Mrs. Slegg flicks on the porch light from inside. “He’s not here now. He went out to a bar with a friend. Someone came to the door, I don’t think it was a girl but I can’t say for sure. And he said he was going out.”

Oliver steps in front of me. “Ma’am, do you mind if I take a look around? You can imagine what it’s like . . . your own child running away, wondering if she’s in some terrible danger.”

Mrs. Slegg nods with Oliver. “Oh, please, heavens, yes. I understand. Really I do.”

Oliver gives a quick grateful smile. “Do you know the names of the bars your son might frequent?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Slegg says, surprised. I’m not even watching Detective Jones anymore. “I don’t really know, exactly. I don’t get out much myself into town. Come to think of it, Sam, I don’t believe Hadley knows of any bars around here.” She turns to Oliver again. “You see, ever since I moved, Hadley’s been working with Sam back in Stow. I just came to live here after Mr. Slegg died; before that we had a farm too. Right near the Hansens, isn’t that right? Hadley comes up here but a couple of weekends a year, and at Christmastime, so he’s usually at home with his brother and me. He’s a quiet boy, you know, he’s not one of those rowdy types.”

Oliver nods. “He’s not at a bar,” he tells me.

“How do you know that?” I say, more to disagree with him than anything else. “Why would he lie to his own mother?”

“If you can’t answer that you’re more stupid than I thought. Check inside. See if there are any traces of him leaving, or of my daughter. I’m going into the backyard.”

Reluctantly, I trudge to the back end of the little ranch, to the room Hadley uses when he’s home. Mrs. Slegg stands behind me. “I’m sorry about intruding. We’ll be out of here very soon. And when Hadley gets home, maybe you can ask him to-” I stop, watching Mrs. Slegg run her hands over the bed.

“Isn’t this the strangest thing?” she says. “I gave Hadley an extra blanket just last night because it was so cold up here in the mountains. It was a really old one, from my grandma, and I told him to take good care of it because it’s an antique. And here it’s gone.”

I check under the bed, and in the closet and the empty drawers. Nothing.-Running to the next room over, Hadley’s brother’s, Mrs. Slegg tells me the blanket’s missing on his bed too. “Oh, Sam,” she says, her voice wavering. “My boy’s not going to get hurt, now, is he? You’ve got to promise me that!”

She reaches out to me. I’ve known her all my life. How can I tell her that her son’s run away, with a minor, and we haven’t a clue where they are? “Nothing’s going to happen to Hadley. Trust me.” I kiss her lightly on the cheek and dash outside, to where Oliver is crouched near the rocky wall that abuts the backyard. It’s the bottom of a mountain, actually: Mount Deception. Hadley and I climbed it once when we came up here for a long camping weekend. I remember it being steep, with few places for good strong footholds. And beautiful. Once you get to the top, if you ever do make it, there’s quite a view.

Oliver dusts the edges of some of the rocks that make up the looming-wall. “See this? Dirt. Mud. And it’s fresh. I’ll bet you ten-to-one Hadley and Rebecca have climbed up there.”

“There are two blankets missing from the house. I don’t know if that proves anything.”

Oliver cranes his neck. From this angle, right at the very bottom, it’s impossible to see to the top of Mount Deception. It hurts to just think about it. He anchors one leg in the crevice of the rocks. “Give me a lift up.”

“Oliver,” I tell him. “You can’t go climbing this mountain right now.” He is pulling himself up, and the remarkable thing is his agility, given the fact that he’s wearing street shoes instead of boots. “It’s getting dark, and you’re going to be stuck halfway up this mountain in the freezing cold. We’ll get a ranger; we’ll go first thing in the morning.”

“She’s going to be up there the whole night. God only knows what sort of shape she’s in, and how she got here.”

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” I say. And I don’t. I wasn’t planning on spending the night in the company of Oliver Jones. By now the sky has turned a milky color, like the background on blueprints. There are a few stars here and there. “Let’s go find a ranger. The sooner we get there the better.”

The nearest ranger station is at a campground about ten miles south of Hadley’s place. When we get there two rangers are inside the little log shack, cooking a can of Heinz beans.

Oliver just walks right in without being invited. He sits down at the kitchen table and starts to tell the rangers about Rebecca and Hadley. I interrupt him after about five minutes of extraneous background history. “Look, I know we can’t get up there tonight, but we’d really like to go there first thing in the morning. Maybe you can help us; a trail or something.”

The ranger who is just coming on duty takes out a relief map of the area and asks me to show him where the Sleggs live. I mention that I’ve hiked the mountain once with Hadley; I might remember things as we go.

We sleep on the floor of the cabin and when the sun comes up, we begin to pick our way through several trails. Oliver walks first, then the ranger, then me. From time to time Oliver slides on the worn soles of his loafers, knocking over the ranger and me like dominoes.

At a certain point it starts coming back to me. The cliff, the winding path and the little clump of trees in the distance. “We camped there,” I say. “Last time I hiked this mountain we camped in those trees. There’s a little clearing there, and you’re close by to the water, so it makes a good site.”

We hike up the eastern edge, keeping the increasingly deep drop just an arm’s length away. We can hear the river splashing over the rocks. Oliver’s jaw tenses up when he sees the cliff. I know what he is thinking: What if she’s down there? We are all out of breath by the time the ground levels off in front of us. Straight ahead is the clearing, through the pine trees, and I think I can make out something blue. We tiptoe in through the maze of trunks, and there on a blanket are Hadley and Rebecca, wound around each other. They are still, so still I think maybe this was a suicide pact, but then I see Hadley’s chest rising and falling. He’s practically naked, except for his boxers, and Rebecca’s just wearing his shirt. The funny thing is, they look really peaceful. Like you say about angels. They’re holding each other so tight, even fast asleep, that it’s as if the rest of the world couldn’t possibly matter.

“Jesus, Hadley,” I say, more out of shock than anything else. In spite of what Jane has told me about him and Rebecca, in spite of the fact that I repeated the story myself to Oliver, I didn’t really believe he was carrying on with her. She looks about nine years old with her hair spread out in back of her like that, all skinny arms and legs. She certainly doesn’t look old enough to be wrapped in Hadley’s arms this way. I can tell Oliver isn’t taking it too well, either. He is rasping, choking on everyday air.

Hadley sits up at the sound of my voice. He’s got an erection, for Christ’s sake. He blinks a few times and looks around like a captured animal. By now Rebecca is sitting up too. The thing I notice about her is that her eyes are all fuzzy, and she doesn’t seem to be surprised. “Hadley,” she says calmly, “this is my father.”

Hadley pulls a blanket over his lap and holds out his hand. Oliver doesn’t take it. Rebecca lies back down on the blanket. How far have they gone? I wonder. I stare at Hadley, but he’s not revealing anything. As Rebecca hits the ground heavily, he crawls to her side. So does the ranger, for that matter. Hadley holds his hand under Rebecca’s neck, incredibly tender.

“Get the hell away from her.” Oliver says, finally. “Don’t touch her.”

Seeing this may be harder for him than seeing me and Jane together. There’s a rotten, stale smell that’s hovering; disgrace. “Do it, Hadley. Just move away. It’s the best thing.”