“Distribute food to poor people.”
“To anyone, we don’t ask questions. No one gets paid. I live off my Social Security and the few bonds I have left, and the others are all volunteers. Restaurants donate the food. It’s a good life. I only wish Karen were here to see it.”
He gobbled a cookie and swallowed coffee that had to be cold.
I looked at the cardboard box.
He emptied the rest of the contents onto the table. “I’m going to clean up.”
Clearing the dishes, he began washing them.
I opened the first of four photograph albums covering Karen Best’s development from infancy to young womanhood. Taped to the second was a tiny envelope labeled First haircut.
Holding the packet up to the light I saw several curly snippets inside.
Grade school graduation program. Karen, the winner of a Good Citizenship award.
High school yearbook, Karen in French Club and Song Girls. Karrie. Her eyes speak volumes.
A prom shot: Karen beautiful and mature-looking by now, her blond hair long and silky and curled at the ends. On the arm of a gawky boy with a dark Beatles do and a struggling mustache.
A dessicated orchid corsage in a stiff plastic packet embossed with the name of a New Bedford florist.
A hundred or so copies of the sheet Best had given me, bound by rubber bands.
A copy of the Lord’s Prayer.
I put it all back. Best was standing over the kitchen sink, hands in plastic gloves, the water full blast and steaming.
I went in.
As he washed, he stared at something over the faucet.
Another Bible picture, this one a black-and-white etching.
A young woman being dragged by her hair.
Dinah’s Abduction by Shechem.
Best’s gloved hands were clenched. The steam had fogged his glasses and his lips moved rapidly.
Praying.
CHAPTER
15
When I got back, I read the Bible. What I learned made it hard for me to fall asleep.
The next morning, Robin and I had breakfast in town; then I drove back to the library and had a second look at the newspaper account of the Sanctum party. August 15. Karen Best had been last seen the night before.
After xeroxing the article, I called Milo. He was out but Del Hardy picked up. The black detective was Milo’s occasional partner, but they hadn’t worked together recently.
“Hey, doc, how’s it going?”
“Pretty good. How’s the guitar?”
“Sitting in a closet, no time to play. Listen, Bigfoot’s finishing up a robbery at the Smart Shop on Palms, maybe you can catch him.”
He gave me the number, and I talked to a female officer who finally put me through to Milo.
“Morning salutations.” He sounded distracted.
“Don’t want to bug you but—”
“Nah, I’m finished here. What’s up?”
I told him.
“The Best girl,” he said. “Wasn’t she a blonde?”
“She dyed her hair that summer. And according to her brother she had very long legs. It may turn out to be nothing, but I just—”
“It—uh-oh, TV crew just drove up, gotta split. Where are you?”
“Westwood.”
“Meet me at Rancho Park, on the north end, past the baseball diamond—take the first entrance past the golf course and go as far as you can. You’ll know me ’cause I won’t be feeding the ducks.”
I got there a quarter hour later and found him on a bench, near a cement wading pond that had been drained but was still streaked with algae. A stray retriever was nosing the grass. No ducks or people in sight. I showed him Best’s data sheet and the clipping and pointed out the date of the party.
“Night before she missed her call home, for what it’s worth.”
He skimmed and handed it all back to me. “You actually met with the father?”
“At his request.”
“How does he grab you?”
“Devoted. Obsessive.”
“So you two got along great.”
“There was a certain rapport there.” I summarized what Best had told me about the search for Karen, ending with his suspicion of the Sheas.
“So what does that have to do with Lowell and Trafficant? Paradise Cove is—what?—ten, fifteen miles up from Topanga.”
“She worked in Paradise Cove, but she lived near Topanga Beach. I passed the address coming into town. Just a hop and a jump from Topanga Canyon Road. Then there’s the time frame and her physical similarity to the girl in the dream.”