U Is for Undertow

wore a dark skirt and a matching cropped jacket with a green silk blouse under it. For having thought about her so often, I was unprepared for an encounter. What was I going to say to her? I’d come up against a blank wall. How could I explain where I’d started and where I’d ended up?
    “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
    “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
    She sat down in one of the guest chairs and pulled the other one closer, giving the seat a quick pat as a way of encouraging me to sit near her instead of on the other side the desk. She was clearly in charge. When I settled in the chair, the two of us were almost knee to knee.
    Her features were finely drawn: small blue eyes, light brows and lashes, a straight nose, and lips thinned by age. Usually, I think of beautiful women in terms of the overblown—high cheekbones, big eyes, plump lips. Hers was a beauty of a different kind—soft, subdued. Her cologne smelled like fresh soap, and if she wore makeup at all, it was discreetly applied. I can’t make small talk with someone whose only child has been kidnapped and killed, so I left it up to her.
    “I spoke to Lieutenant Dolan this morning. He’s been gracious about keeping in touch with me since he retired. He called, saying your name had come up with regard to Mary Claire’s disappearance. He tells me a young man named Michael Sutton has come forward with information that looks promising.”
    “I don’t know what to say. May I call you Joanne?”
    “Of course.”
    “Michael was wrong about the date. This came to light yesterday and I’m still adjusting to the disappointment. He was a kid at the time, six years old, and the incident he remembered actually happened a week earlier, if at all.”
    “I don’t understand. Lieutenant Dolan said he came across two men digging what appeared to be a grave two days after Mary Claire was kidnapped. You’re saying his report was false?”
    “He made a mistake. There was no malice intended. He read a newspaper article and Mary Claire’s name triggered a vivid recollection. His story sounded reasonable. Detective Phillips thought it was worth pursuing and so did I.
    “Yesterday, Michael’s sister came in with evidence showing he wasn’t anywhere near Santa Teresa on the date he claimed, so it looks like he conjured the memory out of whole cloth. Whatever he saw, it had nothing to do with Mary Claire. I wish we had more, but it’s not there.”
    “Well.” She stared down at her hands.
    “I know all of this is hard on you, and I’m sorry.”
    “Not your fault. I should be used to it by now. I should have detached years ago, but I’ve never found a way to do it. Something like this comes up . . . a scrap of information surfaces and even against my better judgment, I feel a flutter of hope. I can’t tell you how many people have come up with ‘clues’ in the last twenty years. They write, they call, they stop me on the street, all of them claiming to know Mary Claire’s whereabouts. Any reference in the paper and the ‘tips’ come pouring out. Some ask for money and some just want to feel important, I suppose.”
    “Believe me, Michael wasn’t doing this for gain. He was hesitant about going to the police and uneasy when they sent him over to me. As odd as his story was, it seemed to hold an element of truth. In the end, it just didn’t hang together.”
    “I’m not blaming anyone. It’s all just so endless.”
    “Look, I know this is none of my business, but can you tell me what happened afterward? I can’t imagine what it must have done to your personal life.”
    “It’s simple enough. My husband and I divorced. It might have been unfair to fault Barry for the way he handled the situation, but watching him those three days taught me things I hadn’t fully understood. He took over. He called all the shots. I was relegated to the sidelines while he dealt with the police and the FBI. My opinions and my reactions meant nothing to him. For the first time, I saw the sort of man I was married to.”
    “What would you have done if it had been up to you?”
    “Exactly what they asked. I’d have kept the matter quiet instead of bringing in the police. I’d have paid the ransom without a second thought. That’s what the Unruhs did and their daughter survived. I’m sure the FBI would have deemed it the worst possible tactic, but what did they have at stake? Twenty-five thousand was nothing to us. I found out later Barry had twice