“Quit your bellowing, boy!” Thelma yells louder than I am as she leans out her front door. “She ain’t there, anyway.”

I look at Zoey’s door again, then back to Thelma, trying to make sense of what she’s saying, no matter how illogical. “What do you mean she’s not here? Where is she?”

Thelma takes a long drag off her cigarette, her eyes narrowing as she inhales. Lifting her bony shoulder, she says, “How would I know?”

I want to shake her, rattle whatever information her nosiness might’ve earned out of her brain because I need it now. I have to find Zoey and set her straight because she has things all wrong.

Exponentially wrong.

“Thelma,” I warn harshly. “Where is she?”

Thelma balks, softer than I’ve seen her, but waves her cigarette around. “I told you . . . I don’t know. Haven’t seen her since she left this morning. All dressed up, though I don’t know where she was going.” She takes another drag. “Maybe she had another fellow?”

I growl, knowing Thelma is trying to rile me up and I’m letting her get to me.

But I don’t have any other option.

“What about Jacob? You seen him?”

“He’s got late school tonight. Boy takes some night classes since he can’t get up like a normal person in the mornin’.”

For someone who doesn’t know much, she sure knows a lot. Except where my Zoey is. “Thanks.”

I climb back in my car and text Jacob.

You talked to Zoey?

Jacob replies quickly. No. Why?

We had a misunderstanding. I’m trying to find her.

Jacob’s reply is just as fast. You check work? Home?

I grip my phone and roll my eyes skyward to pray for patience. Yes. Where else would she go?

Holly’s. The funeral home or her house.

He sends me the address for Holly’s house while I look up the funeral home. Thanks. If you hear from her, let me know.

Jacob sends me back a thumbs-up.

Based on the addresses, I decide to check the funeral home first, but as I drive up, the building is dark and I quickly dismiss it. Further on, Holly’s house is a small one-story with a chain-link fence around the swing set in the yard.

I park haphazardly, hop the fence, and run to the door, trying to restrain myself from banging on it as hard as I’m compelled to do. It’s late and Holly’s daughter is probably asleep, but the longer it takes me to find Zoey, the faster and harder my heart is beating.

How could she have thought I was using her?

How could she dismiss everything we’ve been through and done together that easily?

My knock is slightly less booming, but still frantic.