42
Beth Holland had been watching TV, one eye on the window. Any moment she expected to see the sweep of headlights announcing Marie Lansing’s car.
She had gotten Bryan out of the house by quarter of nine. It was for Summer’s sake, because the two didn’t get along, and things were tough enough on children of divorce. Even though Summer knew they were involved, she didn’t want her to have to face the evidence first-hand. And so she had hustled to make her own bed and even wash the wine glasses and throw the wine bottle into the recycle bin.
Everything had been straightened up by nine o’clock. But nine became nine fifteen, then nine thirty. And now she was starting to worry.
She’d put off calling because she didn’t want Summer to think she didn’t trust her. But this was ridiculous. Steeling herself, she went to her address book and found the number.
Marie Lansing answered the phone.
“This is Summer’s mother. May I speak to her?” She didn’t want to embarrass Summer by telling Chrissy’s mother what it was about. They would have their talk and that would be it.
Confusion in Mrs. Lansing’s voice. “Summer? She’s not here.”
The girls couldn’t still be at McDonalds at this time of night. “She told me she was going to meet Chrissy and Jenny at McDonalds, and then go to your house.”
Marie Lansing said, “Chrissy’s here. Let me put her on the phone.”
As she waited, Beth started to feel more than worry. She told herself not to be silly. It was probably a misunderstanding.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Chrissy? Do you know where Summer is?”
“Huh-uh.”
Fear sharpened to a point. Take a deep breath. “I thought she was meeting you and Jenny at McDonalds.”
“No,” Chrissy said carefully. “I think she said she was busy tonight.”
“Busy?” She could hear her own voice, up an octave.
“I don’t know what she—I mean, I don’t think we had any plans,” Chrissy said quickly. “You could call Jenny. Maybe she knows.”
She gave Beth the number.
Dreading what she would hear, Beth called Jenny Conley’s house and started praying as she waited for Mrs. Conley to go get her daughter. Went through the same questions, the same elusive replies.
Whatever Summer had going, it didn’t include Jenny or Chrissy. Summer had lied to her.
Shaken, Beth put the phone down.
She stared at it for a moment. Then she picked it up again and called Buddy.
Buddy Holland was in the process of opening the door to his house in Bisbee when the phone rang. He locked the door behind him and carried the pizza from the Greek place and the beer from the Safeway over to the kitchen counter.
Then he stood over the phone, waiting for the message. He never answered the phone because of telemarketers. He hated them with a passion, but there was nothing he could do to them, so he didn’t waste his energy. Two things you had to just let slide in this world—spam and canned phone calls.
After the beep, Beth’s voice— strained and anxious—came on. “I don’t know where Summer is—“
He grabbed up the phone.
“Ohmygod, Buddy, she lied to me! I can’t believe it …”
The moment he heard her voice, he knew what had happened.
She was babbling. “I dropped her off at McDonalds and that was the last—“
“Beth, stop it. You need to calm down. Tell me exactly what happened. Don’t leave anything out.”
She told him. About the friends at McDonalds. About Summer’s promise that Mrs. Lansing would drive her home at nine. He glanced at the clock. It was a little after ten now.
Summer had been gone three hours.
When she was through talking, he said, “Listen carefully. I want you to call TPD right now. Have them send someone out to the house. Ask for either White or Cheek. I’m on my way.”
“She could just be meeting a boy. Don’t you think we should look—“
“Call them. Do it now. I’ll see you in an hour and a half.”
“You don’t think—“
“We don’t have time to think. Call them.”
When he hung up the phone, he sat down and closed his eyes.
This would be the end of his career. He had to face that. But his career was, at this moment, as unmourned as the uneaten pizza in the cardboard box. It meant nothing.
One thing for sure: He wouldn’t want to live if he never saw his little girl again.
He swallowed his pride and made the two calls: one to the Tucson Police Department, the other to the Department of Public Safety. He managed to convince the people who mattered that they needed to recall Laura Cardinal from Florida—now.
By the time she arrived, he would have psyched himself up sufficiently to tell her the truth.