More headshakes, and when Eileen Waters spoke again her voice was that of another woman: timid, chastened. Reduced.

She began crying. Finally stopped. “Melinda never came home, I haven’t seen her since Friday.”

CHAPTER

9

The Waters household was a step up from Bowie Ingalls’s flop,
furnished with old, ungainly furniture that might’ve been hand-
me-downs from some upright Midwestern homestead. Browning doilies on the arms of overstuffed chairs said someone had once cared. Ashtrays were everywhere, filled with gray dust and butts, and the air felt sooty. No beer empties, but Milo noticed a quarter-full bottle of Dewars on a kitchen counter next to a jam jar packed with something purple. Every drape was drawn, plunging the house into perpetual evening. The sun could be punishing when your body subsisted on ethanol.

Either Schwinn had developed an instant dislike for Eileen Waters or his bad mood had intensified or he had a genuine reason for riding her hard. He sat her down on a sofa, and began peppering her with questions.

She did nothing to defend herself other than chain-smoke Parliaments, was easy with the confessions:

Melinda was wild, had been wild for a long time, had fought off any attempts at discipline. Yes, she used drugs—marijuana, for sure. Eileen had found roaches in her pockets, wasn’t sure about anything harder, but wasn’t denying the possibility.

“What about Janie Ingalls?” asked Schwinn.

“You kidding? She’s probably the one introduced Melinda to dope.”

“Why’s that?”

“That kid was stoned all the time.”

“How old’s Melinda?”

“Seventeen.”

“What year in school?”

“Eleventh grade—I know Janie’s in tenth but just because Melinda’s older doesn’t mean she was the instigator. Janie was street-smart. I’m sure Janie’s the one got Melinda into grass . . . Lord, where could she be?”

Milo thought back to his search of Janie’s room: no evidence of dope, not even rolling paper or a pipe.

“Melinda and Janie were a perfect pair,” Waters was saying. “Neither of them gave a damn about school, they cut all the time.”

“What’d you do about it?”

The woman laughed. “Right.” Then the fear came back. “Melinda will come back, she always does.”

“In what way was Janie streetwise?” said Schwinn.

“You know,” said Waters. “You can just tell. Like she’d been around.”

“Sexually?”

“I assume. Melinda was basically a good girl.”

“Janie spend much time here?”

“No. Mostly she’d pick up Melinda, and they’d be off.”

“That the case last Friday?”

“Dunno.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was out shopping. Came home, and Melinda was gone. I could tell she’d been here because she left her underwear on the floor and some food out in the kitchen.”

“Food for one?”

Waters thought. “One Popsicle wrapper and a Pepsi can—I guess.”

“So the last time you saw Melinda was Friday morning, but you don’t know if Janie came by to pick her up.”