“He doesn’t care that John wants us to stay out of the way. As far as I know, he’s been looking for Bella harder than anyone.”
Winnie sighed. “Call if you need anything. That includes if you only want to talk. Or share a bottle of wine.” She began to leave.
“Wait, Winnie,” Annie said, standing up. “By any chance, do you remember a man named Clive Atkins? He lived in West Tisbury in the sixties.” It was a long shot, because Winnie would have been quite young in the 1960s.
“The cemetery guy?”
Annie blinked. “Yes. But not up in Aquinnah. Or Chilmark.”
“Sure. Clive and my dad worked at the Ag Fair together—they volunteered to clean up before and after. It was at the Grange Hall then and was much smaller than today.”
“Do you remember ever seeing his niece? She would have been older than you. Quite small. Or at least she is now.”
“Sure. Her name was Mary.”
As Earl would say, the news flummoxed Annie. Rose.Mary Rose.
“Why?” Winnie asked. “Did you run into her? I think old Clive died a while back.”
“He did. In 1984. But, yes, I think his niece is one of our winter renters. I’ve only just learned that her real name is Mary Rose. Now she goes by Rose.”
Winnie’s eyebrows lifted. “Well. That’s an awfully big coincidence. I didn’t know her very well—she was only here in summers. She was a quiet, shy girl and very slight, as I remember. She might have lived in New Hampshire. Or Maine. Somewhere up north.”
Quiet. Shy. Slight. Yes, that was her. “Maine, I think,” Annie replied. “What was she like?”
Musing for a moment, Winnie said, “I don’t really remember. I hung out with her at the hall while the men were working. We’d walk over to Alley’s together for ice cream. But she stopped coming to the island when she was maybe fifteen or sixteen. I never did find out why.” She hauled her bag onto one shoulder. “Wow. That’s a blast from the past. I’d like to see her, though. Is she here or out with the search crew?”
“She left last night. She told Claire that the ruckus made her nervous. I don’t know where she is. She might have left the Vineyard, though John had asked everyone not to.”
Winnie scowled. “If she’s the same person, it’s hard to believe she’d go against anyone in authority. I don’t think ‘trouble’ was her thing.”
“Then she’s probably around here somewhere. I’m so worried about Bella, it’s hard to think straight about anything else.”
“You don’t think she’s involved with Bella going missing, do you?”
Annie tried to offer a smile. “Like I said, it’s hard to think straight right now.” Then she had another thought. It was, again, a long shot, and might merely be her imagination working overtime—also again—but she decided she might as well ask because Winnie would tell her the truth and not judge why she wanted to know. “One more question, please. Do you remember what Rose’s uncle looked like?”
“Oh, my friend, now you’re really stretching. Hmm. He was an old guy. But when you’re a kid, anyone over twenty-one looks old.” She squinted, as if that would help her think. “Wait. He was a big guy. Yeah, I remember that. He was taller than my dad. Had a thick neck. Big shoulders.” She smiled. “Sorry I can’t be more specific.”
Big guy. Thick neck. Big shoulders.He reminds me of someone I once knew, Rose had said about Rex. “What color was his hair?”
Winnie laughed. “From what I remember, he was close to being bald.”
The pieces were starting to coalesce, though they didn’t yet explain why Rose might be skittish around Rex, other than perhaps he looked like her long-dead uncle, whom maybe she didn’t like. But that wouldn’t have anything to do with Bella. Would it?
“I’ll see you later, honey,” Winnie said, giving Annie one of her generous hugs. “I hear the kitchen calling. But first, I have a five-gallon jug of gas in the van, so I’ll pour some into the Jeep. No sense in you getting stranded.” She waved and went out of the reading room, leaving Annie more perplexed than she’d been before.
* * *
She needed to text John. Whether or not there was any connection between Rose and Rex, it almost didn’t matter. And if Rose’s strange little rocks were a peculiar link, Annie could not imagine how. But she also knew that determining the level of importance of the information she’d unearthed should not be up to her. John would never forgive her if she kept it from him and it wound up being essential to finding Bella. And Annie would never forgive herself.
WE NEED TO TALK,she texted him. NOW.
She paced the reading room, waiting. Within seconds, he replied.
MEET ME AT YOUR COTTAGE IN FIVE.
She was there in two minutes; John got there in three. They sat at the kitchen table and Annie made tea, which seemed like a trivial effort given the seriousness of the past twenty-eight hours. At least John didn’t lecture her for tampering with the kettle and the mugs, as if they could be evidence. Chances were, whoever had left the note hadn’t gone into the kitchen and opted for a cup of tea.
