“A little more to the left if you want the city station,” Pauline directed from her chair beside the desk. He turned the dials and, loud and clear, a familiar dance tune broke upon their senses. It was Golden Girl and a well-known radio artist, Kate South, was singing in an emotional, contralto voice:
My own golden girl. There is one, only one
Who has eyes like the stars and hair like the sun.
In your new yellow gown you’re a dream of delight.
You have danced in my heart on bright slippers tonight ...
Judy bowed her head and tears smarted in her eyes.
“Irene’s description,” Dale said fiercely. He shut off the radio and did not turn it on again until the ten minutes were up.
Gongs sounded and then the announcer’s voice, very cold and matter-of-fact, read through the list of missing persons. Irene’s name came last:
MISSING SINCE JUNE TWENTIETH: IRENE LANG
OF FARRINGDON, PENNSYLVANIA; VISITING AT