KnockOut

Sweet Onion River, deep enough to drown an adult, and he thought of one little girl, alone and lost, and turned it off. It wouldn’t help. She said then, “Autumn’s sick. She hasn’t had her pill today. She’ll be fine, but she does need the medication. Today and tomorrow.” And she shut her mouth, shook her head. He wanted to ask her exactly what was wrong with her daughter, but he saw tears sheen her eyes, her hands clenching and unclenching, and didn’t push it. He asked other questions, but she couldn’t tell him anything useful. Or she wouldn’t; he really didn’t know which it was.
    It was time to get serious with her.
    Of course the little girl didn’t have to be in the wilderness. She could be anywhere, but he didn’t think so, or someone would have spotted her. They’d searched every building and house in Titusville. No sign of her. And that left the wilderness. She had to have a pill today and one tomorrow. He wished he’d asked Mrs. Backman what was wrong with her.
    Had she wandered off? And that brought him back to whether someone had lured her away.
    She’s dead.
    No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow himself to think that yet. Not yet.
    It was hot during the day, but now at nearly nine o’clock at night, when summer darkness finally hit, the temperature began its nightly drop to the forties. It was getting colder by the minute. Ethan turned on the Rubicon’s heater, felt the rush of hot air on his face.
    When he pulled into the driveway of his 1940s bungalow, tucked into a mess of pine trees a half-mile outside Titusville, the first things he heard were Lula’s and Mackie’s loud, desperate meows punctuated by Big Louie’s ear-piercing bark.
    He loaded up the cats’ food bowls while both of them weaved frantically between his legs, talking nonstop. He fed his patient Big Louie, then took him for a quick walk. Then, just eight and a half minutes after he’d arrived, he drove into Titusville to report to Autumn’s mom that they hadn’t found her daughter yet. He had to get more information out of her, like what was wrong with Autumn, and where her damned husband was.
    He hated it.

4
    EVERY LIGHT AT Gerald’s Loft was on. It had quickly become the search center, where Ox had patiently handed out assignments, gathered reports, and called Ethan periodically.
    Inside, Ethan saw Gerald Ransom and Mrs. Daily, brother and sister, refilling the giant coffee urn, laying out heaps of Oreos donated by Mavis at Blinker’s Market. There were still a good two dozen people wandering around the Victorian entry hall with its dark paneled walls and florid red cabbage-rose wallpaper, and in the sitting room across from the reception area, loaded with so many knickknacks that Ethan’s mom always said dancing on water might be easier than dusting that room without breaking anything.
    Pete Elders of Elders Outdoor Gear spotted him, and slowly everyone turned to him, many of the faces lived-in, seamed, and weathered, all with the same expression—hope. Conversation died.
    Ethan simply shook his head and saw their collective hope dissolve. He thought the air felt suddenly heavier. He searched the group but didn’t see her.
    “Where is Mrs. Backman?” he asked Mrs. Daily, a large-boned, buxom woman, formidable in her man’s tie and black suit. She dwarfed her brother Gerald.
    “I sent her upstairs, Sheriff, before she passed out on the floor. The girl’s a mess. No wonder. I tried to feed her, but she threw up. She was out searching until Tommy Larkin hauled her back here.”
    He turned to the group. “Thank you very much for all your hard work today. Whoever can make it, we’ll begin the search again tomorrow morning.”
    “Coffee’s here and free,” Mrs. Daily called out, saw her tightfisted brother start to shake his head, and stared him down.
    Ethan turned to walk to the stairs, then said over his shoulder, “We’ll find her.”
    He heard Cork Thomas, owner of the Bountiful Wine Shop, say, “To answer your question, Dolly, I haven’t seen Autumn in three, four years. She was just a toddler the last time she visited Tollie, cute as a button. Tollie carted her around everywhere right on his shoulders. She’s gotten big, and so bright she is. Those eyes of hers look right into your soul. She’s smart. Surely she wouldn’t have climbed into Nome stranger’s car. Damnation, where the blazes is she?”
    “What a shame Tollie’s out of town until next Tuesday,” said Tuber Willis,