“I can’t tell you that. In fact, I already told you more than I should have. Please, Kev, don’t ever tell John that I told you. And don’t breathe a word about it to anyone . . . especially not Francine.”
“It’s too late for that.” That time, the voice wasn’t Kevin’s. It was Francine’s.
“Crap,” Kevin said.
“Is it true?” Francine asked as she stalked into the kitchen. “Does John think my aunt and uncle have Bella? Does he think they came here and abducted her? Even though, next to me, they probably love her more than anyone?”
Annie was stunned. She didn’t believe that anyone—other than Francine—could love Bella more than Annie did. Or more than Earl and Claire. Or Kevin. Or Lucy. And yet Marty was Bella’s blood relation, and she and her husband wanted what they perceived would be best for her—living in Minneapolis. It was absurd, but, allegedly, they believed it.
Francine’s jaw was set firm, her dark eyes had narrowed. If she’d been a dog, Annie supposed her teeth would be bared. “Did John go to Minneapolis to get a handwriting sample? To try and prove that one of them wrote the note?”
As badly as Annie wanted to respond, she didn’t want to confirm—in front of Kevin—that there had been a note.Please, God,she thought,no.
“What note?” Kevin asked before God had a chance to stop him.
“The one that said Bella is fine,” Francine asserted. “And that she’s safe. The one that was most likely written by the same person who kidnapped her when Jonas was too wrapped up in himself to be bothered with paying attention to her.”
Kevin set down his mug and looked over at Annie. “What’s she talking about?”
“Oh,” Francine said, “she won’t tell you. John won’t let her. She only told me because she felt sorry for me.” She’d formed a shawl out of one of the blankets from her bed; she pulled it tightly around her now. Then her lower lip jutted out. And Francine started to cry.
“Honey . . .” Annie finally spoke, then stepped toward her, arms outstretched, ready to wrap them around the blanket that was wrapped around her.
But Francine pivoted sharply and marched toward the doorway. Then she stopped. “I’ll be in my room,” she said. “In case anyone decides I deserve to know what’s really going on.” Her feet marched again until the sound faded, and Annie heard them ascend the stairs.
Annie closed her eyes.
“Annie?” Kevin asked. “Please?”
The pressure gripped her chest again. “Come with me to the cottage. I don’t want to talk about it here.”
* * *
Kevin didn’t mention that in order to get inside Annie’s cottage they had to duck under the strip of yellow tape that still encircled the place.
The cottage was cold. Annie decided to build a fire in the woodstove because it would give her something to do while she talked and because she’d be able to focus on that and not have to look her brother in the eyes.
She crisscrossed a few logs, added kindling, and ignited the fire while she explained. She didn’t tell him John’s hare-brained idea that Francine might be involved because Annie refused to say those words out loud. When she finished her abridged version of the story, she closed the iron door to the woodstove and shrugged.
“So that’s it. And if John knows I’ve told you, he’ll divorce me before we are married.” She stayed close to the stove and rubbed her palms together.
“Jesus,” Kevin said for the third or fourth time since she’d started. By some not-so-small miracle, he seemed bewildered instead of angry. “I met her aunt and uncle when we went out there, but they didn’t act like vindictive people. Or that they thought Jonas wasn’t good enough for Francine. Or that Taylor wouldn’t be a supportive grandmother.”
“Or you,” Annie added. “You were there, too. As a step-grandfather.”
One corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile. “Is that a real word?”
“I have no idea. Actually, I have no idea about a lot of things anymore.”
He went to her and hugged her. “Well, you know me, Annie. I’m a real fixture now. On the island. In this family. I’m also committed to finding whoever has taken Bella—for whatever their stupid reason—and slamming them into the nearest wall.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “Stop trying to make me laugh. It won’t work, but I do appreciate the gesture.”
“Okay,” he said, stepping away. “But maybe the note is good news. Like maybe she’s really safe.”
“John warned me it could be a prank. Which is why he doesn’t want anyone to find out and get their hopes up.”
“Yeah, I get it. Maybe he’s right. But let’s not believe that, okay? Let’s think it’s a good sign, that maybe she’s not out there somewhere hungry and scared and freezing.”
