“Sounds like this has been going on for years. How old is she?”

“Well, I’ll be forty-three this month, so Daisy must be forty, forty-one… somewhere in there. I can hardly keep track of my birthday, let alone hers. I know she was seven when her mother bugged out.”

“What about her father? Where’s he at this point?”

“He’s still around, but his life’s been hell. Nobody wants to have anything to do with him. He’s been shunned, like that old tribal shit. The guy might as well be a ghost. Listen, I know it’s a long shot, but she’s serious. If he did it, she’s gotta know, and if he didn’t, well think about the service you’d be doing. You have no idea how screwed up she is. Him, too, for that matter.”

“Isn’t it a little late in the game?”

“I thought you liked challenges.”

“After thirty-four years? You gotta be kidding.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad. Okay, so maybe a few years have gone by, but look at it this way: the killer might be ready to bare his immortal soul.”

“Why don’t you talk to Dolan? He knows a lot of north county cops. Maybe he can help, at least steer you in the right direction.”

“Nah, no deal. I already talked to him. He and Stace are taking off on a three-week fishing trip, so he told me to call you. He says you’re a terrier when it comes to stuff like this.”

“Well, I appreciate that, but I can’t track down a woman who’s been gone thirty-four years. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“You could read the articles in the newspaper at the time.”

“That goes without saying, but Daisy’s capable, I’m sure. Send her to the library periodicals room-”

“She already has all that stuff. She said she’d be happy to give you the file.”

“Tannie, I don’t mean to sound rude, but there are half a dozen other PIs in town. Try one of them.”

“I’m not comfortable with that. I mean, it’d take me forever just to fill them in. At least you’ve heard about Violet Sullivan. That’s more than most.”

“I’ve heard about Jimmy Hoffa, too, but that doesn’t mean I’d go out and start looking for him.”

“All I’m asking you to do is talk to her-”

“There’s no point in talking-”

“Tell you what,” she cut in. “Come on over to Sneaky Pete’s and I’ll make you a sandwich. Gratis, on me, completely free of charge. You don’t have to do a thing except listen to her.”

I’d already zoned out, distracted by the promise of free food. The sandwich she referred to was the Sneaky Pete house specialty, which Dolan claimed was the only thing worth ordering-spicy salami on a kaiser roll with melted pepper Jack cheese. Tannie’s innovation was to put a fried egg on top. I’m ashamed to admit how easily I can be seduced. I glanced my watch: 11:15 and I was famished. “When?”

“How about right now? My apartment’s only half a block away. Daisy can walk over from there quicker than you can drive.”

I elected to walk the six blocks to Sneaky Pete’s in a futile effort to delay the conversation. It was a typical September morning, the day destined to be a carbon copy of the days on either side: abundant sunshine after patchy morning clouds, with highs in the mid-seventies and lows sufficient to encourage sleeping under a down comforter at night. Above me, migrating birds, alerted by changes in the autumn light, were making a V-line to winter grounds. This was the upside of living in Southern California. The downside was living with monotony. Even perfect weather palls when that’s all there is.

That week, local law enforcement was preparing for the California Crime Prevention Officers Conference, which was set to run from Wednesday through Friday, and I knew Cheney Phillips, who worked Vice for the Santa Teresa Police Department, would be tied up for the duration. That suited me just fine. Being a woman with a prickly disposition, I was looking forward to the time alone. Cheney and I had been “dating” for the past three months, if that’s a word you want to use to describe a relationship between divorced singles in their late thirties. I wasn’t clear about his intentions, but I didn’t expect to marry again. Who needs the aggravation? All that togetherness can really get on your nerves.

Without even having heard Daisy’s long, sad tale, I could calculate the odds. I didn’t have a clue how to search for a woman who’d been missing for three decades. If she was alive, she must have had her reasons for running away, electing to keep her distance from her only child. Then, too, Violet’s husband was still around, so what was his deal? If he’d wanted her found, you’d think he’d have hired a PI himself instead of leaving it to Daisy all these years later. On the other hand, if he knew she was dead, why go through the motions when he could save himself the bucks?