Laughing, the geezer stuck out his paw; Allen shook it.
Allen reached over to shake Mildred's hand as well, but that wasn't enough for the grandmotherly woman, who seized him in the bear hug to end all bear hugs.
“Let him go, Mother, he's turning blue!” yelled Cam.
Mildred released him and made a fuss of smoothing out his shirt. “I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you.”
“That's all right,” said Allen, massaging his arm. “The feeling will come back eventually.”
Mildred kissed him on the cheek saying, “It was very nice meeting you,”
“Yeah,” Cam said, “maybe our paths will cross again someday,”
“I hope so,” Allen said, knowing he would probably never see the old couple again.
The three spoke for a few minutes, and even exchanged cell phone numbers and email addresses.
Finally, Cam said, “Well, Mother, let's head into town and grab some lunch.”
“Have you had lunch yet, Allen?” Mildred asked.
“I just ate breakfast twenty minutes ago,” Allen replied, “but thanks anyway.”
Mildred reached down and patted Frankie's head. “You take care of Allen,” she said.
Frankie barked. They all said goodbye again, and Cam and Mildred headed up the street.
“I hate meeting new people, Frankie,” Allen said. “I hate saying goodbye and knowing I'll never see them again … except in my books.”
Allen tugged on Frankie's leash. “Come on, pal, time to write. If I really get going, I might even finish this book tonight.”
Chapter Twenty
At five thirty that same evening, Allen typed the words The End, and pushed himself away from the table. “The … end,” he said, as he wrote it. He stared at the words for a second and took out his cell phone. He snapped a picture of the words on the laptop screen. He brought up his contacts list; at the top was his deceased wife. In the past, when finishing his other books, he had always texted the photo to his wife. He knew she wouldn't receive the text this time, and there would be no reply, but he sent it anyway.
“There, Frankie,” Allen said. “All done. Now I just need to send the file to Mike.”
Mike Maxwell was Allen's publisher; he was also his cousin. Allen opened his email program and created a new message to Mike with the subject, Writer's block be damned. In the body he wrote, “Look upon my brilliance and weep.” He attached a Word file of the manuscript and hit send.
He glanced over at the clock on the nightstand.
“We better get going. Wouldn't want to be late for whatever weird wife-swapping orgy that might be awaiting us.”
Allen chuckled as he attached Frankie's lease.
“Crazy kids and their rumors.”
Frankie rode in the back seat, as usual. Allen cracked the window so the pooch could take in all the sights and scents. When Allen eased into the turn lane at the corner of US1 and Cider Hill Road, he pulled his cell phone from his front pocket. He waited for the light to turn green, and then drove around the corner. Steering with his left hand, and holding his cell phone in his right, he watched for a road sign that said Pudding Lane. He referred to his cell phone's GPS several times while navigating the winding country road.
“There it is, Pudding Lane,” he said, baring right.
In his text message, Paul Rose had said his place was the fifth house on the left. Allen counted homes as he drove slowly along the narrow street. When he came to number five, he pulled into the driveway.
Rose's house was an ivory, vinyl-sided, single-story with white trim and wine colored shutters, and an attached two-stall garage. On the right side of the concrete driveway was an old basketball hoop nailed to a twelve-foot treated four by four. The net had all but rotted away. Two maple trees sat in the front yard, as well as several varieties of shrubs.
Allen put the old Jeep in park and shut off the engine. He looked over at the house on the right, and then the house on the left. He wondered which neighbor kid started the wife-swapping rumor.
“Well, here we are, Frankie,” he said.
They got out of the car and walked up to the front door. Rose's wife must have seen them coming, because she pulled the door open just as he reached for the knob. She was grinning big, and held a glass of white wine in her hand.
“Allen Crane!” she said, a little louder than Allen was comfortable with.
Harriet wasn't what Allen had expected. For him, certain names always came with certain expectations. He attributed that to being a writer. He had imagined her as short and plump, but she was the exact opposite. Mrs. Rose was around five-nine, thin, with olive skin. She had long brown hair and dark eyes. She was wearing a black T-shirt and a pair of faded cut-off jeans with a few factory-made holes.
Allen thought Rose was attractive, but he had a hard time picturing her and Paul as swingers; they seemed like an average middle-class couple. Likewise, a cursory glance at the tasteful furnishings revealed nothing to suggest any kinky goings-on. They probably keep the Japanese sex swing and their other bondage stuff in the sex dungeon in the basement, Allen thought, the gears of his writerly brain turning, where they have the swinger orgies every Saturday night.
“You must be Mrs. Rose,” said Allen.
“Please, call me Harriet,” she said. “And who do we have here?”
“This is Frankie.”
“How are you this evening, Frankie?” Harriet stepped back and motioned Allen inside. “Paul!” she screamed, loud enough for Allen to flinch, “Allen's here!”
Allen walked into the foyer. To his right was the living room. Straight ahead was a hallway that led to the kitchen. The whole house smelled like whatever it was Harriet was cooking. Allen guessed it was a pork roast.
