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at the table that was still littered with breakfast dishes. Consciously, she forced the panic bade, telling herself that Margaret Willis was undoubtedly right, that Randy was fine, and would show up any minute. Her fears were silly; she was overreacting to a commonplace situation. Small boys often took off without telling anyone where they were going.
    Her intuition told her otherwise. She went to the phone and began searching through her address book, looking for the names of people whose children had once been Randy’s friends. She was on her third phone call when Margaret Willis appeared at the back door, carrying a steaming teapot Lucy stretched the phonecord and reached the knob, feeling irritated that the woman hadn’t used the front door. But in Eastbury, neighbors, except for herself, always used back doors. As Mrs. Willis came into the kitchen, she looked inquiringly at Lucy, who only shrugged, then began speaking as Emily Harris came back on the line.
    “Geordie says Randy wasn’t at school today, Lucy.”
    “Wasn’t there at all?” Lucy asked, her voice hollow.
    “Thais what Geordie says,” Mrs. Harris told her. “And he should know—he’s in Randy’s class.”
    “I—I see,” Lucy said. There was a silence as each of the women wondered what to say next. It was Emily Harris who finally spoke.
    “Lucy, have you talked to Sally Montgomery?”
    Lucy groaned to herself. Sally Montgomery should have been the first call she made. If Randy was anywhere, he’d be with Jason. “Oh, God, Emily, I feel like such a fool,” she said.
    “It’s tragic,” she heard Emily Harris saying. “I mean, what do you say when something like that happens?”
    Lucy felt her stomach tighten. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “What happened?”
    Again there was a silence, and when Emily eventually spoke, her voice had dropped to the conspiratorial level that signaled the sort of bad news she loved best. “You mean you haven’t heard? Their little girl died last night. They
say
it was crib death …” She let the words hang, clearly indicating that she was sure there was more to the story than that Then her voice brightened, and Lucy suddenly realized why she had never really liked Emily Harris. “But I’m sure nothing’s wrong,” Emily said. “Jason wasn’t at school today, of course, and Randy probably decided to play hookey with him. Geordié’s one it more than once,” she lied. “All boys do it, especially in spring. I’ll bet he’ll be home in time for dinner.”
    “I suppose so,” Lucy said without conviction. She decided she had had quite enough of Emily Harris. “Thanks, Emily. Sorry to bother you.”
    “No bother at all,” Emily Harris replied. “Let meknow when you find him, all right? Otherwise I’ll worry.”
    Sure you will, Lucy thought angrily. And you’ll be on the phone all night, spreading the latest news too. She hung up, then sipped the tea that Margaret Willis had placed in front of her, and told the older woman what she had just heard.
    “Oh, dear,” Margaret murmured. “Well, I suppose you’d better call Mrs. Montgomery, hadn’t you?”
    “I don’t know,” Low replied unhappily. “Oh, I know I should, but what good would it do? Randy couldn’t possibly be there, not today. And what would I say to her? Do I tell her I’m sorry her daughter died, but has she happened to see my son? Margaret, I can’t I just can’t.”
    “Then I will,” Margaret said, reaching for the phone book. But before she had found the Montgomerys’ number, Lucy suddenly hit the table with her fist.
    “His father!” she exclaimed. “Damn it, that’s what happened. Jim took Randy.” Once more she picked up the phone, and began dialing furiously, her eyes, filled with worry only a moment ago, now glittering with anger. “That bastard,” she rasped through clenched teeth as she listened to her ex-husband’s telephone ring on with that strange, impossible tone that seems to