Damaged Goods

“Yes. Who’s this?”

I ditched the notion of using my class reunion ruse, because Katie would probably call me out on it.

“My name is Erica Jensen, and I’m looking for Melissa Blaine. I’m in one of her classes at MICA. She seems to have vanished. I understand you two were high school friends. Have you heard from her, by any chance?”

“No. It’s been quite a while since Melissa and I last spoke. But you say she’s disappeared?” Katie’s tone struck me as worried.

“It would seem that way, miss.” Call her by her first name, I thought. I silently berated myself for the excess formality. Two years of coaxing information from Afghan women, while making sure they are in fact women, should have taught me that. “Her father doesn’t know where she is and hasn’t heard from her, but he gave me your name. Any idea whether she might have decided to move without telling anyone?”

This was the notion that niggled at the back of my brain. Maybe Melissa didn’t want to be found by her father. Would she tell anyone she knew, if she wanted to disappear completely?

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Katie assured me. “The last we spoke, Melissa was serious about attending the art school in Baltimore. I can’t imagine her up and leaving there.”

“When was the last time you saw or spoke to Melissa?”

A long pause ensued. “It was after my graduation,” Katie said. “We had a girls’ night out up here in New York, but that was years ago.”

“Did she say or do anything back then that seemed unusual?”

“Unusual how?” Katie said. “I’m not sure what you mean. She was her usual self.”

“Is she usually happy with her life?” I pressed on.

Katie issued a short, uncomfortable laugh. Like a coughed giggle. “Well, she’s something of a temperamental artist. Melissa has her moods, but she didn’t seem to be troubled the last time we got together. How did you say you knew her?”

“We’re in the same class,” I blurted. “I’ve been planning a project and we were going to work together.”

“Ah.” A non-committal utterance.

“Just out of curiosity, can you think of any reason she might want to hide from her father? He has no idea where she is.”

“Oh, no.” Katie’s tone was dismissive. “Melissa depends on her father for financial support until after she turns twenty-five.”

When her trust fund will free her from Blaine’s hold.

“I understand her father didn’t approve of her going to art school,” I said.

“That’s true, but I don’t think he’d cut off her trust fund because of that.”

I hate talking to people by phone. I had no way of gauging Katie’s responses other than by her tone of voice. And even though New York was much closer to Maryland than California, a trek there would take all of the three hours I had pledged toward finding Melissa.

I racked my brain to think of what I should ask. This could be my last chance for information from this source. “One last question. Why would your sister be reluctant to talk to me about this? When I spoke to her about talking to you, she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

Katie giggle-coughed again. “Probably being over-protective. She’s my older sister, like a mother hen.”

“I get that. Thanks for talking to me.”

“No problem,” she sang out. The line went dead.

Chapter Four

The church’s basement reeked of overheated coffee and bleach. Despite my total lack of interest, I did call my therapist back and promise to make an appearance. I walked into the meeting room and surveyed the small group clustered around the coffee and donuts. It wasn’t easy, but I stifled the urge to pump my fist and yell, “Let’s get this party started!” Woo-hoo.

The group leader, spotted me as she carefully arranged the chairs. She turned away from the chair project and walked toward me, waving.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Erica,” she said. “I’ve been worried about you.”

I forced a smile. “Don’t worry, be happy.”