Four to Score

15

SALLY AND I stood inside the door and looked around. Bar and cocktail tables in the front. Small dance floor to the rear. Very dark. Very crowded. Very noisy. My understanding was that the Ballroom was a gay place, but clearly not everyone here was gay.

"What are all these ungay people doing here?" I asked Sally.

"Tourists. The guy who owns this place was going bust. It was a gay bar, but there weren't enough gay men in Trenton to make a go of it. So Wally got this great idea . . . he hired some guys to come in and dance and get all smoochy with each other, so the place would look really gay. Word got out, and the place started filling up. Like you could come here to see homos and be fucking politically correct." Sally smiled. "Now it's trendy."

"Like you."

"Yeah. I'm fucking trendy."

Sally waved to someone. "See that guy in the red shirt? That's Wally, the owner. He's a genius. The other thing he does is give the first drink free to daytrippers."

"Day-trippers?"

"Yuppies who want to be gay-for-a-day. Like suppose you're a guy, and you think it'd be a kick to get dressed up in your wife's clothes and go out to a bar. This is the place! You get a free drink. And on top of that, you're trendy, so it's all okay. You can even bring your wife, and she can try out being dyke-for-a-day."

The woman standing next to me was dressed in a black leather vest and black leather hot pants. She had an expensive perm that gave her perfect red curls all over her head, and she was wearing brown lipstick.

"Hi!" she said to me, all cheery and chirpy. "Want to dance?"

"No thanks," I said. "I'm just a tourist."

"Me too!" she squealed. "Isn't this place too much? I'm here with my husband, Gene. He wants to see me slow dance with a woman!"

Gene looked very preppy in Dockers and a plaid sport shirt with a little horse stitched onto the pocket. He was swilling a drink. "Rum Coke," he said to me, leaning across his wife. "Want one?"

I shook my head no. "I have a gun in my shoulder bag," I said. "A big one."

Gene and his wife moved away and disappeared in the crowd.

Sally had an advantage at 6'4". He was swiveling his head, looking the crowd over.

"See him?" I asked.

"No."

I didn't like being stuck in the Liberty Ballroom. It was too crowded, too dark. People were jostling me. It would be easy for Sugar to come up on me here . . . like Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald. That could be me. One shot to the gut and I'd be history.

Sally put his hand to my back to steer me forward, and I jumped and shrieked. "Yikes!"

"What? What?" Sally yelled, looking around panic-stricken.

I had my hand to my heart. "I might be a tad nervous."

"My stomach's a mess," Sally said. "I need a drink."

Sounded like a good idea to me, so I trailed behind him to the bar. Every time he'd push through people they'd turn and look and go, "Hey, it's Sally Sweet! I'm a real fan." And Sally would go, "Shit, man, that's cool."

"What do you want?" Sally asked.

"Beer in a bottle." I figured if Sugar attacked me, I could brain him with my beer bottle. "I didn't realize you were so famous," I said to Sally. "All these people know you."

"Yeah," Sally said, "probably half the people in this room have slipped a five under my garter belt. I'm like regional."

"Sugar's here somewhere," the bartender said, passing drinks to Sally. "He wanted me to give you this note."

The note was in the same tidy little invitation-sized envelope Sugar had given Grandma. Sally opened the envelope and read the note card.

" 'Traitor.' "

"That's it?" I asked.

"That's all it says. 'Traitor.' " He shook his head. "He's wigged, man. Beyond Looney Tunes. Looney Tunes is funny. This isn't funny."

I belted back some beer and told myself to stay calm. Okay, so Sugar was a little over the edge. It could be worse. Suppose the guy who was going around chopping off fingers was after me? That would be worrisome. He'd already killed someone. We didn't know for sure if Sugar was a killer. Arson didn't necessarily mean he was a killer type. I mean, arson was remote, right? So no point to getting all freaked out ahead of time.

Ranger moved next to me. "Yo," Ranger said.

"Yo yourself."

"Is the man here?"

"Apparently. We haven't spotted him yet."

"You armed?"

"Beer bottle."

He gave me a wide smile. "Good to know you're on top of things."

"No grass growing here," I said.

I introduced Ranger and Sally to each other.

"Shit," Sally said, gaping at Ranger. "Jesus shit."

"Tell me what I'm looking for," Ranger said.

We didn't exactly know.

"Blond Marilyn wig, red dress with short skirt," the bartender said.

