Papa hadn’t given any details. He’d just said that Marjorie had disappeared and they needed Annie’s help
“It’s not here,” Marjorie said, her voice laced with hysteria as she searched fruitlessly through her bag. “That Pete! That thief! When he went in for drinks, he pushed my bag away. He must have taken the money while we were all singing!”
“Ma’am, that’s four dollars you owe us,” the gas jockey said stolidly, ignoring Marjorie’s laments.
“Wait here.” Mama Mumu pulled out the enormous duffel bag she’d placed into the trunk, rifled through it, laboriously counted out four dollars in coins from a rumpled brown bag, and handed it to the boy.
“Mama, what will we do?” Marjorie wailed. “We’ve got at least another fifteen, maybe twenty hours to get to San Francisco. And we have no money to get there!”
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