Dog On It by Spencer Quinn Page A

is that it’s conditional, as you probably know, on keeping up your grades. And other things, too, such as good behavior. A letter to the admissions department about noncooperation in a missing-persons case might make them rethink.”
    “Missing-persons case?”
    “That’s what I said.”
    “Who’s missing?”
    “You tell me.”
    “I don’t know.”
    “See if you can figure it out.”
    Tim’s eyes moved sideways. Thoughts pulled at human eyes like that. Bernie waited. Me, too.
    “Maddy?” Tim said.
    “Got it in one,” Bernie said. “She hasn’t been home in almost two days now. Know anything about that?”
    “No. I swear.”
    “Tell me about your relationship with her.”
    “We don’t have a relationship. We’re friends.”
    “Friends? What about the age difference?”
    “She’s a cool kid.”
    “In what way?”
    “You know, different.”
    “Different how?”
    “Smart. Funny.”
    His mother poked her head in the doorway. No more curlers, no more green stuff on her face, but there was still something scary about her. “Everything all right, Timmy?”
    She didn’t scare Tim. “Go away, Mom.”
    She shrank back, out of sight.
    “And close the door.”
    The door closed.
    Tim gazed at Bernie. Bernie tilted his head up and raised one eyebrow. That was his encouraging face. It meant: Go! Tim lowered his voice. “Maddy told me not to say anything. But if she’s really missing . . .”
    “Not to say anything about what?”
    “Driving her home.”
    “So you did?”
    Tim nodded.
    “From the movies?”
    Tim shook his head. “She didn’t go to the movies—which was, you know, why her mom couldn’t find out.”
    “Where did she go?”
    Tim rubbed his face, started looking less like a zombie. “She ran into somebody, I think at the mall. Maybe she was planning to go to the movies, something like that.”
    “Who did she run into?”
    Tim looked down at the floor. I did, too, and noticed a few Cheerios under the table.
    “Tim?” said Bernie. “Look at me.”
    Tim looked at him.
    “When people go missing, they usually get found quickly, or not at all.”
    Tim bit his lip, actually chewed on it.
    “We’re already getting past the quickly stage.”
    Tim took a deep breath. “Ruben Ramirez,” he said.
    “Who’s he?”
    “This kid.”
    “A student at Heavenly Valley?”
    “Used to be. He dropped out. Has his own place.”
    “What does he do?”
    Tim looked down again. “Not sure.”
    “But if you had to guess.”
    Tim didn’t answer.
    “How about I take a swing at it?” Bernie said. “He deals pot.”
    Tim looked up, surprise all over his face.
    “Did he bring her to his place?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Where is it?”
    “Not sure. Over in Modena, past that racetrack.”
    “Not sure?” said Bernie. “Didn’t you pick her up from there?”
    “No. She called me, asked me to come get her at this convenience store on Almonte.”
    “Next to a Getty station?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “Was she alone?”
    “Yeah.”
    “So you picked her up and drove her home?”
    “Yeah.”
    “What did she say?”
    “Not much.”
    “Did she explain why she left Ruben’s?”
    Tim took another deep breath. “He came on to her.”
    “And then?”
    Tim shrugged. “She left. Went to the convenience store.”
    “On foot?”
    “Must’ve been.”
    “That’s a bad area.”
    “Yeah.”
    “What was her mood like?”
    “Hard to tell.”
    “What else did she tell you?”
    “Just not to say anything.”
    “How upset was she?”
    “Not too much.”
    “Was she stoned?”
    “Maybe a bit.”
    Bernie rose. Me, too. Enough of this chitchat. It was time to crack this case the way we usually do, with me sniffing out the perp. Bernie handed Tim his card. “Anything new comes up, anything you forgot, call me right away.”
    Tim nodded. “You think Ruben’s like, um . . .”
    “We’re going to find out.”
    We left. On the way, I made a quick detour under the kitchen table, scarfed up the