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“Dooley, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but whatever happened to Angel, aliens were definitely not involved.”

“Are you sure, Max? Because all the signs are pointing to an alien abduction.”

“I’m fairly sure, yes,” I said with a smile.

We’d arrived in town, and made straight for the General Store, where our friend Kingman likes to hold forth. He’s like the elder statesman of Hampton Cove, and has the size to back up that claim. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Star Wars? There’s a character named Jabba the Hutt. Well, Kingman could have been his little brother. Smaller in size, of course, but definitely cut from the same mold. He was occupying a chair today, basking in the sun.

“Hey, Kingman,” I said, and found that I had to crane my neck to look up at the voluminous cat, which probably was the whole idea. Kingman likes it when his loyal subjects look up to him—like Jabba, who was king of the underworld.

“Hey, fellas,” said Kingman lazily, not bothering to look up. “What’s happening?”

“Well, a lot, as it turns out,” I said. “First off, Angel Church has gone missing. She went out last night to party with her girlfriends, and never arrived home.”

“I heard about that,” said Kingman, which didn’t surprise me, since Kingman has always heard about everything that goes on in our town—in spite of the fact that he doesn’t seem to move around much.

“I was just telling Max that I think Angel was abducted by aliens, Kingman,” said Dooley, reiterating his theory to a hopefully more appreciative audience.

But Kingman quickly quashed that hope when he said,“Nonsense. That girl was abducted, all right, but not by aliens. You mark my words. Pretty girl like that? Probably abducted by human traffickers.”

“But why?” asked Dooley. “Why would humans traffic other humans?”

“For all kinds of reasons,” I said.

“One reason only, Max,” Kingman proceeded to develop his theory. “Money. They can sell them, or they can turn them into prostitutes.”

“What’s a prostitute, Max?” asked Dooley.

“Well…” I hesitated, and shared a look of contemplation with Kingman. And since it was the latter who’d put us in the soup by mentioning the P-word, it was an unwritten rule that he was also the one who had to get us out of it.

“Look here, Dooley,” said Kingman now, actually tilting his head to look in Dooley’s direction. “I don’t know if you know this, but once upon a time older rich ladies used to hire younger women to keep them company. Read to them, talk with them, discuss all manner of fascinating topic. They were called a lady’s companion because—”

“They kept the lady company.”

“Exactly! They would travel together to such places as Cannes and Italy, and almost be like part of the family. Now at a certain point men became jealous, and decided that they, too, wanted the benefit of a companion lady, see?”

“Sure. To read to them, and to talk with them, and all that kind of stuff.”

“So a prostitute is like a lady’s companion… for men.”

“Oh, okay. So you think Angel is a lady’s companion now, for a rich person?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“Well, that’s not so bad, is it?”

“It wouldn’t be bad if she had chosen to do this. Only it is my belief that the men who took her didn’t bother to ask her opinion. They just grabbed her for some rich guy.”

“Oh, I understand. They took her but never asked her if she agreed. That’s not very nice.”

“Exactly, Dooley. That’s not nice at all.”

“It’s probably even worse than that,” I said.

“How can it be worse, Max?” asked Kingman.

“Angel probably is forced to work for free.”

“I think these men are very bad, Max,” said Dooley decidedly. “And I think we have to stop them, and get Angel out of their clutches.”

“Yeah, only problem is: we have no idea who these people are. Or where they’re keeping her—if indeed she was taken.” Though the more I thought about it, the more I was inclined to think that Kingman was right. It was the phone that had decided me. No girl Angel’s age would willingly part with her phone. Those phones are glued to her generation’s hands, and taking it away is the worst thing that can happen—well, apart from being abducted and forced into prostitution, maybe.

“Unless of course we’re dealing with some kind of murdering maniac,” said Kingman, placing his head down again. “In that case we’ll never see Angel again.”

“Oh, but Kingman, that mustn’t happen!” said Dooley, who clearly had become invested in a happy ending to be had by Angel and her family.

“Say, Kingman,” I said. “Do you happen to know who Angel’s dad is?”

Kingman gave me a thoughtful look.“Somehow I have the impression you already know the answer, Max.”

“Is it… a certain friend of your human?”

Kingman grinned.“Indeed it is.”

“And how do you know?” I asked.

“Because Father Reilly and Wilbur are exactly that: good friends. And good friends talk, Max.”

“And you listen.”

“All the time.”

“So do you think there is a connection with her disappearance?”

Kingman thought for a moment, then shrugged.“If there is a connection, I don’t see it.”