“What about Miss Montgomery?” she asked. “Will she be able to help?”
He’d been clear with Merri that there were no guarantees, and she got that. There had been a number of private detectives before Cooper, and she knew how it went with them. With the presentation of that first big retainer check, every single one of them believed that he’d be the one to bring Abbey home. But then when the weeks wore on, the calls would be less frequent; then Merri’s calls would go unreturned. Inevitably there would be a conversation about how all the leads were cold, the police had done a decent job, nothing had been missed. Nothing missed—except her daughter.
Now she was that mother who, in her desperation, had turned to a psychic. A terribly sad cliché, something people had laughed about (mirthlessly) in one of the groups she’d visited for families of missing children. They’re waiting like vultures for us, these charlatans, one father had said bitterly. How do they live with themselves, taking our money when we’ve lost everything else?
But Merri had an aunt who’d had prophetic dreams, the stuff of family legend. And there had been a few strange things about Abbey, too. She had a dream that her hamster Daisy was going to die, and the next day he (there had been some gender confusion) did. Sometimes when Abbey had tantrums, the lights in their apartment would flicker. And she hadn’t wanted to go to the lake house. She’d had nightmares about it for weeks leading up to the trip. But, of course, they’d dismissed it.
There’s a monster in the woods.
No such things as monsters, kiddo. You know that.
“I went to see Eloise,” said Jones in response to her question. “Her granddaughter thinks she might be able to help. Eloise isn’t getting anything yet.”
“Is her granddaughter a psychic?” asked Merri.
“So I’m told.”
“You’re not a believer?” she asked. She had to say the guy wasn’t into selling himself, which was a bit of a change.
The waitress brought their food but seemed to linger nearby, needlessly wiping down clean tables and fussing with condiment trays that acted as centerpieces. Was she listening to their conversation? Would what Merri said become fodder for the gossip mill around town? Jones went quiet, took a bite of his sandwich. She sensed that he, too, was waiting for the waitress to leave the proximity. Finally, she did.
“I’ve been around long enough to know there’s more to this life than we can see or understand. Let’s say I have a healthy respect for Eloise, as well as a healthy skepticism.”
Merri nodded. That put them on the same wavelength.
“And her granddaughter?”
“Eloise seems to think she’s something special. I trust Eloise. And Finley seems like a good kid.”
“Kid?”
“She’s twenty-one.”
“Wow.”
“I know,” said Jones, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t even remember twenty-one.”
Merri smiled a little.
“This is not a bait and switch if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Jones. “It’s not an exact thing, whatever it is we do. But I will say Eloise has had some big successes. Finley is untried, but she’s the one who’s picking up the signals—or whatever it is. So, up to you if you want me to continue.”
He was giving her an out. Maybe she should take it.
“We didn’t discuss your fee,” said Merri.
“There’s no fee unless we find your daughter,” he said. “Then we can discuss what you think is fair. We don’t do this for the money.”
Merri, who was not surprised very often, found herself taken aback. “Then why do you do this?”
He looked up at her, as if considering the answer.
“It’s just what we do.”
He’d polished off his patty melt, and he was working on his fries. She’d barely touched her soup, which had grown cold while they talked. She thought about what that meant, taking money out of the equation for now, how it shifted the balance of power. She could hardly insist that he take money from her. She turned it over a moment, stirring at the greasy liquid in her bowl.
“So with that said, is there anything surrounding Abbey’s disappearance, before or after that you didn’t tell the police?”
Merri felt a rise of indignation, of defensiveness. There had been so many accusations, suspicious stares, brows wrinkled in a kind of curious pity. Like: I feel bad for you, but surely this is your fault somehow. Cooper lifted a palm, as if he could see the protest in her. And maybe he could; her shoulders had hiked up around her ears.