Seven Minutes to Noon

anyway,” Frannie said. “I don’t know about some of the guys around here, but when women start disappearing in my neighborhood, it bothers me. I’ll be pitching the case at roll call this morning and working the rest of the day.”
    One of Alice’s babies began to move, and soon both were shifting inside her. She stood up. “I should go. My family’s waiting at home.”
    “I’ll walk you out.”
    In the precinct lobby, the women shook hands.
    “Thanks again,” Frannie said. “I’ll call you if anything happens.”
    Alice walked alone into a morning whose sleepy quiet had bubbled awake while she was inside the precinct. A little girl in a flower-power helmet raced by on a hot-pink two-wheeler, her father trotting steadily beside her. An old woman in a cotton day dress swept her front stoop. Alice couldn’t wait to see Mike and the kids. Maybe, she thought, she could manage a nap this morning. Maybe today things would turn around. Lauren would safely return. Frannie would call with good news.
    But that, it turned out, was wishful thinking.
    Frannie never called. The day passed. By evening, Alice’s agitation was unbearable. Finally she phoned the precinct, expecting nothing, and was surprised when Frannie told her there was, in fact, something to report.

Chapter 7
    “We’ve got a witness,” Frannie said. “Our first lead.”
    The children’s melodious voices floated from the backyard through the screen door into the kitchen. Alice sat at the table, watching Mike at the stove, where he patiently stirred his special risotto. It was her favorite dish. Dense, creamy rice, ham, onions, carrots, peas. A hint of lemon.
    “He’s an artist,” Frannie continued. “Lives right there on the canal, in that round house with all the skylights. He had his easel set up on the Carroll Street Bridge Friday morning. He saw Lauren at quarter to twelve, crossing the bridge.”
    Quarter to twelve. On her way to Pilates.
    “This guy,” Frannie continued, “he didn’t know about Lauren going missing. He’s one of those people who hates the news, doesn’t watch TV, won’t read the paper. Travels a lot. Only likes the pretty picture, if you know what I mean.”
    Alice heard sounds of shouting behind Frannie.
    “What’s happening?”
    “Some idiot’s blocking the box.” Traffic fools was what Mike called drivers who lamely jammed an intersection.
    “Frannie, did he talk to Lauren?”
    “They smiled at each other. Lauren seemed ‘pleasant and civilized,’ the guy said. She did not appear to be in labor.”
    “Then?”
    “He went back to his painting. Stayed another three hours, packed up and went home.”
    The kids barreled in from outside and Mike indulged them in an extra round of TV so Alice could concentrate on the call. He turned off the flame under the risotto and sat next to her at the kitchen table, wiping his hands on his floral-and-stain-patterned apron. A trace of dirt darkened his fingernails. He had been working so hard lately, preparing for his booth at a big furniture expo in Las Vegas next month, dust and grime finding every exposed fissure of skin. She reached over and pressed her fingers between his; for twenty years, a perfect fit.
    “So now we’ve got a more focused area to search,” Frannie said, “between the canal and the Pilates place, where she never showed up.”
    “What?” Alice said. “She never got to her class?” The instructor had never called Maggie back; the storefront classroom hadn’t been open since after the Friday class, and presumably no one had heard the message.
    “The teacher saw the article in the newspaper,” Frannie said. “She called us. Alice, I know this doesn’t sound like good news to you, but it’s going to speed things up. You’ll see.”
    Alice closed her eyes and summoned an image of the canal and its scant neighborhood. The limo place on the corner. The parking lot with all those Mr. Frosty trucks. The place that made cast plaster reproductions. There was at least a block before it really got residential again.
    “Listen, Alice, I’ve got to get going,” Frannie said. “I’ll call you if there are any more developments. And if you think of anything, anything at all, call me or just stop by. This morning was good. We’re going to find her. Together.”
    Together, Alice thought, just as Frannie said the word.
    Alice hung up the phone and told Mike everything.
    “So that’s good,” he said in the same encouraging tone he used to