Generation V by M. L. Brennan Page B

long.”
    The whole place had that kind of look that could’ve passed for deliberately retro, but it hadn’t been cleaned in so long that it was obviously original. I’m not sure why, but these kinds of health-code-flaunting places alwaysseem to make the best burgers. I had to engage in a brief tussle with my principles when the kitchen door flipped open and I got a full whiff of the sizzling, grease-soaked meat. My stomach gave a very audible rumble.
    While Matt went straight into a back room that said EMPLOYEES ONLY , I sat down in a booth that was probably bright aqua once but that a thousand shifting butts had worn down to a mix of dull aqua and powder blue. It was one of those squeaky vinyl ones, repaired in a few points with duct tape.
    I flipped through the menu, looking for something vegetarian that could be a worthy trade-off for the burger that my saliva glands were craving. Since this place probably hadn’t changed its menu since Eisenhower was president, that was a tough task.
    Matt’s definition of “won’t take long” is pretty elastic, so I was surprised when he dropped into the booth before I’d even gotten through the list of hot dog combinations.
    “That really was quick,” I said.
    Matt grunted and pulled out a menu. “Not much to say.”
    I glanced over at him again. His mood looked a lot gloomier than it had in the car, and he was tapping one hand against the table as he paged through the menu.
    “What’s this case about?” I asked.
    Matt’s mouth thinned, and for a minute I thought he wouldn’t tell me, but then he shrugged and pushed the folder across the table.
    “Owner’s daughter. Senior in high school. Told her parents she was going out to a party one night. Never arrived there, never came home. Cops thought it looked like she ran off with her boyfriend, but the family always maintained that she must’ve been kidnapped.” Matt’svoice was clipped and professional, very Joe Friday. Just the facts, ma’am.
    “How long ago?” I flipped open the file and my jaw dropped when I saw the photo, which featured some extreme Farrah Fawcett hair.
    “’Seventy-seven,” Matt said blandly.
    The waitress chose that moment to come over, plopping glasses down and filling them with water. With her frizzy, overdyed hair, wide hips, and tendency to call both of us “honey,” she matched the diner. I liked having waitresses like her—her smile was forced, and she was probably as tired as she looked, but she had the menu completely memorized, and she didn’t even have to bother to write our orders down.
    Matt ordered a bacon burger with all the fixings, while I settled on a grilled cheese sandwich with extra fries on the side.
    “You’re still sticking with the no-meat thing, huh?” Matt shook his head. “Once a girl cheats on you, I’d say you should feel free to get some sausage of your own. No pun intended on that one.” Matt wasn’t a fan of Beth. He thought about it for a second, then amended, “No implications either. What’s the female equivalent of sausage? Skirt steak? Hamburger patty?”
    “It’s not for her anymore,” I said, brushing the topic off. “But this missing girl. Nineteen seventy-seven? So she’d be…?”
    “Fifty-three this year, yeah.” Matt took a swig of his water.
    I blinked, feeling blank and uncertain. “They’ve been looking for her the whole time?”
    “Since the day she didn’t come home. Police pokedaround for about two months because the parents kept calling, but that was it.”
    “How long have you been on it?”
    “The parents hired me on about ten years ago.”
    I stared at Matt for a long second, surprised. I’d thought I knew what his job was like, with a lot of time spent in public offices tracking down people’s paper histories, and even more time spent sitting in his car trying to see if someone was cheating, but he’d never told me about this or anything like it. The only lost thing he’d ever mentioned was pets or the