Button, Button: Uncanny Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

have. There must be another door to the washroom and-
    Of course. It wasn't a joke. Bob hadn't gone into the washroom at all. He'd just decided that she was right; the place was awful and he'd gone out to the car to wait for her.
    She felt like a fool as she hurried toward the door. The man might have told her that Bob had gone out. Wait till she told Bob what she'd done. It was really funny how a person could get upset over nothing.
    As she pulled open the screen door she wondered if Bob had paid for what they'd ordered. He must have. At least the man didn't call after her as she went out.
    She moved into the sunlight and started toward the car, almost closing her eyes completely to shut out the glare on the windshield. She smiled to herself thinking about her foolish worrying.
    "Bob, wait till I-"
    Unreasoning dread pressed her insides into a tight knot. She stood in the pounding heat and stared into the empty car. She felt a scream pushing up in her throat. "Bob-"
    She started running around the side of the cafe looking for the other entrance. Maybe the washroom was too dirty; maybe Bob had gone out a side door and couldn't find his way around the shed that was attached to the cafe.
    She tried to look through one of the shed's windows, but it was covered with tar paper on the inside. She ran around to the back of the cafe and looked out across the wide, empty desert. Then she turned back and looked for footprints, but the ground was as hard as baked enamel. A whimper started in her throat and she knew that in a few seconds she was going to start crying.
    "Bob," she murmured. "Bob, where-?"
    In the stillness she heard the front screen door slap in its frame. Abruptly she started running up the side of the cafe building, heart hammering excitedly. Stifling heat waves broke over her as she ran.
    At the edge of the building she stopped suddenly.
    The man she'd spoken to at the counter was looking into the car. He was a small man in his forties, wearing a spotted fedora and a striped, green shirt. Black suspenders held up his dark, grease-spotted pants. Like the other man he wore high-top shoes.
    She moved one step and her sandal scuffed on the dry ground. The man looked over at her suddenly, his face lean and bearded. His eyes were a pale blue that shone like milk spots in the leathery tan of his face.
    The man smiled casually. "Thought I'd see if your husband was waitin' on you in your car," he said. He touched the brim of his hat and started back into the cafe.
    "Are you-" Jean started, then broke off as the man turned.
    "Ma'am?"
    "Are you sure he wasn't in the washroom?"
    "Wasn't no one in there when I went in," he said.
    She stood shivering in the sun as the man went into the cafe and the screen door flapped closed. She could feel mindless dread filling her like ice water.
    Then she caught herself. There had to be an explanation. Things like this just didn't happen.
    She moved firmly across the cafe floor and stopped before the counter. The man in the white ducks looked up from his paper.
    "Would you please check the washroom?" she asked.
    "The washroom?"
    Anger tightened her.
    "Yes, the washroom," she said. "I know my husband is in there."
    "Ma'am, wasn't no one in there," said the man in the fedora.
    "I'm sorry," she said tightly, refusing to allow his words. "My husband didn't just disappear."
    The two men made her nervous with their silent stares.
    "Well, are you going to look there?" she said, unable to control the break in her voice.
    The man in the white ducks glanced at the man with the fedora and something twitched his mouth. Jean felt her hands jerk into angry fists. Then he moved down the length of the counter and she followed.
    He turned the porcelain knob and held open the spring-hinged door. Jean held her breath as she moved closer to look.
    The washroom was empty.
    "Are you satisfied?" the man said. He let the door swing shut.
    "Wait," she said. "Let me look again."
    The man pressed his mouth into a