ABSTRACT
On a Wednesday afternoon, Kay Feldman came home from Italian Club, which was run by Signora Maselli and filled with other misfits, girls bright enough but too shy for the school paper, too prim or clumsy for Modern Dance, and one boy, obviously crazy, who announced that he planned to read all of Dante before the end of ninth grade. Kay called out for her mother and heard nothing. There was no note on the kitchen table, only half a cup of thickening coffee and an ashtray with stubbed-out cigarettes.
