“Also to remind us of the Maori,” Kitta added.
“Tattoos play an important role in Maori culture,” Cameron said to me. “Remember Toko?”
I nodded as I recalled Toko Baker’s legs, covered from ankle to thigh with an intricate pattern of tattoos.
“I think I understand,” I said, looking from Kitta to Kati. “Middle Earth and New Zealand come together in your elvish tattoos.”
“Exactly right,” said Kati, beaming at me.
“Bree also wants a tattoo, but not elvish,” said Kitta. “She gets an owl on her shoulder. She says it is her Ruru.”
“Ruru is the Maori name for the morepork owl,” Cameron elucidated. “It’s one of the few native species that isn’t endangered.”
“It is the name also for her little friend,” Kitta said. “Her—” She broke off and looked to Kati for guidance. “How do you call it?”
“Her soft toy,” Kati put in.
I had a sudden vision of the stuffed animals in Bree’s bedroom and the indentation I’d noticed on her pillow. Had the dent marked the spot where Ruru had lain before she’d tucked him into her backpack and set out on her seemingly endless journey?
“She first gets the owl tattoo,” Kati continued. “Then she gets a flower.”
“Then more flowers.” Kitta tapped two fingers along her arm, from her wrist to her shoulder. “Flowers, all up her arms.”
“One day Roger tells her she must stop because it is too much, too fast,” said Kati.
“It is not good to go so fast with tattoos,” said Kitta severely.
“Roger tells her, slow down,” said Kati, “and Bree . . .” She lowered her eyes and shook her head sadly.
“Bree goes crazy,” Kitta declared, pursing her lips. “She shouts at Roger. She breaks his lamp.” She pointed to her eyes. “She breaks his glasses.”
“How can Roger work without his glasses?” Kati asked with a helpless shrug. “But Roger is a good man—as wise as a wizard and as noble as an elf-lord. He does not call the police.”
“We bring Bree home,” said Kitta. “She cries and cries.”
“And next morning,” said Kati, “she is gone.”
The two friends fell silent. I leaned my forehead on my hands, feeling heartsick. It sounded as though Cameron’s prediction had come true: The ticking time bomb had finally exploded. I was certain that, had it not been for Roger’s extraordinary forbearance, Bree’s actions would have landed her in jail.
“Do you know where she went?” Cameron asked.
“No,” said Kati. “She goes before we are awake and she does not leave a note.”
“Does she still have her car?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” said Kitta. “The Chocolate Fish is in Scorching Bay. She needs her car to work there.”
Cameron glanced speculatively toward the kitchen. “Was Bree drunk when she had her row with Roger?”
I raised my head, half afraid to hear the answer.
“Oh, no,” Kati said earnestly. “Bree does not drink.”
“Not even wine,” Kitta added.
I breathed a sigh of relief. The years Bree had spent with her father had, it seemed, taught her the folly of seeking solace in a bottle.
“We’ll pay for Roger’s glasses and his lamp,” said Cameron. He took his wallet from his pocket and passed a handful of bills to Kati. “Please tell him how grateful we are to him for his kindness to Bree.”
“I will,” said Kati.
A cell phone rang. I looked around expectantly until it dawned on me that the sound was coming from my day pack. A sense of foreboding crept over me as I fished the phone out of my pack. It could only be Bill, I thought, calling to tell me that Ruth and Louise were dead.
“Hello?” I said.
“Hey, Lori! How’s it shakin’?”
Angelo Velesuonno’s voice had never sounded so sweet. If he’d been within arm’s reach, I would have kissed him.
“Angelo!” I exclaimed. “Guess what? Cameron and I are sitting in your condo right now, talking with Kati and Kitta. Unfortunately, Bree’s not with us. She left the condo ten days ago.”
“I know,” he said. “I just got a call from one of my managers. He tells me that a girl filled out a job application last week, using my name as a reference. He wanted to know if I knew a Bree Pym. Can you believe it? I told him to chain her to the fryer, but he tells me that she hasn’t been back since she filled out the application. He’s seen her around town, though, so he thinks she got a job somewhere else.”
“Which café are you talking about, Angelo?” I asked. “Where is it?”
“Queenstown,” he said. “Renee and I have condo down there, too. We’d offer it to you, but we rented it out to a nice Australian family. If you run into the Robbins while you’re there, tell ’em we said g’day!”
“Will do,” I said. “Thanks for letting us know about Bree.”
“No problem,” he said. “Renee and I want what’s best for her. Tell the Kiwi comic to keep the laughs coming. And stay in touch!”