”Yeah, you kind of do.“
She burst out laughing.
”It is a good one, though, I’ll admit that.“
”It better be,“ she said. ”I work on it enough.“
Now that we’ve covered the hook-ups lists, I’m reviewing the other entries in the journal, looking for things Mia might be able to clarify. Her cell phone has chirped a hundred times with text messages, but this time when she checks the phone, she pumps her hand in triumph. ”Got it!“
”What?“
”The last square. The party.“
”Where is it?“
”Oakfield.“
I can’t believe it. I figured the rave would happen in the middle of nowhere. Oakfield is an eighty-acre antebellum estate north of town, the site of one of the most beautiful Italianate mansions in the Natchez area. ”That’s a three-million-dollar house.“
Mia glances at me. ”Is it?“
”Easily.“
”Janie Moffitt’s grandparents own it. They’re out of town.“
”How many kids do you think will be there?“ I figure I’ve already seen forty to fifty en route to the party.
”There were a couple of hundred at the lake party. And with the terrible stuff that’s been happening, I have a feeling everybody will come to this one. X gives you that sense of total empathy, you know? Oneness with everybody. I think that’s what everyone’s looking for right now. Some way to share what they’re feeling.“
”If I weren’t here, would you take Ecstasy tonight?“
Mia glances over at me. ”I might take some anyway.“
The convoy turns left on Airport Road, which leads into the northwest part of the county. When I was in high school, we held a lot of informal parties under a tin-roofed pavilion near the airport. There was little danger of discovery, since the Natchez airport didn’t have commercial service (and still doesn’t). But Oakfield is truly high cotton. In California the estate would cost forty million dollars. The convoy slows, then turns onto the narrow lane that leads to the mansion.
”Get down,“ Mia says. ”I see the gate.“
The Accord slows to a stop, then creeps forward. From my nearly fetal position, I spy the head of a lion mounted on a tall stone gatepost. Mia jerks the blanket over my head and shoves me toward the floor with surprising strength.
”You’re up, Jamie.“
”You all by yourself?“
”As always.“
”It’s a crime, man.“
”Do I get in?“
”Hell, yeah. I want to dance with you. Be careful, though. It’s wild down there.“
Mia starts to drive off, but Jamie calls, ”Hold up!“
She skids to a stop on gravel.
”I almost forgot,“ Jamie says, giggling. ”Don’t forget this.“
It sounds as though something is changing hands at the window.
”Thanks, Dad,“ Mia says, and then she drives on.
”What was that?“ I ask.
She shoves something under the blanket. ”There you go, baby.“
I click on my penlight and see a yellow-and-white pacifier in her hand. From my years in Houston, I know the significance of the pacifier. MDMA-or ”X“-makes abusers grind their teeth. Ravers use pacifiers to prevent sore jaws the morning after, and also to prevent damage to their teeth.
”What is it?“
”Look outside. But be careful.“
I raise my head above the door frame. The rolling hills of Oakfield are flickering under multicolored spotlights. Tents of various sizes have been set up around the estate, and pounding techno rock rolls down from the mansion atop the hill on our left. Sixty yards ahead, a huge crowd of teenagers dances in front of a lighted stage. Pickup trucks and four-wheelers race over the hills in all directions, ramping into the air while kids in the beds behind scream and laugh.
”Is this how these things usually go?“ I ask.
Raucous male laughter followed by a female screech pierces my right ear. As I turn, three naked girls sprint toward Mia’s car, chased by two shirtless boys in blue jeans. One of the boys is spraying beer at the girls from a large bottle, while the other shoots at them with a battery-powered water gun. The first girl slams headlong into Mia’s right fender, then spins and darts across her headlight beams into the darkness on the other side of the road. A second girl follows, but the third falls laughing to the ground. The two boys fall beside or on top of her.
”No,“ Mia says softly. ”This is not the usual thing.“ She starts forward again, bringing us closer to the dancing throng. ”What do you want me to do?“
”I want to talk to Marko. Will the kids freak out if I get out and walk around this party?“
”They won’t freak, but it’ll get around that there’s somebody old here. They’ll probably ask you to leave.“
”Park in the dark, then. But put me where I can see the main action.“
She turns off the long driveway into a pit of blackness on the left. The Accord bumps up and down, then stops. ”You want me to hunt for Marko?“ she asks.
”If you’re up for it.“
”What if I find him? Do I just tell him you want to talk to him?“
”Does he know you?“
”He knows me. But if you can get him over this way without letting him know what’s up, that would be good.“
Mia studies me in the dashboard lights. ”You mean pretend that I want to hook up with him.“
”If that’s not too scary, I guess so. I’ll take over as soon as I see you. You could ring my cell to give me a heads-up. One ring and I’ll see your ID.“
”Okay,“ she says finally. ”But I wouldn’t get my hopes up. Nobody’s seen Marko for two days.“ She reaches for her door handle.
I take her right wrist and squeeze it. ”Thanks, Mia.“
”No problem,“ she says, but she’s not smiling.
And then she is gone.
Someone is knocking on my door. I grab for the Browning in my jacket pocket, trying to remember where I am.
”Are you going to shoot me?“ Mia asks, sliding into the driver’s seat. The smell of alcohol wafts through the car. ”You fell asleep, didn’t you?“
”I guess so. Sorry.“
I didn’t tell her I was carrying a gun tonight, but she did give my coat a second look back at the hotel. It’s close to seventy degrees outside. ”What about Marko?“
”I couldn’t find him.“
”Has anyone seen him?“
”A lot of people saw him earlier. He was apparently up onstage with the DJ, dancing and talking to the crowd. He dedicated a song to Kate and Chris.“
”But nobody knows where he is?“
”No. He might be in one of the tents, but I’m not going in there for you.“
”Why not?“
”I’m just not.“
