PROLOGUE

“It’s quite beautiful, though, isn’t it, Mary?”

I look over the canvas and try to think of a diplomatic way to respond to Annie. I enjoy art as much as anyone, but my sister has a love for it that goes beyond simple enjoyment. Still, I can't for the life of me see how a few intersecting shapes painted in primary colors can command the same reverence as the sculptures of Raphael or the murals of Michelangelo. Surely, the Mona Lisa is a better example of a masterpiece than what looks to me like a child's drawing.

Eventually, I chose a non-answer. "It's really something."

She smiles at me. “You don’t like it.”

It’s not a question, and there’s no point in denying it. “I don’t understand it,” I explain. “It’s just shapes and colors.”

“Everything is just shapes and colors.”

“Yes, but… you know what I mean.”

“I do. Come on, let’s go look at the pottery. Those have different shapes and different colors!”

I roll my eyes, but I start laughing as Annie pulls me along.

"Now boarding all military members, passengers with disabilities, and members of our Admiral's Club."

The announcement pulls me from my memories. My group won’t board for a few more minutes, but I stand and gather my things anyway. My companion frowns at me. “Why are you getting in line already? We’re not boarding until group two. That’s at least five more minutes.”

“I might be five minutes early?” I reply. “Perish the thought.”

My companion, Sean O’Connell, rolls his eyes. “Well, I’ll sit if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. After all, you only have six and a half hours to sit on the flight. Then only two hours to sit for the drive to Monterey.”

“Have I ever told you that you have a lovely gift for sarcasm? Perhaps instead of a career as a detective, you should consider a career in film?”

“I’m not a detective, I’m a governess.”

“Who has solved four murders and is now attempting in earnest to solve a fifth.”

“We don’t know that she was murdered,” I remind him, my tone sharp.

He lifts his hands placatingly. “Right. Sorry. A disappearance.”

My sister Annie vanished without a trace thirty years ago. The police looked for her for several weeks before telling me and my parents that there was no evidence. Not just not enough to continue the investigation. No evidence at all.

I’ve spent the past thirty years convinced that answers are out there, but only within the past two years have I made an effort to find her, and only within the past few months have I pursued that in earnest. It’s the reason I hired Sean in the first place.

As for me being a detective and not a governess…

“I’m only behaving as any decent person should. When one is made aware of the fact that innocent people are being denied the justice they deserve, one should do whatever is in their power to bring them that justice, no?”

Sean sighs. “Let’s not argue, Mary.”

I press my lips together and turn away. This is a common disagreement between us. In four of my past five places of employment, I have been thrust into scandals and forced to solve murders. Sean would argue that I take it upon myself to solve murders.

But what am I to do? Should I just look away as everyone else has done and let their memories fade to dust? Should I let my sister fade to dust?

You did for twenty-eight years. Why change now?

Fortunately, the gate agent calls our group to board, and I’m able to push those thoughts to the background and board our flight. Sean and I take our seats in the cramped aircraft, and I wish that I’d spent a little more money for business class tickets. The older I get, the more legroom matters to me.

“Not bad for steerage, eh?” Sean says, settling into the seat next to me.

“Steerage?”

“Economy class. They called it steerage on the old transatlantic ocean liners.”

“Why do you call it steerage?”

He shrugs. “I like the word better.”

I smile slightly at him. He's among the most frustrating men I've ever met, but I must admit he's also one of the most adorable. "I was actually thinking that I should have spent more money and purchased business-class tickets."

He chuckles. “For a woman so concerned with comfort, you sure have a knack for getting yourself into uncomfortable positions.”

My smile fades. “I thought we agreed not to argue.”

“Right. My apologies.”

We fall silent for a while as the rest of the plane fills up. I watch them board: harried parents leading exuberant young children, stressed businesspeople whose thoughts are already on their next meeting, old people with the sage smiles of contentment that most elderly people find when they near the end of their lives and realize that very few things truly matter as much as they thought they did when they were younger.

All of them are living people with thoughts hopes, and dreams that matter. All of whom deserve to live their lives—whatever they might be—to the fullest. None of whom deserve to have those lives cut short due to the selfishness of another.

“Have you learned anything new?” I ask Sean.

“Nothing more than I told you the last time,” he says. “A woman matching Annie’s description was seen in Monterey shortly after disappearing from Boston thirty years ago. She stayed at the Bayside Hotel for a few months, then disappeared again. No one knows what she did after that.”

“Your contact. How did he know her?”

“He used to run the hotel. Sold it six years ago. The developer planned to convert the units into condominiums. The company folded a year later, and the building was left abandoned.”

“When we arrive, I’d like you to examine it.”

He looks at me. “First of all, I won’t find evidence of a woman who stayed thirty years past in a building abandoned five years ago. Second of all, even if I could, the demolition process began yesterday, so it’ll be rubble before I have a chance to get in.”

“One might say that there was no need to make the first point,” I reply drily. “In that case, I’d like you to talk to your contact again.”

"I would, but he's gone on, I'm afraid. I called him yesterday, and his granddaughter answered."

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

He shrugs. “He was ninety-seven years old and died a millionaire. He lived a full and a good life.” He turns to me with an expression that looks altogether too close to contempt. “Sorry. No mystery there.”

I turn full on him, and his contempt turns to consternation. “If you’d like to say something, perhaps you should say it clearly and stop hinting at it.”

Rather than hastily apologizing as I expect, he holds my gaze. “Everything I have to say I’ve told you before. I can’t stop you from doing what you’ve already decided to do.” His face softens. “But please be careful. You’ve been lucky so far. Your luck’s bound to run out eventually.”

“Annie’s luck has already run out,” I reply tersely.

The flight attendant begins the safety announcement, forestalling any response he might have. I keep my eyes firmly on the flight attendant during the demonstration. He’s a tall, well-built young man with a charming smile. At my age, thoughts of romance are purely academic, but they’re fun to indulge in on occasion and far more palatable than my irritation with Sean.

My lips burn as I remember the kiss we shared when he rescued me from Sophie Lacroix, the housekeeper who murdered my former employer and tried to murder me when I learned the truth. It’s the impulsive act of a woman who’s just escaped death, but it lingers in my mind far more pleasantly than I care to admit.

“What do you know of your new employers?” he asks.

I welcome the interruption from those thoughts and reply, “His name is Victor Holloway. He’s an artist of some renown, I understand. I am to care for his daughter, Celeste.”

When I learned that my sister went missing in Monterey, I looked for employment. I don’t need to work, since the money my father leaves me is managed well, but I couldn’t sit around and do nothing, so I looked through advertisements for governess positions in the area. Victor’s was the only one in the city itself, so I applied and was promptly hired.

I feel a touch of guilt. I tell myself that it’s better to allow Sean to do most of the digging when it comes to my sister’s disappearance, but a part of me wonders if it’s simply a reflexive action. It’s been suggested to me by others that I don’t truly want to know what happened to Annie. My guilt drives me to find her, but my fear drags out the process as much as it can.

You feel guilty for what you did to Annie.

Those words were spoken to me by a truly horrible woman, a therapist and a snake like most therapists are. It’s preposterous. I would never harm my sister.

But…

But it’s best I not argue, especially with myself. I push these thoughts aside once more and settle in for my flight to Monterey. Whatever else happens on the West Coast, I will learn what happened to my sister after she left Boston.