By night the crossroads were dark and gloomy, unlighted even by a traffic signal. To the right stood a filling station, and directly across from it, a little grocery store, long since closed for the day.
Salt turned in at the filling station, halting the press car almost at the doorway of the tiny office.
Inside, a young man who was counting change at a cash register, turned suddenly and reached for an object beneath the counter. As Salt came in, he kept his hand out of sight, regarding the photographer with suspicion.
“Relax, buddy,” said Salt, guessing that the station owner feared robbery. “We’re from the Riverview Star and need a little information.”
“What do you want to know?” The young man still kept his hand beneath the counter.
“We’re looking for a friend of ours who may have come out here a few minutes ago in a taxi.”
“No cab’s been through here in the last hour,” the filling station man said. “This is a mighty lonesome corner at night. I should have closed up hours ago, only I’m expecting a truck to fill up here.”
“Why not put that gun away?” Salt suggested pointedly. “We’re not here to rob you. Do we look like crooks?”
“No, you don’t,” the man admitted, “but I’ve been taken in before. This station was broken into three times in the past six months. Only two weeks ago a man and woman stopped here about this same time of night—they looked okay and talked easy, but they got away with $48.50 of my hard earned cash.”
“We really are from the Star,” Penny assured him. “And we’re worried about a friend of ours who slipped away from the hospital tonight. He was in an accident and wasn’t entirely himself. He may get into serious trouble if we don’t find him.”