From San Francisco to Chicago on Tuesday, and back on Wednesday, left Vicki free by Thursday morning. She at once telephoned the minister. He said she might come over immediately.

Vicki found her way to Russian Hill, an area of steep, far-flung streets crisscrossed with leafy lanes. The church she was seeking was a handsome modern stone building. The minister’s residence next door, in contrast, was one of the old wooden houses with lacelike balconies and ornate cupolas that had survived the San Francisco earthquake and fire. A housekeeper admitted her and led her into Mr. Hall’s study.

Vicki’s first impression of the minister was of a pair of extraordinarily perceptive eyes. He received Vicki simply, without any ceremony, and made her feel at ease. She presented her credentials, wishing she could tell the minister about Lucy’s grandparents, and their wonderful plans for her. “I’m glad you have come to me, Miss Barr,” he said. “Are you a little worried, too, about Lucy?”

“I don’t know what to think, Mr. Hall. I had been advised by Lucy’s—ah—friends in New York that she was probably on vacation traveling with friends. Now I find that isn’t exactly how it is, unless there’s been some misunderstanding.”

The minister said that was possible. “Let me speak frankly to you, Miss Barr. I wasn’t keen about Lucy’s taking this job, at least not so quickly. I asked her to get a little better acquainted with Mrs. Heath first, before she went off traveling with her. It’s true Mrs. Heath showed Lucy unimpeachable references, and she seems to be a substantial person.”

“Did you meet Mrs. Heath?” Vicki asked.

“I very much wanted to,” the minister said, “but unfortunately the lady was too ill with a virus to see me. We did have a pleasant telephone conversation. I was left with the impression that she is above reproach. Still, I’m not satisfied.” He looked out the window where a lemon tree stood. “You see—”

The minister said that Lucy had met Mrs. Heath at the women’s hotel, and liked her from the start. In some ways Mrs. Heath reminded Lucy of her mother, whom she missed. Within a short time, only about a week, they were good friends and Mrs. Heath asked Lucy whether she’d like to be her secretary and traveling companion. Lucy came to Mr. Hall to talk it over with him. Mrs. Heath’s offer was attractive, a long-term job, interesting work, a good salary plus all her living costs paid for by Mrs. Heath, and a chance to travel. Lucy felt confined, living in the city and working at a routine job, so Mrs. Heath’s plan appealed to her.

“I pointed out to Lucy that she needn’t be in such a hurry to give up her job and accept this new one,” said the minister. “But she told me Mrs. Heath was eager to start work on her book. At any rate, as Lucy pointed out to me, they did not rush off at once.”

Lucy gave up her job at the insurance company and for the next two weeks helped Mrs. Heath prepare for their trip, and did some library research for her. “I must admit Lucy seemed interested and happy,” said the minister. In those two weeks Mrs. Heath allowed Lucy plenty of time to wind up her own affairs in San Francisco. Then, using Mrs. Heath’s car, or, rather, a car which Mrs. Heath rented for several months, they started out.

“When did they start?” Vicki asked.

“It was a Saturday, I believe the first Saturday in February.”

Vicki scribbled down this date, with a note. “And did they say where they were going?”

“Oh, yes, certainly,” the minister answered. “I don’t wish to give you the wrong impression about Mrs. Heath,” the minister said to Vicki. “I only wish Lucy had gone more slowly and made sure that she and Mrs. Heath really would be compatible over a period of several months’ close association—and checked a little on Mrs. Heath’s financial ability to pay all the bills and Lucy’s salary.”

Their plan, the minister told Vicki, was to head slightly north and east of Sacramento, into the Mother Lode country. Mrs. Heath had made an earlier trip through the hill region and had said that she might possibly rent a house in the area.

“I received a post card from Lucy,” said Mr. Hall. “Just a moment.”

The minister picked up a picture post card from his desk and handed it to Vicki. It was postmarked Placerville, California, February seventh, at four P.M. Vicki glanced at the desk calendar. February seventh was the first Saturday in February.

“Wasn’t this post card mailed the same day that Lucy and Mrs. Heath started out?” Vicki asked.

“Yes. Evidently Lucy mailed the post card en route. She says nothing, actually—‘Beautiful country, beautiful weather. Will write soon.’ But she hasn’t written since, Miss Barr. Not to me or, so far as I can learn, to any of her friends. And I don’t know where she is.”

Vicki felt a sharp misgiving. “Have you—have you planned to take any steps to get in touch with her, Mr. Hall?”

He hesitated. “It’s not quite two weeks since Lucy left. I believe they planned to work on Mrs. Heath’s book, so that possibly Lucy hasn’t had a chance to write to me. I don’t mean to alarm you, Miss Barr.”

