For Michael, Rosa and the girls it had been a bad night and the morning wasn't getting any easier. Charlie and Jessie took turns crying for their parents every couple of hours. Rosa did her best to comfort them but there was no substitute for their mother. Every time she checked on Alex, she had her back to the door. The slight shaking of the covers led her to believe that she too spent most of the night crying.

By morning everyone was exhausted. Michael got up early to do what he could to help, but the girls were in no mood for an amateur. Alex didn't want any breakfast, Jessie's favorite cereal was empty and Charlie refused to eat the toast he made her because it was too brown.

When Rosa came downstairs everyone greeted her with open arms. Michael was especially grateful. Attempting to make a quick retreat, he was pulled back when the phone began to ring.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Alverez? This is Detective Hillman. I talked with Miss Ponsford last night. I understand that she'll be here sometime this morning." There was a slight pause, then he continued. "I forgot to ask her to stop by the station to go over a few things with me. Would you please ask her to give me a call when she gets in so we can set that up?"

At that moment Charlie spilled her orange juice and began to cry. Alex yelled at her as the juice poured onto her lap. Chaos was erupting.

"Yes, I'll relay that to her."

"Good. I'll be waiting to hear from her."

Hanging up the phone, Michael grabbed his coat and whistled for Reggie. "I'll call you later mom, I've got to go."

"Okay Mijo," she answered. "Alex, get a dish towel!"

He closed the front door sealing off the morning's pandemonium. The cold air grabbed at him with thick tendrils of gray vapor. His truck was all but shrouded by a gauzy curtain of heavy mist. Heading out of the driveway he felt lighter as his vehicle sauntered down the curves of the road. He took a deep breath and began to wonder what Hillman wanted – as a feeling of dread persisted.

~~~~~

Grace tossed and turned all night but when the alarm went off at 4:00 am she had to fight her way back to consciousness. She felt as if she were drowning in a pool of molasses. She labored to push herself up to a sitting position. Rubbing her eyes and stretching she realized she had a long drive ahead of her.

She grabbed her wool blend slacks and the Moreno wool tunic she'd laid out yesterday afternoon and went into the bathroom to shower. Seconds later she came back into the bedroom and threw the outfit on the bed. Opening her suitcase she grabbed her worn jeans and some undergarments. She took a black cashmere turtleneck sweater from the dresser and loafers from her closet. Now she was ready to shower.

Before leaving she repacked her suitcase exchanging the scarlet semi-formal for a three-quarter sleeve basic black knit dress. She tried to hurry and not think of why she needed to have so many plain dark clothes and accessories. She didn't want to dwell on the task ahead of her. She just wanted to get on the road.

A light drizzle was falling, soaking everything in a fine mist. Grace put her suitcase in the trunk of her Infinity and laid her long coat and dresses on the back seat.

It was just after 6:00 am when she pulled into the mini mart to fill up her gas tank. Busy making mental notes about how she left the apartment and what she would need to do later to take care of the rest, Grace got in line. Grateful she didn't have a pet to worry about, Grace paid the clerk and continued with her checklist as she walked back to her car. She had turned the heater off, appliances were unplugged, garbage taken out and perishables discarded. Content that everything was in order, Grace filled her tank with gas then headed to the Starbucks down the street  for a Grande Caramel Macchiato to help her focus on the long drive.

Sausalito was beginning to stir as she headed for the highway. The dim light of a promised new day began to melt the darkness, exposing shapes and forms in the gray mists of fog and drizzle. At least I'm not leaving the ocean. She turned her car left heading north on 101 towards Agate Cove.

As her drive got underway she let her mind wander where it would. She thought about her sister. Growing up they hadn't been especially close, with Laura a full eight years older. She always admired her, but in reality, they grew up in different decades, each with its own set of values, issues, styles and music.

Grace thought about her nieces. She hadn't seen them for two – no, three years. They must have changed quite a bit. Not having experience with children made her wonder what she would do about caring for her three young traumatized nieces. Grace felt her stomach tighten. It was all too much to think about. She reached over and switched on the radio, turning up the volume in an effort to blast everything else out of her head. It worked--for a while.

She enjoyed watching the beauty of the landscape. The leaves were changing color by degrees. Some were still green, others vibrant shades of orange, red and yellow. The rain stayed with her, first a foggy mist then later as she headed further north, a steady curtain pelting her windshield.

She began to feel a surge of anxiety as she passed turnoffs to Eureka and then Arcata. She was closing in on Agate Cove. Once there, she knew she'd have to start dealing with a situation that both saddened and frightened her. Reaching into her purse she pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with a few street names scribbled down in a rather crude attempt to navigate to Laura and Scott's house on Marina Road.

She had never been there. It had been almost three years since she had last seen Laura. She and Scott along with the girls had come to the Bay Area to have lunch with her in San Francisco. It was the holiday season and Laura was making one of her attempts to do a 'family thing'. Charlie was two. It was the first and last time she had seen her. Laura and Grace's lives had gone in separate directions. Laura with her family and teaching; Grace with her career and social life. She felt a deep pang of regret push against her chest, making it hard to breathe. Why hadn't she made an effort to visit? Now it was too late, she had lost Laura and was a virtual stranger to her nieces.

"Let's see," she mumbled, "Main Street exit." She turned and traveled for a while on a frontage road before coming to Beach Street. The area was very wooded and rural. It was quite breathtaking. A few minutes later she came to Pier Street and her first view of the Pacific Ocean since she had turned off of 101. A bait shop, several gift shops, a coffee house and a small market boarded a parking lot that Pier Street ran into. The pier itself stretched out a quarter mile. A rustic restaurant sat next to the pier. A wall of jagged rocks curved in a half circle – forming a shelter for small fishing and recreational boats. The downpour had almost stopped, turning back into a light mist. The horizon held variegated shades of gray, making Grace think to herself that all color had been washed away by the rain.

She followed Pier Street as it dipped and wound its way down to sea level. She turned onto Marina Road and continued as it ran parallel to the ocean. Spotting a driveway up on her left, she hoped that was it. The large mailbox had 1009 stenciled on its side.

She turned in and followed the driveway which slanted down and then straightened. The huge rustic house with a large circular stained glass window depicting a seascape was spectacular. The front entry and porch were oversized, and the double front doors were ornately carved. The large yard was neatly mowed and flower beds held cornflowers, Shasta daisies, and chrysanthemums. A large bush with tiny orange berries flourished in the front corner dwarfed by a huge oak tree. The forested patches that ran along both sides of the property,  gave the area an isolated feel.

Grace slowly opened her car door and unfolded herself from the front seat, never taking her eyes off the large house. It seemed more like a mountain lodge she observed as she stepped up on the covered wood porch. Several mobiles made from sea shells, driftwood and gull feathers, danced with the breeze as they hung down from the slanted beams of the roof. Looking up she realized the highest point must be at least twenty-five feet. The structure reflected both elements of mountain and coastal life. This is Jacques Cousteau meets Bonanza.

She jumped as the front door opened. In the threshold stood her biggest surprise of the day.