Annie didn’t know what to say. As with Bella, Jonas had come into her life unexpectedly, a victim of other people’s misguided actions. Also, as with Bella, he had won her heart, especially since she’d witnessed how much he cared about Francine and Bella, and how much they loved him back.
She was mindful not to sound accusing. “Jonas, please don’t say that. We don’t know if it’s true.”
“We know the first part is. I lost Bella. Me. And only me.”
“Not if someone’s taken her.” She’d blurted out the words before she’d thought them through.
“No one’s taken her, Annie. Why would anybody do that?” He might have been convinced that he was right, but his glazed blue eyes then widened, as if she’d set off an alarm.
“You’re right,” she responded. “We don’t know anything. Yet. We have to have faith that everything will work out. Take a look around at all the people who are helping. They’ll find her, Jonas. They will.” She didn’t know if she sounded believable. She wasn’t even sure that she believed herself. The fantasy of Martha’s Vineyard as a safe and wondrous place to live seemed to be crumbling with every hour that passed.
He unzipped his parka and pulled off his woolen hat, allowing his thick, ginger-colored hair—so much like his mother’s—to escape. He exhaled a puff of air; he did not wipe his tears, which were now drying on his winter-weathered cheeks. Even in this state, Jonas was a good-looking young man. Strangers would not have guessed the anguish that had racked his life before these recent, happy months.
“She should have listened to her aunt and uncle,” he said.
Annie winced. “What about them?” She sensed that Jonas would tell her everything he knew. And she needed to hear it all. For John, of course. Because this was his case, not hers.
His cheeks puffed out again. “They don’t like me,” he said.
Annie’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. They think I’m going to hold her back. From making the most out of her life.”
“Because of the baby?”
“Because of me. Of who I am. Of where I came from. My grandparents aren’t exactly upstanding citizens, remember?”
Annie leaned across the table, carefully covering Marty’s and Bill’s names with her forearms. “That is them, Jonas, not you. You are a successful young artist. You have a good head on your shoulders. You are dependable and responsible . . .”
He stood up, shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, and began to pace. “Seriously? Did you really just say that?”
“You made one small mistake . . .” She paused, unsure of what words should follow.
“Francine doesn’t know it, but just before we left Minnesota, I overheard her aunt talking to her. Marty said, ‘That boy will cause you pain, Francine. And, mark my words, he’ll cause Bella pain. And your new baby, too. He’s a dreamer. The kind your mother always got tangled up with.’” With that, Jonas zipped his parka and put his hat back on. “I gotta go back outside. I really only came up here to get coffee refills for the volunteers. If you see Francine, please tell her I’m sorry. And that I love her.” He turned and left the room.
Annie sat in silence again. She looked back at the notepad. She knew she needed to find John and tell him about Francine’s aunt and uncle and not wait until tomorrow.
* * *
As soon as she opened the back door of the Inn, Annie saw that, halfway down the hill, her cottage was lit up like Fenway Park when the Yankees were in town. On a different, happier day, Earl would have chuckled at that analogy.
However, neither Earl nor anyone would be chuckling at the sight that greeted Annie as she drew closer. The entire cottage—not just the porch—was now cordoned off with yellow tape, the kind Annie had seen too often: POLICELINE. DONOTCROSS.
It was one thing to be told not to go home and quite another to be barricaded from it.
A gust of wind blew across her face as if mocking her.
“John?” she called out as she reached the porch. The door was open; people were in her living room. They were dressed in blue paper garb from head to toe, with plastic shields covering their faces, as if the full-blown pandemic had returned. She wanted to duck under the tape, go inside, and ask why they were in her house when the note had been left outside on the porch. But Annie knew better than to interrupt the investigation. Or at least she knew where to draw the line.
So she kept her distance and hollered for John again.
It took only a few seconds for a large man to fill the doorway and slide down his mask. “Hey, Annie,” he said. It was Linc. He seemed to be everywhere that night, John’s fellow detective and right hand, especially when John was too close to a situation to be totally objective.
“How’s it going?” she began, unsure how to continue. “Have you found anything?” She longed to ask him to move his bulk out of her line of vision so that she could see what they were doing in her home.Toher home.
“Sorry,” he said, “can’t say. But I guess you know that.”
“Right.” He didn’t have to explain police protocol to her. Still, she craned her neck, trying to peek around him. “Are they dusting for prints? The note was on the porch, Linc. I don’t think anyone went inside.” She wasn’t exactly prying. Well, maybe a little.