Harriet pointed toward the kitchen. “You can go right through there,” she said. “Paul and Starsky are out on the patio.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“I'll bring you a drink. What's your poison? Beer? Whiskey? Tequila? Rum? We got it all.”
“I'll take a tequila and Coke if ya have it.”
“Comin' right up.”
Harriet turned and walked into the living room, and Allen went toward the kitchen. He walked down the hall, through the kitchen, and to a sliding glass door at the rear of the house. He slid it open.
“Hey, Rose,” Allen said, stepping onto the concrete patio.
Frankie bolted through the door and ran up to Starsky. They sniffed each other's butts and then began chasing each other around the yard. Both dogs barked playfully as they acted out their own special brand of dog tag.
Rose was seated on a wicker sofa with his nose buried in a crossword puzzle magazine. The patio furniture was a matching six-piece set. It consisted of a sofa and two chairs. The Roses had arraigned them in the shape of a U, with an end table at each end of the sofa and a coffee table in the middle. A bottle of Coors Light sat on the end table to Rose's left. He looked up over the top of his reading glasses.
“Hey, Crane,” said Rose. “Ya find the place okay?”
“Yeah,” Allen replied. “I often wonder how folks found their way around before GPS.”
“We used maps, Crane. It wasn't that difficult.”
Allen took a seat in the chair to Rose's right with his back to the house.
“Can I get you a drink?” Rose asked.
“Thanks, Harriet is fixing me one.” Allen looked over at the dogs. They had already tired of their game and were lying in the grass, panting contentedly.
The door slid open, and Harriet stepped onto the patio. She was holding her glass of wine as well as Allen's tequila and Coke.
“Here you are,” Harriet said, handing Allen his glass.
“Thank you.”
“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes,” Harriet told the men.
She sat down in the chair across from Allen and put her bare feet upon the coffee table.
“Smelled really good in there,” said Allen. “Thank you for the i
nvite.”
“Thank you for coming,” Harriet replied.
Rose closed his crossword book and tossed it on the table. “Allen has been seeing Mya Duffy,” he informed his wife.
“Mya Duffy,” Harriet repeated. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“She was Jim Tucker's girlfriend.”
“Oh, Mya,” Harriet recalled. “Beautiful girl. How long have you been in town?”
“A week,” Allen replied.
Harriet shot her husband a look, then smiled politely at Allen. “Wow, you work fast.”
“Not usually,” Allen assured her.
“Where did the two of you meet?”
“Stones Throw.”
“She works there,” Rose added.
“You should have brought her with you.”
“She's working tonight.”
“Oh, that's too bad,” Harriet said. “She seemed like a very nice girl, the few times she and Jim were here.” She got up out of her chair. “Let me check on dinner, and I'll be right back. I have so many questions to ask you about writing.”
Allen sipped his drink. “Okay.”
“Don't bother him with a bunch of silly questions, Hare,” Rose said. “The man's on vacation. He doesn't want to talk about his work.”
“Oh, shush.” Harriet walked through the slider and closed it behind her.
“The reason she wants to yap at you about writing is because she wants to write a book.”
“Oh yeah? That's great,” said Allen.
“She can't write a book.”
“Hey, if I can do it, anyone can.”
“I doubt that.”
Allen checked the door to make sure Harriet wasn't returning. “Rose, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Why did Tucker and Mya's relationship end?”
“Why, what did you hear?”
“What makes you think I heard something?'
“Because you said you had spoken with Mya's grandmother.”
“So?”
“Tucker's mentioned before that the old woman didn't like him.”
Allen gave a non-committal shrug. “Why wouldn't she?”
“What did she say?”
“She said Tucker didn't treat Mya very well.”
“Yeah, well, I don't know, it's hard to say. I guess they dated for a while when they were kids, and then again right before he moved to Boston. According to Tuck, he wanted Mya to come with him. She wanted to stay here. When he finally moved back, they rekindled their relationship. I only got his side of the story so …”
Harriet opened the door and walked back outside. “Only got whose side of the story?” she asked. “A few more minutes on dinner.”
“I asked why Tucker and Mya ended their relationship,” said Allen.
“He's nuts,” Harriet said.
“Hare!” said Rose.
“What? He is.” She sat down and pulled her legs up under her. “The last time they were over here, Mya got to talking with me in the kitchen. She told me she was thinking about breaking up with him. She said he had anger and jealousy issues.”
“I'll admit, he's a little high-strung sometimes,” said Rose.
“I think it was a little more than just being high strung,” said Harriet. “Mya almost seemed to be scared of him.”
“Scared of him?” Rose repeated doubtingly. “He's a good kid. I've known his family for years.”
Allen decided not to tell Rose about Tucker's visit to his motel room, and Mya's strange behavior since. It was obvious that Rose and Tucker were friends, and Rose was eager to give Tucker the benefit of the doubt in any situation. He wondered if he should get Harriet alone and discuss it with her.
“You're only sticking up for Tucker because he's a cop,” said Harriet.
Rose raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah,” he replied. He picked up his beer bottle and downed what was left. He held it out to Harriet. “Can you get me another, Hare?”
Harriet sighed. “I guess.”
