I reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, my finger brushing the warm metal of the earring Rick had given her that morning. “Don’t rush, but don’t linger either. The streetlights come on early these days.”
She gave me a quick, bright nod and took the porch steps two at a time, her music sheets rustling under her arm. At the edge of the gravel driveway, she stopped and waved once, her small figure silhouetted against the gravel road before she turned the corner by the oak tree.
By six, the sun had dipped below the tree line, leaving the kitchen in gray shadow. I was chopping carrots for the beef stew when the telephone on the wall rang, its sharp chime cutting through the quiet house.
“Marlene, are we still on for six-thirty?” Denise asked, her voice coming through the receiver in its usual hurried rush. “I have the green bean casserole in the oven right now.”
I set the knife down on the cutting board, looking at the kitchen window where the dusk was thickening. “Denise, did you see Hannah walk past your house on her way back from Mrs. Gable’s?”
“No, I haven’t been looking out,” Denise said, her warm tone shifting slightly. “But Marlene, I did see Rick’s construction truck parked over at the county credit union around three. I thought he was supposed to be working the north site today.”
My hand tightened on the receiver, my left ring finger rubbing against the plastic casing. “The credit union is five miles past his job.”
“Maybe he had to draw some cash for materials,” Denise said, though her voice lacked its usual certainty. “Is Hannah still at her lesson?”
“She was supposed to be home forty minutes ago,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper.
I hung up the phone without saying goodbye. The drive to Mrs. Gable’s house took less than four minutes, but the old woman’s porch was dark, and her front door remained closed when I knocked. When Mrs. Gable finally answered, wearing her housecoat, she looked at me with confusion and told me Hannah had left her living room at precisely five o’clock.
