M r. Dalby stared into the fire as he listened to the gasp on the other end. He could hear voices in the background, the clink of plates and silverware. The caller must be in a restaurant somewhere, he realized.
He struggled to recognize the voice.
Was it a voice he had heard before? Was it a girl who had worked for him? Who still worked for him?
He didn’t recognize her. All he could tell was that she was nervous. And young.
Reva had gotten up from her chair by the fire and stood beside him, listening to his conversation. “Daddy—?”
Mr. Dalby raised a finger to silence her.
Reva placed an arm on the back of her father’s chair and leaned close, trying to hear the voice on the other end.
“Mr. Dalby, would you repeat what you just said?” Diane demanded in a trembling voice.
She stood in a narrow phone booth at the back of the Doughnut Hole restaurant at the Division Street Mall. The door to the booth would close only halfway, so she stood with her back to the restaurant.
“I said that my daughter, Reva, is home with me,” Mr. Dalby repeated gruffly.
In the cramped phone booth Diane shuddered. The walls closed in on her. Everything went dark. A heavy feeling of cold dread made her feel as if she were about to faint.
Or scream.
Was Dalby telling the truth?
Was he trying some kind of stupid trick?
“Mr. Dalby, don’t play games with us,” she managed to say in a tight, shrill voice.
“Whoever you are, listen to me!” Robert Dalby shouted.
“Mr. Dalby—”
“Let that girl go!” Dalby sputtered into the phone. “That girl is not my daughter. You will not get a penny from me. You have kidnapped the wrong girl!”
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