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average order. It’s not filthy--no bugs, no sign of
alcoholism or drugs. Should I share this information with Mrs. Freedman, or do
I even trust her?
    Elliot enters the
kitchen and notices Beth biting her lip. That can’t be good. “Ready
to go upstairs?”
    “Yeah, I’m through
here.Are you coming, Mrs. Freedman?”
    “Oh, yes.The
truth will be shown now,” Mrs. Freedman says with a sneer.
    “You know, Mrs.
Freedman, maybe your daughter isn’t as bad as you think she is.” Beth snaps at
her.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I’m sorry, Mrs.
Freedman.I am only suggesting that maybe the trouble she is in is not
her fault.”
    “Ms. Doyle, you do
not know my daughter the way … ”
    “Beth,” Elliot
speaks in a calm yet direct voice as he places his hand on her shoulder.“I’m
gonna check outside.I’ll take Mrs. Freedman with me so she can show me
around.Is that OK with you, Mrs. Freedman?”
    “Yes, of course,
and we can meet Beth upstairs afterwards.”
    Elliot and Mrs.
Freedman leave through the back door off the kitchen.Beth goes through
the door connecting to the living room and up the stairs.A small
bathroom is accessible to the left of the upper landing.A hallway
connects two bedrooms to the right.
    Beth opens the
door to the first. This must be the girl’s room . Beth observes the
porcelain doll lamp on the dresser.She opens each dresser drawer. Clothes
are nice enough. Next, she opens the closet. Everything’s well
organized. A jacket, sweaters—a winter coat, snowsuit. Hmm, on the floor,
sneakers, dress shoes, winter boots.
    Beth takes out her
notebook and pen.She jots down everything she’s discovered.She
puts her hand on her chin. Hmm … well-fed, well-clothed—not adding
up. Bending down, Beth searches under the bed. Nothing. In
hopes of finding something, she lifts up the mattress. Aha, a small purple
notebook.
    On the cover is
sketched, in black ink, a picture of a woman with stick arms and legs wearing a
skirt and blouse.A round face encompasses razor sharp teeth and squinty
eyes.The hair is tight to the head in a bun.Beth opens the
notebook and reads, “You will never find us!” That’s disturbing.
    The outside door
shuts as someone enters the kitchen.Wanting to read more, she drops the
purple notebook into her purse and rolls the mattress back into position. Until I know more about Mrs. Freedman I’m keeping this to myself. She
sweeps the bedspread with her hand to remove the wrinkles.Hurried, Beth
opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed with a squeak.Hoping she
isn’t heard, her eyes dart over the contents.Her attention narrows on a
small golden heart- shaped locket.She grabs it and drops it into her
purse. I’m pushing it, but I’ve got to know what’s in that other room. I
hope Elliot can stall.
    Beth slips quickly
down the hall into the mother’s bedroom.Two windows with lace curtains
face the street.She starts her search with the dresser first.The
voices seem louder, echoing throughout the stairwell. Come on, Elliot. She
feels around in each drawer. Nothing … oh, what’s this. Beth pulls a
five-by-sevenphoto album from amongst the conservative undergarments.
     
    *   *   *
     
    Out of nowhere, a
loud commotion erupts from downstairs. THUD! The front door is thrown
open and slams against the wooden siding.Elliot bursts through the door
pulling his .38 Special from his shoulder holster and continues at a dead run
toward his Vette parked by a three-quarter ton white work van.
    Zit—zit—zit--clang! A lug nut drops into a pan near the twenty-pound jack under the rear of the
car.
    “Hey—what are you
doin’?! This ain’t NASCAR!” Elliot yells, waving his gun like a madman at four
guys in blue overalls surrounding his car.“Get away from my car!”
    Each man grabs a tire
and lunges for the open side door of the van already in motion, leaving their
equipment behind.The van door slams shut as blue smoke bellows from the
screeching tires.
    Elliot chases on
foot with his