Same outfit he had been wearing onstage at the club.

"Okay," Ranger said. "We're going to walk through the room and look for this guy. Pretend I'm not here."

"You going to be the wind again?" I asked.

Ranger grinned. "Wiseass."

Women spilled drinks and walked into walls at the sight of Ranger grinning. Good thing he didn't want to be the wind. The wind would have had a hard time with this group.

We cautiously elbowed our way to the back, where people were dancing. Women were dancing with women. Men were dancing with men. And a man and a woman in their seventies, who must have been from a different planet and had accidentally landed on Earth, were dancing together.

Two men stopped Sally to tell him Sugar was looking for him. "Thanks," Sally said, ashen faced.

Ten minutes later, we'd circled the room and had come up empty.

"I need another drink," Sally said. "I need drugs."

The mention of drugs made me think of Mrs. Nowicki. No one was watching her. I just hoped to God she was hanging around for her doctor's appointment. Priorities, I told myself. The apprehension money wouldn't do me much good if I was dead.

Sally went off to the bar, and I went off to the ladies' room. I pushed through the door labeled Rest Rooms and walked the length of a short hall. Men's room on one side. Ladies' room on the other. Another door at the end of the hall. The door closed behind me, locking out the noise.

The ladies' room was cool and even more quiet. I had a moment of apprehension when I saw it was empty. I looked under the three stall doors. No size-ten red shoes. That was stupid, I thought. Sugar wouldn't go to the ladies' room. He was a man, after all. I went into a stall and locked the door. I was sitting there enjoying the solitude when the outer door opened and another woman came into the room.

After a moment I realized I wasn't hearing any of the usual sounds. The footsteps had stopped in the middle of the room. No purse being opened. No running water. No opening and closing of another stall door. Someone was silently standing in the middle of the small room. Great. Caught on the toilet with my pants down. A woman's worst nightmare.

Probably my overactive imagination. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my heartbeat, but my heartbeat wouldn't steady, and my chest felt like it was on fire. I did a mental inventory of my shoulder bag and realized the only genuine weapon was a small canister of pepper spray.

There was the scrape of high heels on the tile floor, and a pair of shoes moved into view. Red.

Shit! I clapped a hand over my mouth to keep from whimpering. I was on my feet now. And I was dressed. And I felt sick to my stomach.

"Time to come out," Sugar said.

I reached for my bag, hanging on the hook on the back of the door, but before I could grab it the bolt popped off and the door was wrenched open, taking my bag with it.

"I did everything for him," Sugar said, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I kept the apartment clean, and I made all his favorite food. And it was working—until you showed up. He liked me. I know he did. You ruined everything. Now all he thinks about is this bounty hunter business. I can't sleep at night. I worry all the time that he's going to get hurt or killed. He has no business being a bounty hunter."

He held a gun in one hand, and he swiped at his tears with the other. Both hands were shaking, and he was scaring the hell out of me. I had my doubts that he was a killer, but an accidental gunshot wound is just as deadly as an intentional one.

"You've got this all wrong," I said. "Sally just decodes messages for me. He doesn't do anything dangerous. And besides, he really does like you. He thinks you're terrific. He's outside. He's been looking for you all night."

"I've made up my mind," Sugar said. "This is the way it's going to be. I'm going to get rid of you. It's the only way I can protect Sally. It's the only way I can get him back." He motioned to the door with the gun. "We need to go outside now."

This was good, I thought. Going outside was a break. When we walked through the Ballroom, Ranger would kill him. I carefully inched my way to the door and stepped out into the hall, moving slowly, not wanting to spook Sugar.

"No, no," Sugar said. "You're going the wrong way." He pointed to the door at the other end of the hall. "That way."

Damn.

"Don't think about trying something dumb. I'll shoot you dead," he said. "I could do it, too. I could do anything for Sally."

"You're in enough trouble. You don't want to add murder to the list."

"Ah, but I do," he said. "I've gone too far. Every cop in Trenton is looking for me. And do you know what will happen to me when I'm locked up? No one will be gentle. I'm better off on death row. You get your own room on death row. I hear they let you have a television."

"Yes, but eventually they kill you!"

More tears streaked down his cheek, but his eyeliner didn't smudge. The man knew makeup.

"No more talking," he said, pulling the hammer back on the revolver. "Outside. Now. Or I'll shoot you here. I swear I will."

