She's Not There by P. J. Parrish Page B

her mother. As she did, he caught a slight movement of her chair as she scooted it farther away from him.
    “Do you have to meet him here?” Megan asked softly, leaning close to Joanna.
    Buchanan wanted to say something—like he didn’t have a disease she could catch across a linen tablecloth—but he kept his mouth shut. He needed to keep Joanna relaxed, and insulting her daughter probably wasn’t the best move.
    “Yes, I do,” Joanna said. “You don’t have to stay.”
    Megan gave a small sigh and settled back in her chair. She crossed her legs and laid the tennis racket across her knees. “So they haven’t found her yet?” she asked.
    “You know about Mrs. Tobias?” Buchanan asked.
    “Of course,” Megan said.
    Joanna’s eyes were steady on Buchanan’s. “Alex is trying to keep this quiet, as you can imagine. But Megan knew something was bothering me. I had to tell her.” She shook her head slowly. “I still can’t believe this is happening. I keep thinking about Amelia wandering around out there somewhere, alone and hurting.”
    She took a sip of the Bloody Mary.
    “Mrs. McCall—”
    “Joanna.”
    “Joanna . . . In my experience I’ve found that people who go missing always end up making contact. So if she contacts you, I need to know, okay? You won’t be betraying her. You’ll be helping her.”
    Joanna nodded slowly. “So that’s all I can do? Just sit back and hope she calls?”
    “No, of course not. For now, I need you to tell me anything you can think of about Amelia that might be useful to me.”
    “Like what?”
    “Tell me about her and Alex.”
    Joanna glanced at Megan. The young woman was playing with something on her wrist, a red plastic stretch band with a locker-room key attached, but Buchanan knew she was listening intently to every word.
    “I think it’s best if you excuse us now, dear,” Joanna said.
    Megan let out a sigh. “Fine,” she said. She rose but made no move to leave. “But if you ask me, this whole situation is just ridiculous.”
    “How do you mean?” Buchanan asked.
    “Megan, please.”
    “Amelia ran away,” Megan said, ignoring her mother. “Wives do that all the time, don’t they? I don’t understand why everyone’s so bent out of shape about it.”
    “Megan, that’s enough,” Joanna said.
    The young woman didn’t look at her mother. Her eyes stayed steady on Buchanan’s, as if daring him to ask her more, but finally she picked up her tennis racket. “I’m going to shower,” she said. “I’ll find someone to take me home.”
    Megan sauntered off toward the door. Buchanan watched her and then looked back at Joanna.
    “I must apologize for my daughter,” she said. “She can be a little immature sometimes.”
    “So tell me about Alex,” Buchanan said.
    Joanna kept her eyes lowered, and Buchanan had the feeling she was remembering something she wasn’t going to share.
    Let them fill the silence.
    Joanna finally exhaled a deep sigh and looked up. “Alex . . . Where do I start?”
    “How did they meet?”
    “It was at a ballet gala.”
    “Yes, I know. But details are important and Amelia’s husband isn’t very good at details.”
    Joanna gave him a sad smile. “No, he’s not.” She took another sip of her drink before she went on. “Owen and I have been Miami City Ballet patrons for years now. One night, just after Owen and Alex started their own firm, Owen wanted Alex to come along, to get him to meet the right people. It was Christmas and it was The Nutcracker , of course.”
    “Of course.”
    “Well, Alex was bored, and at intermission, he wanted to leave. He’s like a hummingbird, can’t sit in one spot very long.” Joanna paused, her expression turning distant, almost dreamy.
    “But then, Amelia came onstage,” she said. “She was Coffee.”
    “Coffee?”
    “It’s a solo. Amelia is very tall, and they always give the Coffee solo to the tall girls. She was wearing a harem costume, and the music is very slow