How's it going? Kate shouted from upstairs.

Nothing yet, I said. You?

Ditto.

There were two plates of shrimp fried rice, chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, and egg rolls on the counter, but I wasn't hungry. I had next to nothing in my stomach and already felt like I was going to lose what was there.

I tried the next two numbers, struck out with both. I was just entering the last of the five I'd jotted down when Kate shrieked, Tim!

I flipped my phone shut and bolted up the stairs two steps at a time. You got somebody? I said breathlessly as I came into the computer room.

You have mail, she said, hopping out of the chair and letting me sit down.

It was Yolanda Mills. Her reply read: Dear Mr. Blake: Thank you for getting back to me. That was foolish of me not to give you more information. I work at a Christian youth center called Second Chance in the west part of the downtown area. There's a number there but I'm in and out all the time (one of the things I do is arrange for the meals there, so I'm out a lot getting groceries and things) but I always have my cell with me, so you can usually get me on that. Here it is. The number followed.

I had the receiver in my hand and was dialing, looking back and forth between the screen and the phone.

What if she's a nut? Kate asked as I hit the last digit. What if it's someone just running a scam or something? A lot of people, they're always thinking up ways to get innocent people to fall for things.

I knew that, in a nutshell, was Kate's worldview, but realized it was something I had to consider. As the phone began to ring at the other end, thousands of miles away, Kate said, If she starts asking about money, about whether there's a reward, that'll be your tip-off that she's I held up my hand for her to stop talking, expecting the cell to be answered at any second.

And then it was.

Hello?

A woman. It was only one word, but she sounded on the young side.

Is this Yolanda Mills?

Is this Mr. Blake? she asked.

Oh God, I said, breathing a huge sigh of relief. We were trying to track you down using the online phone directories and Google and everything, and then you got back to me. Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to me.

I just don't know how much help I can be. I wasn't picking up any noticeable accent. And trying to pick up someone's age from their voice is tricky, unless the person is very young or very old. Yolanda Mills sounded right in the middle.

When did you see Syd? I asked.

Who?

Sydney, I said. I call her Syd.

It was two or three days ago, I think.

How was she? Was she okay? Did she look hurt? Was she sick?

She looked fine. I mean, assuming it was her. She came in a couple of times to get something to eat.

Jesus Christ, my daughter eating in a shelter for runaways. What had brought her to this? Why was she on the other side of the country?

Did you speak to her at all?

Nothing much. Just, you know, How ya doin', darlin'?' That was about it.

Did she say anything?

She just kind of smiled.

Was she with anyone? Was she traveling alone?

As far as I could tell, she was by herself. I have to say, she looked sad.

It was as if someone had reached into my chest and given my heart a twist.

And you said you last saw her a couple of days ago?

Okay, let me think a minute, Yolanda Mills said. I think the first time I saw her was about four days ago, then she came in two days after that when we were serving lunch. And that was day before yesterday.

Which meant that Syd had been in Seattle for a while. Maybe she was popping into Yolanda's drop-in every couple of days. So if I got out there, hung around the shelter long enough, she might show up.

Do teens, runaways, do they come to your place to eat even if they aren't staying there?

Oh, sure. We only have so much space. And this isn't meant to be someplace where you come to live permanently. It's a stopgap measure, you know? So kids, sometimes they find a place to bunk in with a friend, or they sleep in a car, and sometimes, I hate to say it, sometimes they just find a place in the park or something for the night.

Syd, sleeping on a bench. I tried to push the image out of my head.

How did you find out about Syd? I asked.

Didn't I tell you, in the email? Because of where I work, because I know so many of these kids are runaways and homeless, and because I know they've got parents who are looking for them, I Google websites where parents post pictures of their kids who've run away or are just missing. This is just the second time I've seen someone who's actually been in our shelter.

Were you right the other time?

As a matter of fact, I was, she said proudly. There was a young man, his name was Trent, and he was from just outside of El Paso, and his parents were going out of their minds trying to find him. And he was actually staying at the shelter, and this time, I was sure it was him, and I thought about telling him that I knew his parents were looking for him, that he should call them, but I thought that might scare him off, so I called his folks instead and they were on the next flight up here.

A flight. I would have to book a flight the moment I was done talking to Yolanda.

If she comes in again, don't tell her you've spoken with me, I said. I don't know why she's run off, I don't know whether I did something, I just can't figure it out. I've been wracking my brain, trying to think why she'd do something like this and That's what a lot of the parents say, but sometimes I think they know the answer and they're just not acknowledging it, you know what I'm saying? Yolanda said.

I suppose. As grateful as I was to Yolanda Mills for giving me a lead on where to find Syd, I didn't want to get into a discussion with her about why all this might have happened.

Here's the thing, she said. I can't say for a hundred percent that that's your little girl. I could be wrong.

But you might be right, I said.

Would it help if I sent a picture?

I felt as though I might fall out of my chair. A picture? You have a picture of Sydney? In Seattle?

