She found it helpful to put herself in the shoes of that person, to retrace steps in reverse. But this was different. Carol Wentz had never been seen at 2921 Muriel Court. Only her wallet had been seen there—a flimsy tie to say the least, as wallets went missing a lot more often than their owners. It was very possible someone had stolen the wallet from Carol—or even found it somewhere—before leaving it in the Neff living room. Yet Brenna was compelled to drive there—yanked, as if the Neff house was made of magnets. It all begged the question: Who is my real missing person? Brenna had no desire to answer that one, so she stared at houses instead. Main Street may have been a Growing Dinosaur, but Muriel Court—at least the western part of it—was a true time capsule. Everything about that stretch of street looked exactly the way it had back in 1998—the uniformly square and manicured lawns, staid New England homes looming over them like reproachful aunts. No add-ons or swimming pools or studio spaces.
