She rolled her eyes, and her tone was mocking. “Yes, Dingo, we’ll talk.”
“Good,” he said. “You can have the back, I’ll take the front.”
She was disgusted again. “Well, that’s stupid. You can’t sleep in the front. You’re too tall. At leastIfit up here. No deal, unlessyoutake the back.”
“Fine.” He figured he could at least give her that.
“There!” Maddie pointed to a long-abandoned service station off to the right. It had burned, but enough of the garage remained so that he could tuck his car behind it and not be seen by anyone passing by.
Gravel crunched beneath his tires as he parked his car and turned it off, and then just sat there as the engine ticked.
The sun was low enough in the sky so that the day’s heat was already transforming into the night’s desert chill. He left the keys in the ignition and the windows open a crack, set the timer on his phone, and crawled into the back, where he caught a whiff of himself.
“Christ, I smell disgusting,” he mumbled, thinking, good, that would keep Maddie away, as he closed his eyes and fell instantly asleep.
At 5:15, as Pete drove north on U.S. Route 395, a staff member from the Manzanar National Historic Site finally called back.
When they’d first gotten into Pete’s truck, before they’d even left San Diego, Shayla had had the idea to call the former prison camp—to find out if anyone had seen Maddie and Dingo. She’d even emailed photos of the pair to the person who’d answered the phone—who’d promised to check with the rest of the staff and give them a call back.
Pete punched the phone on. “Lieutenant Greene.”
“Hi, ooh, sorry,” a female voice said through the truck’s speakers. “My name is Melinda Anders and I might have the wrong number, I’m looking for a…well, I think it’s Peter Nakamura?”
“No, you’ve got the right number,” Pete said. “I’m Peter. I called earlier, because my daughter, Maddie Nakamura, is missing and we think she might’ve gone up there with her…boyfriend.” The word stuck in his throat, but he choked it out.
Shay reached over and took his hand.
“Yes!” the woman said. “Oh, good, because yes, I saw them. They were here today.”
“Oh, thank God,” Shayla said.
“Are you sure?” Pete asked.
“The boy and the girl from the photos you sent? Absolutely. In fact, they were in the same car that was in one of the pictures, too.”
“The maroon sedan?” Pete asked.
“Older model, not in great shape, yes.”
“Thank God,” Shayla breathed again.
“I remembered seeing them, because they stopped me to ask where Manzanar was, even though they were already in the park. They seemed a little confused, and then the girl—Maddie—started to cry. The boy told me her family had been interned here. Itcanbe a very emotional experience, seeing the camp for the first time. They were looking for some shade so they could rest, but I had to tell them that there’s not any shade here. Purposely, because there wasn’t any back in the 1940s, either. This wasnota comfortable place, by any means. Anyway, a few hours later, I saw them going through the exhibits near the visitor center, and then they drove out toward the cemetery.”
“They left the park?” Pete asked.
“No, sorry, I mean, yes, theydidleave the park, but only a few hours ago. Before that, well, there’s a driving tour—a road that goes through the site. The cemetery is on the far end, inside of the reconstructed security fence. One of our other volunteers saw them parked at the lot out there—they were there for quite a while. The viewisbeautiful.”
“Thank you so much for calling us,” Shayla said.
“If you were heading south from Manzanar, toward San Diego, and you were hungry,” Pete asked, “where’s the first place you’d stop?”
“Lone Pine,” the woman said, with no hesitation. “It’s a few miles south of the site. It’s a pretty big town. Everything from fast food to barbecue.”
“Thanks,” Pete said.
“I hope you find her. She seemed like a really sweet kid.”
“She is,” Pete said.
