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“The bank president, Martin Kendley, is also a power in town. He and William Hinton have traded places as mayor a few times. Hinton’s got it now.”
    “What does Hinton do?”
    “He’s a developer. And another one of his pals is George Myers. He owns Pine Fairways, a golf course and resort just down the road from downtown.”
    They passed a couple of real estate offices. “Phil Davis handles high-end properties.”
    “No women are part of the power structure?”
    “I guess Doris Jenkins, the owner of several clothing boutiques, would qualify.”
    “Any of the people you mentioned ever been involved in shady stuff?”
    “If they had been, the police chief covered it up.”
    “There’s only so much he can do if a crime is on record.” Ben waited a beat before asking, “Where were you planning to stay? Not with your mom, I assume.”
    “Lord no. We’re coming up to several motels.”
    “Pick one.”
    “We’re getting two rooms,” she blurted before she thought about how that sounded.
    “Of course,” he answered.
    The first few motels they passed were full. The third, a place called the Beach Breeze, was more than she wanted to spend, but she had the feeling they weren’t going to do any better.
    She and Ben both went into the office and got adjoining rooms facing the highway.
    They each stowed their luggage and took a few minutes to freshen up, then met back at the car.
    “I’d like to talk to my mother,” Sage said. “Well, that’s actually not the way I’d put it. But I want to watch her face when she tells me what happened to Laurel.”
    “You think she’d lie to you?”
    “Or not tell everything she knows. Unless she thinks it’s to her advantage.”
    “Okay. We can put her first on our agenda. Then the police. Then the Crab Shack.” He gingerly touched the top of his head. “I can drive.”
    She didn’t argue because she sensed he hated being a passenger in his own car.
    “Left or right?” he asked as he turned the car toward the highway.
    “Left. It’s not far.”
    They headed for the other side of town, to the modest bungalow where Sage had grown up. It was on a side street that ended abruptly in a swampy area.
    The house had once been painted white. Now it was fading to weather-worn gray. The boxwood hedge around the front yard hid a patch of dirt and straggly weeds. The property had been part of Angel Baker’s divorce settlement from Gary Baker.
    Ben made no comment as he followed her up the sagging steps to the front door. She still had a key in her purse, but she knocked and waited until her mom answered the door.
    She’d been hoping for the best. But when Angel Baker came to the door, Sage was embarrassed.
    Her mother, who was in her mid-fifties with graying hair dyed blond, had on too much lipstick that was three shades too dark for her pale complexion. Her dress was a tight-fitting green number. And her high heels would have broken Sage’s arches.
    Mom didn’t say hello when she saw her older daughter standing in the doorway. Instead she greeted her with, “I was just getting ready to go to work.”
    “We’ll only keep you a minute,” Sage said, wishing she’d asked Ben to wait in the car.
    “Good because I’ve only got a minute.”
    “I came down here looking for Laurel. Aren’t you worried about her?”
    “I’m worried about keeping my job, so I can pay the bills.”
    As a salesclerk at one of the shops in town, Sage assumed. She didn’t know which one because Angel had been fired from a number of positions. She claimed that migraine headaches sometimes laid her low. Sage understood that was code for hangover, but in the tourist season, the shopkeepers needed clerks who knew how to use a computerized cash register, and they were often willing to give Angel Baker the benefit of the doubt.
    “When was the last time you saw Laurel?” she asked, keeping her gaze on her mother’s face.
    “I already told you over the phone when I checked to see if she’d