Rescue

given the difference in their ages. But I don’t think Eddie has friends his own age, least I didn’t ever see him with any.“
    “How did Melinda and Eddie meet?“
    “Don’t know. But he’d be over here, at least a part of pretty near every day in July and August, watching TV with Melinda or helping her with things she didn’t really need help with—she had the chores pretty well in hand. Nice, polite boy. Didn’t seem to know much, though.“
    I thought back to the tire-changing, but Pettengill said, “What do you mean, Oz?“
    Finn shrugged. “It was like... like his daddy never showed him how to work things. Simple things, like basic tools and such. When I was his age, I could almost take apart a motor, but he didn’t seem to have the hang of anything past a rake or a shovel.“
    Pettengill rubbed his chin.
    I said, “Oz, how long has Melinda been gone?“
    Finn looked at me steadily. “Some days now.“
    “When’s the last time you saw her?“
    He didn’t have to think about it. “Thursday.“
    Very quietly, I said, “She told you she was leaving?“
    Finn closed his eyes. “Not in so many words. She just acted kind of picky over her lunch—Velvetta, it was, good cheese on wheat bread—then told me there was something she had to do. Melinda was hoping to come back and see me afterwards, but she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to.“
    “Did Melinda tell you what the something was?“
    “No.“
    “She ask to use your car?“
    He opened his eyes. “No. I suppose I could say she did, and maybe that would keep her out of some trouble.“ Finn looked to Pettengill. “But I’ve never lied to you, Kyle, and I’m not about to lie in front of you, either.“
    “I appreciate that, Oz.“
    I said, “It looks a lot like Melinda took your car and was driving Eddie south to Boston . Any reason you can think of for that?“
    “None. I will say this. She knew where the keys were, and she sure used that car often enough to go to the grocery, get the things we needed. If I can, Kyle, I’d like not to have that Dodge of mine listed as stolen.“
    “Up to you to report it that way, Oz.“
    “Then it’s not stolen, far as I’m concerned. It was a good machine, let somebody else get some use out of it.“
    I said, “Right now, it’s just sitting near the bank of a channel in Boston .“
    Finn came back to me, eyes no longer hawkish but sad in the hound dog face. “What you were saying before, about a girl ‘matching her description’ being found dead by my car. You think it was Melinda, don’t you?“
    “I saw the girl who said she was Melinda driving your car, and I saw the body. For a lot of reasons, I can’t be sure, but I think they were one and the same. If I can take something you know was hers back to Boston , maybe they can compare the fingerprints and be sure.“
    Finn shook his head, lids down again. “Go on if you want to, but I’ve listened to a lot of folks tell me things over the years, Mr. Cuddy, and you sound sure enough of what you say for me to believe you without that.“
    Pettengill said, “I wonder if it would be all right with you for us to take a look at her room?“
    Without opening his eyes, Finn waved toward the staircase.

    “Mind your head.“
    The stairs were narrow, the beam at the top a little low for somebody over five-eight or so. The second floor was stuffy and warmer by fifteen degrees than where we’d been.
    As if reading my thoughts, Pettengill said behind me, “These old places, they don’t have the roof insulation they might. Just right for what we see of spring and fall, but hot in summer and cold in winter.“
    I moved to the only doorway on the floor.
    It could have been a cell in a convent.
    The fleur-de-lis wallpaper was separating here and there, but somebody, probably Melinda, had tacked it down with some kind of paste where she could. The floor was pine, gouged and grooved by the feet of furniture and the shoes of people over the years. Like the living room, though, it was swept dean and polished, and the blanket on the bed was tugged down tight, military or hospital style, depending on your point of view. The closet was empty, just three hangers swinging on the single pole from the vacuum created by my opening the door. Nothing under the bed, not even dust balls. The one bureau had handles on three of its four drawers, but no clothes in any of them, just contact paper over the bottoms. The contact paper was fleur-de-lis, too,