“What?” Loming gave a start, and his coffee splashed onto his robe. “God, no.”

“Brett was perpetually broke, always gambling away his earnings. Must have made you furious to know you’d never get that debt back.”

He cinched the belt on his bathrobe even tighter. “I knew he was leaving, so I went over to his car and I asked for the money. He promised he’d mail it to me once he got to Philly. It never came, but I really didn’t care.”

“So you didn’t argue or fight that night. Any witnesses to confirm what you’re telling me?”

“Witnesses! How am I supposed to know? It was dark out there, and I was talking to Brett.” Loming was starting to come apart. “I’m telling you the truth. I had nothing to do with Brett’s death.”

I studied him. The man wouldn’t quite meet my eye. I tried another angle. “Did you bump into anyone else that night? Anyone Brett knew?”

Whether it was the truth or not, I expected him to name Cheryl. If he was trying to protect himself by throwing me off track, staying consistent with his claim that Cheryl wasn’t happy about Brett’s intention to leave town would be the smart move.

Realizing he hadn’t taken a single sip of his coffee, Loming set down his cup and sank his hands into the pockets of his robe. “It was crowded. That movie was new, and people came from all over to see it. But I did recognize a few faces.” He rubbed his chin. “After I left Brett’s car, I saw Felicia.”

I felt my spine go taut as a wire. “What was she doing?”

“Just walking. Searching for someone, looked like. I didn’t wait around to find out.”

“Anyone else?”

“Crissy was there, talking to another kid.” Loming shook his head, as if trying to dislodge the memory. “They were arguing. I didn’t envy Brett, thanked God every day I had sons and not daughters. With her looks and sass, the girl was a handful.”

That, too, was interesting. From what I could recall, Crissy had kept to her own friend group that night. I hadn’t seen much of her at all. If her disappearance and her father’s death were connected, her movements might matter just as much as Brett’s. I asked, “This kid she was talking to. Boy or girl?”

“It was a guy.”

“Did you recognize him?”

“I don’t know. It was dark.”

“Could you guess his age?”

“Same as Crissy, more or less.”

“How was Crissy acting?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you get the impression that she was on drugs?” I was thinking about my conversation with Felicia. She seemed to believe Crissy was given meth by her abductor, but methamphetamine can stay in your system for several days. Crissy was smoking pot by then, so while Felicia hadn’t mentioned her daughter was acting strange that night, it didn’t seem like a long shot to imagine Crissy could have taken the meth herself. That she’d been seen with a guy in the most remote part of the drive-in bothered me, too. I’d heard rumors—we all had—about the older kids going over there for drugs. A dark, quiet corner of a public place was usually a good place to score some dope.