All That's Missing (12 page)

“No, Ida. That's just the angle you're looking from.”

“You don't suppose he's run away, do you?”

“Now, there's a thought.” The jutting-out-chin lady leaned closer. “When I first saw that car drive up, I knew there was something fishy about it. Doris and Phil never have company. They stopped going to church years ago. Keep to themselves mostly. So what would a strange car be doing in their driveway?”

“You'd think Al would have called if Arlo was missing.”

“Al?”

“Sabatini. Pay attention, Augusta.”

“Sorry. You don't need to be so touchy. I still don't understand why he went in their house. When a strange person wanders around an empty house, you know that means trouble.”

“You want to check his pockets?”

Arlo lifted an eyelid. The new lady was glaring at the jutting-out-chin lady.

“Sorry, Ida.”

“What if he was kidnapped?”

Arlo tried to open his eye a little wider without being noticed. He wanted a peek at the new lady's eyebrows. Unfortunately, both ladies were watching him like a hawk.

“Arlo?”

“
Uh.
Hi.”

The jutting-out-chin lady slid to the edge of her chair, craning her neck like a buzzard swooping down on roadkill.

“I'm Ida Jones,” his grandmother said.

“Yes, ma'am. I sort of figured that's who you were.”

“Your grandmother,” she added.

“Yes, I know.”

She leaned closer. “Where's your grandfather?”

“Back home,” Arlo said.

Ida Jones's eyebrows shot into sharp points. She didn't have the thin spot after all. Her eyebrows were even all the way across, the same way her sweater was perfectly buttoned and the color of the leather in her shoes matched her pants perfectly, though they were both a bit worn and faded and there was what looked like a mustard stain on one of her sleeves.

“If Albert's not with you, then how did you get here?”

“On a bus.” Arlo braced himself for her reaction.

She blinked about seven times. It was as if someone had turned a windup crank in her back that was connected directly to her lids.

“Did you say
bus
?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“By yourself?”

“Uh-huh.”

“But we don't have a bus station in Edgewater.”

“Yes, ma'am, I know that,” Arlo said guiltily.

She waited, and Arlo knew she must be expecting an explanation, but he didn't say anything.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” the jutting-out-chin lady muttered. “I told you we should call the police.”

“Hush, Augusta. Arlo and I are talking.”

Arlo's grandmother blinked faster now. She had bulgy eyeballs, too. For a second, Arlo was afraid she might blink her eyeballs clear out of their sockets.“If you didn't take the bus . . .” she said.

“But I did take a bus,” Arlo said. “I bought a ticket to Richmond and then this nice lady offered me a ride from there.”

“I see,” said his grandmother, though it was clear she did not see at all.

The jutting-out-chin lady made a throat-clearing noise, which caused his grandmother to scowl. When the jutting-out-chin lady whipped out a cell phone, Arlo's grandmother shook her head. The jutting-out-chin lady put the phone away. And Ida Jones turned back to Arlo.

“Augusta tells me you went in the McIlvoys' house,” she said.
Blink, blink, blink, blink,
went her eyelids.

“I didn't know whose house it was,” Arlo said.

“Then why did you stop there?”

“It's where Bernice dropped me off.”

“Bernice?”

“The lady who gave me a ride.”

Arlo's grandmother narrowed her eyes. “And why did she drop you off there?”

Great question. Unfortunately, Arlo didn't have an answer. Luckily, the jutting-out-chin lady barged in and filled up the silence.

“About this Bernice person . . .” she said.

“Augusta, please!” Arlo's grandmother threw up her hands.

“Sorry.”

“It's all right. It's just that we'll never get anywhere unless . . .”

“Actually, it was Tyrone who was driving,” Arlo said. “Bernice is his mom.”

“Slow down, Arlo,” Ida Jones said. “You're confusing us.”

“Sorry.”

“That's OK. But, I still don't understand who this Bernice person is. Did your grandfather ask her to help?”

“No, ma'am. I just met her at the bus station. She helped me buy my ticket.”

The jutting-out-chin lady picked up her cell phone again, but this time Arlo's grandmother grabbed it before she had time to punch in a number.

“Control yourself,” she snapped. Then she turned to Arlo. “Surely your grandfather bought your ticket for you,” she said.

“Not exactly,” Arlo said.

“He either bought it or he didn't,” the jutting-out-chin lady said.

“Augusta, this doesn't concern you.” Arlo's grandmother wagged a finger at her.

“I'm only trying to help.”

“I know you are, but I think Arlo and I can handle this nicely on our own.”

The jutting-out-chin lady made a huffing noise. “If you ask me, you're not making much progress.”

The two ladies glared at each other.

“Do you mind if I use the bathroom?” Arlo asked.

“Help yourself,” his grandmother said. “It's down the hall on the right.”

“Well, don't mind me,” the jutting-out-chin lady said. “It's only my house.”

Arlo's chest was tight by the time he closed the bathroom door. The smell of pine disinfectant raised the hairs in his nose. Still, he would rather be here than back in that living room. He needed time to think.

All too soon he was on his way back down the hall. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Here we go,
he thought.

