I set my coffee down next to the cash register. “I only hope Mina doesn’t blame me for what happened.”
“Goodness! Whatever could she blame you for?”
“I was the one who invited Angel to appear in our store.”
“Oh, pooh,” Sadie said with a dismissive wave. “Who in their right mind would blame you for Angel Stark’s behavior?”
As she spoke, Sadie drew the key out of the pocket of her beige slacks. It was already time to open. Sadie unlocked the front door, and within minutes, the bell above it chimed, signaling the entrance of our first visitor of the day. It was Bud Napp.
“Good morning,” I chirped from across the room.
Bud did not reply. I don’t think he even heard me. Instead, he stared hard at Sadie, focusing entirely on her. His face was tight with worry, and his eyes were grave.
“Bud!” she cried, instantly alarmed. “What’s the matter?”
“Johnny, my nephew, didn’t come home last night. He’s disappeared, and so has my pickup truck . . .”
“Oh, no,” I murmured.
Sadie pulled Bud all the way inside the store. She checked the sidewalk in front of the shop. It was empty, so she locked the front door and flipped the Closed sign around again.
“We can open a half hour later today,” she announced.
I helped her pull together a few armchairs that were scattered for customers throughout the stacks, and we sat down at the end of an aisle.
“Johnny told me he was coming over here to see Mina, and I told him he could use the truck after he finished his work at the site.”
“The site” was Quindicott shorthand for the still-under-construction Finch Restaurant, the wood-framed skeleton of which is located on the shore of an inlet the locals call the Pond. Because Fiona was using local artisans, work was progressing slowly, though the pace picked up ever since Bud and Johnny began working there a few weeks ago.
“Johnny was here last night,” I told Bud. “He was around for the reading, so I guess he arrived at seven thirty.”
“But he did leave with Mina, right? Johnny really likes the girl, but I think both of them are too young to get serious. Then again, if they did do something crazy like elope or something . . . Well, it’s bad, but not the end of the world . . . things could be worse.”
Sadie looked at me. I looked at Bud.
“Actually, Johnny promised to drive Mina home, but he stood her up. Her roommate drove over and took Mina home after midnight.”
Bud, usually the coolest head at the Quindicott Business Owners Association meetings, completely shocked me by exploding.
“Damn that stupid-ass knuckleheaded kid!” He rocked to his feet and started pacing the aisle. “I only hope he didn’t go off and do anything stupid, like get drunk and violate his parole.”
My lips moved but nothing came out. I’d never seen Bud like this. It was Sadie who calmed him down. She rose and touched Bud’s shoulder. He whirled to face her.
“We want to help you, Bud,” she said, “but Penelope and I don’t know enough yet. Maybe you better tell us why Johnny’s on probation.”
Bud nodded and sank back into the plush chair. Sadie and I sat on either side of him, waiting. But just as Bud opened his mouth to speak, an urgent pounding on Buy the Book’s front door interrupted him.
“Oh, damn,” said Sadie. “Who could that be?”
“Don’t move.” I rushed to the door. “If it’s a delivery, I’ll take care of it. If it’s a customer I’ll just shoo them away.”
I went to the door, drawing my own key out of the pocket of my slacks. I peered through the glass and saw Dana Wu frantically waving at me. I unlocked the door and admitted her, locking it behind her again.
“Aren’t you open yet?” Dana asked. Like me, she was casually dressed—but in tailored yellow shorts and a chartreuse tank top.
“Had to delay the opening thirty minutes. We’re having a bit of a personal crisis,” I whispered, gesturing toward my aunt and Bud, seated across the store.
Dana frowned. “Sorry I bothered you. I wouldn’t have, except that I have a bit of a crisis, too.”
“What’s up?”
“I can’t find Angel Stark anywhere,” Dana said with a sigh. “Her car is still in the Finch Inn’s parking lot, but she’s not in her room or answering her cell—and Angel always answers her cell.”
My stomach lurched, but I tried to keep my emotions off my face.
Dana brushed her hair back in a worried gesture. “God, this is embarrassing. How many publicists do you know who’ve lost their client?”
CHAPTER 8
Miss Placed
The next best thing to knowing something is knowing where to find it.
—Samuel Johnson
“ARE YOU TELLING me that Angel Stark is missing?” I asked Dana. Almost immediately, I glanced over my shoulder. Fortunately my aunt and Bud Napp were locked in their own conversation, and not eavesdropping on me.
“Afraid so,” Dana replied. “But knowing Angel, she’s probably just run off with that kid she met last night for a wild weekend fling.”
“So that’s what happened?”
“I’d be willing to bet . . . heaven knows, I try not to judge, but Angel couldn’t have pulled her vanishing act at a worse time.”
“Trouble?”
Dana grinned. “Good news, actually. I just found out Charlie Rose wants to interview Angel on Wednesday. His people called me this morning! Of course, I have to let Angel know, ASAP. She needs to be prepped, too. A PBS interview is too important to wing it—and when her head isn’t in the right place, our gal Angel has been known to act more like Courtney Love than Anna Quindlen.
“She throws microphone stands?”
“No, just the occasional water glass . . . or coffee cup, depending on what the production assistant hands her.”
“Do you want to come to my office? Or are you going to look for Angel?”
“No time,” Dana replied, glancing at her watch. “I have to get back to New York by tonight. Contrary to what some of my clients think, I actually have a life. And I have a long drive ahead of me.”
“What can I do to help?” I asked, anticipating her reply.
“I need to know the name and phone number of that kid Angel was talking to last night . . . if you know him, that is. The kid looked like a local to me. I heard someone call him John or Jimmy or something . . .”
“I’ve . . . seen him around,” I replied. “Can I get back to you on that?”
“I guess so, but ASAP, okay? FYI, I’m going to file a missing persons report on that girl the next time she pulls this stunt—just to teach her a lesson. I’d like to see how she deals with headlines like ‘Little Girl Lost’ and ‘Angel Takes Wing.’ ”
I thought about the incident of the night before—the hit-and-run that wasn’t.
“So this kind of thing happens often? Angel running off with some guy, I mean?”
Dana shrugged. “Usually she takes off for a couple of days of hot sex with someone she meets on the road, like she’s a rock star or something. But Angel’s down with the program. She knows the importance of publicity. No matter what she’s doing or where she’s at, the girl always returns my calls . . . always, until now.”
Dana glanced at her watch once again. “Oh, man, I’ve got to go. Got tickets for the New York Philharmonic tonight—and a date.”
I unlocked the front door and let Dana out. “Have a great time.”
“Thanks, Pen . . .”
Then Dana paused halfway out the door. “You have my phone number. Please, do me a tremendous favor and ask around about that kid. And give me a call the moment you find out anything.”