I opened the door and looked out. There was a small employee parking lot to the right and two Dumpsters to the left. A single overhead bulb lit the area. Beyond the Dumpsters was a blacktopped driveway. Then a grassy lawn and the seniors' building. It was a really good place for him to shoot me. It was private and sound wouldn't carry. And he had several exits. He could even choose to go back into the building.

My heart was going ka-thunk, ka-thunk, and my head felt spongy. "Wait a minute," I said. "I need to go back inside. I forgot my shoulder bag."

He closed the door behind him. "You don't need your shoulder bag where you're going."

"Where's that?"

"Well, I don't know exactly. Wherever you go when you're dead. Climb into the Dumpster so I can shoot you."

"What are you nuts? I'm not climbing into the Dumpster. That thing is disgusting."

"Okay, fine, then I'll just shoot you here." He pulled the trigger and click.

No bullet in the chamber. Standard safety procedure.

"Darn," he said. "I can't do anything right."

"You ever shoot a gun before?"

"No. But it didn't seem like it'd be all that complicated." He looked at the gun. "Ah, I see the problem. The guy I borrowed the gun from left one of the bullets out."

He sighted the gun at me, and before he had time to pull the trigger, I jumped behind one of the Dumpsters. Bang, zing. A bullet hit the Dumpster. Bang, zing again. We were both so panicked we were acting unreasonably. I was running between Dumpsters like a tin duck in a shooting gallery, and Sugar was firing at shadows.

He got off five rounds, and then there was the telltale click again. He was out of bullets. I peeked out from my hiding place.

"Shit," he said. "I'm such a loser I can't even shoot somebody. Damn." He plunged his hand into his red purse and came out with a knife.

He was between me and the back door. My only real option was to run like hell around the building or across the grass to the seniors' building. He looked more athletic than me, but he was in heels and a skirt, and I was wearing shorts and sneakers.

"I'm not giving up," he said. "I'll do it with my bare hands if I have to. I'll rip your heart out!"

I didn't like the sound of that, so I took off across the grass for all I was worth, running full out for the seniors' building. I'd been in the building before. There was always a guard at the door at this time of the night. The front of the building was well lit. There were two double glass doors, and then the guard. Beyond the guard was a lobby where the old folks sat.

I could hear Sugar laboring behind me, breathing heavily and shrieking for me to stop so he could kill me.

I barreled through the doors and hollered for the guard, but no guard came running. I looked over my shoulder and saw the knife arc down at me. I spun to the side, and the knife blade sliced through the sleeve of my Rangers jersey.

The lobby couches were filled with seniors.

"Help!" I yelled. "Call the police! Get the guard!"

"No guard," one woman explained. "Budget cuts."

Sugar lunged again.

I jumped away, grabbed a cane from an old geezer and started slashing at Sugar.

I'm one of those people who imagine themselves acting heroically at disasters. Saving children from school buses dangling precipitously from bridges. Performing first aid at car wrecks. Rescuing people from burning buildings. The truth is, I totally lose my cool in an emergency, and if things turn out okay, it's through no effort of mine.

I was blindly slashing at Sugar. My nose was running and I was making animal sounds, and by sheer accident I connected with the knife and sent it sailing through the air.

"You bitch!" Sugar shrieked. "I hate you! I hate you!" He hurled himself at me, and we went down to the ground.

"In my day, you'd never see two women fighting like that," one of the seniors said. "It's all of that violence on television. That's what does it."

I was rolling around with Sugar, and I was shouting "Call the police, call the police." Sugar grabbed me by my hair and yanked, and when I jerked back I caught him with my knee and pushed his gonads a good six inches into his body. He rolled off me into a fetal position and threw up.

I flopped over onto my back and look up at Ranger.

Ranger was grinning again. "Need any help?"

"Did I wet my pants?"

"No sign of it."

"Thank God."

* * * * *

RANGER, SALLY AND I stood on the sidewalk in front of the seniors' building and watched the police drive off with Sugar. I'd pretty much stopped shaking, and my skinned knees had stopped bleeding.

"Now what am I going to do?" Sally said. "I'm never going to be able to get into that corset all by myself. And what about makeup?"

"It's not easy being a drag queen," I said to Ranger.

"Fuckin' A," Ranger said.

