"Bill went into Indian River for some stuff. He didn't come back."
"Look," Glenn said suddenly. "Marge is freezing and we're all tired out. We better get inside."
Norm Boody sprang toward the door and held it open.
"Sure, sure," he said. "The wife's got both coffee pots steaming by now. I oughta be shot for not getting this poor girl inside the minute she came. It ain't fit weather...."
Robinson smiled.
"Let's get to that coffee."
Inside, they all greeted Mrs. Boody. While she poured coffee into the cups on the kitchen table, Robinson cornered Norm Boody and led him into the living room. It was a low-ceilinged, warm, homey place. A telephone hung on the far wall. Robinson dialed the sheriff's number at Indian River, put the receiver back in place, lifted it and tried again. He shook his head.
"Trouble?" Boody asked.
"The line must be down. Phone won't work. Guess we'll sleep tonight and make that call in the morning."
The two men sat down in the darkness of the living room. Mrs. Boody, a grey headed, smiling woman who looked as though she might be anyone's mother, came in with two steaming cups.