Over the years, Angie had seen squalor that made a cardboard box on some desolate street corner look like an upgrade. Malnourished children. Beaten children. Children terrified of abuse. Neglected children. Drug-addicted parents who preferred the pipe to their kid. Out-of-control teens who raged against authority and railed against their terrified and despondent parents.
For the most part, Angie saw the world as a broken place that could never be properly fixed. In the presence of her parents, that world shone a little brighter.
She knew she was one of the lucky ones. Not many of her clients wanted to meet their parents for lunch, or surprise them with a spur-of-the-moment visit. Her parents’ support and friendship over the years had made all the difference, especially during the hardest period of her life.
Her best friend Sarah had vanished without a trace. It was senior year of college at the University of Virginia, and they were a few months shy of starting their lives. That semester Sarah got hooked on something—Oxy, the cops thought. Then she was gone, just like that. Gone. And that was how she stayed. Missing.
What had happened to Sarah Winter? Might she still be alive? The questions haunted Angie. She’d longed to do something to honor Sarah’s memory, her spirit. Opening DeRose & Associates Private Investigators, she’d hung a picture of Sarah on the office wall behind her desk. That picture served as an ever-present reminder of Angie’s mission—find the runaway kids and take them back home.
“Daddy, you look tired,” Angie said as they waited for their meals. “Is everything okay?”
Gabriel DeRose’s thinning dark hair rested high on a broad forehead. He kept in shape by walking on the treadmill and doing some weight training, but over the years he had developed a noticeable paunch. The lenses of his black-rimmed glasses magnified the dark circles around his eyes. The skin around his neck was looser, his full face a bit wan. Still, he looked distinguished and poised in his blue pinstriped suit.
He returned a thin smile, and Angie’s heart warmed with love. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just busy at work. That’s all.”
Always busy at work, Angie thought. Like father, like daughter—and like mother. The DeRose family was a kinetic bunch. Her father ran DeRose Financial, a well-respected financial services firm that specialized in investing for high net worth individuals. He had two employees, hundreds of millions under management, and in Angie’s opinion, too much stress. She worried constantly about his health. She wished he would take more time for himself, but he had worked so hard, for so long, he was either too afraid or had forgotten how to hit the off switch.
Kathleen had never worked full-time, but she probably outpaced her husband and daughter in effort and hours worked.
“How’s the committee going, Mom?” Angie asked.
“Which one?” Gabriel said with a laugh.
“You pick, Mom,” Angie said.
“Well, the Lupus Foundation is doing another donor drive, if that’s any indication, and I’m up to my eyeballs in mailings.” Kathleen was one of one point five million Americans living with the disease. She’d been diagnosed when Angie was an infant. Kathleen had hidden little about her disease as Angie grew up, often talking about her fatigue and blinding headaches, and showing Angie her swollen feet, legs, and hands.
Angie was sure lupus was the main reason she grew up an only child, though her mother said otherwise. “One is enough for us. We have everything we need and want with you.”
It made Angie feel better, though never lessened her desire for a sibling, especially a sister.
It took years for Kathleen’s doctors to prescribe the right course of treatment. During that time, lupus episodes had required many trips to the hospital. In addition to an anti-inflammatory regimen, Kathleen took a number of other medications to treat conditions commonly seen with the disease. Lupus had no cure, and although it was an inheritable disease, Angie had never experienced any symptoms.
“I’m sure you’ll surpass last year’s effort,” Angie said.
“Perhaps. I’m assuming I can count on you for twenty-five dollars?” Kathleen said this only a little playfully.
Angie always gave what she could. “I’ll make it fifty this year. I did a transport yesterday that paid pretty well.”
Transport meant Angie had entered a sleeping teenage boy’s bedroom with an ex-law-enforcement agent at her side. They woke the startled kid, and his parents had to explain that he’d be going away for a while, right then and there, non-negotiable. A car was waiting for him downstairs. Angie escorted the parents out of the boy’s bedroom while her partner made it clear who was in charge. They drove the teen a few hundred miles to a wilderness therapy program in southwestern Virginia, and Angie pocketed a thousand bucks for the effort. It was no problem donating fifty to her mom’s committee. She’d give more if she could.
“How is business going?” Kathleen asked.
“Busy,” Angie said. “Runaways and craptastic behavior seem to be recession-proof.”
“Any time for yourself?” Kathleen’s face showed concern.