Chapter Two: That Wasn't My First Choice

With a map of Phoenix spread on the hood of her car, Allison traced two routes. With a red pen, she traced a path from the Rakowsky house on Grey Street to the law offices on Parker Boulevard where Daniel Rakowsky was a consultant. Calculating mileage in her head, she estimated that it would take a normal driver going at the posted speed limits about twenty minutes to cross the city and arrive at the office. With a blue pen, she traced a trail from the law offices to the Rutledge Docks, and from the house to the Rutledge Docks. And with a black pen, she scribbled in information about Daniel Rakowsky.

"Show me where you saw your father's car," Allison requested of Rikki, who stood beside the car, almost astonished that anyone was taking her seriously.

Rikki peered over the map, scanning for familiar lines of latitude and longitude. Finally she said, "There. That's where his car was."

Allison looked to where the girl's finger was. "That's all the way over in Briar Heights," she said. "Mr. Devalos told me that your father's car was found at the Rutledge Docks."

"There's a river than runs through Briar Heights, isn't there?" Rikki asked.

"Yes, the Troubadour River."

"Then it was there."

"Let's go," Allison said.

They picked up Marie at day care and strapped her into her car seat in the back seat. Megan sat next to Marie, and she seemed to enjoy Marie's babbling. Allison drove with Rikki in the passenger seat, crawling through the subdivision of Briar Heights. "Anything look familiar, Rikki?"

Rikki shook her head. "No." But then she sat forward and pointed to a house on the corner of Peachtree Lane. "That's the house," she said. "I saw that house in my dreams."

Allison checked the address; it was 510 Peachtree Lane. The address, as far as she knew, was not in any of the case files. Indeed, it was almost twenty miles from the Rakowsky house on Grey Street. "Are you sure?"

Rikki looked as though Allison had asked her to get out of the car and run beside it. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Okay." Allison pulled up to the curb and put the car into park.

"What are you doing?" Rikki asked, looking horrified.

"I'm going to find out who lives there," Allison explained.

"Why?"

"If this is the place, then we're going to know about it sooner or later. I'd just prefer that it be sooner."

"You're going to go to the door?"

"That wasn't my first choice," Allison said, and turned the car off.

The mailbox was a sturdy plastic one, obviously designed to reduce vandalism and attacks with baseball bats. Allison jimmied the door, which stuck, and removed a piece of mail. It was a Publishers' Clearinghouse ad, addressed simply to "Occupant." The next piece of mail was better; it was a letter addressed to "Jim and MaryAnn Billings, 510 Peachtree Lane."

Allison put the mail back into the mailbox and shut the door. She got back in the car.

"Well?" Rikki asked.

"Jim and MaryAnn Billings. Does that mean anything to you?"

Rikki thought. "No," she said at last. "Does it mean anything to you?

"No," Allison answered. "Let's go home."

"Home?"

"I've got dinner to fix," Allison said, "and I'd be honored if you'd eat with us. You said your brother works, anyway. You can keep the girls entertained… if you don't mind, that is."

Rikki smiled. "I would be honored."

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