He folded her into his arms again and kissed her temple. “Worrying isn’t going to help.”

She knew it, but couldn’t help the edge of concern that nagged at her. Lately Stephen had been getting into more and more trouble. It wasn’t the pack of cigarettes she’d found in his room that bothered her, but this business with Isaac Wells and the fight with Miles Dean the other day. Not to mention his general bad attitude.

“It’ll be all right,” J.D. promised, as if reading her mind.

“I hope you’re right.”

Somewhere not too far away church bells tolled, the chimes ringing through the town and echoing off the surrounding hills. Tiffany lifted her head and sighed.

“Something else is bothering you,” J.D. said, touching her chin with one finger.

“Hear that?” The melodic bells continued to peal and Tiffany’s heart squeezed painfully.

“Late service?”

“Nope.” She rubbed her arms as if to ward off a chill. “I think my father just got married.”

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

“I’ve called everywhere,” Tiffany said, hanging up the kitchen telephone and leaning heavily against the wall. “He’s gone.”

“We’ll find him,” J.D. insisted. “Ask Mrs. Ellingsworth to watch Christina and we’ll start looking for him.”

“Where?”

“You tell me.”

Don’t panic. He’s fine. He’s got to be. With trembling fingers she dialed Ellie’s number and tried to remain calm as the telephone rang. When the older woman answered, Tiffany explained what was going on.

“I’ll be up in a second,” Ellie said without hesitation. “Now don’t you worry.”

If only that was possible. These days, worry seemed to be Tiffany’s middle name.

True to her word, Ellie was at the back door within minutes and bustling them both outside. “You know how boys are, never can keep track of time. My Charlie, he was the worst. Gave me every gray hair on my head, I swear.” But the concern in her eyes betrayed her. She, too, was upset.

“It’s so unlike Stephen to be this late,” Tiffany said, once they were in J.D.’s Jeep and driving through the narrow streets and alleys of Bittersweet. Dusk had given way to the deeper shades of evening and a few streetlamps had begun to glow.

“Relax.” J.D. patted her knee as he shifted down. “Let’s start with the obvious. Tell me where his friends live.”

“Okay. Let’s think. He said he was with Sam—Sam Prescott—but when I called over there, no one answered.”

“Where does Sam live?”

“On the outskirts of town, to the north, near the water tower.”