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I grind my teeth together. “You’re wrong.”
He doesn’t push it any further, instead plucking the joint from my hand and taking a hit of it himself. “What are we doing this afternoon?”
“Müller’s coming over to update me on progress.”
He throws me a look I can’t decipher. “Did he give you any inclination if he found something or not?”
“Nope.”
François Müller is a private investigator I hired a week ago to find my mother.
When I was nine, she walked out of our house and never came back. She’d left me to take her place as the recipient of my father’s beatings. I could understand the act of self-preservation that was leaving him, but not that she’d left me behind.
My fists clenched at the reminder.
I was going to make her pay for all the suffering I’d been put through because of her cowardice. But first, I had to find her. I’d done a cursory search on social media sites and other places on the internet one could expect to find a 45 year old woman, but found nothing.
My father had beat the shit out of me last week and I’d had enough. I’d made the decision as I lay writhing on the floor, refusing to make a sound.
I would find her and drag her back here.
She would pay.
???
As we pull into the driveway, I spot Müller leaning against his car. I don’t know how a PI can afford to drive a Porsche but fuck, I hope it means he’s good at his job.
I jump out of Rhys’ matte black Jeep and walk up to Müller.
“Royal.” He says in greeting.
“No need for the pleasantries. What’d you find?”
He brings his hand to the back of his head, rubbing it apologetically. “Look, either your mom has CIA level disappearing skills or she had help and planned this. I’ve looked everywhere. Planes, trains, cars, buses, taxis, trams even. There is no trace of your mother using any of those modes of transportation to leave Switzerland. This was ten years ago also, so the records aren’t as easy to get your hands on, but the ones I’ve found, she doesn’t appear in. Now, we are in the Schengen Area. She could have gotten into a friend’s car and driven across all of Europe to her heart’s content, but I’d still expect to find a trace of her. Receipts or credit card statements, but there’s nothing. I reached out to my contact in the NYPD and he ran a search of her name in the American system, but she doesn’t appear there. Your dad’s the one who told you she went to America, right? Did he happen to say which coast she might have gone to at least?”
“He didn’t. And you’d have better luck getting him to tell you his bank password than any information about my mom.” I take a step forward, giving him an antagonistic look. “So that’s it? You came over to tell me you have nothing?”
He stammers. “L-listen, it’s just the beginning. I’m going to keep digging, especially on the US side. I’ve only just scratched the surface there. I’m just saying it’s going to take a little longer than I initially thought.”
I roll up the sleeve of my shirt slowly, keeping my eyes on him. “That’s disappointing.” I say calmly, as he takes a scared step back.
When my sleeve is rolled up as high as it’ll go, I turn and punch the left tail light of his car.
Then the right.
His eyes widen but he wisely chooses to remain silent.
“You have a month to give me an update.” I instruct him, before turning on my heel and stalking off towards the house.
That should get me some results. If not, I can always set fire to his Porsche next.
Rhys is waiting for me in the kitchen, eating one of the pastries the chef made this morning. “So?”
“Nothing. No trace of her.” I say, pouring a glass of orange juice and grabbing pasta from the fridge. “He’s not looking hard enough.”
“Maybe if she’s worked this hard to stay hidden, there’s a reason she doesn’t want to be found.” Rhys suggests.
“If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.” I snap back.
