Carlene Thompson - Don

Enough of this ridiculous thinking of summer projects, she told herself sternly. She walked determinedly forward, rang the bell, and looked around the porch. Two green plastic lawn chairs and a pot of bedraggled geraniums. In a town where people took pride in creating lovely porches, Nick Meredith wouldn't win any awards. The house had the air of a stopping-over place, as if no one meant to stay. Or maybe it simply lacked the touch of someone who thought of it as a true home.

Natalie was raising her hand to ring the bell again when Mrs. Collins's broad face peeped through the sheer curtains. She looked blankly at Natalie. Natalie smiled encouragingly.

"I come in peace," she felt like yelling. Mrs. Collins blinked a couple of times then pulled away from the window. At last the door opened slowly.

"Hello. Remember me? Natalie St. John. I stayed with Paige the other evening."

"I remember you." The woman flushed. She probably also remembered Nick chewing her out for discussing the murders of Charlotte and Warren in front of Paige. She looked at Blaine, then at the guitar case. "Did you want something?"

"I promised Paige a guitar lesson. Sheriff Meredith said tonight would be fine." She paused. "He also said I could bring my dog." A lie, but she didn't think the woman was going to let them both in.

"Well, I guess it's all right if the sheriff said so. I try to take very good care of Paige. I treat her like my own daughter, but my girl was more manageable. Less sassy. Paige was born in New York City, you know."

Apparently Mrs. Collins thought being born in New York City explained any undesirable personality traits Paige might exhibit. Natalie and Blaine stepped past her. The woman continued to stare inhospitably. "Paige is here, isn't she?" Natalie asked.

"Of course she's here!" Mrs. Collins burst out. "Where else would she be? It's night!"

"I just thought she might be sleeping over with a friend."

"With a murderer on the loose?" Mrs. Collins demanded. "Besides, she doesn't have any proper friends. Just that young Jenkins hooligan. His mother should keep a closer eye on him and the sheriff should forbid Paige to see him. If she were my girl-"

"Is she upstairs?" Natalie interrupted to stem the flow of unwanted opinions.

"Yes. In her room."

"I'll just go up then. Second room on the left, right?"

She dashed up the steps, Blaine trotting behind her. She really shouldn't have come here, she thought. Clearly her visit annoyed Mrs. Collins, and even though Paige didn't have a set bedtime, she was probably getting sleepy by now.

A guitar lesson might simply be disruptive. She'd been thinking of herself when she came, not what was best for Paige. Maybe she wouldn't be any better at mothering than Kira had been. She'd make the guitar lesson short.

Natalie tapped lightly on the closed bedroom door. Her knock went unanswered. She tapped again. Nothing. Could the child already be asleep?

She turned the knob slowly and swung open the door. A small lamp glowed on the nightstand providing the light Natalie had seen from outside. A flowered quilt stretched over a small form whose auburn hair spread across a pillow. A pair of luminous green eyes stared from atop the chest of drawers. Ripley.

Something didn't feel right. Didn't Nick say Paige didn't go to bed early? And hadn't Paige told her that Ripley always slept on the bed with her? Maybe the cat left the bed after Paige went to sleep and she never knew it. Or maybe he was spooked by Blaine and had jumped to the safety of a high place. But he didn't look scared. And the auburn hair on the pillow had the metallic sheen of artificial hair. She walked over and pulled down the quilt.

Mrs. Collins had followed her up the stairs. "A doll!" she screeched as if saying, "A body!" Ripley stiffened, his tail snapping around to firmly cover his paws. Natalie walked to the window, which was raised. An arm's length away hung the sturdy limb of an oak tree. "Looks like Paige has escaped."

"Oh, my! Oh, Lord! Oh, gracious! Heaven help me!" Mrs. Collins bleated. "This is not my fault! It's not my fault! It is not my fault!"

"You were supposed to be watching her," Natalie said harshly, galled by the woman's concern for herself rather than the missing child. "How long has she been gone?"

"I have no idea." She met Natalie's incensed stare. "Well, I can't keep my eyes on her every minute!"

"Especially when you're spending all your time on the phone."

"I wasn't on the phone!"

"I tried to call twice before I came by. The line was busy and clearly Paige wasn't tying it up because she wasn't here. Now when was the last time you saw her?"

Mrs. Collins threw her a venomous look before her eyes filled with tears. "You're right. I was on the phone much too long. I just never thought she'd do anything like this."

"I understand," Natalie said in a milder tone. Soothing the woman was necessary to make her concentrate on what was important. "Calm down and try to remember when you saw her."

Mrs. Collins took a deep breath. "All right. Let's see. We ate dinner at six. She went up to her room for a while, then she came back down and watched something on television. I don't remember what. Then she went back up. That must have been around seven-thirty."

Natalie glanced at her watch. "It's 8:48. Over an hour unaccounted for, but I'll bet she didn't scoot out that window until nearly dark. It's been dreary all day, darker than usual…" Mrs. Collins nodded in vigorous agreement. "Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

"The Jenkins house?"

They looked up the number and called. A harried Beth Jenkins told Natalie she hadn't seen Paige for days. Was Jimmy home? Natalie asked. Beth dispatched her husband for a five-minute search that included a few gusty bellows of "Jimmy, where the hell are you?" Another child wailed in the background. They couldn't find Jimmy, Beth finally said. It was summer and he was always running around, but she was sure it wouldn't be after dark with a little girl. After all, Jimmy wasn't some kind of pervert. Is that what Sheriff Meredith thought?

Natalie assured her Sheriff Meredith liked Jimmy. She liked Jimmy. Jimmy was a fine boy. Natalie grimaced as she spent more time reassuring than gleaning information. When she hung up, she checked the time again. Nine. Far too late for Paige to be wandering around without adult supervision. "I'm going to look for her," she told Mrs. Collins. "You call Nick and tell him she's gone."

The woman shrank. "Oh, no! I don't think we have to tell him yet. She could walk in that door any minute."

"Or she could not walk in all night, and then what would the sheriff do if no one had told him his daughter was missing?" Natalie asked severely. "You must call him. Now."

The woman sighed shakily and plodded toward the bedroom extension as if headed for the guillotine. Natalie looked around Paige's room, then picked up an errant sock peeking from beneath the bed. Mrs. Collins was meekly asking to speak with the sheriff as Natalie left the room with the sock in one hand and the dog's leash in the other.

Natalie sat in her parked car, her hands on the steering wheel as she stared ahead, thinking. "Where would an eleven-year-old girl go on a summer night?" she asked Blaine. "Lily and I used to walk on the shore and go sit in The Blue Lady. A big, deserted place. Very daring of us, we thought." But The Blue Lady was three miles from the Meredith house. Quite a distance to cover on foot or a bike. And Paige was probably with Jimmy. No doubt because she was the relative newcomer to the town, he'd taken her somewhere familiar to him. But where would that be?

Natalie closed her eyes to concentrate. Where did Jimmy live? Across the street from Tamara. Natalie remembered the night she'd watched Jane Eyre with Paige. "Jimmy thinks Ariel Saunders's house is huge," she'd said, "but it's nothing compared to Thornfield Hall." Beside Tam's house ran Hyacinth Lane, which ended at the Saunders house. Paige had seen the house and Jimmy had been her guide.