In Search Of Her Own. Carole Page Gift
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drove to a nearby filling station where Victoria made her call “It’ll be at least an hour or more before the tow truck can come,” she told Phillip when she returned to his car.
“All right,” he said. “I’m in no hurry. Before I take you back to your car, let’s stop by the little coffee shop next door.”
“Oh, no,” she protested. “You don’t have to wait with me.”
“I never leave a lady in distress.” Laugh lines appeared around his eyes. “Like I said, I want to make sure you aren’t stranded in this miserable weather.”
In the Dew Drop Inn, a waitress showed them to a corner booth just off the kitchen. Several yellowed western prints decorated the mauve walls and an antique coatrack stood nearby. Phillip hung up their coats, then they sat down and ordered coffee. “Hot and black,” he told the teenage waitress with backcombed, tangerine hair
Victoria shivered involuntarily “I didn’t realize how cold I was.”
“It shouldn’t be this cold in May. We’ve had enough winter.”
She nodded. “That’s how I feel. It seems as if winter has lasted for years,”
“It has,” he murmured thoughtfully. “And there’s no end in sight.”
“I have a feeling you’re not talking about the weather now.”
“No.” He paused. “Tell me, Miss Carlin—or is it Mrs.?”
She felt her face flush slightly “Miss.”
“Then that’s not your husband’s grave?”
“No. My mother’s.”
“I noticed two headstones.”
“My father died six years ago.”
“I’m sorry. I know how hard it is. I lost both my parents when I was young.”
“And now your wife,” she said softly
He nodded, a tendon tightening along his jawhne. “It’s been nearly a year. You’d think it would get easier.”
“She was so young. Do you mind my asking? Was it an accident?”
“Cancer. She never gave up. Bravest woman I ever knew.”
They were both silent for several moments, sipping their coffee. Finally, in a lighter tone, he asked, “Just what is it you do, Miss Carlin—other than frequent cemeteries, that is?”
“I’m an instructor at the university. Contemporary American literature. I’m finishing my third year of teaching.”
“Oh. one of those studious types—your nose always in a book?”
Victoria unconsciously lifted her hand to the back of her neck. “I suppose you could say that. I’m working on the thesis for my doctorate.”
“I’m impressed,” said Phillip. “My remark about studious types wasn’t meant as an insult. I admire intelligent women. It’s just that you don’t look like any of the teachers I had in school—you know, the old-maid schoolmarms with their hair in a bun and spectacles halfway down their noses.”
Victoria forced a laugh. “In just which century did you attend school, Mr. Anders?”
He accepted her mild rebuff. “All right, I’m exaggerating. But you look like you’d be more at home on the tennis courts or horseback riding in the country.”
Victoria sipped her coffee, then said, “I’ve never played tennis or been on a horse. I’ve spent most of my life in libraries and classrooms “
“Even when you were a child?”
“Yes. My parents were both professors at the university and, for as long as I can remember, they stressed the importance of education. They naturally expected me to become a teacher, too.”
“Doesn’t sound like you had much fun.”
“Fun wasn’t one of my priorities.” Victoria realized immediately how smug she sounded, so she added, “Learning was fun for me.”
“Well, for me it was just plain hard work. I got through law school by the skin of my teeth.”
“Then you’re a lawyer?”
“Not anymore,” he replied “I passed my bar exams and set up practice as an attorney, but after a couple of years of sitting in a stuffy office, neck-high in paperwork, I decided I’d had it. I closed up shop and began working as a private investigator.”
“Really? How exciting,” said Victoria.
“To be honest, it’s not as exciting as it looks on television,” said Phillip. “I’m rarely into the shoot-’em-up cops-and-robbers stuff. In fact, sometimes my job is downright tedious. And I still get bogged down with paperwork, but at least there’s a certain undercurrent of adventure that I didn’t have as a lawyer.”
“Exactly what do you investigate?”
“Missing persons. Kids mostly.”
Her breath caught momentarily. “Missing children?”
“Well, there’s always the husband or wife looking for a spouse who’s left town. But most of my clients are searching for children—parents looking for runaway teenagers or divorced people whose mate has stolen their children.”
Victoria’s interest perked. “Really? You mean, someone just comes to you and says, ‘My child is missing,’ and you go out and find their child?”
“Essentially yes. But it’s not quite that simple. Like I said, there’s a lot of paperwork involved, and I run into my share of roadblocks and dead ends. And frankly, sometimes there’s not a happy ending.” His voice trailed off. “Some kids end up dead.”
Victoria shuddered. “But most of the time you.you find the missing child?”
“Most of the time.” He chuckled. “I’m a very persistent man. I don’t give up easily.”
She sat forward, her pulse quickening. She could feel the rhythmic pounding in her ears. “How do you do it, Mr. Anders? Where do you begin?”
He laughed, a gentle, warming sound she found most appealing. “Really, Miss Carlin, you don’t expect me to give away trade secrets, do you?”
She sat back, embarrassment coloring her cheeks. “I’m not trying to pry. It’s just so fascinating to think that you can go out and track down someone who’s missing. You must make a lot of parents very happy.”
He laughed again, mirthlessly. “And I’ve enraged a few, as well. But that’s another story.”
“But if someone were looking for someone,” she persisted, “you would be willing to go out and search for him—or her?”
“Well, I would need to know the circumstances, of course. I may push the boundaries at times, but I stay within the law.”
“Of course. That goes without saying.”
He studied her with a disquieting frankness. “Are you looking for someone, Miss Carlin? A missing child?”
She averted her gaze, her thoughts drifting off to a familiar darkness. Yes, I seek a nameless, faceless child—my sweet little boy lost, heart of my heart, my very life. I never stop looking, and yet I wouldn’t know him if I passed him on the street.
“Did you hear me, Miss Carlin? Do you know of a missing child?”
Victoria rotated her coffee cup between her palms. Her hands were trembling. “I never said that, now did I, Mr. Anders?”
His gaze remained unflinching. “Sometimes a person’s silences say more than their words.”
“I’m