Gingerbread Man

while blowing out a sigh. "Sorry. It's a family matter. A private one, and we don't talk about it. Just do what I tell you, okay? Trust me on this, Vince. It's for the best." He patted Vince once on the shoulder, then turned and headed back to where his wife was talking and laughing with some neighbors near the fire.
    Okay, fine, Vince thought. He had a big fat envelope in his car right now that might very well have plenty to say on the matter. In fact, judging from Holly's reaction when he'd suggested checking official records to get her story, he was ninety-nine percent sure he would find something. Maybe everything. And suddenly he was dying to get some down time so he could read every word. He started to leave, but got waylaid every ten steps by locals wanting to chat. Friendly bunch, or maybe just curious. They all asked plenty of questions, he thought. Any one of them could have ulterior motives.
    Ernie Graycloud held him up the longest. He was obviously Native American—he reminded Vince of the fellow who used to do the pollution commericals in the seventies. Long hair, black with streaks of silver, pulled behind his head and tied with a leather band. He wore faded jeans and a denim jacket.
    "You're the cop, right?" he asked. He stepped into Vince's path and asked the question. Just like that
    "Did someone pin a sign on my back, or what?"
    "No need. Small town. I'm the local M.D., Ernie Gray-cloud." He thrust out a hand.
    "Vince O'Mally, in case you didn't know." Vince shook his hand.
    "You look like you're leaving," Graycloud said.
    "Yeah, I was hoping to turn in early," he lied.
    "But you don't want to do that yet. You'll miss the best part of the autumn bonfire if you do. I bring my drums every year, lead the kids, and most of the grown-ups, too, around the bonfire in a tribal dance taught to me by my grandmother."
    "Wow, that must be something to see."
    "Oh, it is." He leaned closer, as if sharing a deep secret. "Now D'Voe, over there, he thinks his spooky stories are the highlight of the bonfire. But in truth, it's the drumming and the dance."
    "Sounds like you have a little friendly rivalry going."
    Graycloud nodded, grinning. "You shouldn't miss it."
    He was honestly tempted to hang around. But those files were calling to him. Before he had to make up an excuse, though, someone called his name.
    He turned at the soft voice. Doris Newman stood behind him. "I need a word with you."
    He glanced back at Graycloud, who nodded once, and walked away with a wave. Then he turned back to Doris, noting her tight expression. "What is it?" he asked.
    "I'm worried about Holly," she said.
    "Oh, I'm sure it's nothing. She said she didn't feel well and wanted to go home." He looked past Doris but didn't see Holly anywhere in the crowd.
    "Yes, I know, but I don't like the idea of her walking home alone. Not after that intruder she thought she saw at your cabin yesterday."
    Vince felt his brows draw together, and his gaze shifted to the dark, winding road in the distance. "She's walking?"
    "She left already. I couldn't talk her out of it—I swear that girl can be so stubborn."
    He nodded, tried not to look as exasperated as he felt. "I'll go after her," he said. "Don't worry, I'll see her safely home." He thought about adding, "and don't tell your brother-in-law," but decided against it
    Doris smiled, looking relieved. He might have suspected her of matchmaking, but there was something in her face. Something truly concerned. It was like a very dim reflection of Sara Prague's face, looking at him from across his desk, asking him to find her children. And just like before, he promised he would make it okay. The realization made his stomach twist painfully. Damn, when was he going to learn?
    "Thank you, Vince," Doris told him. "You're a good man. I can tell."
    * * *
    HOLLY LEFT THE party earlier than she'd expected. She had never done that before in the five years she and her mother had lived here. It wasn't a part of the detailed plans she'd made for tonight. She'd had it all worked out. After all, annual events weren't as easily controlled as daily ones. You could get into a habit, a routine, of doing certain things in a certain order every day, until it became second nature. But events that only happened once a year took more time. More effort. She was supposed to have spent a half hour catching up with Uncle Marty and Aunt Jen. She was supposed to have taken a minute to talk with Doc Graycloud. And she had planned to