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Recognition sparked in the woman’s expression. She visibly relaxed. “Now that you say it, I see the resemblance. How’s she doing? I haven’t seen her in a few days.”

“I don’t know. She’s missing. That’s why I’m here.”

Phyllis’s eyes went wide as her mouth dropped open. “Oh, my God. Are you kidding?”

“I wish I was.”

“Well, I...uh...I’m so sorry to hear that.” Genuine concern echoed in her voice as she reached for the phone. “Why don’t you head on back, and I’ll let Mr. Salazar know you’re on the way. Up the stairs, third door on the left.”

Following the woman’s directions, they climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. To the right, a glass wall offered a view of the back of the building, not visible from the showroom, and it didn’t take long for Dorcas to realize that was where all the action took place. There were rows of cars, and lines of people, with an auctioneer in each lane bringing order to the chaos.

“It reminds me of ants,” a man said, and her head whipped toward the sound.

He was built like a bulldog, a clean-shaven man in his late sixties with broad shoulders, a big barrel chest, and slicked-back gray hair. But his face seemed kind, and it put her at ease, even though she was worried about her sister.

“Good afternoon. I’m Paul Salazar.” There was a hint of New York in his raspy voice. Brooklyn, or maybe the Bronx. Face lined with concern, he extended his hand, his grip stronger than she expected. “Did I hear right? Rita’s missing?”

“Yes. She’s not answering her phone or responding to email, and her house was ransacked yesterday.”

“Aw hell, I’m sorry to hear that. I had no idea. Do the police have any leads?”

“Nothing yet. She told me two days ago that she was going out of town on business. Is that right?”

His bushy eyebrows drew together. “Well...no. I don’t know why she’d say that.”

Dorcas’s stomach sank at his reply. “When did she last come to work?”

“To be honest, I’m not really sure.” He paused, his face scrunched up as though trying to remember a date. “I think it was Monday. I don’t work directly with Rita, so I don’t pay much attention to her schedule.”

“She works in accounting, correct?” Nate asked.

“Yep, my son Brett hired her straight out of college.” Salazar sounded proud of the fact. “She’s my best worker in that department. If it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t be able to keep track of the paperwork flying through this place.” A hint of a smile crossed his face as he gestured toward the window. “As you can see, our business relies on volume. It gets pretty crazy at times.”

“I can imagine,” Nate said. “How many cars do you move through here?”

“On a slow week, around fifteen hundred. This week, if all goes according to plan, it’ll be a little over eighteen.”

Nate let out a low whistle.

“Has Rita said anything about being harassed?” Dorcas asked Salazar. “At here or at home?”

He shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. Again, I’m probably not the best person to ask, but I don’t put up with that crap around here. We’re a family-owned business. I watch out for my people. If someone was bugging her, and I caught wind of it, that person would be out on their ass the same day. If you want, you can talk with some of the people in her department. They might be able to give better answers. I’d have you talk to Brett, but he’s at our Miami location today.”

“If we could, we’d really appreciate it,” Nate said.

“Sure, no problem. It’s the least I can do. Let me call Phyllis; she’ll take you back there.” He went into his office and came back out with a card. “I hope you find her. She’s a really good kid. If there’s any other way I can be of assistance, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I will.” Dorcas mustered a smile. “Thank you.”

Rita’s co-workers didn’t have any helpful information to offer, but they allowed her and Nate to poke around Rita’s desk, which, unfortunately, didn’t yield any clues.

“They all seem to care about her,” Dorcas said as they exited the building.

“Too bad that doesn’t get us any closer to finding her.” Nate ran a hand through his short, dark hair, something she noticed he did whenever he got frustrated. “She’s worked there for what, a year?”

“Something like that. Why?”

“Her desk seemed awfully sterile, especially for a woman. No offense,” he added when she shot him a dirty look. “Women tend to personalize their office spaces once they’ve been at a job for a while. You know, pictures, knick-knacks, stuff like that. Rita’s desk looked like it could have belonged to a temp. No coffee mugs. No snacks in the drawers. Hell, I didn’t even see a takeout menu.”