The Quarry Girls(12)

“Not tonight, I’m afraid.” His eyes grew shaded again. “I have to return to the office. That guy I was telling you about, Godo. I need to make sure I have all my ducks in a row to draw up charges if he shows his face in Saint Cloud.”

I nodded, feeling surprisingly sad.

“Don’t look like that, Heather. My work is important.” He picked up his fork. “Say, do you know an Elizabeth McCain? She would have been a high school senior this past year. She’s a waitress over at the Northside.”

My stomach clenched in worry. It must have been the Beth that Brenda had referred to on the phone, the one whose disappearance I had blown off. “I know who she is. Why?”

He used his fork to slice off a delicate triangle of meat, just like a gentleman. “She’s apparently been missing. Gone for nearly three days.”

This got Junie’s full attention. “Did someone kidnap her?”

Dad frowned while he chewed, an accordion of wrinkles developing above his brows. When he swallowed, he said, “Not likely, Bug. Probably hitchhiking somewhere. Kids that age get a wild hair and just take off. She’s all set to move to California for college in a few weeks. I’m sure she’ll show up by then.”

I nodded to myself, feeling the comfort of satisfaction. I’d guessed right when I’d told Brenda not to worry about the girl. I’d been wrong about my beans and franks not being as bad as they sounded, though. I pushed the hot dog pieces around my tray. “What time will you be home?”

I wanted to know whether to bother him about the game of TV tag. We didn’t have a curfew in the summer. Dad said he trusted me and Junie, and it was up to us to continue to earn that trust. That meant I didn’t do stupid stuff. Tunnel time didn’t count as stupid—it was part of Pantown’s fabric—so if he wasn’t even going to be home, he didn’t need to know about it.

“After you hit the hay,” he said. He dug back into his congealed food, his eyes brighter than usual. There must have been a lot more to this Godo case than he was letting on. I’d ask him more when Junie wasn’t around.

A knock on the door made us all jump. Visitors during dinner were rare in Pantown, where most of us ate meals at the same time. I pushed my chair back, but Dad held up a hand. “I’ll get it.”

He set his napkin on the table and strode to the door. His shoulders tightened when he opened it. “Gulliver!” he said, his voice deeper than usual.

Junie was leaning so far back trying to get a peek at the new arrival that she about tipped over. I slammed her chair’s front legs back on the floor. “Don’t snoop,” I said under my breath.

She scowled. “But we don’t know a Gulliver.”

She was right. In fact, this might have been the first time a stranger who wasn’t a salesperson had shown up at our door. Ever. I wasn’t sure of my duty in this situation, with Mom laid up in bed leaving me as the woman of the house. I stood and walked toward the couch and stopped, nervous. I still couldn’t see the man at the door. He was talking to Dad in a low and urgent voice, but then their conversation abruptly halted. Dad stepped aside.

“Gulliver, these are my girls. Heather and June.”

The man leaned into the room and nodded once, a quick and tight motion. He was the palest person I’d ever seen, so white he was almost translucent, his skin dusted with cinnamon-colored freckles that matched the color of his eyes, his close-cropped hair, and his mustache. Irish was my first thought—so different from the healthy cream and blue of the Pantown Swedes or the earth-colored eyes and hair of the Germans.

Outsider was my second.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said, holding up his hand in an awkward wave.

“This is Mr. Ryan,” Dad said. “The BCA agent I was telling you about.”

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” Junie said, her glance down but foxlike, not submissive.

We all stood like that for a few seconds, and then Mr. Ryan thanked Dad for his time.

“Sorry to bother you at home,” he continued. “I didn’t want to deliver the message over the phone.”

“Appreciate it,” Dad said, but his voice was gruff. “Care to join us for dinner? Heather could heat up another meal.”

“No, thank you,” Mr. Ryan said. “I’m off to Sheriff Nillson’s.”

He said his goodbyes. I returned to the table. So did Dad, but he didn’t pick up his fork. Junie and I watched him stare at something a million miles away. Finally he spoke. “They found a body in Saint Paul. Another waitress, but not Elizabeth McCain. They don’t have any hard evidence, but they think it might be that guy I told you about.”

“And you think he’s coming here?” Junie asked, her voice pitched high. “To Saint Cloud?”

That brought Dad’s mind back into the room. He squeezed her hand. “No, honey, probably not. It’s a long shot, anyhow, and we’re watching for him. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“That’s right, Junie,” I said, trying to be supportive of Dad. “You don’t need to worry.”

He tossed me a grateful look, and I took my cue from that. My job was to take everyone’s mind off the bad things, at least until Dad finished eating. I gave up on my pile of bean mush and leaned toward him, chin resting in the hammock of my hands just like I’d seen Mom do. “Did I tell you that the Girls are playing at the county fair?”