“But I think you are a little alarmed, Mr. Hall?”

He thought for a moment. “Now that you pose the question, yes, I am uneasy about Lucy.”

“Did a Mr. Dorn ever call you?”

“Dorn? No.”

That troubled Vicki. She also wondered what really lay behind Lucy’s change of jobs. She remarked as much to Mr. Hall.

“Yes, I feel there is more to know about Lucy’s job situation than we do know,” he said. He reflected. “Maybe Gravy could tell you something more.”

Vicki smiled. “I beg your pardon, but did you say someone’s name is Gravy?”

The minister smiled back at her. “Graves. Knowlton Graves. He and his wife are young people, friends of Lucy’s. She’s the one who dubbed him Gravy. He’s a painter, and he’s been doing Lucy’s portrait. I think that because of work on the portrait the Graveses had been seeing Lucy oftener than anyone else had, just before she left.”

“Do you think Mr. and Mrs. Graves would be willing to talk to me about Lucy?” Vicki asked.

“We’ll see.” Mr. Hall picked up the telephone and dialed a number. He talked to Knowlton Graves, paving the way for Vicki. “Yes, I think Miss Barr can come over right away.” Vicki nodded. “What?... Yes, I’ll tell her. Thanks very much,” and the minister hung up. He turned to Vicki.

“Gravy wants me to tell you, with due apologies, that he has a heavy work schedule. If you’re willing to go over to Telegraph Hill for just a short visit, he’d be very glad to see you.”

Vicki got to her feet. “Even a few minutes’ talk could be revealing.”

Mr. Hall wrote down the Graveses’ address, and gave Vicki directions for getting there. She thanked the minister warmly for all his help and kindness. He said, just as warmly:

“I feel you and I are in league for Lucy’s best interests.” He smiled, and his eyes seemed to look through and through her. “Perhaps you have more news of Lucy than you were willing to confide in me on a first visit. Come back and see me again, whether or not you learn any news.”

Gravy was a large, noisy young man. He boomed at her that his wife Maggie was out shopping, he’d made a mess of the studio, and if she was a friend of Lucy’s how come he’d never met her before?

Vicki followed him into a workmanlike studio, explaining that she was only the friend of a friend of their mutual friend.

“How’s that again?” Gravy boomed at her. He looked at her sternly. “Interesting planes in your face. Ever sit for a portrait?”

Vicki perched on a paint-splattered wooden chair and said firmly, “No, and I’m afraid I’m too busy to. Can we talk about Lucy?”

“Okay. Gosh, you look serious. There isn’t anything wrong, is there? About Lucy, I mean.”

“I don’t know that anything’s wrong,” Vicki said carefully. “It’s just that I’ve heard confused reports about her, and she’s gone off traveling with a woman she hardly knows. That wasn’t wise.”

“My wife feels the same way you do—though I say that Heath woman sounds all right. Don’t worry.” Gravy moved a pile of unframed canvases out of the way, and sat down facing Vicki. “Lucy likes that Mrs. Heath. She was motherly to Lucy, I guess that’s why.”

Vicki asked whether the Graveses had heard from Lucy. They had not, and Gravy was untroubled about it. He said blithely:

“All I want is for Lucy to drop by here one of these days, so I can finish her portrait. Want to see it?”

He rummaged through the pile of canvases, pulled out one, and set it on an easel so Vicki could see it. She took a long, curious look. Allowing for the painter’s rather abstract style, she could see from Gravy’s portrait what Lucy Rowe looked like—a girl with big eyes, light-brown hair, a rather square face which in a feminine version recalled Marshall Bryant’s. Vicki could also see a little of Lucy’s pleasant personality from the easy way she had tossed a bulky green wool scarf around her shoulders, and her friendly half-smile. “Lucy looks as if she’s about to speak,” Vicki said.

“Well, we did talk a lot while we were doing this portrait,” Gravy said. “She was all excited about the job offer from Mrs. Heath.”

“Did she ever talk about anyone else?” Vicki asked. “About her parents, or—or her grandparents?”

“It’s funny that you should ask that. Sure, she always talked about her parents. But during the sittings a lot of stuff about her grandparents came out. Funny she never would mention their name, it was such a touchy subject with her.” Gravy looked searchingly at Vicki. “I guess it’s all right to repeat it, it’s not exactly a secret. A confidence, maybe. Well—

“Lucy told Maggie and me she’d always felt no one but her parents ever really wanted her or cared about her. She just couldn’t believe her friends care a whole lot about her, or that some day she’ll find a husband who cares for her and needs her. You know what that feeling comes out of? From the way her grandparents rejected her and her parents, all of Lucy’s life. Made them feel humiliated, left out. Wouldn’t answer their letters. Never even cared to meet their granddaughter. The three Rowes didn’t have any close relatives. They sort of huddled together by themselves; then Lucy lost her mother, and then her father. So now Lucy feels alone, and unwanted.

