“Tiffany,” I said after the preliminaries were over, “I know you told Darlene’s father that you didn’t know where she was, but maybe she’s someplace she doesn’t want her father to know about. He doesn’t have to know.”
“You mean, like, with a guy, or something, Mr. Grace?” She shook her head in the way that girls her age do, the way that drives boys her age to distraction, the deferential way she called me “Mr. Grace” only serving to remind me how far away I was from being that age. “No way, she wasn’t like that. And if she was, she’d tell me, we’re almost best friends. And after her father left, I’d have called her and, like told her, call home or something; give ’em a story and let ’em know you’re okay.”
“Darlene have a cell?” I asked. According to her mother she didn’t, but she might h
