There wasn’t even an oil stain.

Then, just as I reached the exit, I spotted what I prayed was a clue out on the road in front of the VFW. Something small and round shone against the blacktop, about thirty feet to the right. Seeing nothing on the pavement to the left, I made the right. Slowly, slowly I drove, and then stopped. The object on the road was a honeydew-colored earring, gleaming in the rising sun.

Mama had been so excited when she found the set, which included a necklace and a bracelet, too. She had a pantsuit in that exact shade of light green, and the costume jewels were a perfect match.

I hoped she tossed the earring out of the car intentionally, like Hansel and Gretel with their breadcrumb trail. I didn’t want to think of the alternative: that the clip-on was the first casualty as Mama struggled with her kidnapper.

The VFW is at the far western end of Main Street. I drove for two miles without spotting another clue. Then I came to an intersection. Right, left, or straight ahead? I parked on the shoulder and examined the site on foot. There was nothing to suggest choosing one way over another. There was only a quiet Saturday morning and empty road in all directions. Making the wrong decision might mean Mama’s life.

I was about to start combing the grass alongside the intersection when I noticed an ancient fisherman. Sitting stooped in a folding chair and holding a cane pole, he was nearly hidden by the cattails that grow along the banks of Himmarshee Creek.

I came up quietly, not wanting to scare him or the fish.

He looked up, dark face nearly hidden in the shadow of a huge straw hat. “Hey.’’

“Hey.’’ I returned his greeting and got right to business. “I’m trying to find a light-colored pickup truck that might have come by here about ten minutes ago.’’

With yellowed teeth and sunken cheeks, he looked about a hundred years old. I hoped he still had his wits. “Yes’m,’’ he finally said. “I saw a truck. White, it was. I was just gettin’ here myself to do a little fishin’ when the damn fool driving nearly run me over.’’

“Did you see which way it went?’’

He aimed the tip of his pole to the west. “Straight ahead, along the course of the creek. I remember, ’cause I was walking ’long side of the road, right there.’’ He pointed the pole again. “They flew by me, so close I could see the look on the face of the white lady in the passenger side. Real little lady. She looked scared, like she thought they was gonna hit me.’’

“Did you notice anything else unusual?’’

“I remember wondering why she was only wearing one of them round earbobs.’’

I thanked him and continued on my way. In another mile, a honeydew scarf waved from a fence alongside the road. I was on the right track.

Just before the intersection with State Road 70, a woman stood on the roadside at the back end of an old blue van. Cardboard boxes and a metal contraption that looked like a coat rack sat around her on the grassy swale. She bent into the back to pull out a folding card table and a chair. Coming alongside, I read the sign on the van’s left panel: Wendi’s Whirligigs.

By the time I stopped and backed up, she’d put up her table and started arranging her wares. She sold airplanes and birds fashioned from old beer cans.

“Are you Wendi?’’ I asked, shifting Pam’s car into neutral.

She nodded, but didn’t look at me. She hung her whirligigs from the coat rack, hoping to catch the eye of passing motorists. I asked about the truck.

“Might have seen something.’’ Her head was down, orange spiky hair pointing to a flock of beer-can birds she was arranging on the table. “I’ve been busy. I have a lot of these here crafts to sell. Business is awful slow in the summer.’’ She finally looked at me. “Awful slow.’’

Highway extortion. I searched for my purse on the seat and floorboards. It wasn’t there. But I saw it in my mind—just where I’d left it on a chair at the VFW. My wallet was inside. Even worse, so was my phone.

“Look, I’m in trouble,’’ I told Wendi. “My mama’s been kidnapped. I need to know which way that truck was headed.’’

The hard line of her mouth softened, making her almost pretty. “I thought there was something off about those two gals. Love affair gone bad, right? I been there.’’

“Yes, that was it,’’ I agreed, desperate for her help even if it was under false pretenses.

“Was that your mama in the passenger seat? The one with the platinum hair?’’

I nodded.

“Pretty, for an older gal. They were heading west. Your mama looked right at me as they passed, about ten minutes ago. She was yelling out the window, ‘Park, park, park!’ It didn’t make sense. I already was parked. But that’s all I heard before the truck blew by.’’

“You notice anything else?’’

“There were crushed beer cans in the back.’’ She pulled a cigarette from behind her ear; lit it. “It’s a shame people smash them. A good can is the foundation of my business.’’

“Thanks, Wendi,’’ I shifted into gear and let out the clutch, as a cigarette-smoke cloud drifted my way. “If I get her out of this mess, we’ll be back to buy a six-pack of whirligigs.’’

“Good luck,’’ Wendi called out as I pulled onto the road.

What could Mama have meant? I tried to concentrate, but kept getting a picture in my mind of work boots. I’d seen mine sitting on the floorboard in the back when I was searching for my purse. I glanced over my shoulder at the heavy boots.

Suddenly, I knew exactly where Mama’s captor had taken her.

Himmarshee Park doesn’t open on Saturday morning until ten, giving the kidnapper plenty of time to … I couldn’t bear to finish the thought. I didn’t want to imagine what the murderer had planned in my workplace for my mama.

The slats on the wooden bridge vibrated under the VW’s tires. I spotted a honeydew-colored shoe just beyond the rise of the little span. It was the mate to a heeled pump I’d seen in the middle of the street just before the turn-off to the park.

The woods were eerily still. No birds called. No animals rustled through brush. It was as if the humidity that already hung like a wet veil over the day had sucked out all the sound. Technically, we were closed. But all anyone who wanted in had to do was unhitch the steel cable that stretched across the road. The Do Not Enter sign would fall to the ground, and they could drive right through. Which is just what someone had done.

I turned off the car’s ignition and coasted across the downed cable. When tracking an animal, the quieter the better.