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it—in depth and in public. Few stopped to consider that Mark was Heather’s nephew and that thoughtless words about the boy might distress her. Mark was public property now. And besides, Heather had been born into the Jones Gang, the most notorious and talked-about family for miles around. So no one felt too guilty about discussing Mark in front of her. They reasoned that she certainly ought to be accustomed to hearing gossip about her loved ones by this time.
    And they were right. Heather was accustomed to hearing endless tales about the people she loved. Too bad being used to it didn’t make it any easier to take.
    Still, she did what she had to do. She kept her mind on her work and did her best to ignore all the talk. She succeeded pretty well, too.
    But then, in midafternoon, Nellie Anderson and Linda Lou Beardsly, two of the town’s most respected citizens, slid into a booth at the back.
    Nellie and Linda Lou put in identical orders: turkey salad sandwiches and ice tea. Nellie pointed out, as she always did, “Not too much ice, Sunshine, dear. I like a good, strong glass of tea.”
    â€œOf course, Mrs. Anderson,” Heather said, just as she always did. She turned to put the order up on the wheel.
    And behind her, it began.
    Nellie announced in a whisper loud enough to be heard two counties away, “I keep thinking about it. It’s so awful. And it’s all a complete mystery, evidently. No one has a clue where that boy has gone.”
    Heather turned from hooking the order in the window to see Linda Lou’s head start bobbing up and down. “I heard that the volunteer fire crew is out in force already. And they’ve brought in the helicopters. I declare. One of them flew over my place so close I could count the fillings in the pilot’s teeth. Took five years off my life. Paisley Parker says they’re even going to be calling in some dog teams from the California Rescue Dog Association.”
    â€œYes,” Nellie confirmed sagely. “It’s all terribly overwhelming. All of it.” She leaned closer to Linda Lou. “Did you meet that boy last winter?”
    â€œI did. And he seemed such a nice, polite boy, too—even if he did associate with that miniature hooligan, Marnie Jones.”
    â€œI know,” Nellie said. “That boy is a puzzle any way you look at him. As you said, he is a nice boy. And I can’t help asking myself, how is that possible—considering his father and all?”
    Heather, who had their teas ready, marched up to the booth and plunked them down. “Two ice teas,” she said, trying to inject enough disapproval into the words that the two ladies would lower their voices, at least.
    â€œThank you, dear,” Nellie said, then turned right back to Linda Lou and intoned, “Blood, in most cases, will tell.”
    Heather knew there wasn’t much else she could do, short of coming right out and asking the ladies to pipe down. And doing such a thing, in the end, would probably cause more trouble than it would cure. So Heather returned to the counter and left them to their scandalmongering.
    In the booth, Linda Lou was still nodding. Heather thought it was surprising that her head didn’t break off. “Yes, and I swear, when you think about it, is it really so astonishing that the boy’s run away? I mean, as you just said, considering his father. Oh, I do declare, anyone who writes stories like that can’t be normal, now can he?”
    â€œOh, well, now,” Nellie said. “I hate to make judgments on those books of Lucas Drury’s. After all, I’ve never read one.”
    Heather couldn’t believe her ears. The day Nellie Anderson hesitated to make a judgment was a red-letter day indeed.
    But if Nellie was hesitating to pass judgment here, Linda Lou wasn’t. She jumped right in. “Those books are bad.” She was whispering now, too. Like Nellie’s whisper,