Free Face on the Wall by Jane Langton

Shakily he turned away from Annie and looked at the car. “Where the hell did it come from?”
    â€œI don’t know, but I’ve seen it before.”
    The car that had plunged down the hill carrying little Eddy Gast was not his father’s Bronco or his mother’s Mazda. It was the old Chevy in which Robert and Roberta Gast had appeared in Annie’s life for the very first time.

Chapter 15

    â€œThen get thee gone, and a murrain seize thee!” cried the Sheriff …
    â€œI have a good part of a mind to have thee beaten for thine insolence!”
    Howard Pyle,
    Merry Adventures of Robin Hood

    T he police and fire departments in Southtown were housed in a big flat-roofed brick building. Most of it belonged to the fire department. Huge red engines filled the driveway, their chromium fittings glittering in the sun.
    Homer found the entrance marked POLICE and walked in. The white-haired officer on the other side of the counter looked up from his computer screen and said, “May I help you?”
    â€œChief McNutt?”
    The officer shook his head and stood up. “Sergeant Kennebunk. You’re Homer Kelly?” He smiled and glanced at his watch. “The chief’s expecting you. You’re right on time.” He stretched out his hand. “Glad to meet you. You’re pretty famous around here.”
    â€œFor bungling and general mismanagement?” But Homer was flattered. Grinning, he shook Kennebunk’s hand and glanced down the hall. “Is the chief here?”
    â€œI’ll get him.” Kennebunk disappeared.
    Homer looked at the pictures on the wall. They were all alike, photographs of a tubby man in a tight uniform standing beside one famous person after another—Ronald Reagan, Tip O’Neill, Ted Kennedy, Ross Perot. One showed him smirking beside a gorgeous woman who might be Madonna, or perhaps some other shapely female.
    Kennebunk came back, looking embarrassed. “He’ll be a minute or two.”
    â€œWell, maybe you can help me, Sergeant. I’m looking for a man named Small who lives in Southtown. I understand Mrs. Small has disappeared. She was a student of my wife’s.”
    â€œYes, I know Small.” Kennebunk spoke hesitantly. “He runs a sand-and-gravel company, or used to. I hear he’s in real estate now. He lives way out on the Pig Road. I mean Songsparrow. It’s Songsparrow Road now. All the old pig farms are being turned into housing developments. Meadowlark, Songsparrow, there’s a whole lot of new ones out that way.”
    â€œThey’re trying to forget the malodorous past, is that it?” Homer leaned his elbows on the counter and leaned closer to Sergeant Kennebunk. “Do you know if there’s any truth in the rumor that Small beat his wife? Mary read it in one of those supermarket scandal sheets. What do you think? Was he the kind of creep who knocks his wife around just for the hell of it?”
    Kennebunk glanced warily down the hall. “Well, maybe. Sometimes she had bruises on her face. I felt sorry for her, but there was nothing we could do unless she lodged a complaint.”
    â€œAnd now she’s disappeared. Do you think she ran away?”
    â€œPerhaps, but, then again, I wouldn’t put it past Small—” Kennebunk stopped in mid-sentence. “I guess you’d better wait and talk to the chief.” He sat back down and stared at his monitor, making it clear that he would answer no more questions.
    The chief of the Southtown Police Department kept Homer waiting for twenty minutes. When he bustled down the hall at last, Homer stood up to greet him, but Chief McNutt didn’t look in his direction. He barked an order at Sergeant Kennebunk: “You’re due at the mall in ten minutes. What the hell are you doing here?”
    â€œTomorrow, sir,” said Kennebunk patiently. “That’s tomorrow. Griscom’s there today.”
    Chief