The wood pop-popped in the stove.
It often amazed Annie that people were rarely as others perceived them, that everyone had layers of stories filled with good and evil, twists and turns.
Kevin walked to the sink, poured a glass of water, and brought it to Rose. She thanked him, then drank. Annie wished he’d brought her water, too. Or, better yet, a bottle of wine.
“Bernie had kind eyes . . . they were green, like your brother’s,” she told Annie. “You have the same eyes, Annie. Sometimes it’s hard for me to look at either of you on account of that. It’s probably why I trusted Kevin enough to tell him my story. And now, to tell you.”
Annie didn’t correct her by saying that Kevin’s eyes, and hers, were hazel, not green. Then she had a thought. “What about your uncle? What did he look like?”
Rose sighed. “He looked a lot like Rex. Which is why Rex terrifies me. When Uncle Clive shot Bernie, I was afraid he was going to shoot me, too.”
“Oh, Rose,” Annie said, thinking about how the fragile woman had spent the past few months painting messages on heart-shaped rocks for Bernie, then tossing them into the sea, hoping his spirit would find them. “I’m so sorry.”
Rose folded her hands. “It was a long time ago. The real reason I came this winter was to put Uncle Clive’s house on the market. I didn’t want to stay out there because I was afraid someone would recognize me. And that they’d ask too many questions. I hired a woman to clear some junk out of the house so it would look better for potential buyers. While I waited for her, I went to the beach and was collecting stones. That’s when I ran into Kevin. And, by the way, my real name is Mary Rose; folks here knew me by Mary.”
Rose’s story seemed plausible, though Annie thought it would be a stretch to think someone would recognize her after fifty years.
“Bernie’s parents are long dead,” Rose continued, “but he had a brother who might still be here. And I knew I couldn’t . . . face him. For all I know, he’d show up here to help search for Bella. So I left Chappaquiddick and went back to West Tisbury. Some of the furniture is still in the house, including the rickety bed I used to sleep on. It was risky to sleep there, but less stressful for me than being here.”
While the facts were logical, Annie felt there were a few holes in Rose’s reasoning. But she decided she had no way of knowing how she might have felt, what she might have done, if she’d been in Rose’s shoes then. Or now.
Rose set down the glass. “Did you really think that I stole Bella?”
Annie shook her head. “I didn’t know what to think. Especially since it seemed like you’d run away . . . and I remembered that I’d seen you looking for a mouse where we kept Bella’s toys . . .”
“But there was a mouse. I saw it. I really did. The house in West Tisbury is rustic. I spent enough time there to know a thing or two about mice.”
Annie believed her. She also decided not to ask Rose about the dollhouse. Not all memories needed to be unearthed.
“I have an idea,” Annie said as she stood. “Let’s go up to the Inn and have lunch. There aren’t as many people here today. We can eat in the reading room, where it’s quiet.”
“I’d like that,” Rose replied. “I’d like that very much.”
Annie glanced at Kevin. “Rex is at your house with Jonas and Taylor?”
“As far as I know. I think he’s afraid if he leaves, we’ll change the locks and claim squatters’ rights.”
Which meant there were now two people—Rose and Rex—Annie could cross off her list of suspects. They had no doubt been too occupied with their own agendas to resort to kidnapping Bella.
And there was Abigail. Annie knew she could cross her off, too, as the girl had been spending too much time on Chappy, trying to be helpful. She would not have had the time to be with Bella. Eliminating Abigail felt liberating.
But without Rose, Rex, and Abigail on Annie’s list, it meant that if John got nowhere in Minnesota, and if the note came back without identifiable prints, there would be no answers. No answers at all.
Which brought Annie back to wondering about Trish.
Chapter 37
John finally called. Annie had served lunch and was cleaning the kitchen. Kevin had gone to the workshop to resume the renovation now that the Fair was over, though they didn’t know who—if anyone—would end up living there. Rose had retreated to her room. So Annie was alone. Thank God.
“Yesterday was a long freaking day,” John said. “We didn’t land in Minneapolis until two o’clock this morning. We got here by way of an eight-hour layover in Nashville. And, no, please don’t ask how that happened.”
She thought of his long legs and his broad shoulders crammed into a seat in coach and of him sitting in a waiting room far too long. “Oh, John. I’m sorry.”
“Hey. It’s part of the job. We managed a few hours of shut-eye. We’re at the police station now, waiting for our local escort. I arranged it yesterday, but no one’s available for a while, thanks to the snow. Or I should say, the blizzard, ’cuz they got almost two feet.” He sounded worn out.
“You can’t jump in your rental car and make your way to Marty and Bill’s?”
“Nope. Not protocol. At least if they have Bella, chances are she’s safe, so we’re not under the gun.”