Well, it's not a very good one. I've had this phone for ages that will take pictures, but I've never been able to figure out how to do it, you know? I'm not really a gadget person. So I was fiddling with it at the shelter, taking random shots just to see if I could figure out which buttons to push, and your daughter happened to walk by when I was taking one of them. Her and a few others, but there's one shot where it's just her.

I knew that if I saw that picture, I would know.

Can you email it to me? I asked.

I know that can be done, but like I was saying, it's been all I can do to figure out how to make it take a picture. I haven't any idea how to upload it or download it, or whatever it is you do, to a computer. But my husband understands all that and he'll be home in the morning. He works an overnight shift. But when he gets home, I could have him do it.

Even though things suddenly seemed to be happening quickly, it would be an eternity waiting until morning to see that picture.

Kate, who'd been standing a few feet away, unable to hear the other end of the conversation, gently tapped my shoulder, rubbed her thumb and two fingers together, the money sign.

Listen, I said to Yolanda Mills, is there any way I can repay you for this? Are you looking for a reward or anything?

A reward? she said, and nearly sounded offended. That wouldn't be very Christian, would it?

Chapter NINE.

WHEN I FINISHED MY CALL WITH YOLANDA MILLS, I felt I'd had twenty coffees injected directly into my bloodstream. My body was shaking, and I couldn't decide what to do first.

I have to call Susanne, I said. No, not yet. This woman, she's going to send me the picture in the morning. I need to call the detective. Kip Jennings. She could get someone from the Seattle police to put out one of those APB things or whatever on Syd. They could get the entire police force Tim, Kate said. Just hold on a second. You have I have to book a flight, I said. Maybe there's a flight out tonight. I whirled back around in the chair and started tapping at keys.

You just need to take a minute, Kate said. You don't even know for sure it's Syd. You won't know that until you see the picture, and even then, you may not know. Those cell phone shots, they're not always the best. And you just wait. Whoever that Yolanda woman is, you can be sure she's going to be wanting some kind of reward at some point. If it's one thing I've learned, it's that everyone's always got an agenda, you know what I'm saying? They smile at you, but they're just lying through their teeth, trying to figure out how they can screw you over. What you should do is I turned and snapped, For fuck's sake, Kate, enough.

She put a hand to her cheek as though I'd slapped her.

Everyone's always out to get you, aren't they? I said. Your ex-husband, the people you work with, your landlord? Is there anyone out there who isn't making your life a living hell?

She looked at me and said, Evidently not.

Oh, so now I'm doing it, too.

She studied me a moment, then seemed to come to a realization. You've used this whole thing with your daughter as an excuse to break off with me.

I was too stunned to say anything right away. Then I almost laughed. What?

You never return my calls. I know you look and see if it's me calling and don't pick up.

Kate, I said.

Is that what I was for you? A good fuck and now it's over?

Kate, I don't have time for this discussion right now. I have to book a flight.

You see? You're doing it right now. It's what my therapist calls an avoidance strategy.

Your therapist?

Just tell me, Tim. Is your daughter actually missing? Or is she just off at summer camp somewhere? Were you even talking to some woman from Seattle just then?

I leaned back in my chair, let my arms hang down at my sides. Exhaustion, defeat, take your pick.

I have a lot to do, Kate, I said, keeping my voice as even as possible. And then I said something that was probably very stupid. What do I owe you for the Chinese food?

Fuck you, she said and went down the stairs.

I got out of the chair as if to follow, then decided there really wasn't any point. I heard some containers of Chinese food being thrown around the kitchen, then the slamming of a door.

I'd clean up later.

I dropped back into the chair, grabbed the receiver and called the police. Not the emergency number, but the line for the office Kip Jennings worked out of. A fellow detective said she was off duty. I explained that it was urgent and asked whether he could relay a message and have her call me.

He said he'd see what he could do.

I hung up and turned back to the computer to look up flights. I nearly booked a 1:59 p.m. US Airways flight out of LaGuardia, then just before confirming my arrangements noticed that I had to switch planes in Philadelphia.

Fuck that, I said.

Then I found a Jet Blue flight that departed the same time, and was $300 more, that went nonstop to Seattle. It was a six-hour flight, which would put me into Seattle around 5 p.m. local time. Assuming it took me an hour to get into the city, I could be looking for Yolanda Mills, and my daughter, by early evening.

I didn't know when to book a return ticket for, so I didn't book one at all. I confirmed my choice, provided all my credit card info, then waited for the ticket to be emailed to me and printed it out.

The phone rang. I had the receiver in my hand before the first ring had ended.

Mr. Blake? Detective Jennings here. She sounded nasal.

Hi, thanks, listen, I have a lead on Sydney.

Really, she said, with less enthusiasm than I might have expected. She's been in contact with you?

No.

What's this lead?

A woman who works at a drop-in for teenage runaways read about Syd on the Net. She got in touch. She's seen Syd. I've already booked a flight out at two tomorrow.

Mr. Blake, I'm not sure that's wise.

In the background, I could hear a kid shouting, Mom! I'm ready!

It's all I've got right now. I can't sit around here in Milford.

The thing is, it could be someone trying to scam you.

She didn't ask for anything, I said. She said it wouldn't be Christian.