We walked back to the club parking lot and found our cars. The night was humid and starless. The air-conditioning system droned from the club roof, and canned music and muffled conversation spilled out the open front door into the lot.

Sally was unconsciously bobbing his head in time to the music. I loaded him into the Porsche and thanked Ranger.

"Always enjoy seeing you in action," Ranger said.

I drove out of the lot and headed for Hamilton. I noticed my knuckles were white on the wheel and made another effort to relax.

"Man, I'm really stoked," Sally said. "I think we should do more clubs. I know this great place in Princeton."

I'd just almost been shot, slashed, and choked to death. I wasn't feeling all that stoked. I wanted to sit someplace quiet and nonthreatening and eat my mother's cookies.

"I need to talk to Morelli," I said. "I'm going to pass on the clubs, but you can go on your own. You don't have to worry about Sugar now."

"Poor little guy," Sally said. "He isn't really a bad person."

I supposed that was true, but I was having a hard time finding a lot of sympathy for him. He'd destroyed my car and my apartment and had tried to kill me. And if that wasn't enough, he'd ruined my Gretzky Rangers jersey. Maybe I'd feel more generous tomorrow, when I'd regained my good humor. Right now, I was tending toward grouchy.

I turned at Chambers and wound my way to Morelli's. The van was no longer on his street, and I didn't see the Duc. Lights were on in the downstairs part of Morelli's house. I assumed he'd been told about Sugar and had ended the stakeout. I took my cookies and angled out of the Porsche.

Sally slid over to the driver's seat. "Later, dude," he said, taking off with his foot to the floor.

"Later," I said, but the street was already empty.

I knocked on the screen door. "Yo!" I hollered above the TV.

Morelli padded out and opened the door for me. "Were you really rolling around on the floor at the senior citizens' home?"

"You heard."

"My mother called. She said Thelma Klapp phoned her and told her you just beat the crap out of some pretty blond woman. Thelma said that since you were pregnant and all she thought you shouldn't be rolling around like that."

"The pretty blond woman wasn't a woman."

"What's in the bag?" Morelli wanted to know.

Morelli could sniff out a cookie a mile away. I took one and handed the bag over to him. "I have to talk to you."

Morelli flopped onto the couch. "I'm listening."

"About Francine Nowicki, Maxine's mother . . ."

Morelli went still. "Now I'm really listening. What about Francine Nowicki?"

"She passed another phony twenty. And my informant tells me Francine had a roll of them."

"That's why you were so hot to put her under surveillance. You think she's mixed up in this counterfeiting thing and she's going to take off . . . along with Maxine."

"I think Maxine might already be gone."

"Why are you still interested if you think Maxine's gone?"

I took another cookie. "I don't know for sure that she's gone. And maybe she's not so gone that I can't find her."

"Especially if her mother or her friend rats on her."

I nodded. "There's always that possibility. So what do you say, can I use your truck?"

"If she's still there in the morning I'll put a van in place."

"Her doctor appointment's at three."

"Why did you decide to tell me?"

I slouched lower on the couch. "I need help. I don't have the right equipment to do any kind of decent surveillance. And I'm tired. I hardly slept last night, and I've had a nightmare day. This guy emptied a revolver at me tonight, and then he chased me with a knife in his hand. I hate when people do that!" I was trying to eat a cookie, but my hand was shaking so bad I could hardly get it to my mouth. "Look at me. I'm a wreck!"

"Adrenaline surplus," Morelli said. "As soon as it wears off you'll sleep like the dead."

"Don't say that!"

"You'll feel better in the morning."

"Maybe. Right now I'm happy for whatever assistance you can give me."

Morelli got up and shook out cookie crumbs. "I'm going to get a glass of milk. Want one?"

"Sure."

I stretched out the length of the couch. He was right about the adrenaline. I'd stopped shaking and now I was exhausted.

* * * * *

I HAD a moment of disorientation when I opened my eyes. And then I realized I'd fallen asleep on Morelli's couch. And now it was morning. Sunlight was streaming through the front windows, and I could smell coffee brewing in the kitchen. Morelli had removed my shoes and covered me with a summer quilt. I did a quick check to make sure the rest of my clothes were intact before feeling too grateful.

I shuffled into the kitchen and poured out some coffee.

Morelli was buckling his gun onto his belt. "I've gotta run," he said. "I called your mother last night and told her you were here. I figured she'd worry."

"Thanks. That was nice of you."

