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Blinking back bitter tears, Victoria turned her gaze away from her parents’ markers. Her eyes settled on the immense gravestone a few yards away where the tall stranger had stood, head bowed, during her last visit. The lowering rays of the sun breaking through the cloudy sky highlighted the inscription Pauline Anders, Beloved Wife.
Victoria could barely make out the dates beneath the name. She squinted, silently calculating. Dear God in heaven, how tragic! The woman died at thirty. So young! Only a few years older than I am, Victoria noted, stunned, recalling the pain, masked but still apparent, in the furrows of the stranger’s brow. She turned and fished in her purse for a tissue I shouldn’t have come. I can’t handle this. My emotions are still too fragile.
Blotting the moisture from her eyes, she squared her shoulders and began walking back to her car. She was almost to the road when she noticed someone approaching—the mysterious man in the trench coat who belonged to Pauline Anders. Only now he was wearing a brown leather aviator jacket with a fleecy wool collar. And he was carrying flowers—red roses in a deep ceramic vase, a dozen at least. He offered Victoria an oblique smile as their paths crossed, and she obligingly returned it. In the fractional moment their eyes met she was reminded that theirs was a peculiar alliance—deep losses borne separately and in a sense shared wordlessly, beyond time and circumstance.
Too soon she looked away, breaking eye contact with the stranger, feeling suddenly self-conscious, almost flustered. The man’s amber eyes were so vivid, so penetrating; it was as if he could read her very soul. She walked on, shivering, pulling her long, hunter green cardigan tighter around her, her cold fingers burrowing into the marled, slubby yarns. It was nearly dusk, and the chill air was already invading her bones. The overcast sky promised rain. Lots of it. Weren’t April showers supposed to bring May flowers, not just more rain? Right now she wanted nothing more than to be at home in her little condominium, snuggling on the couch in her comfy flannel robe, sipping chamomile tea and watching the evening news on TV.
Unexpectedly, Victoria was aware of a sound behind her—heavy footsteps padding through the thick grass. She glanced around and felt a ripple of surprise. The stranger was striding her way, a shadowy form against the darkening skyline.
Victoria increased her pace, pretending not to notice him. Her automobile wasn’t far—the gray compact parked just outside the cemetery’s huge iron gate.
But the man’s gait also increased. She sensed him just behind her, his breathing nearly as audible as her own. She walked faster now, her pulse racing, her ankle nearly turning as her stacked heels sank into the grassy, uneven ground. You hear such awful stories all the time, she thought frantically, breaking into a run. Women alone attacked by strangers, psychotics, madmen; women foolhardy enough to venture alone into dangerous desolate places like this one…
A deep masculine voice behind her shouted, “Stop! Wait!”
Was he kidding? She wouldn’t give in without a fight. She bolted through the open iron gate, running to her car She glanced over her shoulder and saw him running after her Finally she reached the car. She leaned panting against the door. Now if only she could find her keys’ She looked down at her empty hands. Her purse-it was gone!
“Miss, I think this is what you’re looking for.” The stranger hovered over her, surely more than six feet to her five feet six inches. She caught the clean fragrance of his spicy after-shave and the minty warmth of his breath. He held out her handbag, managing an amused, crinkly smile “You dropped this back there in the grass “
She looked up at him, dazed, her pulse suddenly racing with something quite different from terror, and mumbled, “I did?”
“I’m sorry,” he continued, those mesmerizing eyes holding her captive. She couldn’t help noticing that he had an uncommonly handsome face, and at the moment he seemed almost to be enjoying her predicament. “I mean it,” he went on seriously “I really didn’t intend to frighten you “
She took the purse and with trembling fingers found her keys “That’s all right,” she murmured, fumbling with the lock. She opened the door and glanced back briefly. “I feel so foolish It’s just that this place can be a bit unnerving “
“Don’t I know it,” he said with a faint smile.
