Cry No More (Page 26)

So, the fewer people who knew about Diaz, the better. She made a mental note to call Joann first thing in the morning, before she went to the office, and tell her not to mention Diaz to anyone.

She caught the first flight out of Dallas for El Paso, swung by the condo to leave her luggage, then continued on to the office. As early as it was, the heat was already becoming oppressive, reminding her of how much she looked forward to winter.

When she entered the office, she saw at once that Brian was in a playful mood, which always took the form of teasing Olivia and trying to drive her mad. Today he was giving her fashion advice, and it wasn’t going over well at all, much to the amusement of everyone else within hearing distance, which was most of the staff.

“You should try a new hairstyle,” he was saying as he lounged on the corner of her desk. “Something flirty. And bigger. You know, with waves and swoops and things.”

Every feminist principle she possessed insulted, Olivia gave him a long, cold stare. “Who do I look like, Farrah fucking Fawcett?”

“No, but you could try,” he said seriously.

Brian was young and big and fast, but for a moment Milla thought that might not be enough to save his life. Olivia slowly stood up until they were almost nose to nose, which, at five-two, she was able to do only because he was sitting on her desk. “Little boy,” she said deliberately, “I’ve destroyed better men than you: used them up, wrung them dry, and thrown them away. Don’t try playing out of your league.”

Brian did obtuse really well. “What?” he said, looking bewildered. “I’m just trying to help. You know, give you some pointers and stuff.”

“Really. I didn’t know Neanderthals were fashion experts.”

He grinned. “A little fur goes a long way.”

“I’m sure you’d know.”

Joann caught Milla’s eye and gestured toward Milla’s office. Milla looked and almost groaned aloud when she saw who was waiting for her. Mrs. Roberta Hatcher was searching for her missing husband, who had disappeared one weekend several weeks ago while she was in Austin visiting her sister. Since Mr. Hatcher’s clothing was also missing, as well as his car and half the money in their checking account, the police had correctly concluded foul play wasn’t involved, that Mr. Hatcher had left of his own free will, and there was nothing they could do. She had then turned to Finders for help, and refused to take no for an answer.

Casting a cautious look at Brian and Olivia—Milla hoped Olivia’s antiviolence philosophy would continue to hold—she stepped into her office and smiled at Mrs. Hatcher. “Good morning, Roberta. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Roberta shook her head. She was a pleasant, graying dumpling of a woman, in her late fifties, with the kind of round, cheerful face that looked most natural when wreathed in a smile. Since Benny Hatcher had disappeared one sunny afternoon, however, her eyes were often red-rimmed from weeping and Milla had yet to see the woman smile.

If she could get her hands on Mr. Hatcher, Milla thought, she would gladly strangle him. How dare he put his wife through this? If he wanted to leave, he should at least have had the guts and the courtesy to tell her, instead of leaving her twisting in the wind like this. Her heart would still be broken, of course, but at least she would know what was going on, that he was alive, and what her legal status was. She was in limbo, she was suffering, and Mr. Hatcher needed to have his ass kicked.

“Please help me,” Roberta said in a low, scratchy voice, as if she had cried so much her throat was raw and swollen. Milla knew all too well how that felt. “I know you said he isn’t a missing person, that he walked away under his own power and of his own accord, but don’t you see, I don’t know that, not for certain. What if some con man talked him into something, and now he’s lost all his money and he’s ashamed to come home, or he’s hurt or even dead? I checked into a few private detective agencies like you told me to do, but I can’t afford them. Even the cheapest one is way out of my budget. Please.”

“I can’t,” Milla said, just as upset as Mrs. Hatcher. “We’re in the same boat you’re in. We don’t have unlimited funding; we pinch every penny and make do with what we have or we do without. Look at this office. You can see we save most of our funds for our searches. The odds are that Mr. Hatcher left you and didn’t have the courage to tell you. How can I justify using our resources to locate someone who almost certainly left of his own free will?”

“But can’t you check his social security records to find out if he’s working somewhere?”

“That takes a special subscription service, and we don’t have it. The people we track are lost, not hiding.” She rubbed her forehead, trying to think of a solution. “Have you tried the Salvation Army? They locate lost relatives. I believe it’s a one-time-only free service and I don’t know if they do it under these circumstances, but perhaps they can help.”

“The Salvation Army?” Roberta murmured. “I didn’t know they did things like that.”

“They do, but as I said, I don’t know their requirements. If they can’t help you, then please see a lawyer. Do what you can to protect yourself legally.”

A single tear dripped down Roberta’s cheek. “I haven’t told the children,” she said raggedly. “How do I tell them their father just walked away?”

She had two sons, both married and with their own children. “You just tell them,” Milla said. “You have to, rather than letting them find out some other way. What if he calls them? Then they’ll be angry at you for not telling them what was going on.”