Miss Goddard said in a monotone suggesting evil, “There have been children missing from this community before now.”

Portia about shot out of her chair. “Who, when?”

Miss Goddard wasn’t prepared for a rapid exchange. Her breathing labored before she said, “A 10-year-old girl … about eight years ago … up and vanished. Bonnie Yates lived with a foster couple on Ruby Street. Name was Bolton–Andrew and Stella. They were from Valdosta. They did their best for the wild little thing. When the police and the CPS got through with them, they went back home to Valdosta full of anger, and who can blame them. They were good people.”

“Eight years ago, huh?” Portia said, obviously trying to remember the case. She shook her head. I’d been a cop then. I searched my mind for the case but couldn’t remember it.   

Miss Goddard spoke again. “Then, there was another case three-and-a-half years ago. Sherri Patterson was eleven years old. I guess today’s youngsters mature earlier than they did when I was coming up. She was a pretty girl but she had a smart mouth like her mama. Mrs. Patterson was divorced and not always at home when she should be.” Her expression of disapproval said more than words, and even though I felt the press of time, I let Miss Goddard go on at her measured pace. “Sherri ran with an older crowd, and when she went missing the police decided she was a runaway. I don’t credit it at all, but we in the neighborhood had to tell what we knew about the family.”

“Which was what?” Portia asked.

 “They were tenants of Stephen’s.” Miss Goddard let a beat of time pass as if to hint at something we should grasp. “After Sherri disappeared, Mrs. Patterson moved to Florida with … a friend.”

“Anyone you knew?”

“She had so many.”