Though exhaustion was nipping at his heels, he didn’t allow himself to fall asleep; he sat in his recliner in the rec room, sipping another Coke (the caffeine was just the ticket), and watched television, volume low so as not to bother Pat. The Rockford Files he enjoyed — Jim Garner was just doing Maverick again, but that was okay with Michael — but halfway through Police Woman, he was thinking that Angie Dickinson’s good looks weren’t enough to justify this nonsense when, on the end table beside him, the phone rang.
He looked toward the hall, and the bedroom, wondering if it would wake her, expecting Pat to come rushing out.
“Smith residence.”
“Say,” an amiably gruff male voice said without preamble, “it’s Sid Parham. Listen, Cindy’s come home.”
He sat up. “What does she say about Anna?”
“Why don’t you come over and talk to her yourself. She says Anna’s fine, but...” Embarrassment colored the perhaps too-friendly voice. “...You come talk to her yourself.”
He went in to tell Pat, but she was sound asleep.
Deciding not to disturb her, he shut her back in, and soon stepped out into another chill, clear night, though the streetlamp on this block was out and the full moon was on its own. Almost running, he crossed the street to the Parhams; on the front stoop, he glanced at his watch, thinking about the red-eye flight: quarter till eleven.
Stocky bald Sid Parham, in a two-tone burnt-orange leisure suit (was he going skydiving?) met Michael at the door and led him, once again, to the kitchen. Molly was wearing an identical leisure suit. And parents these days wondered why kids rebelled...
All four chairs were taken at the square glass kitchen table, mother and father framing the daughter, with Michael across from the girl, a small, petite blonde who had drawn the best features from both her parents, and still wasn’t pretty.
But maybe that wasn’t fair — the girl looked tired, and sat slumped with more than just sullenness. Her light blue eyes were hooded, emphasizing her robin’s-egg eye shadow, their industrial-strength mascara matched by dark circles that could pass for Halloween makeup.
She didn’t look at him, at first. He’d seen this teenager with his daughter numerous times, and she’d always been well-groomed, for the type; but tonight her hair — blonde with dark roots, straight to her shoulders — looked unwashed and bedraggled. She wore a green tank top, which flattened the perk out of her small breasts, and cut-off denim short-shorts and sandals.
She was playing with her car keys.
Had he been her father, Michael would have already taken those away from her.
But he kept his voice friendly. “Cindy, what’s the story? Where is Anna?”
“How should I know?” Cindy asked.
Her father said to her, “You told me she’s all right.”
“Well, she is.”
Michael said, “When did you see her last?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where is she?”
Half a smirk dimpled a cheek. “When was I put in charge of her?”
“You weren’t. Where is she, Cindy?”
A weight-of-the-world sigh came up from her toes; my gaaaawd, adults were stupid! “Look, I dropped her off at a Denny’s on Speedway yesterday evening.”
“Why?”
“She met up with some friends in the parking lot. They were going to a party.”
“What friends? What party?”
“I don’t know — I didn’t go to it. And they were her friends, not mine. I had this other party to go to.”
Michael shook his head; but he kept all anger and irritation out of his voice. “Cindy, you’re Anna’s only friend, her only contact in this town. We’ve only been here six weeks.”
“What’s the problem?” She looked up in mock innocence and batted her eyelashes at Michael, which might have worked if he were eighteen and her baby blues hadn’t been so bleary. “Didn’t she come home or something?”
“You know she didn’t.”
Her father said, “Cindy! You told us Anna was fine!”
She gave him a dirty look and went back to playing with her keys.
Michael said, “You do know where she is.”
The girl said nothing.
“Where is she, Cindy?”
“I told you I don’t know.”
“Would you rather talk to the police?”
She looked up sharply. “What did I do?”
Michael shrugged. “My daughter’s been gone long enough for me to file a missing-persons report. You’re the last known party to’ve seen Anna. So you’re the first they’ll be talking to.”
“...What if I do know where she is?”
“Then you should tell me.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I promised her. You guys are terrible to her.”
“Then I’ll tell you. She’s in Lake Tahoe.”
Cindy said nothing, but her eyelids flickered.
Sid Parham said, “Where have you been since yesterday, Cindy?”
“Driving.”
Molly Parham said, “Driving where? You’re going to get in trouble, young lady!”
Michael closed his eyes.
Then he opened them and said, “Cindy, I know Anna went back to Crystal Bay so she could attend prom.”
Sid Parham said to Michael, “You’re from St. Paul.”
Michael said, “Sid, I know I’m a guest in your home. But you need to let me handle this.”
“Well... sure... but...”
Michael rose, gave Parham a nod to come talk to him, out of the girl’s earshot. Near where the kitchen fed the living room, Michael said softly, “I have a big favor to ask, Sid — and I’m asking as one father to another. May I please talk to your daughter alone?”
“Oh, now, I don’t—”
“I’m not going to browbeat her, and I certainly won’t touch her. But I think having you and your wife there makes it harder for me to get through to Cindy.”
“Why would that be?”
“Kids this age take an attitude with their parents around. I’ve talked to Cindy half a dozen times, and she’s never been like this with me before. I think I can get her to relate to me... one-on-one, if you’ll give me the chance.”
Parham drew in a deep breath, looking more than ever like Uncle Fester; when the man finally spoke, Michael half-expected it to be in a high-pitched whiny voice.
But the voice was Sid’s usual baritone, and so gentle as to be almost sweet. “Listen, Michael — I know you love your little girl. Like we love ours. And I know all about how difficult it can be... So you go ahead.”
“Thank you, Sid.”
“Understand, if it gets loud, I’m coming in!”
“I understand.”
Parham nodded. “I’ll talk to Molly... Give me a minute.”
The man of the house went over, whispered in his better half’s ear; she frowned, started to say something, but he whispered again. And finally, reluctantly, she nodded.
Sid, walking his wife away from the kitchen table, a gentle guiding hand on her elbow, said, “We’ll be in the front room, if you need us.”
“Thank you,” Michael said.
As they left — looking like janitors in an art museum in those leisure suits — Cindy frowned. She seemed confused and perhaps a little worried.
Michael said to her, “How much did Anna tell you?”