"Help yourself to whatever. If anything comes up today, you can get me on my pager."

"Are you watching Nowicki?"

Morelli paused. "She's gone. I had someone check last night. The house is empty."

"Damn!"

"We might still get her. There's an alert out for her. The Treasury has resources."

"The doctor—"

"Nowicki canceled her appointment yesterday."

He gulped the rest of his coffee, put the mug in the sink and took off. He got to the middle of the dining room, stopped and stared down at his shoe for a minute. Thinking. I saw him give his head a single shake. He turned, strode back into the kitchen, pulled me to him and kissed me. Lots of tongue. Hungry hands.

"Jesus," he said, backing off. "I'm in really bad shape."

And he was gone.

* * * * *

MY MOTHER looked up expectantly when I came into the kitchen. Well? the look said. Did you sleep with him?

My grandmother was at the table with a cup of tea. My father was nowhere to be seen. And Sally was at the head of the table, eating chocolate chip cookies, once again wearing my bathrobe.

"Hey, dude," Sally said to me.

"Sally was telling us all about last night," Grandma said. "Boy, I sure wish I'd been there. Sally said you were the bomb."

"Of all places," my mother said, "the senior citizens' home. What were you thinking? You know how they talk!"

"We've had three phone calls so far this morning," Grandma said. "This is the first chance I've had to sit down with my tea. It's just like we're movie stars!"

"So what's new?" I asked Sally. "You have plans for the day?"

"I'm moving. Got a new place to live. Ran into some friends last night who were looking to replace a roommate. They've got a house in Yardley."

"Dang," Grandma said. "I'm going to miss seeing you sitting there in that pink bathrobe."

I puttered around until Sally was out of the house. Then I took a shower and straightened my room. I didn't like that I'd lost Mrs. Nowicki. All because I hadn't told Morelli the whole story soon enough. "Damn!" I yelled out. Now all I needed was for Joyce Barnhardt to haul Maxine in. "Shit."

My mother knocked on my bedroom door. "Are you all right in there?"

I opened the door. "No, I'm not all right. I'm bummed! I've screwed this case up, and now I have to worry about Joyce Barnhardt making my apprehension."

My mother gave a sharp inhale. "Joyce Barnhardt! Joyce Barnhardt couldn't carry your water pail! You're better than Joyce Barnhardt!"

"You think so?"

"Just go fix whatever it is you botched. I'm sure it isn't that bad. This woman you're after has to be out there somewhere. People don't just disappear."

"It isn't that easy. I've lost all my leads." With the exception of Bernie the horny drug dealer, who I wasn't crazy about seeing again.

"Do you know that for sure?"

Actually, no.

"You're right," I said. "It wouldn't hurt to check a few things out." I grabbed my shoulder bag and headed for the stairs.

"Will you be home for supper?" my mother asked. "We're having fried chicken and biscuits and strawberry shortcake."

"I'll be home."

My enthusiasm did another dip when I saw the Buick waiting for me. It was hard to be Wonder Woman in the Buick. It would be much easier to be Wonder Woman on a Duc, for instance.

I crawled onto the big bench seat and peered over the steering wheel at the powder-blue hood stretching endlessly in front of me. I turned the key and accelerated. Bzzzzzzzup, the car sucked gas and rolled up the street.

Morelli had covered Mrs. Nowicki's house, but he hadn't gone to see Margie. There was a slim chance that Mrs. Nowicki might be with Margie.

I didn't feel encouraged when I pulled up at Margie's house. Her car wasn't there, and neither was Mrs. Nowicki's. I went to the door and found it locked. No one answered my knock. I tiptoed around and looked in windows and saw no sign of life. No breakfast dishes left on the kitchen counter. No socks left lying on the floor. No cat curled in an armchair. The neighbor didn't pop out. Maybe she was used to me snooping.

I crossed the lawn and rapped on the neighbor's door.

She looked puzzled at first, then she placed me. "You're Margie's friend!" she said.

"Yes, and I'm still looking for Margie."

"You just missed her. She was home for a day, and now she's gone again."

"Do you know where she went?"

"I didn't ask. I just assumed it was back to the shore."

"Well, thanks," I said. "I'll catch up with her one of these times."

I went back to the car and sat there berating myself for a few minutes. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" I said.

I was on the road, so I thought, What the hell, I'll make a lastditch effort and double-check on Maxine's mother. No stone unturned.

