“Everyone but a few police went home,” Claire said vacantly, not moving her gaze from the window and the white landscape outside. “Can’t blame them. They left right after Earl and I got here when the storm was starting.”
Annie took a seat on one of the stools. “Did you get any sleep?”
“A little. On one of the sofas in the great room. Francine’s upstairs in her room. The power’s been out a while. Earl and Kevin are driving around trying to find a neighbor who can lend us a generator. Lucy and Abigail are at our house; they came back from Edgartown before dawn. Lottie’s husband made a special trip and brought them over. Lucy said she was afraid nobody else would be here, what with the storm.” She paused, then her voice went flat. “I wonder if we’ll ever see our little Bella again.”
Annie knew she would sound phony and shallow if she attempted to conjure a soothing reply. So all she said was, “Where are the tenants?” She couldn’t shake the feeling that the Inn felt empty, as if even those who lived right there hadn’t wanted to look for Bella in the snow. She shouldn’t blame them. She supposed.
“Harlin and Greg took off on snowmobiles with a couple of cops. They’re determined to check out every house and cottage on Chappy; I made sure they were bundled up and took hot coffee and Lucy’s peanut butter cookies for energy. I think the teachers are still asleep. Harlin said Jenna’s stuck working at the hospital. Charlie’s off island on account of it’s the weekend, and we still have no idea where Rose went.”
Annie nodded, grateful for Harlin and Greg; thankful, for once, that Claire liked knowing other people’s business, including who was where and why. She rubbed her arms and followed Claire’s gaze out the window. “Everyone’s been working really hard trying to find her. And John was supposed to go off island this morning to track down a lead. But I don’t suppose the boats are running.” She didn’t think that saying that much would get her into trouble with him.
“He flew out on Cape Air last night,” Claire said. “He called this morning and said he was able to get ahead of the weather. He didn’t say where he’s going, but he wanted you to know he hopes he’ll get there later today. He wouldn’t say if it’s about Bella or when he’ll be back. All he said was, ‘Police business, Mom.’ ” She grunted. “You’d better get used to that if you’re going to marry him.”
Annie slid off the stool and headed toward the refrigerator. “Did you have breakfast? We can sit in the great room in front of the fire. I can make coffee and we can have something warm to eat.” She didn’t know why she sounded so coherent when her brain was fuzzy, her eyes were on the verge of tears, and her neck and back were killing her from the contorted way she’d slept.
She didn’t wait for Claire to answer but started to gather what she’d need: a foldable steel grill that fit over a fire—they’d used it a few times in summer to cook steaks over the outdoor fire pit. Earl had made sure it would also work in the great room’s fireplace because he’d said, “In case you need to heat a pot of chowder or make a halfway decent cup of java if the stove’s gone on the blink.” The stove, of course, was practically brand new, so it was more likely that he’d held off on investing in a generator because he felt the grill was more rustic, more “Vineyard natural.”
She found the old percolator high above the stove, prepped it with fresh coffee grounds and spring water from a jug, and dug out a couple of pot holders. She also grabbed a couple of Francine’s homemade rosemary rolls out of the freezer and a sheet of foil to wrap them in. She had no idea if she could heat rolls on the ersatz grill, but it was worth a try. As long as she was careful not to burn the whole place down.
It was unusual for Claire to stay seated on the stool while Annie—or anyone—shuffled around her, clattering and clanking pots and pans. But Annie knew that all of them were acting justifiably unusual after the past hours . . . hours that now had turned to days. Nearly two of them, by her calculation. Two days, and still no Bella. So far, the only concrete thing Annie knew was that there had been a note. And that John was off on what might be a wild-goose chase and a waste of precious time. And that Francine had apparently severed ties with Jonas.
Which gave Annie an idea.
She stopped shuffling. She set down the grill and percolator. And she set the pot holders and the rolls on top.
“I’ll be back to get this started,” she said to Claire, not that Claire was listening.
Fast-walking through the great room, Annie stopped at the reception desk, snapped up the spare key to Francine’s room, and sprinted up the stairs. She knew she couldn’t offer any substantial information but, whether John liked it or not, she damn well could try and give her hope.
HOPE. Like one of the words printed on Rose’s heart-shaped rocks.
* * *
When Annie was a third grade teacher back in Boston, long before moving to the island, she’d seen a lot of images that had brought her emotions to the surface: a little boy sitting outside on the steps after school, waiting for a parent who’d forgotten him; a shy girl named Bonnie whose science fair project (a classic erupting volcano made of flour, water, baking soda, and vinegar) was smashed by two bratty girls who’d laughed at her and said she was no Sheldon Cooper. Both the boy and the shy girl had pretended they weren’t crying, but their puckery cheeks and tiny, downturned mouths had been heart-wrenching.
So when Annie unlocked the door to Francine’s room and saw the twenty-two-year-old woman curled up like the fetus growing inside her, her eyes open and staring into space the way that Claire’s had been, Annie’s heart splintered. What made it worse was that Francine wasn’t curled up on her own bed but on Bella’s tiny one.
She sat down on the edge of the mattress because she suddenly felt weak. She reached over and rested her hand on Francine’s head and gently combed her hair with her fingers, which were trembling.
“Have you had any sleep?” Annie asked, barely above a whisper.
She knew Francine had heard her by the subtle shaking of her head.
“It doesn’t matter,” Francine said. “Sleep’s not going to bring her back.”
As tempted as Annie was to say, “Neither is staying awake, and not sleeping might harm your baby,” she deferred. Instead she slouched down and half curled up beside her. “I think she’s safe,” she said. “Bella is safe.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes. Yes we do.” Annie sucked in a small breath. No matter if John never forgave her for what she was about to do, it wasn’t right to keep this from Francine. “There’s been a note,” she said.
Francine sat bolt upright, her narrow shoulder catching Annie under the chin, sending a sharp, smarting shot to Annie’s jaw. Her body jerked; she cupped her hand over the pain.
“What note?” Francine demanded. “When?”
Annie didn’t want her to know when, because Francine would be furious that she hadn’t been told sooner.
“I only know it was found outside my cottage door. And it said that Bella’s fine. And safe. And that she’s with whomever wrote it.”
