipped up the lid on her laptop, clicked open the file, and played a ninety-second video in which Janet spoke to her unseen fiancé as he demonstrated her new phone’s capabilities.

After the video ended, Kendra thought for a moment. “This was in his house?”

“Yes, his living room.”

“Where was he from?”

“He was born in Dallas. He lived there all his life until he moved here to San Diego just a couple years ago.”