I didn't see a car in front of her house, either, but I parked and went to her door. I knocked, and the door swung open. "Hello?" I called. No answer. I went room to room and was relieved not to find anyone dead, or scalped, or hacked into little pieces.

Maxine's mother hadn't lived well. The double bed mattress sagged miserably in the middle. The sheets were threadbare. A faded chenille spread served as blanket and bedspread. Both were littered with burns from cigarettes. The furniture was old and scarred, beyond polish. Rugs were soiled. Sinks were stained and chipped. The kitchen wastebasket was filled with booze bottles. And the house reeked from stale smoke and mildew.

There were no scribbled notes indicating travel plans. No magazine pages dog-eared to cruise advertisements. No fake twenties carelessly discarded. Mrs. Nowicki was gone and didn't expect to be back. I thought the open door was a blatant message. Let the wipe-ass scavengers pick this shit over, the door said. I'm movin' on.

I went back to the Buick and tried to piece things together, but I didn't have nearly enough information. What I knew was that Margie, Maxine's mother and Maxine were sticking together. I knew that Francine Nowicki had a bunch of bad twenties. I suspected that Eddie Kuntz wanted Maxine for more than love letters. And I knew someone wanted information on Maxine bad enough to kill for it.

I thought the most confusing element in all of this was the disappearance of Eddie Kuntz. He'd been missing for four days. I thought he'd have floated in on the tide by now.

I've checked on Margie and Maxine, I thought. I should check on Eddie Kuntz, too. Trouble was, I hated to tangle with Betty and Leo again. It was getting unpleasant. Of course, I could just ride by. Stopping could be optional.

I put the Buick in gear and cruised over to Muffet Street, pausing in front of the Glicks' house. Didn't look like anybody was home in either side. No Lincoln Town Car parked at the curb. I could feel my fingers getting twitchy, wanting to see if Eddie's front door would swing open like Francine's. Maybe since no one was around I could even help it swing open.

My heart did a little tap dance. Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie, don't even think what you're thinking! What if you get caught inside! Okay, I have to admit, getting caught inside would be a downer. I needed a lookout. I needed Lula. The office was about ten minutes away.

I hauled out my cell phone and dialed the office.

"Yeah, sure," Lula said. "I'm good at lookout shit. I'll be right there."

"I'm going to try to get inside," I told her. "I'll take my cell phone with me. You sit across the street and be cool and call me if Betty or Leo comes home. Then I'll go out the back door."

"You can count on me," Lula said.

I drove to the end of the block, turned the corner and parked. Then I walked back to the Glicks' house and marched up the stairs to the porch. Just to be sure I knocked on the Glicks' door. No answer. I looked in the window. No one walking around. I did the same on the Kuntz side. I tried the door. Locked. I ran around to the back. No luck there, either. I should have called Ranger instead of Lula. Ranger had a way with locks. I used to carry a set of lock picks, but I could never get them to work, so I threw them away.

I glanced over at Eddie's back window, next to the door. It was cracked open! No air-conditioning in the Kuntz side. You could probably bake bread on the kitchen floor. I slunk off the porch and gave the window a nudge. Stuck. I looked around. There was no activity in the neighborhood. No dogs barking. No neighbors watering grass. No kids playing. Too hot. Everyone was inside, running their air conditioners, watching television. Good for me.

I discreetly dragged a garbage can over to the window and climbed on. I balanced on my knees, gave the window a good hard shot and ZZZING! The window sailed open. I didn't hear anybody yelling "Hey, you! What are you doing?" so I figured everything was cool. I mean, it wasn't like I was breaking and entering, because I hadn't actually broken anything.

I slid the window back down and ran to the front of the house to make sure the Glicks hadn't come home. When I didn't see the Lincoln I felt a little more comfortable, so that my heart slowed down to almost normal. I did the upstairs first, methodically going room by room. When I got to the downstairs I looked out the window and saw the red Firebird parked two houses down. I searched the kitchen last. Milk in the refrigerator. And upstairs in his bedroom there'd been dirty clothes on the floor. Things that would lead me to believe he hadn't intended to go on a trip.

I found two key rings in the junk drawer by the sink. One key ring held several keys. Car key, house key, a locker key. The other key ring only held one key. My mother lived in a duplex like this, and her junk drawer held two key rings, too. One was an extra set of keys. The other was the key to next door.