The Muse by Nicholas Matthews

leaving,” Gibson said.  It wasn’t a question.  
                “No, she didn't.  I had absolutely no idea.”
                “It was sort of a last minute decision,” Gibson said.  “She's been having some problems.”
                “Uh huh,” Mrs. Baxter said, looking at him in a new light all of a sudden.  “Man problems I would assume.”
                “Not from me,” Gibson was quick to point out.  “I've been trying to help her.  I just wanted to know where she went.  I need to talk to her.  Do you know anything about her?  Her family?  Her cell phone number?  Her last name?”
                Mrs. Baxter studied him carefully, like a scientist studying a microbe underneath the microscope.  “You want to help this girl but you don't even know her phone number or her last name?  Doesn't sound like the two of you were very close.  Even if I had any of that information why would I give any of that to you?  I don’t really even know you all that well.”
                Gibson thought about it for a moment.  Remembering the note in his pocket, he pulled it out and handed it to her.  Mrs. Baxter studied it for a moment.  Her eyebrows arched the more she read, and she pushed her tortoiseshell glasses down on the end of her nose and stared over the top of them at Gibson.  “I can assume one of two things here,” she said.  “I can assume that you're telling the truth.  Or I can assume you're lying to me and trying to track her down for some nefarious reason.  Now, I've never had any trouble out of you in all the time you've been a tenant.  So that's on your side.  No complaints from your neighbors.  You've always paid the rent on time.  You seem like a nice guy.  Then again, so did Ted Bundy.  On the other hand, it's a little strange that this girl seems so important to you and yet you know so little about her.  I'd hate to give you any information that might lead you right to her and then find out that you lied to me about your reasons.”
                “I think I love her,” Gibson said, blurting it out before he realized it.  “Or at least I think that I could.”
                Mrs. Baxter took a long drag on her cigarette before replying.  “Love, huh?  So I take it that you two just met?”
                “No, we've met before.  But we just recently started getting to know each other.”
                “So what happened to your hands?” the landlady asked, gesturing at his bruised knuckles.
                “She went on a date, and the guy she was with hit her.  We ran into him later, and I made him pay for what he did to her.”
                “Interesting,” Mrs. Baxter said with a wry smile.  “Maybe chivalry isn't dead after all.”
                “Please, Mrs. Baxter.  I need some help here.”
                “Here's the thing.  If she wanted you to find her, she would have left you instructions on how to contact her.  But she didn't.  Which means she doesn't want you to find her.”
                “Only because she's afraid of what will happen to me.”
                “Regardless, I don't know if I should tell you anything.  I have ethics, you know?”
                Gibson sighed, running out of options.  “How about this?  I won't ask you for her cell phone number, her forwarding address, or anything like that.  Maybe you could give me the name of her father's company instead, and I could go from there.  Something like that is public knowledge.  Lots of people know that.”
                “Lots of people except you,” Mrs. Baxter reminded him.
                “All I'm asking for is something to go on, a lead.  Just throw me a bone here.  Please.  That’s all I’m asking.”
                Mrs. Baxter chewed on this for a moment.  “I'm