She quickly texted John.
There was a knock on the cottage front door. Hesitant to miss John’s reply, Annie brought her phone with her into the living room. Because she was busy staring at her phone, she opened the door without looking to see who it was. Besides, this was the Vineyard, where bad things never happened. Well, almost never.
It was Rose.
“May I talk to you a minute?”
“Of course.” Annie lowered her arm that was holding the phone. She stepped back and let Rose inside. “Would you like tea?”
Shaking her head, Rose made no move to take off her coat or mittens. “I can’t stay. I have too much to do.”
Annie smiled. “Is something special going on?”
The sigh was hesitant but cheerful. “I need to tell you that I wrote the note. The one on your doorstep about Bella.”
Annie blinked but let her talk.
“I saw that boy take her,” Rose continued. “I was painting my rocks; I saw him from the window upstairs in my room. He was holding Bella, and she seemed to like him. I assumed it was Jonas; he had on a hood and his back was toward me. It never occurred to me that Bella was in trouble.”
“Could you see if the boy had a car?” Annie asked.
Rose shook her head. “Not from my window. After that, when the police came and the turmoil began, and everyone was frantic that she’d gone missing, I panicked. I’d been so nervous since the first day I saw Rex. And suddenly, it was like the day Uncle Clive shot Bernie . . . I got so confused . . . I could barely breathe . . . and all I wanted was to run.” Her eyes darted around the room, as if she were reliving the trauma again.
Annie wanted to hug her but she knew that she should wait until the story was finished.
“I know it was stupid of me,” Rose stammered, “but I wrote the note because I was pretty sure Bella was okay. She wasn’t crying or anything. I doubted that she’d be washed up on the beach or left out in the woods. But after I put it under the planter on your porch, I knew it wasn’t fair. I had no right to get everyone’s hopes up in case . . .” Tears formed in her eyes. “By then, it was too late. And I was so scared. So I ran away from Chappaquiddick, just like I’d been forced to run when Clive had killed my Bernie. I didn’t know what else to do. And I didn’t want to get blamed for not telling the police about Bella when I should have.”
Annie thought quickly. “Rose, John thinks the note was a prank. And there were no fingerprints on it. So I think we should leave it be.”
Rose brushed her tears. “But I am so sorry . . .”
“Chances are,” Annie said, “we wouldn’t have found her right away, anyway. And you were right. Bella was safe all along.”
Rose considered that, then slowly nodded. “There’s something else,” she said. “I’ll honor my lease through May, but I’ll be going back to Kennebunk. All these years, I rented out Uncle Clive’s house year-round—the last tenant was there over twenty years. But she’s old now; she moved off-island to be with her children. Her rent check paid for the upkeep and the taxes and gave me a small income. But the house has sold now—for far more than I imagined. And I don’t need to be here any longer.”
Then Annie’s text alert dinged. Her innards groaned, if innards could do that sort of thing. She knew that, right then, Rose needed to be her priority.
Annie gave her a hug. “Oh, Rose, we’ll miss you. But, please, don’t worry about the lease. You’re free to go whenever you want, no strings attached.” It did, however, occur to her that she was a terrible landlord to let her emotions get in the way of a business contract. Still, that’s who she was and, more than likely, she was not going to change.
“And as much as I’d like to stay for your wedding,” Rose continued, “I’d really like to be home for Christmas.”
“I understand.”
“What you don’t know, though, is that when I say I’m going ‘home,’ I mean I’m going back to Maine to be with my husband.”
Annie blinked. “You’re right. I had no idea you have a husband.”
“His name is Fred Chapin. He owns a general store and bait shop in Damariscotta. This coming summer it will be fifty years since Uncle Clive kicked me out. I’ve been haunted by that. Anyway, I told Fred I needed to come down here and get the house sold and set myself right again. He’s a good man, so he agreed. I use my maiden name as my middle name—I’ve done that since we married, I have no idea why. So when Rose Atkins Chapin opened a checking account, I had no problem simply using Rose Atkins. I thought I might need to do that in order to sell the house. I probably didn’t, but . . .” She seemed to think about that for a moment, then dismissed whatever had stopped her. “Anyway, now that I have the money from Clive’s house, I hope Fred will retire. Our little community isn’t much different than here on the Vineyard, where folks watch out for one another. Maybe now, we’ll have the time and money to do more of that.”
“Oh, Rose. That’s wonderful.” It was fabulous to think that Rose’s world wasn’t the sad, lonely one that Annie had pictured.
“Before I go,” Rose added, “I’m going to go to the police station and tell them what happened to Bernie. I think I can remember where Clive buried him. I don’t know if he still has family around, but the island has a right to know. My attorney doesn’t think I’ll get into trouble for taking so long to tell the truth because I was so young and Uncle Clive traumatized me. But I still feel awful about it.” She sighed.
Annie nodded, never having imagined that Rose Atkins would end up being so brave. Just as she’d never thought Abigail would have played such a big part in Bella’s rescue. “I’m sure it will work out, Rose. Keep us posted, okay?”
“I will. Thank you for everything.” She smiled. “Unlike Bernie’s life, mine has turned out very lucky. I also have two sons who want me home. They’re both married; Fred and I have three grandkids. Two grandsons and a granddaughter. Her name is Lily; the dollhouse is hers. She insisted that I take it in case I got lonely down here. Fred and I gave it to her for Christmas last year; Lily and I decorated it.” She quickly produced her phone and scrolled through photos of the towheaded children—and a kitten—that were all part of her family.
And Annie realized that the couple in the bedroom of the dollhouse were supposed to be Rose and Fred; in the other bedroom was their granddaughter, Lily. Annie pointed to the last photo and asked, “Does the kitten belong to Lily?”
