Free The Big Nap by Ayelet Waldman Page A

illegal? Unethical, maybe. Illegal, never.”
    “A rather fine distinction. What do you want now?” he asked.
    “Missing person’s case,” I replied. I told him the story about Fraydle’s disappearance.
    “Sounds to me like she pulled a runner, Juliet.”
    “Yeah, that’s what I think, too, but there’s always the chance, however slight, that it may be more serious, and it makes me nervous that the cops don’t know about it.”
    “You could always call them.”
    “I suppose so, but I’m worried about alienating the parents. I’m just wondering if there’s a way I can unofficially find out if any girls have turned up.”
    “Turned up where, the morgue?”
    That stopped me in my tracks. I suppose that’s what I meant, but I hadn’t put it so bluntly even to myself.
    “Well, yeah. The morgue or a hospital or something. I suppose I could call every hospital in the city, and every morgue for that matter, but I figured you might know an easier way to do this.”
    He thought for a moment. “I could ask one of my buddies from the LAPD to check on any Jane Does.”
    “That would be wonderful. What do you need to know?”
    “A general physical description, age, the neighborhood she lives in, that kind of thing.”
    I gave Al the information and made him promise to call me by the next day with whatever he’d found out. I’d done what I could that day. And anyway, Elmo was almost over.

Nine
    I was definitely not ready to go out when Peter came home. In fact, Ruby and I were both covered in flour and Isaac was in his bouncy seat, looking like a little Abominable Snowman. We’d decided to bake cookies, but had never got past the dough stage. My mother had called in the middle of our project and I’d had to spend fifteen minutes explaining to her why it was that Peter and I couldn’t put his project on hold, load up the kids, and hightail it out to Jersey for a week. Or two. Or six.
    “Hey, family,” Peter said when he walked in the kitchen.
    “Hey, Daddy,” Ruby and I answered, in unison.
    “Is this fabulous enough for you?” I asked, pointing at my dirty sweatshirt.
    He smiled. “No, but this is.” He jumped across the room and wrestled me to the floor, pulling the sweatshirt off.Ruby, not one to be excluded from a wrestling match, leapt on top of us.
    We rolled around the floor for a minute or two, laughing and shouting. Suddenly I noticed that Isaac was squalling.
    “Party pooper,” I said, as I got to my feet and picked him up. “We were just having fun, little guy.”
    “Hey, give him here,” Peter said, getting up off the floor and brushing flour off his pants. “Come here, buddy. Say hi to Daddy.”
    Ruby began working herself into an apoplectic fit when she realized that her beloved father was actually paying attention to the usurper.
    “Everybody, quiet!” I shouted. “Okay, you”—I pointed to Peter—“clean up the kitchen. You”— I looked at Ruby—“come help Mama get dressed for a party.”
    “I don’t want to help you, I want to be with Daddy,” she howled.
    “Fine, whatever, Baby Electra. Help Daddy clean up. I’m going to take a nice hot bath.”
    A FTER my bath I slipped my new outfit out of the garment bags Macy’s had so thoughtfully provided. No tacky paper shopping bags when you shop
couture.
The pants felt cool and slippery against my skin. The shirt looked, if anything, better than it had in the dressing room. I felt downright attractive for the first time in months. I carefully applied some makeup and put on my most expensive earrings, a pair of diamond studs Peter had given me when Ruby was born. I was admiring myself in the mirror when Peter and the kids walked into the bedroom.
    “Wow,” Peter said.
    “You asked for fabulous.”
    “And that’s what I got. You look great.”
    “Thanks, honey.” I kissed him on the cheek and took the baby from him. He stripped off his shirt and put on a clean one. He brushed off his khakis and yanked a jacket out of