What She Found (Tracy Crosswhite #9)(25)

The day had dawned with early-morning sprinkles, and Tracy returned to the Macrina Bakery. Anita Childress came in dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a green-and-black Gore-Tex jacket. She looked like a young girl. She wasn’t, of course, but Tracy already felt protective of her, for what Anita had been through. Tracy sat in the same booth at the back, and Childress climbed onto the chair across from her with an expression of concern and curiosity.

“Sorry I’m a few minutes late. Had to take care of something at work,” Childress said.

“No problem.”

“You spoke to Bill Jorgensen,” Childress said.

“I did.”

“Does this mean you’re pursuing my mother’s files?”

Tracy got to the reason for calling and asking for this meeting.

“Last night my husband said something that made me realize perhaps I wasn’t pursuing your mother’s case as fully as I should.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me what if your mother wasn’t abducted. What if she just walked away?” Tracy studied Childress for a reaction. The young woman nodded knowingly and gave a small shrug. “I know you’ve considered that possibility,” Tracy said.

“Many times,” Childress said. “As I said, I even asked my grandmother about it, but she’s defensive.”

“How would you feel if that is what happened?”

“I guess I’d be overjoyed to learn she was alive, but emotionally conflicted because it would mean she left me. I don’t really know how I might react.”

“You’ve been proceeding, then, under the assumption that your mother is not alive.”

“I know the odds are not good, and I’ve reconciled myself to what might await me, but I don’t think it can be worse than living in limbo. It’s like you start out each day in one place, live your day, and think you’re moving forward; then I suddenly think about her and I realize I’m right back at the same spot that I started.”

Groundhog Day. Tracy thought of the Bill Murray movie with Andie MacDowell. Most people considered the movie a comedy—a man reliving Groundhog Day in the same small town over and over.

Tracy saw it as a sad commentary on her life for many years. It wasn’t until she determined what had happened to her sister, Sarah, as hard as that had been, that she could move forward with her life.

“I’m tired of it,” Childress said. “I’m tired of the speculation, and I grew tired of the innuendo and the whispers. I’m tired for myself, and I’m tired for my father. As I told you before, I just want to know the truth.”

“I understand,” Tracy said.

“I’d hoped you would,” Childress said.

“Here’s what I’d like to do. I’d like to continue exploring the files you gave me. In that respect, I’d like to speak with your father. I’d also like to use social media and determine if anyone recalls seeing your mom in 1996 or thereafter, maybe even recently. You have pictures of her from that time period, I assume.”

“Yes, but how are you—”

“I’m also going to need pictures of your maternal grandparents when they were between fifty and sixty years old. I have a forensic artist lined up, a woman we use to age abducted children. I’ve asked if she could do a composite sketch of what your mother would most likely look like now.”

“I can get those photographs over to you this afternoon. What else do you need?” Childress said.

“I’d like pictures of you and your parents before your mother disappeared. I was told by the detective who handled your mother’s investigation that your father didn’t want publicity. Putting it out in social media might upset him.”

“What are you going to do, exactly?”

“A number of Facebook pages are devoted to finding missing persons nationwide. I’m going to access those sites and post her pictures there.”

“There’s something like 600,000 people a year who go missing in the United States,” Childress said, sounding skeptical.

Tracy had already considered this and come up with what she hoped would be a likely solution. “I’m also going to prepare a page dedicated only to your mom. I’m not going to make it a police page.

I’m going to make it a personal page, written in first person from your mother’s perspective. I’m going to re-create what happened those last few hours as best we know, and I’m going to ask if anyone recalls seeing her then or possibly now. I’ll have a dedicated tip line set up for callers. We’re going to get the cranks, the nuts, and the evil, but we might also get a nugget of useful information.”

Childress wiped tears from the corners of her eyes.

“Here’s the more difficult thing to consider, Anita. I can do this with your permission. You’re an adult.”

“My father won’t stand in my way,” Childress said, anticipating what Tracy was about to say. “My father will talk to you . . . Not for himself, but for me. I’ve already told him I’ve spoken to you and that you might want to speak to him.”

“Okay,” Tracy said. “I’d like to do that as soon as possible.”

Childress pulled out her phone. “No time like the present. I think we both appreciate that more than most.”