When I got back to the boiler room Mona said she had a lead on Sonja. Mona had called this number and the woman on the other end began to laugh and then finished the spiel, even using the word SUPERLATIVE. Then she hung up. Mona couldn’t say for sure that it was Sonja’s voice because, truth be told, she said, she and the other girls had lost their sense of voice-detection, as drink and food tasters eventually lose their sense of taste from overindulgence.
I dialed the number and the voice said: “Very clever, Eli.”
“Sonja?”
“Have you been looking for me?”
“I’ve been looking for Stephanie.”
“I know. Wayne told me.”
“Where is she?”
“How would I know, Eli. You fired me, remember?”
“Weren’t you with her?”
“Yes I was. We had a long talk. She’s some girl, Eli. Too bad.”
“What’s too bad?”
“Oh you don’t know. Stephanie had an accident.”
I gulped without saliva.
“Did you hurt her?”
“I can’t hear you, Eli. You’ll have to speak up. Have you lost your voice?”
“Did you hurt her?”
“Nobody hurts anybody. Everything’s preordained. How many times have I told you that? It’s destiny.”
“Where is she?”
“You don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
“She’s home. She’s been home. I think you should see her, Eli – the real Stephanie.”
* * *
I called Stephanie’s house. The same story. Her mother assured me that Stephanie was staying at a friend’s.
I didn’t believe her, of course.
“I’d like to talk to you,” I said.
“We’re talking,” her mother said.
“I’d like to come over.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“I know Stephanie is there, Mrs. Eaton.
She hung up.