Gone

TEN

FROM BEHIND ME, MR. SEASONS’S VOICE SAID, “OLIVIA doesn’t look anything like her old photos now,” which caused me to jump, I was concentrating so hard. To reassure me, he patted my shoulder, which was unlike him, then opened the computer, adding, “Here comes Martha-finally.”

The woman’s jewelry-a wrist bracelet, it turned out-made a rhythmic maraca sound as she came through the shadows, returning from the marina, which my ears tracked while I looked at the computer screen. It showed a page of thumbnail photos, mostly of Olivia, but some of Olivia and a few friends.

“She hated having her photo taken,” Mr. Seasons explained as I opened the first photo, then began swiping through rows. “Olivia never considered herself attractive. I don’t know why it mattered so much. She was decent-looking enough. Not beautiful, obviously, but not ugly. She could have been popular in the way some young women hope to be if she’d only tried. Even my late brother-Olivia’s father-would admit that after a few drinks. Olivia chose to be an outsider. That’s the way she’s always been.”

My face starting to warm, I said, “Her own father said she wasn’t pretty?”

The man started to reply, then raised his voice to speak to Mrs. Calder-Shaun. “Sorry to pry you away from your new cabana boy, Martha! But Hannah and I have been waiting. I didn’t bring the scotch, you’ll have to go upstairs for that. Or ask Carlotta.”

Yes, the man was definitely perturbed at her for some reason.

Silhouetted by the pool lights, Mrs. Calder-Shaun called to me, “Pay no attention to the old crab. He’s not mad, he’s just thirsty-pour him a drink. Can’t wait to hear what you’ve found out, kiddo!” The woman was still laughing as she hurried toward the stairs.

“She’s a first-rate lawyer but can be a first-rate pain in the ass, too,” Mr. Seasons said, watching her go. “Martha has a few drinks, then starts shopping for new boy toys. Like it’s a sport because she’s not in the city.”

I caught myself before asking why a married woman would behave in such a way, but the man must have read my puzzlement because he said, “Don’t be naïve, Hannah. In the business world, people spend more time in hotels than at home. I’m not saying it’s right-but Martha’s more… open-minded than most. Everything she does, she does to extremes.”

The man’s strong words were unexpected, and I wondered for the first time if there was something more between the two than just business. He simmered for a moment, then returned his attention to me. “Where were we?”

“I’d asked about Olivia’s father-”

“No,” he interrupted, “the important question is, is Olivia in danger? Is she doing this because she’s bitter about her father’s death and trying to get attention? Or because some construction worker is forcing her? Unusual behavior is typical for that girl-that’s why it’s hard to be sure. Take a look at the pictures, they’ll tell you.”

Rather than letting me look, the man pivoted the computer away and opened a new page of thumbnails. “Olivia has always been angry. Angry because she’s not pretty. Angry at her father because she lived a privileged life. Angry at his wealthy friends. That attitude of hers caused her to rebel early on, which some of these photos show. She went through a Goth stage-piercings but no tattoos, thank God. Then drugs and an abusive boyfriend, but that lasted only a few months. Organic foods and anorexia came next. For the last year it’s been religion, almost nunlike, and raising orchids. Painting oils and watercolors, too-her Georgia O’Keeffe period, that’s the way I think of it. She’d damn near become a recluse by the time-”

“I don’t need to see more pictures to answer your question about safety,” I cut in. I’d been itching to say what I was about to tell him and was done waiting. “You should call the police tonight. That’s my opinion. And have them find your niece as soon as possible. You don’t need to pay me. Do whatever it takes to get Olivia home-that’s how sure I am she’s in a bad way.”

“Police?” the man said, distracted by Mrs. Calder-Shaun, who was descending the stairs, a drink in hand. “Hannah… we need more than personal opinion to get the local sheriff’s department involved. I’ve called them, Martha’s called them, we’ve had friends of friends try. But Olivia’s not a missing person by their definition. If you have some personal juice that I don’t have, by all means light a fire under them, I’m all for it.”

Now I was watching Mrs. Calder-Shaun, too, her auburn hair worn long for the first time. It was surprising how striking the woman looked in a white satin blouse and beach skirt compared to her starched appearance on my fishing boat. I hadn’t realized she was so fit and busty under all the clothing she’d worn to protect her skin from the sun. The satin top revealed her bouncing breasts when she walked, which the woman knew and was enjoying as she crossed the deck in the Caribbean glow of the pool.

“Isn’t that a gorgeous blouse, Hannah dear!”

For a short, dumb moment, I thought the woman had figured out why I was staring at her. Wrong. She was speaking of the blouse Mrs. Whitney had given me.

“This?” I touched my fingers to the top button, worried I should have undone only one, not two. “This was a gift from… someone. First time I’ve worn it and I haven’t even had a chance to-” I was about to say look in a mirror, which was true but would require some explaining.

No matter. Mrs. Calder-Shaun was already saying to Mr. Seasons, “You’re right about her. She has an unusual sort of beauty-so obvious when she isn’t wearing fishing clothes. And so natural. Who’s the designer, Hannah? I could swear I saw something similar at a boutique in the Village.”

I remembered the name on the label of the blouse because I’d looked at it closely, searching for directions on how to wash it. “Dolce and Gabbana,” I said. “Maybe I didn’t pronounce it right, I’m not sure.”

I’d never heard of the designer, but Mrs. Calder-Shaun undoubtedly had. It caused her to stop in her tracks, give Seasons a sharp look, and then take a moment to recover. “It’s pronounced Gah-bannn-yah.”

After another glance at the man, she added, “What a wonderful present, and it certainly shows off that body of yours. Who’s the friend? He must be special to be so generous.”

I didn’t like the woman’s tone, but that was okay. I’d already thought about how I’d handle the situation if she tried to trick me into revealing Mrs. Whitney’s name. “Just a friend,” I replied, which should have been the end of it.

Not for a tough one like Mrs. Calder-Shaun, though. I realized I’d have to be just as tough, or spend tomorrow rebooking charters I’d canceled-and, worse, worrying about Olivia, whose photo had just hooked me into her life in ways I could not yet guess. The woman was smiling, not catty, more like a challenge. “A hunky young man, I hope,” she continued. “Larry told me you don’t date much-but he’s so oblivious to women, I’m not surprised he got it wrong.”

Mr. Seasons started to speak, but I told him, “It’s okay. It’s natural to be curious-” Then turned to Mrs. Calder-Shaun. “The friend’s name is personal-and that’s the way it’s got to stay. There’s no point in me saying much more if you’re not okay with that.”

The woman raised her eyebrows, pretending surprise but her flinty expression was telling me You don’t know who you’re dealing with.

That was okay, too. Growing up around rough fishermen, their wives and girlfriends, a hard look from a woman doesn’t faze me any more than a hard look from a man. However, I also know that once I’ve stood my ground, it’s smarter to offer a friendly hand than to make an enemy. So I added, “I don’t mean to be disrespectful. And I do appreciate the compliment about the blouse. Olivia’s what I came to talk about-her and convincing you that police need to start looking. Once I explain, I think you and Lawrence will agree.” The man’s name slipped out as if I’d said it a thousand times but only because I was trying so hard to hide my irritation.

“Really,” the woman said in a flat tone, but giving me a look that now seemed to show admiration for the way I’d stayed strong.

“Really,” I replied, then nodded to an empty chair, meaning she should sit. The beautiful Martha Calder-Shaun could fault me later if she wanted. But first she was by God going to listen to what I had to say.