“Well! Along came this Mrs. Heath, and she was motherly to Lucy. Besides, she needed Lucy, she wanted Lucy to be with her—to help her with the book and to be her traveling companion. She even decided to go to the hills to please Lucy. Pretty nice of her, hey? You should have seen how much happier that girl was, all of a sudden! My wife says that’s why Lucy took the new job almost without hesitating. I tell you, Lucy’s heart is in that job.”

Vicki felt puzzled as she listened to all this. How could a lawyer like Mr. Dorn, a man trained to make investigations, not have unearthed the fact of Lucy’s job with Mrs. Heath? Except that Mrs. Stacey had said Lucy had been in and out of San Francisco several times with her friends, just around the time Mr. Dorn was here....

“Mr. Graves, did a man named Dorn get in touch with you?”

“Dorn? Never heard of him.”

“Did Lucy mention a Mr. Dorn to you?”

Gravy shook his head. Well, Vicki thought, Dorn and Lucy must have just missed each other, and some of her friends must have given him a garbled or incomplete account of her trip and plans and the respectable older lady with whom she was traveling.

“You said Mrs. Heath and Lucy were going to the hills. Can you tell me where in the hills?” Vicki asked.

“About a three hours’ drive from San Francisco, in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada Mountains,” Gravy said. “It’s east of the Great Valley, in the Mother Lode country with all those little pear-growing towns like Placerville and Auburn and Grass Valley. It’s west of the mountains on the way to Donner Pass. Just about where the hills really start to roll and climb and start turning into mountains. That’s where Lucy spent some happy vacations with her parents when she was a child.”

As Gravy talked, Vicki visualized a map of California in her mind and tried to fix the locale. “Isn’t the Mother Lode country where they first discovered gold in 1848?” Vicki asked.

“Right. That was gold-rush country. They’re still mining a little gold in them thar hills,” Gravy said with a grin.

Vicki asked him what that stretch of hills was like.

“It’s high, about fifteen-hundred to two-thousand-feet elevation, and Lucy talked about the pine trees. There are a few little towns scattered trough there, and a lot of small two-to five-acre pear farms and almond farms. Lucy said it was really pretty, kind of quiet and peaceful, not too many people around.”

“Isolated?” Vicki suggested.

“Well”—Gravy thoughtfully rubbed his chin—“I suppose if this Mrs. Heath wanted to find a real private location to hole up and write her book, she wouldn’t have too many neighbors to bother her in the Sierra foothills. Especially if she didn’t stay at inns, if she rented a house—” So Lucy and Mrs. Heath were somewhere in the Sierra foothills, around the pear-growing towns! Gravy had said that was about three hours’ driving time from San Francisco. By private plane, Vicki figured, it would take much less time. If she visited and inquired at the main villages in the area, she probably would learn something about the two women. Strangers in a rural area would surely be noticed.

“That’s what I could do,” Vicki thought. “It’s not much of a trip, and it shouldn’t be too difficult to look around a bit. I did promise Mrs. Bryant I’d do my best.”

She noticed Gravy glance, with embarrassment, toward the large clock on the wall.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Graves,” said Vicki. “Mr. Hall told me I mustn’t detain you too long.”

“Gosh, I’m sorry. Guess I told you everything I could about Lucy. Maybe Maggie could’ve remembered something more—”

Vicki said she hoped to meet his wife another time, thanked the painter, and went to the door.

“If you see Lucy,” said Gravy, letting her out, “tell her one more sitting will finish up the portrait. So long, now.”

If she saw Lucy! She wanted to try.

Vicki found a drugstore, ordered a coke, and took her bid sheet out of her purse. The bid sheet showed her scheduled flying days and her days off.

She had three rest days—today, tomorrow, and Saturday. Her next assigned flight, with Jean Cox, was not until nine A.M. on Sunday. That was fine.

This afternoon she could arrange to rent a private plane and study maps. Tomorrow, and if necessary Saturday, she could search for Lucy. That should be enough time.

Vicki had one misgiving. Suppose Lucy and Mrs. Heath were no longer in the Placerville region, where Lucy had mailed the post card? Suppose Mrs. Heath had decided to move on, or—a fleeting suspicion occurred to Vicki—suppose Mrs. Heath had never intended to settle in that region? The whole story of the sudden job offer disturbed Vicki as much as it had the minister.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Vicki decided, “and that’s to go look for Lucy Rowe.”