"What did you say to him?" Pa threw another punch, this one catching Nettie in the solar plexus. The breath whooshed out of her and she fell to the floor. He'd blindsided her with the first one the minute she'd walked in the door after work. Tomorrow she'd have two matching black eyes. Meanwhile the pain made her dizzy and sparks of light glittered in her vision.
"Nothing," she tried to say, though it came out as a gasp and she had to fight not to vomit. She hadn't told anyone anything. "Who?"
"Been cozying up to that hoity-toity lawyer, have you? Planning to turn whore? That's the only use a man like that would have for the likes of you." He punctuated his insult with a series of kicks.
Nettie curled in on herself so his boot caught her arms instead of her face or stomach. One particular blow caused a white-hot burst of pain through her wrist.
"No, you know your place, girl. Right here, taking care of your old Pa, like you promised." He caught her in the shin with one last kick that made her senses blur. "Now get the hell off that floor and fix my supper."
Nettie groaned and tried to move. When she moved her left arm, she screamed and passed out.
Where was Nettie? She always had the store open by nine o'clock sharp. A handful of would-be customers milled around, looking confused. Eli checked his pocket watch again. It was quarter past. Something in his gut told him told him she was in trouble.
City Hall was kitty-corner across the street, so Eli strode away from the store. Once inside, he went to the clerk's office and asked for Alfred Price's address. The clerk's secretary, a middle-aged woman with a keen eye for gossip raised an eyebrow before pulling a card from a file labeled "Voter Registrations." She wrote down the address on a slip of paper and handed it over. "Client of yours?"
Eli snorted. "Not likely. Need to ask him some questions. Can't talk much about it." Let her think Price was a potential witness to something.
"Better you than me." With a delicate sniff, she returned to her desk. "I wouldn't go near him if he was on fire and I had a bucket of water."
"Well, unfortunately, I'd have to, either way. Lawyer and fireman, that's me. You have a good day now." He tipped his fedora and left the office.
Instead of entering his own, he ducked into the alley behind and climbed into his car. The address she'd given him was a bit out of town, away from the lake and into the woods where property values were lower. His slick cream-colored Chrysler roadster was filthy brown after a mile on rutted dirt roads, but it only took him ten minutes or so to get there. Still, that must be a nasty walk for Nettie in the rain or snow. Why didn't she move to a boardinghouse in town?
And why the hell was he so obsessed with Nettie Price? It was true that helping people was in his blood - something his father had never understood - but his concern for Nettie went deeper. He'd been trying not to admit it, even to himself, but he cared for Nettie - she was more than a friendly shop clerk. She was pretty, in a soft, old-fashioned way, but it went deeper than that. He'd become entranced with the caring, whip-smart, stubborn woman inside the outdated skirts and blouses.
He pulled his car to a halt outside a ramshackle bungalow. Cedar shakes had fallen from the roof and whatever color the clapboard siding had been, it was now mostly bare, splotchy wood. An equally battered Model-T stood alongside the house, letting Eli know that Al Price was home. Several makeshift fire circles had been built in front of the house, one still smoldering. He gave a mental apology to his wing-tip shoes, and then kicked the embers out, before making his way up the rough stone pathway to the front door. After several knocks with no answer, he tried the door and found it locked. With a deep breath, he pushed aside his conscience and made his way to the parlor window, at the other end of the porch.
The window was closed, but the glass sparkled. Inside, Eli could clearly make out the form of Al Price, sprawled on the sofa, two empty brown bottles of "medicine" near his feet.
Eli banged on the window, but Price didn't move. Eli thought the man was breathing, but couldn't tell from where he stood. There was also no sign of Nettie.
It took him less than a second to rationalize his next act. The door wasn't locked. It was his civic duty to check on the man passed out or dead in his own parlor. By extension, he could justify checking on the missing daughter as well. As he entered the hall and stepped toward the parlor, Price let out a snort and shifted. Passed out drunk, then, not dead. A better man would be pleased, but at the moment, Eli wasn't a better man. He stepped quietly from room to room, checking for Nettie without waking her father.
She was nowhere on the first floor. The two bedrooms were clearly both Al's domain, one with his bed and wardrobe, the other holding a collection of hunting and fishing gear. Eli shook his head. It shouldn't surprise him that Nettie was relegated to the attic. She probably boiled in the summer and froze in the winter. Growing more frightened and more furious by the minute, he crept up the squeaky wooden staircase to the upper half-story of the house.