I knew my current obsession was an emotional state called “psychological assessment”—an endless revisiting of events in hopes the outcome would change. I stopped myself. It was done. The box was gone. If I’d failed to find something critical, it was too late. Really, had I left the box in the trunk of my car? I didn’t think so.
Time to get practical, I thought. Instead of fretting about what I didn’t have, maybe it was time to go back to what I had. I pulled out the list of names. Of the six, the last two women were still unaccounted for. I picked up the handset, dialed directory assistance in Tucson, Arizona, and asked for listings for last name, Macy. There were twenty-one of them. I didn’t think the operator would have the patience to read all of them out to me one by one, so I asked for the first ten with the accompanying numbers, which I jotted on an index card: Andrew, Christine, Douglas, E. (probably Emily or Ellen), Everett P. . . . On and on it went.
I thanked her profusely and depressed the plunger, determined to launch into the first batch before I lost heart. I wasn’t quite sure of my approach. I could, of course, simply call and ask for Janet by name, hoping for the best, but I felt I should also be prepared to explain the reason I was asking for her. I could feel myself waffle. Making cold calls is time-consuming and tedious, and the longer I put it off, the more tempting it would be to avoid the chore altogether.
I checked the ten numbers and dialed the first. Six minutes later, I’d left messages on four answering machines, two numbers were disconnects, two parties hadn’t answered, and one didn’t know a Janet Macy. The effort had been pointless, but at least it hadn’t taken long. As I dialed the last number, I made up my mind that this was it for the day.
When a woman picked up, I said, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m calling from Santa Teresa, California, trying to track down a Janet Macy. Is this the correct number for her?”
“Not anymore,” she said. She sounded elderly, tired, and perturbed.
“Ah. But this was her number at one time?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Do you have her new number?”
“There’s no new number as far as I know. Janet left some time ago, and I haven’t heard from her. I can’t say it surprises me. She was never good about things like that. Are you a friend?”
“Actually, I’m not. A mutual acquaintance is hoping to locate her, and I offered to help.” This explanation made no particular sense, and if the woman pressed me, I’d be at a loss to elaborate. “Are you her mother?”
“I am. Her dad passed a year ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Took him long enough.”
“That must have been difficult,” I said.
She said, “Well.”
I was afraid she’d launch into his medical history, so I moved right along. “Do you remember when you last spoke to Janet?”
“Let me think about that now. It must have been three years ago this spring. She wanted to pursue a modeling career in New York City. I was against the whole idea. I told her she was too young and inexperienced, but she was bullheaded and wouldn’t listen. She picked that up from her dad, if you want to know the truth. A very unattractive character trait.”
“How old was she?”
“That’s just it. She was not quite sixteen and she couldn’t very well leave without my permission. She had no money, for one thing, and she didn’t drive. She was still in high school. She was never a good student anyway, so it’s no big loss there.”
“If she was broke and didn’t drive, how did she intend to get to New York?”
“Greyhound bus, I imagine. She might have had enough for a one-way ticket. It’s possible she hitchhiked, which she knew I was opposed to.”
“Did she know anybody in the city?”
“She did. She met this photographer who thought she had promise. He worked for a big modeling agency and he was helping her put together a portfolio. I didn’t think anything would come of it and I didn’t appreciate her taking off without a word.”
“As young as she was, did you report her as missing?”
“Of course I did. Regardless of her opinion, I’m still her mother. I went down to the police station and talked to someone. He took the information, but didn’t seem that interested.”
“Was there any follow-up?”
“Not that I’m aware. I filed a report, but nothing’s come of it. The police officer was nice about it. He said it was probably nothing to worry about and I should be sure to let him know if I heard from her, which I have not. What did you want with her?”
“Just making sure she’s okay, I guess.”
“No way to know how she is unless she calls me one of these days. I look for her picture in the fashion magazines, but I haven’t seen her yet. I always told her hard work was required if you wanted to be a success. I guess she’s finding that out.”
“I suppose she is,” I said. “Well, I thank you for your time. I appreciate your courtesy.”
“You’re entirely welcome.”
I made a note beside the number. I drew a line under her name. For some reason Pete had thought she was of interest, but I didn’t see a link.