“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Was she happy at home?”
“Could she have run away?”
The kid working at the coffee shop was trying to play detective but mostly he was getting on Anton’s nerves.
“Look, kid. I just need to know if you’ve seen her. The GPS on my tracking app showed this as her last location.”
“Tracking app? That’s not cool, man.”
“I’m not trying to be cool. I’m trying to find my daughter.”
The truth was, he’d never had to use it before. Arabelle was a teenager, but she was a good kid. She knew the rules—if you’re not going to be home for dinner, check in—and she followed them. Except for tonight. She hadn’t come home for dinner and she hadn’t called.