to his Pathfinder. Ten minutes later he was speeding down the 405.
Chapter Seven
A n airplane glided gently over the horizon, headed for a safe touchdown at LAX as Charlie barreled toward the 105 at eighty-six miles an hour. He’d been in such a hurry as he bolted out of the house that he hadn’t taken the time to punch his destination into his navigation system, so there were no computerized predictions as to his time of arrival, but he calculated that at this rate he’d be approaching Pioneer Avenue in about half an hour.
He tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t come to that. That he’d surely hear from Julie before then. She’d call and he’d have to turn around. Meet them at home. Explain why the kids’ favorite dinner had gotten so cold and caked. This whole episode would simply be an embarrassing admission that he was holding on too tight, that he needed to let go.
He dialed Julie again.
“You’ve reached—”
He hung up and merged onto the 105, heading east.
T he mini-malls whizzed by as he veered onto the 605 South. Only a mile and a half to the 91. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 8:08. Nearly an hour and a half since she’d pulled off the road.
He called her cell one more time. Straight to voice mail.
He tried the home line. Just in case. No answer.
Streaking down the 91 now. Almost there. It was either Pioneer or Norwalk. He felt confident about that. Pioneer Avenue was first and he took it.
The exit ramp spilled almost directly into a Mobil station, but Julie would have been coming from the other direction and he had to retrace the steps she would have taken. He turned left and crossed under the freeway. There was a Denny’s on his left, right next to the Quality Inn. Eyeing the northbound ramp, he saw that Julie’s easiest course of action would be to drive directly into the 76 station. He pulled in, looking around for her Prius. Across the street was a Chevron. Beyond that, an El Pollo Loco. A busy area. And still quite a bit of activity at 8:14.
Charlie got out of his vehicle, eyes darting around. No sign of them anywhere. He whipped out his phone as he entered the mini-mart.
“Have you seen these people?” he asked the attendant, showing a photo of his family on the tiny screen. “Did they come in here tonight?”
The customers ahead of him glanced backward: who the hell do you think you are? Charlie ignored them.
“Tonight! Within the last couple of hours. Were they here?”
A disinterested shrug was all he got.
Charlie barreled out the door and rushed to the Chevron, gazing down the dimly lit residential street as he crossed it.
Again, no sign of them. He looked for an attendant but here the mini-mart was already closed. Self-serve only.
B ack on the 91, Charlie headed for Norwalk Boulevard. If there was no sign of them here, he had no idea what his next move would be. He pulled off the freeway, once again crossing under the overpass, once again attempting to retrace what might have been her steps. At the stop sign, he looked in both directions. But there was no need. Right in front of him was the only feature of the exit that Julie would have paid any attention to—a lone gas station. He crossed the road and pulled in.
Unlike Pioneer Avenue, Norwalk was quiet. Eerily quiet. Across the small street was a plumbing-supply office. Down the road, a drab industrial office complex lay partially hidden behind a row of scruffy trees. At this time of day, everyone would be long gone. As he stood there, the wispy wind shuddering against him, watching the cars cruise by on the freeway overpass, he suddenly noticed a gas nozzle dangling off its holster, dripping fuel onto the pavement .
He walked toward it, noting the way it was splayed out in a serpentine figure. Something about that felt ominous. Next to the rubbery tube was a small lump of gray on the ground. He approached it with growing anticipation as he realized what it was . . .
Donald Duck.
A brand-new
Chapter Seven
A n airplane glided gently over the horizon, headed for a safe touchdown at LAX as Charlie barreled toward the 105 at eighty-six miles an hour. He’d been in such a hurry as he bolted out of the house that he hadn’t taken the time to punch his destination into his navigation system, so there were no computerized predictions as to his time of arrival, but he calculated that at this rate he’d be approaching Pioneer Avenue in about half an hour.
He tried to convince himself that it wouldn’t come to that. That he’d surely hear from Julie before then. She’d call and he’d have to turn around. Meet them at home. Explain why the kids’ favorite dinner had gotten so cold and caked. This whole episode would simply be an embarrassing admission that he was holding on too tight, that he needed to let go.
He dialed Julie again.
“You’ve reached—”
He hung up and merged onto the 105, heading east.
T he mini-malls whizzed by as he veered onto the 605 South. Only a mile and a half to the 91. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard: 8:08. Nearly an hour and a half since she’d pulled off the road.
He called her cell one more time. Straight to voice mail.
He tried the home line. Just in case. No answer.
Streaking down the 91 now. Almost there. It was either Pioneer or Norwalk. He felt confident about that. Pioneer Avenue was first and he took it.
The exit ramp spilled almost directly into a Mobil station, but Julie would have been coming from the other direction and he had to retrace the steps she would have taken. He turned left and crossed under the freeway. There was a Denny’s on his left, right next to the Quality Inn. Eyeing the northbound ramp, he saw that Julie’s easiest course of action would be to drive directly into the 76 station. He pulled in, looking around for her Prius. Across the street was a Chevron. Beyond that, an El Pollo Loco. A busy area. And still quite a bit of activity at 8:14.
Charlie got out of his vehicle, eyes darting around. No sign of them anywhere. He whipped out his phone as he entered the mini-mart.
“Have you seen these people?” he asked the attendant, showing a photo of his family on the tiny screen. “Did they come in here tonight?”
The customers ahead of him glanced backward: who the hell do you think you are? Charlie ignored them.
“Tonight! Within the last couple of hours. Were they here?”
A disinterested shrug was all he got.
Charlie barreled out the door and rushed to the Chevron, gazing down the dimly lit residential street as he crossed it.
Again, no sign of them. He looked for an attendant but here the mini-mart was already closed. Self-serve only.
B ack on the 91, Charlie headed for Norwalk Boulevard. If there was no sign of them here, he had no idea what his next move would be. He pulled off the freeway, once again crossing under the overpass, once again attempting to retrace what might have been her steps. At the stop sign, he looked in both directions. But there was no need. Right in front of him was the only feature of the exit that Julie would have paid any attention to—a lone gas station. He crossed the road and pulled in.
Unlike Pioneer Avenue, Norwalk was quiet. Eerily quiet. Across the small street was a plumbing-supply office. Down the road, a drab industrial office complex lay partially hidden behind a row of scruffy trees. At this time of day, everyone would be long gone. As he stood there, the wispy wind shuddering against him, watching the cars cruise by on the freeway overpass, he suddenly noticed a gas nozzle dangling off its holster, dripping fuel onto the pavement .
He walked toward it, noting the way it was splayed out in a serpentine figure. Something about that felt ominous. Next to the rubbery tube was a small lump of gray on the ground. He approached it with growing anticipation as he realized what it was . . .
Donald Duck.
A brand-new
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