Romeo is Homeless by Julie Frayn Page A

the familiar scene rolling by. Brick and clapboard houses on the edge of the town, old but meticulously maintained, flicked past her eyes. Their neat little gardens, heavy with pink and white peonies, perfectly trimmed hedgerows, and bushes dripping bleeding hearts were unimpressive on this particular morning. The garden ornaments – gnomes with red cone hats, plastic deer pretending to nibble real grass, wooden bird silhouettes with legs that spun in the breeze – didn’t even catch the attention of June and April. Any other day, they would squeal with delight and beg her to fill their yard with similar silly kitsch.
    Don turned the truck onto the paved access road into Hubble Falls. In the side view mirror a plume of gravel dust kicked up behind the truck and dissipated into the still morning air.
    On Main Street, the shops and cafes that still survived were readying themselves for another day of scant business. Nestled between the discount store and the barber shop/beauty salon was one of many old establishments that sat idle. Windows that once showcased house wares and bolts of cloth for sale were now boarded shut, the store abandoned. When the six-lane divided highway opened a few years back, travelers were no longer forced through town. They sped past, unaware of the struggling hamlet just two miles to the east. Just one gas station remained and the only motel stood just off the old highway, a specter of the abundance of old.
    Don angled into a parking spot between two police cruisers. He jumped out and rounded the front of the truck, opening the door for Caraleen. Without saying a word, he lifted his daughters from the rear of the crew cab, took their hands and led them all into the station.
    Sheriff Stone came out of his office to meet them and grasped Don’s hand in a firm shake. “Morning folks. Please sit.” The sheriff pointed to two wooden chairs beside a desk, then motioned to a young officer across the room. “Deputy, can you show these young ladies the lunch room? There’s some paper and crayons in the second drawer.”
    “It’s been almost twenty-four hours, Sheriff.” Caraleen’s attempt at firm composure failed. Her voice quavered, hands trembled. “Surely we can look for August now?”
    “I’m sorry about having to tell you that.” The sheriff took his hat off and tossed it on the desk, then rubbed a hand over his thinning grey hair. “But there are procedures.” The man rested one ass cheek on the corner of the desk and balanced on one steel-toed, polished black boot. He shifted his belt around his barrel-shaped middle, his gun holster clanging against the metal furniture. “But to be honest, I ignored them.”
    “What do you mean, ignored them?” Don pulled a chair aside and guided Caraleen into it.
    “Folks, me and my deputy took two cars out after you called yesterday and we went searching. We covered as much ground as we could before nightfall, but we didn’t find any sign of her.” He shook his head and looked from one to the other of them. “Then this morning we started calling around town.”
    Don reached over and grabbed Caraleen’s shaking hands, patting them between his own. He looked up to the sheriff. “So, what’s next?”
    Hinges squeaked and a deep voice filled the room. “Caraleen? Don?”
    She turned to see Bill Tugman walking into the station guiding Sara by the shoulder.
    “I think Sara has something to tell you.”
    Caraleen rose and approached Sara. She put her arms around her daughter’s friend, giving the trembling girl a reassuring hug.
    Sara broke down in tears. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bailey. I’m so sorry.”
    “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just tell me.” She guided Sara to the chair, easing her to its seat.
    “I promised her I wouldn’t tell. She made me pinky swear!” Sara’s eyes were swollen and red rimmed. She wiped snot from her upper lip onto her sleeve. “She said she would call when she got there. But she didn’t call, Mrs. Bailey! Oh