Decker checked his watch and floored the accelerator. Even at high speeds, he wasn’t going to make it in time for the start of the Sabbath. He wondered if Rabbi Schulman would say anything. Probably not.

“She was sensitive, Pete,” Marge said. “She got her feelings hurt a lot.”

“Such as?”

She skimmed a few of the back pages. “Like Heather didn’t notice her new dress…Chris didn’t call when he said he would…Erin was her usual sharp-tongued witch. I can sure believe that. Here’s another—Brian embarrassed her in front of her English teacher.”

“Brian’s a jerk.”

“Yeah, she knew that too. Wait a minute, let me find…” She turned to the back pages. “Here it is. She writes, ‘Brian got drunk and threw up in his dad’s car again. I know he’s a loser, but I feel sorry for him. His dad is completely disgusting, always trying to put the make on girls Bri brings home. It’s no wonder he scams all the time.’”

“Did she mention the dad coming on to her?”

“Not specifically.”

Marge read further.

“She has her share of catty digs in here. It really pissed her off when someone looked better than her. She was vain.”

“Never met a teenager who wasn’t self-absorbed in some way,” Decker said.

Ten minutes later Decker shot the amber light at the end of the freeway off-ramp and sped toward the station house.

“In a hurry?” Marge asked.

“A little.”

She closed the diary and handed it to him.

“You take a look at it and tell me what you think,” she said. “I don’t find anything unusual in here. Nothing that spells an unhappy kid about to run away. And nothing to suggest that Truscott was weird. She was gaga over him—wrote about following him to the end of the universe.”

Decker felt a burst of anger. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or his growling stomach, or his arm beginning to awaken from its analgesic dormancy. Whatever the reason was, the case suddenly infuriated him. The waste of a young girl’s life.

Through clenched teeth he said, “It’s a damn shame that she fell so short of her destination.”

9

On his plate were thin slices of rare roast beef with horseradish sauce, three steaming hot potato pancakes smothered in applesauce, a scoop of red and white cabbage salad, and a chunk of challah. On the side was a plateful of cholent—a stew chock full of beans and beef and topped with stuffed derma. A crystal goblet full of ice water stood next to a matching wine glass brimming over with semi-dry rosé.

But his stomach churned.