“John David? He’s at work, I guess. Two o’clock on a Monday afternoon, where else would he be?”

“Do you have that phone number and address handy?”

I could hear little efficient sounds as Mother wheeled through her Rolodex. She rattled off a number, and I wrote it on a scrap of paper and handed it to the policewoman sitting across the desk. “That’s the same number,” the detective said, and I nodded.

“Will they let you go tell him?” Mother asked.

“I think the police will tell John David,” I said. “If they can find him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I already gave them that number. The police called, and the people there told the police that John David left work early today. Before noon.”

“Then where could he be?”

“I guess they’d like to know that, too,” I said, figuring a number of other shoes were about to drop.

After an appreciable pause, my mother said, “That would kill John.” Another pause: I could practically hear her thinking. “Aurora, I’ve got to go, before he hears about this some other way. You know someone’s bound to call the house and tell him there are a lot of police cars around John David’s house. Wait! Roe, where’s the baby?”

My face must have changed dramatically, because the detective stood up abruptly, sending her chair skidding a couple of feet.

“I don’t know where the baby is,” I said numbly. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about Chase, who was only eleven months old. “I don’t know. Maybe Melinda…” I swiveled on the hard chair, looking for my remaining sister-in-law. The next instant, I was on my feet. The detective said something, but I didn’t listen as I searched for Melinda, my heels click-clacking on the linoleum floor.