“Well, I should think so,” she responded quickly. “You know, I haven’t talked with either Larry or Marilyn in quite some time.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice a bit. “They aren’t our most regular members here at the church, you know. Once in a while, I have the opportunity to chat with Jim next door to them.” She looked conspiratorial. “We’re always concerned with shepherds who stray, you know.”
I didn’t know, and didn’t care. I kept my tone pleasant as I said, “Actually, I wasn’t concerned with you, Mrs. Arnett.” I held up a hand as she took a breath, winding up to begin another roll. “There’s a group of kids who hang out at the Zipolis at various times. On several occasions, they’ve gone to the lake with the family. Water skiing, that sort of thing.”
Her right hand drifted to her mouth. “Oh, my, are you saying that one of the kids had something to do…”
“Nope, I’m not saying that, Mrs. Arnett. I’m saying that several youngsters, your son Mo included, had occasion to spend time with Larry Zipoli-most often over at the lake, or working on the boat at his home.”
“Mo and…”
“At the moment, I’m concerned with Mo,” I nodded. She wanted the whole list, of course, but that wasn’t going to happen. “He’s not in school today, I understand.”
“He most certainly is in school,” Mrs. Arnett said, and some steel crept into her voice, reprimanding me for making such a silly mistake.
Her eyes narrowed when I added, “And I can understand that, the weather being what it is. A grand day for a little hooky.”
She turned and regarded the telephone console. A call to the school would clear things up, but there lay the risk. Without making the call, Mindy Arnett could rest comfortable in the notion that I was wrong, and that her son was in fact sitting at an uncomfortable desk, listening to a litany of all the work the school year held in store, overlaying the assurances of all the fun he was certain to have.
“Go ahead,” I said gently. “You’ll want confirmation, Mindy.”
She sat back and looked at me. “Do you know where he’s been?”
“No. That’s why we’re here.”
“I don’t understand, then. You sound as if he’s involved in something. Since when did you folks become truant officers?”
“Since never,” I said with a chuckle. “As I told you, we’re in the interview process. Now, it’s our understanding that Mo and some of his friends frequented the Zipoli casa, and even took some recreational trips to the Butte. The kids might not have a damn thing to tell us. Then again, we never know. They might have heard or seen something that could be a help.” I shrugged. “That’s the sum and substance of it.”
“Let me,” she said, and picked up the phone. In a couple of minutes, she settled the receiver back in its cradle, clearly distressed at what the school secretary had reported. “All day today.” She dialed another number, and the phone at her home rang ten times before she gave up. With the efficiency of a practiced secretary, she punched in another number. “Is Mark back from Deming yet, Julie?” She listened in silence for a moment. “All right. What’s that number?” She jotted, broke off the call, and dialed again, this time long distance.
We waited patiently while she tracked down her husband. Finally, after the usual back and forth of greetings and explanation, she asked with visible relief at having someone she trusted to talk with, “Mark, is Mo with you?” Obviously he wasn’t. “He’s not in school today.” She glanced at me. “Well, I’m not sure where he is. The sheriff is here and wants to talk with him.” I couldn’t hear Mark Arnett’s voice, but his tone was such that Mindy didn’t interrupt him. After a moment of nodding, she said, “No…it’s Bill Gastner. Here, why don’t you talk with him?”
I took the receiver. “Mark? Bill Gastner. How are you.”
“What’s the deal, sheriff?” In the background, I could hear traffic, and at least one piece of heavy equipment, its exhaust bark close by.
“We’d like to chat with Mo about when he might have talked last with Larry Zipoli.”
“Shit.”
Exactly what Mark Arnett meant by that was unclear. “Just some things that we want to clear up,” I added.
“Like what?”
“When Mo last saw Mr. Zipoli, for example. Or if he heard Zipoli talk about any…what, issues that he might have had with anybody? Things like that.”
“Why Mo? He’s not the only kid that hangs out over there.”
“No, he’s not. He’s one of several. We’ve started the process of talking with them all.”
“Huh. So what’s the deal, anyway?” He didn’t sound terribly concerned.
“Just that. We want to talk with anyone who happened to see Zipoli recently.”
“Well, Mo ought to be in school. That’s all I can tell you, sheriff.” He barked a short laugh. “He’s not the most motivated little bugger, I’ll tell you that.”
“Any particular place that he likes to go?”
“Nope. I mean, other than in front of the damn video games. Just out and about with his buddies. One of the kids has been trying to get him interested in ridin’ bikes. That’d be a good thing. He’s got the old Schwinn out and oiled up.”
“Who does he hang out with, generally?”
“Oh, you know…the Pasquale kid. Tommy, I think his name is. Once in a while with Louis Zamora or Jason Packard. Him and Packard used to hang out together a lot, but not so much any more. You know how those things go. His sister might know.”
I took a slow breath. Of course-a fourth grader, in this case little Maureen Arnett, would know where her brother was if the folks didn’t.
“Did Mo take the Pontiac today, do you know?” Even as I asked that, Mindy Arnett was shaking her head vehemently.
“Damn well better not have,” dad said. “Why, did you see him in it?”
“I thought he might have taken a trip to the city or something,” I said. “So you folks haven’t noticed anyone or anything unusual in the neighborhood these past few days? Strangers, that sort of thing?”
“Hell, no. ‘Course, I ain’t home most of the time. And you’re right. The kids would have seen or heard more’n me. Them or Jim Raught across the street. Hell, he’s always home. Meditating or some damn thing.”
“Look, thanks, Mark. We’ll touch bases with Mo later today sometime. No big deal. If you see him before I do, you might have him give me a call.”
“You got it.”
“And one of these days, I need to talk with you about an estimate on my old casa. I’ve got a couple of leaks that I can’t find.”
“You got it. Let me bend Mindy’s ear for a minute.”
I handed the phone to her, and after a moment, she stopped listening and hung up.
“Now what happens?” she asked. “You know, our hearts just go out to Marilyn. Such a loss for her.”
“When we cross paths with Mo, we’ll have a chat,” I said, and it sounded as if I didn’t really care one way or another. Mindy Arnett relaxed a little. “Kids these days, eh?”
“Oh, my,” she sighed, and turned her attention to Estelle. “Will we be seeing more of you now?”
Estelle replied with a gentle but noncommittal smile. “I’ll tell mamá that we spoke, Mrs. Arnett. She’ll be pleased to hear that things are going well.”
“You’ll bring her by the next time she visits.”
“I’m sure.”
I stood up abruptly, a clear signal that we were on our way. “The Pontiac is in the garage?” I asked, and Mindy was caught off guard by the question.
“The Pontiac?”
“Yes. The little gold one.”
“Well, sure it is. I’ve been walking to work the past few weeks, trying to lose a little of the avoir dupois.” She patted her hip, then frowned. “Now, Mark is real strict with Mo about when and where he drives. Never to school. Never at night. And never, never with a carload of friends. In fact, most of the time, all he gets to drive is the truck when he rides with his dad. Not the Jeep or my car.”