Little Girl Gone

4



After dropping Tooney’s Bronco off behind his café, Logan headed over to the Dunn Right, getting there just past 9 a.m.

Since he was usually the first one in every morning, he took some ribbing from the other guys for oversleeping, but didn’t correct the misperception. Soon they were all elbows deep on their own projects, and talk was restricted to the occasional joke or comment on something the DJ on the radio said.

At noon, as Logan headed out to grab some lunch, Alejandro, Dunn Right’s head mechanic, pulled him aside. “Harp not coming in?”

Logan’s dad had yet to show up, which, in Alejandro’s eyes, would be unusual. Harp had seldom missed a day in the forty years since he’d bought the place from a guy name Alan Dunn. He’d kept the name because, as he always liked to say, “Dunn Right sounds a hell of a lot better than Harper Right.”

“He had some things he had to take care of,” Logan said.

“He’s feeling okay, though, right?” Alejandro had been at Dunn Right for twenty-one years, and had developed a close relationship with Harp.

“He’s—” Logan stopped himself. Those stitches on the side of his dad’s head were going to be very visible, so just saying he was fine wouldn’t cut it. “Actually, he fell down this morning. It’s nothing serious. Just a cut on the side of his head that needed a few stitches.”

“You weren’t going to tell me about that? What was it? The stairs? I keep telling him that he needs to move someplace that’s only one story.”

“It wasn’t the stairs,” Logan told him. “He was…helping a friend, got pulled off balance and fell. Just an accident. Could have happened to you, too.”

“But he’s going to be okay?”

“He’s already okay.”

“You going to go see him now?”

“There’s no reason to. I’m just going to go get some lunch.”

“Maybe I should go check on him.”

“Alejandro, he’s fine. He might not even be there.”

“Where would he be?”

“I don’t know. Probably out with one of his WAMO buddies.”

That seemed to placate him enough so that Logan could leave.

The afternoon was split between working on the fuel pump of an old Chevy Blazer, and fending off more questions from Alejandro when it became apparent Harp wasn’t going to show up at all.

At a quarter to five, as Logan was cleaning off a day’s worth of grease and getting ready to go home, his cell phone rang.

“I ordered pizza from Round Up,” his father said. “Can you pick it up and bring it over?”

“Aren’t one of those high school kids around? Have him pick it up for you.” Harp lost his license the year before Logan moved back, and had gotten into the habit of hiring local high school kids to chauffeur him around.

“Gave them all the day off. Besides, I bought enough for you, too. This is me inviting you to dinner.”

Logan hesitated for a moment, then said “Sure, Dad. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Not feeling like walking all the way home just to get his car, he decided to use the old Isuzu Rodeo they kept around the shop. When he arrived at the Round Up, he found not just one pizza waiting for him, but three. All large. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one joining his dad and Tooney for dinner.

Harp lived on Princeton Lane in the Marine Terrace section of town. His place was on the down slope of the hill that led to the beach, and had a near 180-degree view of the Pacific Ocean. Years ago, before Logan’s mom had died, and when land prices were still relatively cheap, his parents bought the property behind theirs so that no one could ever build on it and obstruct their view. Logan was willing to bet most of his father’s neighbors wished they’d done the same.

The house was two stories, but because of the slope, the front door opened onto a foyer between the two levels. From there, stairs led up and down. On the bottom floor were Logan’s old room, the guest room, and his father’s home office. Up, though, was where Harp spent most of his time. That’s where the kitchen, the combo dining room/living room, and the master suite were all located. The top floor also had a deck off the back where the WAMO guys liked to enjoy a glass of wine as they watched the sun go down when it wasn’t too cold.

When Logan pulled up, he wasn’t surprised to find several other cars parked out front. It looked to him like the whole damn gang was there. He guessed they probably wanted to make sure he wasn’t going to blow their lie.

Before he even climbed out of the car, he decided he’d only stay long enough to have a slice or two, then get the hell out of there. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about what had happened that morning, and he thought it better to just make a quick exit than get annoyed.

“Thank God,” Jerry Kendrew said as he opened the door to let Logan in. “Come on, come on. I’m starving.”

“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was on the clock.”

Upstairs, the others were all sitting in the living room. The TV was on, but no one seemed to be paying it any attention. On the screen was a selection menu for one of Harp’s video games.

Bowling night, Logan realized.

Harp had told Logan each of his friends had purchased game consoles so they could rotate locations from week to week. “Kind of like the Pro Bowlers Association,” he’d said. A bunch of old men eating pizza and playing video games, Logan had no idea what that said about society.

“Food’s here!” Jerry called out as Logan set the boxes on the table.

The others stopped talking, and pushed themselves up, some with more dexterity than others.

“Thanks, Logan,” his father said as he walked into the kitchen. “Who wants a beer?”

Three of the guys said yes, while Will Jensen asked for water.

“Logan, what about you? A beer?”

Logan shook his head. “Water’s fine,” he said, then looked around. “Where’s Tooney? I thought he was supposed to be here.”

Harp jerked his thumb toward the master bedroom. “On the phone.”

The dining table looked pretty full with the six of them around it. For the first few minutes, they ate in silence, Logan because he wanted to finish and get out of there, and the others because they seemed nervous to talk to him.

Finally, Logan asked, “How’s he doing?”

His dad shrugged. “Sore, but he’ll be okay.”

“Glad to hear it. What about you?”

Harp touched the bandage on the side of his head. “Going to tell everyone I was in a bar fight. The chicks will dig it.”

That just made Logan want to eat faster.

As he neared the end of his second—and last—slice, his dad said, “Logan, we…uh…want to talk to you about Tooney.”

Damn. So close.

Logan leaned forward. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to say anything. If you guys want to lie to the sheriff, then have at it.”

His father’s face scrunched up, his brows dipping so low his eyes became slits. “What are you talking about? Of course you’re not going to say anything. You already promised us that. That’s not what I meant.”

That wasn’t the response Logan was expecting. “Okay, what then?”

Harp looked around the table at the other men, then turned so that he was fully facing his son. “Tooney needs help.” He paused. “And I, well…we thought maybe it was something that you could, you know, do for him.”

“If he’s in trouble, he should call the sheriff. That’s their job, Dad.” Logan looked around the table. Along with Barney the retired doctor and Jerry the retired accountant, there was also Alan the retired teacher, and Will the retired scientist. “What in God’s name has gotten into you guys? You’re acting like this is some kind of game. If your friend has a problem, then he needs to get help. And if he won’t do it, you need to do it for him.”

“What do you think we’re trying to do?” Harp asked. “We’re asking you.”

“I don’t mean me. I mean from someone official. Like, you know, the sheriff’s department?”

“If we do that,” Barney said almost in a whisper, “they’ll kill her.”

“What?” Logan was sure he’d misheard him.

“Are you sure you don’t want that beer?” his father asked.

“No, Dad. I don’t want a beer. I want to know what the hell you guys are talking about.”

“Whoa. Calm down. No need to get all up—”

Suddenly a tired voice called out from behind them. “I…I could use a little help.”