Feeling the need to say something more, she gazed up at the gray, drizzling sky and said, “This really isn’t the sort of day to be out, is it? It looks like it’s going to pour any minute now.”
His voice was warm, almost a confidential tone “I know Some weather for May, huh? I was hoping to beat the rain, but no such luck.”
She opened her palm to the sky “You’re right. It’s already starting I guess I’d better go.”
He nodded and flipped up the large fleecy collar of his leather jacket. “Drive safely,” he said, his candid brown eyes still boring into hers
As the first large drops fell, she gave him a fluttery wave and climbed into her car He returned the wave with a good-natured smile, then turned and walked quickly to his automobile. Victoria fastened her seat belt and turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. She tried again, and again, but there was only a dull click-click-click.
She heard a tap on her window and glanced over to see the stranger. “Release the hood and I’ll check it for you,” he told her.
A minute later he returned to her. “The water level in your battery’s down. The terminals are corroded. You’ll need a new battery.”
“Oh, great.” She sighed. “I’ll have to call the auto club.”
He leaned into the open window, his face close to her own. “I wish I had some jumper cables,” he said with an earnestness that touched her. “I’ll be glad to drive you to a gas station where you can make your call.”
She stiffened. “No, thank you. I—I really couldn’t impose.”
“Please, I insist. It goes against my gentlemanly instincts to leave a lady stranded in this downpour. I’d really like to help.” When she still looked doubtful, he offered a reassuring smile “I know what they say about riding in cars with strangers, but I assure you I’m harmless.”
Victoria weighed her options, and finally offered a noncommittal, “Thank you. I’d appreciate a ride.” She picked up her purse and followed the man to a sleek, metallic-red foreign sports car.
As he drove toward the business district of the city, he glanced over at her and said, “I suppose this would be a good time to introduce ourselves. I’m Phillip Anders.”
She smiled “I’m Victoria Carlin.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Victoria. Actually, I remember seeing you at the cemetery before.”
“Yes. I remember seeing you, too. It was Easter Sunday “
He flashed an ironic smile. “There has to be a better meeting place than Rest Haven.”
Victoria laughed faintly. She wasn’t quite sure how to take this unpredictable man, Phillip Anders. One moment he seemed brooding and introspective, the next he was making droll jokes and offering the most disarming smile.
They 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 just very intrigued,” she replied with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “I never knew a private investigator before. It must be a very challenging and rewarding occupation.”
“It keeps me busy. In fact, too busy at times.”
“Too busy?”
“Yes—when my wife was alive, anyway. Pauline and I didn’t have the time together we should have. I was gone a lot.” Phillip’s words fell away, as if he realized he was saying too much, revealing more about himself than he intended. He drained his coffee cup When the waitress walked by, he signaled her for a refill.
“Do you have children?” asked Victoria, knowing immediately it was a subject she shouldn’t be broaching. What if he turned the question back to her?
Phillip grimaced. For a moment he said nothing. Finally he looked away, a glint of pain evident in his sable brown eyes. “No, we never had children,” he replied somberly. “To tell you the truth, it’s the greatest regret of my life.”
Victoria looked away, discomfited by the man’s unexpected confession. “Well, there’s more to life than children,” she murmured without conviction, her words unnaturally stiff and precise. She quelled the impulse to admit to Phillip that she, too, knew how it felt to regret something deeply, to live daily with a raw emotional wound that ruptured at the slightest inadvertent prick. But exposing her own pain would serve no purpose. She and Phillip were, after all, virtual strangers.
“Well, now that I’ve bored you with my life story, I think it’s time for me to pick up the check,” said Phillip offhandedly.
“Thank you, but I really wasn’t bored,” she assured him with a heartfelt smile. Suddenly, illogically, she didn’t want their conversation to end, but she could think of no legitimate reason to linger, so she said dutifully, “I guess it is time to get back to my car.”
Phillip nodded, reached for the check and tossed a crisp one-dollar bill on the table. A contemplative silence settled over them as he drove Victoria back to her stalled automobile.
