“No,” Victoria said aloud with a decisiveness that startled her She dropped her pen on the desk and slammed her journal shut. She was trembling, the memories assailing her as if it had all happened yesterday “No, it wasn’t my fault’ Dear God, why can’t I put it behind me?”
She ran to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face and blotted the wetness with a towel. She stared soberly at her reflection, a dark accusation clouding her eyes. “I didn’t kill Father,” she told herself severely “God has forgiven me The guilt is gone.if only I can someday forgive myself.
“I’ve got to get out of here. Maybe some fresh air will clear the cobwebs of memory from my head.”
Victoria went to her closet and took out a suit, a double-breasted blazer and pleated trousers in powder pink crepe wool. She dressed quickly and left her condominium.
Her car was still in the shop, but the local mall was within walking distance, and she could use the exercise. She would walk to Elaine’s Fashion Boutique, a chic little women’s shop she frequented on occasion; she liked their styles, and their prices weren’t exorbitant. Yes, she would go there and buy herself something frivolous. No, not frivolous The annual faculty tea for graduating seniors was scheduled for next weekend and she needed something new to wear—perhaps a pretty pastel dress, something delicate and springlike.
But later, at Elaine’s, as she browsed through a rack of high-priced garments, she had second thoughts. Maybe I’d better make do with what I have at home, or I could try the rack of sale dresses, she mused, then chided herself for always giving in to her practical nature.
I’ll just try on a couple of these expensive dresses, she decided, just to see how they look. She walked over to the dressing rooms where several women stood waiting She noticed a little boy sitting in a straight-back chair near one dressing room. He sat stiffly, frowning, obviously fighting an advanced case of restlessness Something in his features made Victoria take a second look. He had thick, obstinately curly red hair, large green eyes and a turned-up nose lost in freckles.
Victoria’s heart began to beat faster. He looks like me as a child, she marveled silently Her thoughts raced. He’s about the right age. He could be my son!
Victoria struggled to remain calm. This had happened before-a chance encounter with a child who looked as if he could be her son. The likelihood of meeting her own child was remote at best, so why did she always react this way, with such a flash flood of emotion? Why couldn’t she put her child out of her mind as she had intended six years ago at his birth?
She knew the answer. Too much had happened since then. Since her conversion three years ago, Victoria had been plagued by the question of her son’s eternal destiny Did he have Christian parents? Would someone tell him about Jesus? Would he listen? How Victoria yearned to find him and tell him herself.
Since her mother’s death, she admitted it had been even more difficult to quell the desire to see her son, to touch him just once, to share her faith with him and assure herself he was happy and healthy. Now, staring at this child—a stranger’s child—fidgeting in his chair, Victoria realized the desire had become an obsession.
She had to find her son.
And, as if she had found the missing piece of a long-troubling puzzle, she thought of Phillip Anders. “Of course! I’ve got to call him! He’s the answer! He’ll know what to do!”
That evening, with trembling fingers, Victoria riffled through the telephone book and found Phillip’s number. But now that she was actually dialing him, she was assailed by misgivings. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, her voice barely audible. And when she heard him say hello, her throat refused to emit a sound.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” he questioned. “Who is this?”
“It’s…Victoria Carlin,” she said at last. “You came to my rescue yesterday at the cemetery.”
“Well, hello, Miss Carlin.”
“I don’t mean to bother you—”
“Bother me? To tell you the truth, I was hoping I might hear from you again.”
“You were?”
“Yes, I enjoyed our chat at the coffee shop.”
“So did I. And I was thinking…” Her voice trailed off.
“Thinking about…?” he prompted.
“About you being a…a private investigator, Mr. Anders “
“Yes, Miss Carlin? Is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m not sure.” Her voice faltered again. “You said you…you find people…children.”
“Yes. Like I said, I do my best,” he replied. “Is there someone you want to locate?”
“Yes,” said Victoria, her tone growing decisive. “I would like it very much if you could help me find a little boy.”
“A boy, you say?”
“Yes. He just turned six.”
“What’s his name, Miss Carlin?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. I’m sorry. I don’t know much about him.”
“Well, we’ll work with whatever you have, of course,” he replied patiently. “Just who is this boy, Miss Carlin?”
She closed her eyes; it seemed to take her forever to force out the words. “He’s…he’s my son.”
Phillip Anders suggested they discuss Victoria’s case over dinner on Tuesday evening He met her at seven at the Dingho Chinese Restaurant just north of the university It was a quaint place with intimate tables and soft lights, accented by jade carvings, porcelain vases and wall scrolls depicting squat Buddhas and towering pagodas.
As Phillip settled back in his wicker chair opposite Victoria, the delicate china on the linen tablecloth gave his brawny good looks a rough-hewn texture. He looked out of place, this tall, square-jawed man with hands too large for the tiny teacups.
Victoria smiled impulsively. “I’m surprised you picked this place, Mr. Anders. You look more like a steak-and-potatoes man to me.”
He grinned. “I am But I thought this atmosphere would suit you.”
“I’ll consider that a compliment,” she replied.
“It is.”
Their gaze held for a moment She felt a velvety warmth steal over her and she quickly dropped her gaze to her menu. Wait a second, she reminded herself. This is a business meeting. Not a date
“I suggest their Peking duck or steaks Manchurian,” said Phillip with a smile.
She looked at him in surprise. “You’ve been here before?”
“With clients a few times.”
“Then I’ll defer to your judgment.”
“Peking duck,” Phillip told the round-faced Oriental waiter. “With egg flower soup and sauteed snowpea pods.”
“It sounds like a culinary delight,” said Victoria.
Phillip leaned across the table confidentially “What I