At the top of the stairs, Annie noted that no one was there, either: as far as she knew, all the tenants had joined the search for Bella.Everyone but Rose, she reminded herself.
She put the key into the lock and turned it; the door opened without resistance. Annie sneaked inside and closed it firmly behind her.
She breathed again.
That time, she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was the dollhouse, sitting atop the desk in a corner by a window.
“Ohhh . . . ,” she said aloud before stopping herself. Could the dollhouse be significant? She’d seen it the day she’d brought Rose tea and invited her to share Thanksgiving dinner. At the time, Annie merely had thought it odd, but now her legs powered her toward it, as if she were in the Martha’s Vineyard Marathon and the clock was ticking.
Could the dollhouse mean that Rose wanted to be a child again . . . a child like Bella?
A small chair stood in front of it; Annie sat down and stared inside.
The furnishings were ornate, Victorian style. She remembered when dollhouses had become popular for adults, perhaps in the early seventies. Her aunt Sally had bought one; Annie had loved looking at the niceties inside. But when Aunt Sally and her husband moved to Schenectady after Sally’s indiscretion, the dollhouse had gone with them.
And though Sally did not get divorced, Annie wondered if she’d felt alone, the way Rose appeared to be. And if both of the women had created an imaginary, miniature home, hoping it would somehow compensate for the pieces of their lives that were missing.
Similar to Aunt Sally’s, Rose’s dollhouse had wallpaper and paintings on the walls. The living room showcased settees, wing chairs, and a mini replica of a piano; a mahogany table, chairs, and matching sideboard were in the dining room, atop which was what looked like a silver tea set. A china closet on the opposite side of the room held teeny plates and cups that were painted with what looked like pink roses.
Unlike Aunt Sally’s, Rose’s house had a staircase that led up to a bathroom and three well-furnished bedrooms. But also, unlike Sally’s, the beds had people in them. Tiny figurines: a blonde mother, a dark-haired dad, a small, equally dark-haired girl in another bedroom. A kitten not much bigger than the tip of Annie’s pinkie was asleep next to the girl. Hanging from a closet door, a tiny hanger held what looked like a white christening dress, complete with a shoulder-length white veil. A chill skipped down Annie’s spine as she thought of the wedding dress hanging in her bedroom in the cottage. She prayed there was not a connection.
The third bedroom was furnished, but no figurines were in it.
Goose bumps danced on Annie’s arms. She had no idea what the dollhouse meant to Rose; she didn’t want to think that the fantasy included a little girl who represented Bella.
Standing up again, Annie tried to pacify her nerves by believing that the dollhouse was merely a harmless pastime, perhaps one that evoked memories from Rose’s childhood. Maybe that’s all Aunt Sally’s had been to her, too. Besides, Annie hadn’t sneaked inside to judge her tenant. And she could hardly accuse her of taking Bella solely because of a toy.
Next, she checked the closet. Few clothes were there; Annie had no idea how many Rose had brought with her, so she couldn’t know if she’d taken any with her, wherever she was. In the bathroom, however, there were no signs of personal items: toothbrush, comb, lipstick. Nothing. Only a bar of Annie’s soap, which every tenant received.
The chill zipped down her spine again.
She moved back to the bedroom and over to the windows. Because room 2 was rented to island visitors from May through September, it was at the back of the house, with a breathtaking view of Edgartown Harbor and the lighthouse. And though Annie saw the same view several dozen times every day, she always paused to look, the same way most islanders did, whether they were at the cliffs, on the beach, or watching the big boat come or go. Some scenery was never taken for granted.
Gazing out the window now, she almost felt a sense of peace until she realized that from the windows she also had a bird’s-eye view of the patio, the walkway that led from the kitchen door, and, most disturbingly, Annie’s cottage halfway down to the beach.
She nearly screamed.
Did Rose stand at the window, monitoring Annie’s life? Did she crack the windows and eavesdrop on conversations of guests when they sat on the patio? And, most of all, did she watch the comings and goings of those who came to and from the Inn? If so, could she have seen whoever had taken Bella? Or worse, could she have waited until she knew that only Jonas and Bella were inside, waited until Jonas was out of sight, and then taken the child herself?
Annie stood, futilely waiting for an answer. The only thing she knew for certain was that she had to tell John.
As she turned from the once-breathtaking view that now seemed sinister, her gaze moved down to the window seat. To Rose’s rocks.
No longer in a heap, they were evenly displayed in a single layer. Annie calculated there were eight or nine dozen, maybe more, ranging in diameter from an inch to three or four—some gray, some white, some speckled, some with bits of color such as coral, black, and brown. At least Rose had spread a towel across the cushion before she’d put them there.
As Annie looked closely, she realized that they were all heart-shaped, which seemed sweet. Each had been lacquered and polished to a high shine and had a hand-lettered message on top: LOVE.PEACE.HAPPINESS.The thoughts seemed harmless enough. Until she spotted one that simply read: COMEBACK TOME.The words were in block letters, as those on the Post-it had been. But the paint was thicker than the ink used on the note, so it was hard to tell if the handwriting was the same.
Then she remembered she’d seen small painted rocks from time to time in random places—resting on a dune at South Beach, under a shrub outside St. Andrew’s Church, tucked into a corner of the outside staircase at the Edgartown Town Hall. Many had appeared during the worst time of the pandemic; they’d been brightly colored and offered heartfelt messages with words like HOPE.
But Annie didn’t think that, like Rose’s rocks, they had all been heart-shaped.
Just as she turned to leave, she noticed a small stool in the opposite corner. As she moved closer to it, she saw two cans of lacquer and one small can of black acrylic paint sitting on top. Next to them, a canning jar held three paintbrushes—all of which seemed to prove that Rose herself had collected the stones and painted them with words of love and peace. And . . . COMEBACK TOME.Whatever that meant.
She wondered if the OB cops had found them questionable, or if they hadn’t bothered with them, because they’d only been authorized to search for Bella.
All Annie knew for sure was that she needed to get out of the room. And find a way to tell John—without pissing him off—that she’d been snooping.
