a big number,” Mitch agreed.
“And Ruth thinks that number’s low. She thinks more went unreported.”
“Who wouldn’t report their child’s abduction?”
“It goes back to fear, Mary.” Eric’s voice once again went soft and took Mary back in time to the years when they hid in closets to avoid encountering their father on one of his rants.
“We’re talking about adults. Mothers, not children,” Mary argued.
“You called this Alma nothing more than a child. Remember?”
Unfortunately, she did. She remembered the child she’d encouraged to take her offering of trail mix and bottled water and head out into the blistering desert. Mary shook her head. What was she thinking? Sometimes dumb wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how she felt about her actions. “And you think Alma has something to do with all of this? That’s a stretch, isn’t it?”
“I think a Hispanic girl who speaks pretty good English and gets upset at the mention of a son is worth talking to. And, now, I think that a girl willing to hide alone in the Sonoran Desert in the heat of the day just to avoid the cops is worth finding.” Eric looked at Mitch. “What does your gut say?”
“My gut says your wife might have her first lead.”
“You’ll need to give permission to search the used car dealership, too,” Eric said to Mary.
“You have it. What else can I do to help?”
Eric shook his head. “Wait for orders from Ruth. One thing we don’t want to do is leave any stone unturned. The Santos boys have tempers.”
Twenty minutes later Mary’s new home hosted one sister-in-law officer and the baby’s three uncles. More agitated cops, just what Mary needed.
Ruth wasn’t what Mary expected. The female cops she’d encountered were rigid, stern women who seemed to have chips on their shoulders and a need to prove something. Not Ruth. First, Ruth was a good foot shorter than both Eric and Mary. Her red hair was in a braid, but not one so tight that it strained her features. And instead of walking and talking like she needed to assert herself, she took on the role of taskmaster in an even-tempered voice. Without missing a step, she assigned everyone, even Mary and Justin, a task.
Eric and the three Santos boys were assigned Alma. “We need to find her quickly,” Ruth said. “Not just for questioning but before she dies from exposure. It’s not even noon and the temperature’s over a hundred. She’s not in good shape. Mary says she looks malnourished. If we don’t find her soon, she might not be alive.”
Mary felt the familiar sinking feeling of I’ve-messed-up-again. “Maybe I should stay here, help look.”
“No.” Ruth shook her head. “I want you to travel back to Gila City with me, both to the used car lot and to the police station. We’ll retrace every step you made. Maybe we’ll find some clue as to who this girl is and where she’s heading.”
“I’ll be right back,” Mitch said. He’d been the silent observer during Ruth’s take-charge moments. The two obviously had a history of working together.
A grim mask closed over his face as a cell phone appeared in his hand, and he strode from the room without inviting company.
“Will Alma be all right, Mom?” Justin asked. “I can stay here, look for her. She trusts me. I won’t go far.”
“No, you don’t know the area.”
“But she talked to me,” Justin argued. “She likes me.”
“You know,” Eric said. “He’s got a point. If Justin’s with us, Alma might be a bit more inclined to show herself.”
“Justin isn’t acclimated to this heat,” Mary protested. “Plus, we don’t know what or who she’s hiding from. I’m not putting my son in danger!”
“You said she seemed like a runaway, just a child. Is there something you’re not telling us?” Mitch came back in the room. His clipped words settled like ice around her heart.
“I agree with Mary,” Ruth said. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with….”
“I want to look for Alma,” Justin said.
“I’ve told you everything,” Mary snapped at Mitch. Then, she turned to Justin and said, “You’re too young to get involved with this.”
“I’m already involved,” Justin argued.
“I’ll keep him with me,” Eric promised.
Everyone looked at Mary.
“Mom?”
“I—”
“Mom?” Justin spoke firmly, reminding Mary that while at eleven he wasn’t grown up, he wasn’t a baby anymore, either.
“You can start with the shed,” Eric advised. “There’s even a root cellar. Maybe she’s down there.”
“Looked there already,” Mitch said.
“Mom, I really want to do this!”
Returning to Arizona was definitely a mistake. She was already losing control of her son, her emotions, her life.
“You’re not to go out of sight of this cabin and you’re to check in with Uncle Eric every 20 minutes.” Mary glared at Eric. “If anything happens to my son, we don’t need to worry about changing the caseworker’s mind. Got it?”
“Got it.” Eric nodded.
“Yes!” Justin jogged from the room as if he knew right where to go and what to do. Mary walked to the cabin’s door and watched her son start circling the shed, mimicking the Santos brother who walked a few feet ahead of him.
“I’ll keep an eye on him, ma’am,” the brother called out to her.
Ma’am? A cop was calling her ma’am?
“That’s Rico, the youngest Santos brother. He’s a rookie.” Ruth sat on the couch and opened a backpack. She withdrew a blue notebook and started writing. After a page or two, she looked up and said, “Mary, in just a minute we’ll head back to town. Mitch, you want to tag along?”
He nodded and stepped back outside. Mary watched. At first, she thought he’d be reaching for his phone again. Instead he joined Justin and Rico at the shed. They opened the door, stepped inside and disappeared.
Mary looked at her brother, looked at the almost empty cabin and shook her head. “Everything’s changing, again.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you sell the antiques?” It surprised her how much she wanted, how much she needed, to see them again. Her grandfather’s big, bulky furniture had overpowered the room, dwarfing her grandmother’s old treadle sewing machine and hat rack. Now everything was gone,
