Francine looked at Annie and squinted. “What?” She sounded like a kitten.
Annie nodded. “I saw the note, honey. She’s safe. John and Linc are following it up. They didn’t want you to know until they have a concrete answer. But I thought it might help . . .”
Francine started to cry.
Annie reached over, held her in a long hug, matching her tear for tear.
After a few minutes, she whispered, “If John finds out I’ve told you, he’ll never speak to me again. Or to you, either, if that means anything.”
“But why?” They both were sitting up now, raw feelings now abated. “This is about Bella, Annie.”
Annie gave her half a smile. “I’m so sorry, honey, but it’s a cop thing. Or at least that’s John’s way of telling me to ‘let the professionals do their job.’ I think he thinks I’ll butt in and somehow screw things up.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I do have a way of getting too involved.”
Squaring her shoulders, Francine said, “So there’s nothing we can do? Does he have any idea who has her? And where? And, for God’s sake, why? Do they want money? If they do, they sure picked the wrong kid to kidnap.”
“I only know she’s safe. And fine. And that I trust John. And so can you.”
They sat quietly.
Then Francine asked, “Can’t we please tell Earl and Claire? And Kevin? They’re as upset as we are. If they promise not to say anything . . .”
Annie noticed that Francine hadn’t mentioned Jonas. She wondered if, indeed, she had squashed him from her life, the young man she’d loved only two days earlier now no better than a tick plucked from John’s dog and ground into the earth. “I’m sorry, but we can’t. The truth is, if I hadn’t inadvertently seen the note, John most likely wouldn’t even have told me. And he swore me to secrecy. For real.”
“Well, that sucks.”
“I agree.”
Francine wrapped her arms around herself. “Geez, I’m cold. Isn’t the heat on in this place?”
Annie laughed. “Put your coat on and let’s go downstairs for coffee. Claire’s there, and I think it would do her good to see your beautiful face.”
As they left the room, Annie glanced back over her shoulder; Bella’s small bed now stood empty. She knew she’d done the right thing by telling Francine about the note, and also that she hadn’t told her about Rose, the heart-shaped stones, or the mysterious mouse that supposedly had skittered into the same cabinet where Bella’s toys were kept. She was glad she hadn’t told her that she thought Taylor’s brother was weird or about the creepy way he’d looked when he’d been standing on the dune when the rest of them were working desperately to find Bella.
Most of all, Annie was glad she hadn’t told her that John was in Minnesota, tracking down Francine’s aunt and uncle to see if they’d arranged for Bella to be kidnapped. And that he’d suggested that Francine might be involved.
If she was, Annie thought as they made their way down to the great room, she was putting on one hell of an act.
Chapter 34
By mid-afternoon, the snow had stopped; for all its bravado, the accumulation seemed to be only four or five inches. Hardly more than a “dusting,” Earl called it when he arrived in his pickup with Lucy and Abigail, the plow blade having carved a swift path on the seven-minute drive from Earl and Claire’s house to the Inn. Kevin was close behind, with two borrowed generators in the bed of his truck. They were not enough to heat the whole Inn, but at least the downstairs would have power. The victory was something to be grateful for, but not as grateful as Annie would be if Bella showed up at the door. Or if John would call. Or text. Or do something to give her an update.
Easy, girl,Murphy railed from the rafters in the great room.He’s doing the best he can.
Annie slipped into a corner of the great room, away from the rest of the troops who were clustered together, making small talk. “Are you sure it’s not because he doesn’t want to tell me he’s found nothing?”
O ye of little faith, was Murphy’s only comment before Annie sensed her spirit vanish.
Still, the remark almost made Annie smile. The last time her red-haired friend had chided her for having too little faith had been when Murphy suggested that Annie move to Martha’s Vineyard and start a new life. “It’s a perfect place for a writer,” she’d said. “There’s inspiration all around. The beaches! The water! The cliffs! Why do you think so many creative types live there?”
“Maybe they don’t like the real world,” Annie had suggested.
“Or maybe you’re a chickenshit,” had been her friend’s reply.
But Annie had gotten the point. So she’d conjured up a little faith and made the leap. And now she must have faith in John. Or at least in God, whom she suspected might have a more essential hand in bringing Bella back to them.