“Now, Arlo.” His grandmother leaned toward him. “About that bus ticket. Tell Mrs. Stonestreet and me the truth. Albert bought you that ticket, didn't he?”

She wasn't going to like this, but even with the time-out in the bathroom, Arlo couldn't see any way around telling the truth.

“The
truth
is . . . Poppo wasn't feeling well.”

The jutting-out-chin lady scooted back to the edge of her chair.

“Go on,” his grandmother said.

Blink, blink, blink, blink,
went her eyes. Somebody must have wound the crank while he was in the bathroom.

“So you went to the bus station by yourself?”

“That's right.”

“But how did you get there?”

Arlo swallowed. “I walked,” he said.

A harrumphing sound came from the jutting-out-chin lady. She mouthed a silent message to Ida.
Call 911.

Ida straightened her sweater. “I believe Arlo and I need a moment alone,” she told the Augusta lady.

They exchanged frosty stares again, but this time the jutting-out-chin lady moved toward the dining room. She paused before pushing open the door to the kitchen.

“Do whatever you like,” she said. “You generally do anyway.” Then she gave the swinging door an extra jab and disappeared.

Arlo's grandmother waited. She watched the kitchen door. “You're not going to make any phone calls, now, are you?” she called in a loud voice.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” the Augusta lady yelled back.

“Good,” Ida said under her breath. Then she turned to Arlo. “You think you might tell me the whole story now?”

Arlo kept his eyes on his shoelaces, focusing on the knots, on how loosely they were tied, sort of the way the stories he was telling were loosely put together too. His heart pumped harder.

“Look at me.”

Arlo tried looking at the lamp shade beside her, so he wouldn't have to make direct eye contact. “That
is
the truth,” he said.

“Let's say I believe you,” his grandmother said. “You still left out some parts, didn't you?”

Arlo swallowed.

“Tell the truth, Arlo. Did you run away?”

While he was trying to figure out how to answer, there was the squeal of a metal hinge as the kitchen door opened slightly and then closed again.

Ida narrowed her eyes. Giving Arlo a conspiratorial glance, she put a finger to her lips, then crept silently around the far wall of the living room and up to the door. As Arlo watched, she gave the door a quick shove, then stepped back. From the other side, there was an
oof
and then a loud
“Ouch!”

“Excuse me,” Ida said. “I was just coming to get a cup of coffee.”

The jutting-out-chin lady rubbed a spot above her ear. “You might have warned me,” she said.

“You must have had your head pressed right up against the door,” Ida said.

“Don't be ridiculous. I was on my way to see if you needed anything.”

“Mmm-hmmm.” Arlo's grandmother backed away from the door. “Arlo and I are fine, but you look like you're in pain.”

Arlo stifled a laugh.

Meanwhile, his grandmother collected her purse from the dining-room table. “I'm taking Arlo home now,” she said.

“Not a good idea,” the jutting-out-chin lady said.

Arlo could feel the anger rolling off his grandmother's shoulders.

“You've been so helpful, dear. Now, put your mind at ease. I'll give you a call later.”

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” the jutting-out-chin lady called through the front door.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Arlo's grandmother said, leading Arlo down the front walk.

“Thank you for the lemonade,” Arlo said.

The jutting-out-chin lady closed the door.

“That woman!” Arlo's grandmother leaned across the steering wheel while her friend peered at them through the front window. “Curiosity killed the cat, Arlo. Mark my words.”

Arlo nodded, though he wasn't sure what she meant.

“Some people need to learn how not to stick their noses into other people's business.”

The car tires kicked up gravel as Ida pressed down on the accelerator.

Watch and learn,
Poppo used to say. This seemed like one of those times when watching was a whole lot smarter than talking. Arlo kept his mouth shut.

The car fender narrowly missed a large boulder marking the boundary between the Stonestreet lady's house and the house next door. Arlo fastened his seat belt. He wished his grandmother would fasten hers, too, but when the seat belt alarm failed to ding, he noticed that she had fastened the seat belt against the seat so that the alarm wouldn't sound. There was a loud
clunk
as the right front end of her car hit the bottom of a deep pothole at the intersection with the main highway.

“Now, where did
that
come from?” Arlo's grandmother asked.

Arlo braced himself for impact when they pulled onto the highway. So far his grandmother didn't seem like the greatest driver. They stopped at the first stoplight in front of Safeway and across from a restaurant named Maury's Seafood.

“Now that we're alone,” his grandmother said in an
I'm-in-control-and-that's-the-way-it's-going-to-stay
voice, “perhaps you'll tell me the
real
reason you've come.”

The car slowed as they approached the intersection with the main street of town. They were passing the statue of the man on top of the granite pedestal. It was harder to see his face, now that the sun had sunk to the horizon. To their right was a road marker bearing the words:
EDGEWATER, VIRGINIA — FOUNDED
1687 —
POP
. 1,753

“Who is that guy?” Arlo asked.

“Ebenezer Crookshank. Our town founder,” his grandmother said.

“Why is he wearing that funny hat?”

She tapped a thin, knob-knuckled finger on the steering wheel. “That's the way they dressed in those days,” she said. “Didn't you learn that in school?”

“I guess not.”