Selfridge, she of the magnificent banana bread.When Duckworth had left the station that morning he’d dragooned a female officer and put her on the phones to call nursing homes in and around Promise Falls to try to find where Sarita worked. It had occurred to him that, even if they were to call the right place, someone might deny employing a person here illegally.It was on the way to interview Derek that it hit him.“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he said to himself.He pulled right over to the curb, a couple of blocks away from Derek’s address, and got out his notebook and phone. He found Mrs. Selfridge’s number and dialed.She answered on the third ring. He identified himself.“Oh, hello, Detective,” she said. “If you’re wondering if Sarita’s come back, she hasn’t. She’s paid up to the end of the month, but I’m thinking I should start looking for a new tenant. I got a feeling she’s flown the coop for good.”“You might be right,” Duckworth said. “I wanted to thank you again for that banana bread.
