She moved to the door and listened. Hearing nothing, she opened it an inch or two. Thank God, no one was there. So she slipped into the hallway, closed and locked the door behind her, and sneaked back down the stairs, happy that she’d dropped one of the rocks into her jacket pocket.
Chapter 32
Annie grabbed a cup of coffee and half a chicken salad sandwich from the table in the dining room. She asked Claire if she needed help and felt guilty for being grateful when she said no, thank you, that she and Lucy had everything under control. She added that Abigail and Earl would have plenty of bag lunches to bring to the group out in the woods, as soon as Abigail arrived. Claire also said that the folks in the meadow had combed the grid half a dozen times, and John had suggested they move on to the other properties on North Neck; they’d picked up food and drink on their way. They wouldn’t be allowed inside the homes unless they saw something irregular on the property, and if they did, John would need to get a warrant.
Annie was reminded again that Francine had been squatting in the big house next to the cottage that Annie had been renting the first winter she was there. Because it was officially off-season now, she knew that lots of summer homes were regarded as fair game for intruders who were bold enough—or desperate enough—to break in and help themselves. It was especially appreciated if the heat and electricity had been left on, not shut off until the owners returned in summer.
She went out to her Jeep to have her lunch and try to think; she turned on the ignition and cranked up the heat. While she ate, Annie thought about all the things that had mattered so much only yesterday: her wedding and the ugly dress; the situation with Kevin, Taylor, and Rex; the latest announcement from her editor and the decision Annie hadn’t yet made. Those things had seemed so consequential yesterday; now they were only pieces in the game of life. Her life, but, nonetheless, a game of sorts. Now, with Bella missing, nothing else mattered. Not a single thing.
Twenty minutes after finishing her lunch, Annie fell sound asleep.
She dreamed of the babies she’d never had, of the unconditional love she’d heard about but had never felt, maternal love that had escaped her, substituted by a protective love for Murphy’s boys and, more recently, for Francine and Bella. She dreamed in full blazing color, of rainbows of finger paints on glossy white paper and sandcastles on the beach. The dreams were strangely happy, as if all things she’d missed out on had come full circle now, reminding her that happiness was about perception, about finding it however, wherever one could, even in sleep.
When she awoke, it was long past sunset, yet the sky glimmered pure white with falling snow. Annie was cold; the Jeep had stopped running. It had run out of gas. It occurred to her it was a good thing her vehicle was in good condition, as it didn’t appear that any carbon monoxide had leaked through the floorboards into the interior.
She stretched; she rubbed her hands together, even though they still were in her mittens. She reviewed the bits she remembered from her dream and nearly laughed at how the mind could manage to be kind during the most awful times.
Picking up the trash from her lunch, she opened the door and came face-to-face with Winnie, who was dusted with snowflakes and wore a warm smile on her copper skin. Yes, Annie thought, even in the most awful times, life can sprinkle happiness.
“Where have you been?” Winnie asked as they walked through the darkness toward the Inn, the scent of wood crackling in the fireplace beckoning them. That, and the fact there was nowhere else to go, what with Annie’s cottage still off limits.
“I fell asleep in my car,” she replied with a woeful laugh. “I had the engine running so I’d be warm, but I ran out of gas.” She was too worn out to tell her about Rose’s having left Chappy, about how Annie had stolen into her room and seen the dollhouse. And the rocks.
“You must have needed the sleep,” Winnie said.
“Afraid so. There’s not much of that around here right now.”
They went inside and removed their boots and jackets and the rest of their outdoor gear, and Annie led her through the back hall into the reading room. They sat in the comfortable barrel chairs instead of at a table.
“No word on Bella?” Winnie asked once they were settled.
Annie shook her head. “Not that I know of.” She glanced at the clock, surprised that it was after six. “A seasoned investigator probably would tell me that the longer we go without finding her, the odds decrease . . .” She shook her head again. “But I have hope. I really do.”
“Good,” Winnie said. “Good.” She nodded as if trying to persuade both of them that having hope could change the outcome. “I’d be outside with my family looking for her, but my knees are always bad in winter.” Winnie had ten years or so on Annie, and though she was very active, she once told Annie that wear and tear couldn’t always be controlled. “But Barbara and Orrin are out there; Lucas and his girlfriend, Danielle, rounded up some of their old high school pals and they’re searching, too. To paraphrase an old saying, I doubt that a single stone on Chappaquiddick will be left unturned.”
Winnie’s comment about stones reminded Annie of Rose’s rock, and that she needed to find John. “We have lots of help, Winnie,” she said, her fingers rubbing across the smooth stone in her pocket. “Everyone is being wonderful.”
Winnie reached into her woven bag. “Which reminds me, you’re a wealthy woman now. Your soap sold out in the first three hours.”
“Seriously?”
“When Lucy called, she told me that in addition to the baskets you’re going to put together, you’re also going to donate your profits from today to island women’s services. I made a sign to let people know. I hope that was okay.”
Annie had meant to keep her gifts anonymous. But, like most things, it didn’t matter now. “That’s fine, Winnie. Thank you. Maybe it’s why you sold out. You, of all people, know that making soap has become therapeutic for me, the way some people love to bake or make pottery or wampum jewelry.” She reached over and squeezed her dear friend’s hand. “Whatever I can do will be my modest way of trying to help. To give back, you know?”
Winnie reached into her bag and produced a cotton sack. “Well, then, congratulations are in order. Your ‘modest way’ now includes nine hundred sixty-five dollars.” She plopped the bag on the side table between them.
Annie stared at the sack. “I’m stunned,” she said. Then her emotions threatened to take over. “Thanks for taking over today at the Fair . . . and for everything you do. At times like this, it’s important for people to keep their most special friends nearby, isn’t it?”
Winnie put an arm on Annie’s shoulder and gave it a quick rub. “Then and always.” That said, she hauled her solid body from the chair. “Now, I’m going to check on Abigail, who I understand is helping Lucy with supper duties because Claire’s gone home to rest. I don’t know how all of you are doing it.”
“I’m not doing much of anything. John said it’s best for those of us who are closest to Bella to stay the heck out of the way or, at least, out of the active search. Like he’s afraid we might break down in public and scare everyone away.” She did, however, wonder how his two daughters were getting along in the kitchen.
“How’s Francine?” Winnie asked.
“Worse than I am. They took her back to Earl’s earlier today. I don’t know if she’s still there.”
“And Jonas?”
