“I don’t care,” he sniped, his voice so loud she might have heard it down by the water. “Get your butt over here.”
At first Annie thought he was talking to Linc and that his voice was raised because Linc was out on the water, and between the engine rumbling in the rescue boat and the wind blowing around, Linc couldn’t hear him unless he shouted. However, telling his friend and fellow officer to get his butt over there wasn’t John’s m.o.
If Annie were in a better mood, she would have laughed at herself for thinking about John in police-speak—m.o. being cop talk for “modus operandi.” Instead, she stood in the living room and waited until he came out of the bedroom. She wondered if he wished he’d been able to slam down a receiver, the way anger could be vented in phone calls of yesteryear.
He was dressed. He walked to the rocking chair, sat down, and started to lace up his boots.
“Bella lost the doll last week, not last night,” Annie blurted out.
She was startled by the chill in the room; she knew he hadn’t lit a fire to avoid moving around too much and possibly disrupting evidence. It was bad enough that they had slept there. She quickly shared what Francine had told her about the orange-haired cloth doll.
“Crap,” he said.
Annie didn’t mention that it actually might be good news; the fact that Bella had lost it a week ago meant there was a chance she hadn’t gone down to the beach, strolled into the harbor, and . . .
“Abigail’s on her way,” John said. “She finally answered her phone.”
Annie pressed her lips together. So he’d been talking to . . . her.
He stood up; he always seemed taller when he was in uniform. “I told her the least she could do was help out in the kitchen, so her grandmother could go home and rest. I reminded her that the woman might seem immortal, but she’s almost seventy-six.”
Biting her tongue was something Annie rarely did. But Annie was not going to comment about Abigail. Not then, anyway. Maybe never.
“I’ve gotta get down to the water and relieve Linc. He needs some shut-eye, too. You don’t mind if he camps out in here, do you?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. But before you go, I need to tell you something else. Jonas said that Francine’s aunt and uncle want her to live in Minneapolis with Bella and the new baby.”
John frowned. “What?”
She repeated the news.
“When did he tell you that?”
“Last night. I was going to tell you, but then I saw Linc, and he called you, and you’d just found the doll, and, later, I forgot about that . . .”
He held up a hand. “Stop. I’m not interrogating you.”
She lowered her eyes. “There’s more. Her aunt and uncle don’t think Bella should be raised here on the island. They said something about it being too limited for a child. And for Francine. Don’t forget that both the girls are Marty’s nieces.”
He studied Annie, as if his pearl-gray eyes were soaking in her words.
“What do you think?” she asked. “Would they have taken her? Left the note? But how could they have? They’re in Minneapolis.”
“I have no idea. But we can’t rule anything out. I wish I’d found out sooner.” His jaw tightened, as if he were trying not to be angry with her the way he was angry with his older daughter.
“I’m sorry, John. It honestly didn’t occur to me that they’d want to scare Francine. Or harm Bella. And then there was the doll. . . .”
He checked his phone. “Forget it. Right now, I’ve got to find Linc. If the note’s for real, we’ll find her. Maybe we’ll get a ransom call this morning. They typically come within the first twenty-four hours of a kidnapping.”
“A ransom . . . ?” She’d thought of that, of course. But having it flit through her psyche and hearing John say it out loud were two very different things.
He headed toward the door. “Go back to the Inn until we meet at ten. I don’t want you hanging around in here alone. Work on your list. And if you hear anything else, let me know right away. Okay?”
She watched him leave, knowing he wasn’t angry with her but rather at the huge responsibility that had crash-landed on his shoulders. And the fact that so many people were counting on him.
* * *
As Annie walked up the hill, she decided that before putting the names Rex and Rose on her list, she should make sure that every closet, every corner, even under every bed of the Inn had been inspected. Besides, right now, moving around suited her far better than sitting in a chair and trying to think. As she reached the patio, she heard a rustle in the shrubbery; maybe a raccoon was running late to get back to its den now that the sun was up. She didn’t see a raccoon, a skunk, or any other creature. But she did spot the bulkhead that led down to the root cellar.
