Seven
“WHAT DO WE DO NOW?” I ask Helen.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how do we find her?”
“‘We’ don’t do anything, Tom. You pass this information onto the Bellamy County Sheriff and they do something.”
“Look, Helen,” I say. “The Sheriff of Bellamy County is an old friend of mine, and he is convinced that she’s run off with some sort of drug lord turned sugar daddy. He’s not going to do anything.”
Helen looks at me for a moment with a peculiar mix of pity and . . . something else . . . affection . . . impatience . . . I’m too distracted to tell. Then she puts on her cop face and says calmly, but firmly, “Tom, given Sonya’s background, that doesn’t seem out of the question.”
“I know, I know, but I just don’t think she’d do this to Mom”
Helen looks at me questioningly and opens her
