Free The Girls Are Missing by Caroline Crane Page B

arm.
    They woke together. She thought the house seemed very quiet, and wondered whether it was morning or afternoon, and where everybody was.
    A look at the clock gave her her bearings. They had gone swimming, she now remembered, and Anita had tried to drown Gail. She did not want to recall that part of it. There had once been a time when she was fond of Anita’s parents, but now everything was mixed up, you couldn’t trust anybody.
    Anita had apparently left, thank God. Gail was alone in her room, playing with tiny plasticene dolls that she had made herself.
    “Gail, where’s Mary Ellen?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “She doesn’t seem to be in the house. Did she go out?”
    “I don’t know.” A little more impatiently this time.
    “Well, now look. If she went out, where would she go?”
    “Mommy, I don’t know.”
    There was nothing within walking distance except other houses, and Mary Ellen did not know any of the people in them.
    “Did she go with Anita?”
    “No,” said Gail, “Anita went home with her mother.”
    Might she have gone to the woods to see where the bodies had been? She hadn’t seemed all that interested, but one never knew. And what if she ran into the killer?
    No, she wouldn’t, Joyce thought. She wouldn’t.
    Carl would be home soon. And if the girl wasn’t found by then …
    She called the Farands’ house. Denise answered the phone. It seemed only logical that Mary Ellen might have gone to visit Denise. They were the same age, although they barely knew each other. But Denise had not seen her.
    They can’t do this to me. Joyce felt an irrational anger at Gail. If the two girls had been in better communication, Mary Ellen would surely have told her where she was going. Gail only made her feel unwelcome.
    She walked around the outside of the house, trying to see into the meadow, into the woods in back of the house. She dared not leave the children, dared not herself venture into the wilderness.
    The meadow was a blaze of late afternoon light and filled with buzzing insects. A butterfly danced over the daisies.
    She called from the stone wall. “Mary Ellen?”
    Damn, the girl was just at the wrong age. And menstruating, too. What if he found that out? Would he let her go? Or would it enrage him?
    She went back to the house. Carl was already late, it was seven o’clock. She prayed his train would be delayed, sitting on the tracks somewhere. She prayed for Mary Ellen’s safety.
    Gail leaned over the stair rail and asked plaintively where she had been.
    “Out looking for Mary Ellen,” Joyce replied. “Are you sure she didn’t say anything about where she was going?”
    Gail looked hurt. “I’m telling the truth.”
    “I know you are, honey. I just thought there might have been something you forgot.”
    “Well, I didn’t, and I don’t know why you’re making so much fuss about Mary Ellen. She’s twelve years old.”
    Gail paused, apparently reminded that so was Valerie Cruz. Joyce could read it on her face.
    “Mommy, is anything going to happen?”
    “If she doesn’t get home before her father does, something will certainly happen.” Take Gail’s mind off the murders. “And I just hope he doesn’t blame me too much, but I am responsible for her.”
    “I’ll protect you,” Gail crooned in a dreamy voice. She would have loved a chance to take on Carl and defeat him. Then she asked, “What are we having for dinner?”
    Joyce was appalled at the irrelevance of it, but realized she hadn’t even thought about dinner, and Carl would be coming any minute. It was too late to thaw anything, but she found a can of salmon in the cupboard. Salmon loaf was a good last-minute standby, although it had to cook for an hour.
    After the loaf was in the oven, she turned on the radio to find out whether there were any train delays. Not that she worried about Carl—she only hoped he would be delayed until Mary Ellen came back. Damn that girl, anyway.
    What if something did happen? And