Mrs. Belle, also known as Mrs. Simon Farrow, was last seen the night of October 14 by her neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Garrett Lamb.
“She didn’t say anything about going to Philadelphia,” Mrs. Lamb said. “We pray every day for her safe return.”
Mrs. Belle’s novels have sold more than two million copies. Her publisher, Herring & Son, declined to comment about the author or any knowledge of her present location. Her next novel is expected to release before Christmas.
News of her disappearance has left friends and readers deeply concerned. Investigators urge anyone with information regarding Mrs. Belle’s disappearance to contact police.
Harper slid the article back into the file.
How were Elijah and Ingrid Lamb connected to the Mr. and Mrs. Lamb recorded in the story?
Brett had left Ingrid’s number on the kitchen counter, and Harper still needed to thank the kind woman for her stew. Perhaps she could also help Harper understand why Elijah had written the biography and where he thought Olivia might have gone.
The collection only contained a handful of clippings after 1943 with several people who claimed to see Olivia in places across the country, but as far as Harper could tell, none of those sightings were verified. The last mention ran in the 1950s when restoration began on the flour mill. A construction worker said they discovered a purse with Mrs. Farrow’s driver’s license, not far from the train station. He disagreed with the police assessment of no foul play.
Olivia’s story might have ended in 1943 or maybe she began again someplace new. If she lived, where had she gone? And would she have started over without her husband?
Not one of these articles quoted Mr. Farrow or mentioned his return from the war. Simon Farrow, it seemed, was a significant missing piece to this puzzle.
“How can I find information about local obituaries?” Harper asked the reference librarian when she handed back the file.
He pointed her toward a card catalog. “That’s our index.”
Harper pulled open the drawer markedFand began flipping through notecards. When she couldn’t locateFarrow, she returned to the librarian’s desk. “I couldn’t find the name of the man I’m looking for.”
“Are you certain he lived in Lititz when he passed away?”
“He might have died overseas during World War II.”
“A family member would have submitted a notice to theRecord Express,” he explained. “The paper always honored the fallen soldiers.”
Unless Olivia was already gone before he died. Or maybe they had relocated someplace else together for their remaining years. “He may have moved to another city after the war.”
“If you find out the city or county where he died, the local library or funeral home should be able to find it for you.”
Harper slung her backpack over one shoulder. Had Olivia left Catawba with Simon or had she gone alone? If her life ended tragically, this wouldn’t be the nostalgic story for her or Sissie to tell.
Then again, no matter how tragic the ending, it seemed the best way to honor a storyteller was to tell her story.
The words echoing in her head, she paused again at the librarian’s desk. “You wouldn’t happen to have any records from the old Lititz Children’s Home, would you?”
He shook his head. “The Community Church holds all their records.”
She’d stopped at the church with her mom in 1993 on their way to visit the now shuttered orphanage. The clerk had given her mother a copy of her file, and Harper remembered how her mom stared at the slender stack, the information about how she’d become a resident of the orphanage sparse.Unsolvable,she’d said.
Instead of taking the road east out of Lititz, Harper drove south for three miles and then stopped on the side of the road, needled cedar limbsbowing and rising in the breeze. Somewhere nearby was the children’s home, but Marcia didn’t answer her call for directions.
Last time she visited, Harper had thought how fun it must have been for her mom to grow up in a mansion—instead of an apartment—with dozens of other children running around to play. Years passed before she really considered what it must have been like to not know your history or birthday or have even one parent to call your own.
Her mom must have felt terribly alone.
Harper returned to the Sutton home, and when she pulled into the driveway, she saw a red MINI Cooper parked near the front door. Was the gardener working today? Or had Finn changed his mind?
She hopped out and tucked her phone into a back pocket. No one was inside the vehicle, so she rounded the house to find a familiar face wandering through the gardens. “Betsy?”
The woman turned and waved.
“What are you doing?” Harper asked, knowing full well she couldn’t criticize anyone for trespassing.
