Making their way between the tables toward the open double doors were Penelope and a short black-haired girl with thick glasses. 'Here's your opportunity, bud.'
Dion jumped off the table. 'You come with me.'
Kevin snorted. 'Hell, no. This is your move. You go over there and talk to her alone. I'll still be here when she shoots you down.'
Penelope and her friend were at the back of one of the lines, and Dion knew that if he didn't move now, someone else would take the spot behind her. He quickly zigzagged through the crowd of teeming students.
He was in luck. He got in line behind her just as a group of cheerleaders got in line behind him. It had all happened so fast, he had moved without thinking, and now he didn't know what to do. His hands were sweaty, his stomach churning. He didn't want to tap on Penelope's shoulder to get her attention or to speak to her before she noticed his presence, so he simply readied himself in case she turned around, trying to relax and put on a show of comfortable ease he did not feel.
When she did turn around a moment later and saw him, he pretended to be surprised. He cleared his throat. 'Hi,' he said. 'I didn't recognize you.'
She looked surprised too, but she smiled when she saw him. She had a nice smile, he thought. A friendly smile. A real smile.
'Hi,' she said.
'My name's Dion. I'm in your Mythology class.' He knew it was stupid the moment he said it, but there was no way to take his sentence back.
She laughed. Her laugh was warm, casual. 'I know who you are. I
corrected your paper, remember?'
He reddened, unsure of what to say or how to respond, afraid he would say something even dumber.
'I was really impressed by how well you did on the test,' she added.
'Yeah, well, thanks.'
'No, I mean it. You really know your stuff.'
The line moved forward, and Dion realized with something like panic that it was his turn to say something, but he could think of nothing to say.
There were at least six people between Penelope and the food. This was his one and only chance; he'd better think of something good, or they'd wait the rest of the time in silence and it would be all over. He glanced toward Kevin, who gave him a thumbs-up sign.
What the hell was he supposed to say?
It was Penelope's friend who saved him.
'I don't remember seeing you here before,' she said, 'Are you new?'
He relaxed. Now he was home free. 'Yeah,' he said. 'I'm from Arizona. My mom and I just moved here a little over a week ago.'
'It must be tough to come to a new school,' Penelope said.
He looked at her. Was he imagining it, or was there more than just casual interest in her expression, in her tone of voice? She had spoken almost wistfully, as if she understood how he felt, as if she had been there herself.
As if she cared.
No, he was just reading nuances which were not there.
'Yes,' he said. 'It is tough. I don't know anyone yet.'
'You know us,' Penelope's friend said, smiling.
Dion smiled back. 'That's true.'
'And you know that Kevin Harte,' Penelope said. There was something in the way she said 'that Kevin Harte' which implied that she did not like his new friend.
'Well, I just met him,' Dion said.
And then they were through the line and at the food, their opportunity for conversation at an end. Penelope took a covered bowl of salad and a can of V8 from the buffet. Dion grabbed a hamburger, a small cup of fries, and two Cokes, one for him, one for Kevin.
'I'll see you Monday,' Penelope said, heading with her friend over to a cash register. She smiled that radiant smile. 'It's nice to meet you.'
'Yeah,' her friend said.
'Yeah,' Dion echoed. He wanted to say something else, wanted to invite the both of them to Kevin's table, wanted to ask Penelope if she would like to study with him some time, wanted to ensure that they would talk again, but he did not know how. He paid the two dollars, watched the girls walk away.
It was a start, and he should have felt good, but for some reason he felt disappointed, sort of let down. It made no sense. Things had gone well. It was the first week and they were already talking, but he still felt depressed about the encounter. He made his way through the crowd toward Kevin.
'So,' his friend said, grinning, 'how'd it go? She dive for your ding-dong?'
'Asked for it by name,' Dion said, setting down the tray.
Kevin laughed, almost spitting out the sip of Coke he'd taken. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'Penelope?' he said, laughing.
Dion smiled, chuckled, and then laughed himself. 'Yeah,' he said.
Already he felt better. He picked up his hamburger. 'And her friend wants you.'
'In her dreams,' Kevin said.
Dion laughed. He thought of Penelope. Things had gone well, he told himself. Things might work out.
He unwrapped his hamburger and settled down to eat.
Lieutenant David Horton used the landlord's key to open the heavy glass door and stepped inside Something Old. The antique shop was empty, its dead air silent save for the low drone of outside noise. He was followed inside immediately by the two uniforms. 'Mr. Williams!' he called out.
He waited a beat. 'Anybody here?' His voice died flatly in the stillness.
Horton nodded to the policemen behind him. 'Check it out,' he said.
The two officers spread out, taking both sides of the front desk, entering the back room in tandem. They emerged a moment later, shaking their heads.
'Check the aisles,' the lieutenant said. He lit a cigarette, watching his men take parellel paths away from the center of the store.
The antique shop had been closed for a week. No crime there. But it was highly unusual, noted by owners of several of the adjoining businesses.
And when rent had come due a few days ago and the landlord received neither a check nor an excuse from the usually punctual antique dealer, he'd suspected something was up. He'd called Williams' house, gotten no answer, called Williams' sister in Salinas, learned that she hadn't heard from him for over a week. Then he'd called the police.
Disappearances were not that unusual in the Wine Country. Northern California's reputation for fostering a laid-back lifestyle, combined with outsiders' perceptions of what life in the valley was like, attracted to the area a lot of flakes and transients, drifters who saw the wine industry only in terms of its alcoholic output, not realizing that mundane work went into producing recreational beverages, that life here was not one long, constant party.
But Victor Williams was not a transient. He was a local businessman with roots in the valley. And Horton had serious doubts that he'd just up and leave on a whim, telling no one, letting his store remain closed. It was out of character, it didn't fit.
Which meant, Horton thought to himself, that Vie Williams was probably dead.
The lieutenant took a drag on his cigarette, sighed, exhaling smoke.
There had been a time when he'd hated this job, when the novelty of wearing a badge and wielding a little power had worn off, when the fact that his work consisted of looking up society's asshole day after day had really begun to get to him. He had almost quit then, had almost told the department to Johnny Paycheck it, but he'd realized that he was not qualified to do anything other than police work; he had no other skills and was too old to start over.
Now he just tried not to think about it. He didn't regret lost career opportunities, didn't piss and moan that
