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Authors: Lloyd Devereux Richards
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rapped his great brown knuckles on the table. “I know you’re not fibbing, son. Don’t pay attention to Mr. Barnes. Mike’s right as far as showing your hand to others. They know how to get you going, joking and kidding around like they do.”
Joey was sick and tired of hearing it all. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes deeply with his dirty hands. “I’m going to the bathroom.” At least nobody would be scolding him or laughing at him there.
Slowly rubbing the grainy bar of soap between his hands, Joey listened to the diner talk through the thin paneling. The fat man who’d laughed at him was snickering like the bullies at school did. Joey hated that. The thought of Johnny Shannon—his nemesis in the hallways—wrestling him to the ground and kneeing him in the groin while Shannon’s punk crew chuckled was too much to bear.
Joey leaned his forearms against the sink. The smell of Lava soap and greasy home fries mingled. Someone entered the diner in a hurry, a man puffing.
“Say, boys, Julie Heath’s been reported missing. Just heard it on the scanner. An APB’s out for her already. She plum disappeared without a trace a few hours ago. After visiting a friend at the Rhinelander place on Old Shed Road. No one’s seen her up at Libby’s, Harris’s Grocery, or anywhere else. Police report said she’s wearing a green skirt and a white button-down shirt.”
Joey dropped the soap, his hands foaming white. He looked at himself in the heavily etched mirror hanging over the sink and remembered seeing something. Like polka dots. He fought to calm himself, the way Mike always said to. He placed his glasses between the faucet handles and splashed cold water on his face. He had to be sure. He blinked to clear the water, then refitted his glasses.
The old truck had been pulled over as if parked in a hurry, one wheel over the curbstone. That look the man first gave Joey when he rode by—he could never forget it. It was right afterward he saw, when the man turned to shove something in the back of the truck.
Without drying, he turned and grabbed the door handle. The man who mentioned the police report was standing next to the heavy man on the stool.
Interrupting them, Joey said, “Hey, mister, did you say Julie Heath?”
The man stared down at the boy. So did the other men at the counter.
Fat Fred Barnes noticed Joey’s dripping hands. “Boy, you forgot to dry off your mitts, didn’t you?” He laughed, making a sound like a tuba.
Joey paid no attention. He wiped his hands on his pants, still looking at the man standing by Barnes. In an unfaltering voice Joey said, “She goes home the same way I go. Same place I saw this strange man on Old Shed Road.”
He swallowed hard, not worrying anymore about Mike getting angry or anything other than what the actions of the glaring stranger had to mean. What they could only mean.
“He was stuffing something in the back of his truck. He didn’t want me to see.” He rode his glasses back up his nose. “But I did see. A painter’s tarp, like it was covered with polka dots. Red ones.”
The room grew quiet. Everyone heard the words. It was one of those odd moments people would recollect later, something taken out of time, words that floated out, hardly skipping a beat. The room stayed silent until the man who’d said Julie was missing stooped beside Joey and said, “Boy, you sure about this?”
Barnes hopped off his stool, too, breathing hard. The other men crowded around. Joey could hear Mike cussing behind them, then his grandfather’s voice rising, saying, “Just a minute, Mike!” Another man went to a pay phone by the door. Joey heard a coin drop into the phone. The men standing in front of him wereblocking Elmer and Mike from getting through. Others asked questions too fast, one on top of the other.
Elmer’s face poked over their heads and shoulders, and then he sidled through. “Excuse me, please,” he said. “Let me through to my
Joey was sick and tired of hearing it all. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes deeply with his dirty hands. “I’m going to the bathroom.” At least nobody would be scolding him or laughing at him there.
Slowly rubbing the grainy bar of soap between his hands, Joey listened to the diner talk through the thin paneling. The fat man who’d laughed at him was snickering like the bullies at school did. Joey hated that. The thought of Johnny Shannon—his nemesis in the hallways—wrestling him to the ground and kneeing him in the groin while Shannon’s punk crew chuckled was too much to bear.
Joey leaned his forearms against the sink. The smell of Lava soap and greasy home fries mingled. Someone entered the diner in a hurry, a man puffing.
“Say, boys, Julie Heath’s been reported missing. Just heard it on the scanner. An APB’s out for her already. She plum disappeared without a trace a few hours ago. After visiting a friend at the Rhinelander place on Old Shed Road. No one’s seen her up at Libby’s, Harris’s Grocery, or anywhere else. Police report said she’s wearing a green skirt and a white button-down shirt.”
Joey dropped the soap, his hands foaming white. He looked at himself in the heavily etched mirror hanging over the sink and remembered seeing something. Like polka dots. He fought to calm himself, the way Mike always said to. He placed his glasses between the faucet handles and splashed cold water on his face. He had to be sure. He blinked to clear the water, then refitted his glasses.
The old truck had been pulled over as if parked in a hurry, one wheel over the curbstone. That look the man first gave Joey when he rode by—he could never forget it. It was right afterward he saw, when the man turned to shove something in the back of the truck.
Without drying, he turned and grabbed the door handle. The man who mentioned the police report was standing next to the heavy man on the stool.
Interrupting them, Joey said, “Hey, mister, did you say Julie Heath?”
The man stared down at the boy. So did the other men at the counter.
Fat Fred Barnes noticed Joey’s dripping hands. “Boy, you forgot to dry off your mitts, didn’t you?” He laughed, making a sound like a tuba.
Joey paid no attention. He wiped his hands on his pants, still looking at the man standing by Barnes. In an unfaltering voice Joey said, “She goes home the same way I go. Same place I saw this strange man on Old Shed Road.”
He swallowed hard, not worrying anymore about Mike getting angry or anything other than what the actions of the glaring stranger had to mean. What they could only mean.
“He was stuffing something in the back of his truck. He didn’t want me to see.” He rode his glasses back up his nose. “But I did see. A painter’s tarp, like it was covered with polka dots. Red ones.”
The room grew quiet. Everyone heard the words. It was one of those odd moments people would recollect later, something taken out of time, words that floated out, hardly skipping a beat. The room stayed silent until the man who’d said Julie was missing stooped beside Joey and said, “Boy, you sure about this?”
Barnes hopped off his stool, too, breathing hard. The other men crowded around. Joey could hear Mike cussing behind them, then his grandfather’s voice rising, saying, “Just a minute, Mike!” Another man went to a pay phone by the door. Joey heard a coin drop into the phone. The men standing in front of him wereblocking Elmer and Mike from getting through. Others asked questions too fast, one on top of the other.
Elmer’s face poked over their heads and shoulders, and then he sidled through. “Excuse me, please,” he said. “Let me through to my
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