“Don't sound so excited.”
“Did that come off as excitement?” Harriet asked. “It was supposed to sound like I thought you were too lazy to get your own beer.” She winked at Allen, and chuckled.
Allen laughed. “I guess she got ya there,” he said.
“She's gonna get a boot in the—”
“Watch it, pal,” Harriet warned, and snatched the empty out of her husband's hand.
“Love ya, babe,” Rose said playfully.
After Harriet stepped back inside, Rose turned to Allen. “Why all the questions about Tuck?” he asked.
“No reason,” said Allen.
“There's always a reason. This isn't the first time you asked about him.”
“Yeah, I know. I always get accused of asking too many questions. It's a hazard of being a writer. I like to know about people. I like to know what makes them tick.”
Rose nodded. “Yeah, I get that. I figured you were asking so many questions because you were afraid Tuck was going to cause trouble between you and Mya.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I don't think you have anything to worry about. Besides, in a few days, you'll be heading home, and everything will be back to normal.”
That was the second time Allen had heard his departure described as everything getting back to normal.
The door slid open.
“Dinner's ready, boys!” Harriet sang out. “Come and get it!”
Rose shot out of his seat before Harriet finished her sentence. Allen wasn't too far behind him.
“I'm starving,” Rose said. “Never got lunch today.”
“You could stand to miss a few meals,” said Harriet.
“Wow,” Rose said. “You hear her?”
“I heard her,” Allen answered.
The table had been set with three place settings. The pork roast sat on a platter near the head of the table. There were mashed potatoes in one bowl, and pork gravy in a boat. There were warm rolls rolled up inside aluminum foil. Two smaller bowls contained vegetables—corn in one, green beans in the other.
“Looks and smells fantastic,” Allen said. “I didn't eat this well for Thanksgiving last year.”
“Sit down and dig in,” said Rose. He sat down at the head of the table and picked up the carving knife that lay next to the roast.
Just as Rose was about to cut into the meat, he said, “Son of a bitch,” stood, and reached into his front pocket for his cell phone.
Allen and Harriet focused their attention on Rose.
“Sergeant Rose,” he answered. “When?” His eyes went from Harriet to Allen as he spoke. “Both parents? Okay. Ten minutes.”
Rose hung up his cell and put it back in his pocket.
“Everything okay?” Harriet asked.
Rose stepped out from in front of his chair. “Got a couple missing kids. Been missing since yesterday evening.”
“How old?” Harriet asked. “Boys or girls?”
Rose shot Allen a look. “Two boys, age twelve.”
Allen got a sick feeling in his gut.
“One of the boys is staying at the Sunrise Motel,” said Rose.
“Shit,” said Allen.
“Isn't that where you're staying?” Harriet asked.
“Yes,” Allen replied. “Is it Jacob Palmer?”
Rose nodded. “It is. Oliver Dutcher—a local boy—is missing too. I gotta go.”
“I'm sorry, Harriet,” Allen said, standing, “but I better go too.”
“Of course,” Harriet said.
Allen and Rose hurried toward the door.
“If they've been missing since yesterday,” Allen asked, “why are we just now hearing about it?”
“Each boy told their parents they were spending the night at the other boy's place.”
“Stupid kids,” Allen muttered with much concern.
“Stay calm,” Rose said, opening the front door. “We usually find missing kids within a few hours. Pro
bably just stayed at another friend's house. I wouldn't be surprised if they weren't already located by the time we get to the motel.”
“Let's hope so.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Allen and Rose arrived at the Sunrise Motel in separate vehicles, there were already two units from the York Police Department, as well as a state police cruiser and two cars from the York County Sheriff's Department, on scene.
Allen jumped out of his Jeep and hurried toward room number four. He glanced toward Donnie's room. Donnie was standing outside his door watching. As Allen approached the building, an officer stepped in front of him.
“Are you the father?” the officer asked.
“No, just a friend,” Allen replied. “Still no sign of the boys?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Jay's not here?”
“Jay?”
“Jacob Palmer's father.”
“No.”
Allen walked past the officer and up to the Palmer's open door. Tess was seated in a chair next to the table holding her baby on her lap. A female officer stood near her making faces at the baby.
“Tess,” said Allen.
“Allen.”
“Nothing?”
Tess shook her head. “I should have bought him a cell phone. Why didn't I buy him a cell phone? His father wanted him to have one, but I—”
“Tess, stop. Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be fine. They'll find them. It's probably all a misunderstanding. They're playing in the woods somewhere, or at another friend’s house.”
Tess wiped a tear away from her red, swollen eyes. “Where is he?”
Allen sat down on the end of the bed, facing Tess. “Where's Jay?”
“He was in Ogunquit all day. He's on his way. He should be here any second.” She sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. Oliver's mom, Annie, called here to say he had forgotten his inhaler at home. She was going to bring it over here to him.”
“You thought they were sleeping at his house, and she thought they were sleeping here.”
Tess nodded. “Yes. I should have called over there yesterday. I should have made sure.”
“When was the last time Annie saw them?”
“Around four yesterday afternoon. They've been gone for over twenty-four hours.”
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