I went back to Stephanie’s room and had another look around. In a dresser drawer I found her purse with forty or fifty dollars in it, her driver’s license and a couple of Ashland department store credit cards. She surely wouldn’t have gone on a trip without taking those things.

Shouldn’t I call the Cainesville police or the sheriff’s office, despite what Jack had said? Then something else occurred to me. A member of our family was already in trouble with the police. Wouldn’t their first impulse be to question Duff about Stephanie’s disappearance?

My first impulse was the same, I don’t deny that. I wondered if Duff was involved as soon as I realized Stephanie was missing. He had assaulted her once. Could he have done something worse to her this time?

I went back to Jack. “Do you realize Duff isn’t here either?”

“So he’s gone to school.”

“He didn’t come down for breakfast, did he? And he didn’t take the bus. I saw Franny get on the bus alone. And the Hertz car is in the yard.”

“Maybe one of his friends picked him up.”

I walked away in disgust, still more worried about Stephanie than Duff, although I kept telling myself she hadn’t been gone all that long. She could’ve gone to a motel with the married boyfriend she had told me about. She wouldn’t have needed her purse or any extra clothes to do that.

Somewhat relieved by that thought, I went out to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. I should explain now that the Caine kitchen is an extraordinarily large one, typical, I suppose, of nineteenth century farmhouses, with plenty of work and storage room. It’s a gloomy place, even with the electric lights on, and it’s particularly gloomy in the morning, since there is just one small window overlooking the yard.

I mention these things to indicate that it wouldn’t be difficult for a person to remain unobserved in the room, even if he wasn’t intending to hide. Thus it happened that I was standing by the electric stove for a good five minutes, waiting for the water to boil for my instant coffee, before I became aware of someone else in the room.

The first time I turned to look, I didn’t see anyone, but I still had the feeling that someone was watching me. I turned again and saw him.

He was tilted back in one of the old wooden kitchen chairs, his feet on the open door of the wood stove. He was the man I had seen in the car, and he was grinning at me as before.