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her stomach. Jean ran to the screen door and pushed out.
    The car was gone.
    “Bob!”
    “Looks like he left you behind, ma’am,” said the man.
    She looked at the man with frightened eyes, then turned away with a sob and stumbled across the porch. She stood there in the oven-hot shade crying and looking at the place where the car had been. The dust was still settling there.
     
    S he was still standing on the porch when the dusty blue patrol car braked in front of the cafe. The door opened and a tall, red-haired man got out, dressed in gray shirt and trousers, with a dull, metallic star pinned over his heart. Jean moved numbly off the porch to meet him.
    “You the lady that called?” the man asked.
    “Yes, I am.”
    “What’s wrong now?”
    “I told you. My husband disappeared.”
    “Disappeared?”
    As quickly as possible she told him what had happened.
    “You don’t think he drove away then?” said the sheriff.
    “He wouldn’t leave me here like this.”
    The sheriff nodded. “All right, go on,” he said.
    When she was finished, the sheriff nodded again and they went inside. They went to the counter.
    “This lady’s husband go in the lavatory, Jim?” the sheriff asked the man in the white ducks.
    “How should I know?” the man asked. “I was cooking. Ask Tom, he was in there.” He nodded toward the man in the fedora.
    “What about it, Tom?” asked the sheriff.
    “Sheriff, didn’t the lady tell you her husband just lit out before in their car?”
    “That’s not true!” Jean cried.
    “You see the man driving the car away, Tom?” the sheriff asked.
    “Sure I saw him. Why else would I say it?”
    “No. No.” Jean murmured the word with tiny, frightened shakes of her head.
    “Why didn’t you call after him if you saw him?” the sheriff asked Tom.
    “Sheriff, ain’t none of my business if a man wants to run out on—”
    “He didn’t run out!”
    The man in the fedora shrugged his shoulders with a grin. The sheriff turned to Jean.
    “Did you see your husband go in the lavatory?”
    “Yes, of course I—well, no, I didn’t exactly see him go in, but—”
    She broke off into angry silence as the man in the fedora chuckled.
    “I know he went in,” she said, “because after I came out of the ladies washroom I went outside and the car was empty. Where else could he have been? The cafe is only so big. There’s a door in that washroom. He said it hasn’t been used in years.” She pointed at the man in the white ducks. “But I know it has. I know my husband didn’t just leave me here. He wouldn’t do it. I know him, and he wouldn’t do it!”
    “Sheriff,” said the man in white ducks, “I showed the washroom to her when she asked. There wasn’t nobody in there and she can’t say there was.”
    Jean twisted her shoulders irritably.
    “He went through that other door,” she said.
    “Lady, that door ain’t used!” the man said loudly. Jean flinched and stepped back.
    “All right, take it easy, Jim,” the sheriff said. “Lady, if you didn’t see your husband go in that lavatory and you didn’t see if it was somebody else drivin’ your car away, I don’t see what we got to go on.”
    “What?”
    She couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Was the man actually telling her there was nothing to be done? For a second she tightened in fury thinking that the sheriff was just sticking up for his own townspeople against a stranger. Then the impact of being alone and helpless struck her and her breath caught as she looked at the sheriff with childlike, frightened eyes.
    “Lady, I don’t see what I can do,” the sheriff said with a shake of his head.
    “Can’t you—” She gestured timidly. “Can’t you l-look in the washroom for a clue or something? Can’t you open that door?”
    The sheriff looked at her for a moment, then pursed his lips and walked down to the washroom. Jean followed him closely, afraid to stay near the two men.
    She looked into the washroom as the