A hesitation. Small, but there.
Rhys caught it too. She felt his concentration sharpen, an almost-imperceptible change, like a one-degree shift in temperature.
“After she disappeared, I found some things,” Marlena admitted hesitantly.
“What kind of things?” Gaby prompted.
A faint flush tinged the older woman’s cheeks. “Clothes I hadn’t seen. Shoes. Makeup.” Her gaze dropped to the photo again. “Things she never wore around us.”
Paul shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “There was a collar.”
Gaby’s pen stilled for half a second.
Rhys didn’t move.
“It was black lace. Pretty, actually,” Marlena continued. “I didn’t know what it meant at first.”
“Did Anna ever mention where she went?” Gaby asked carefully.
Mrs. Bellamy looked up. “No, but I found receipts. I gave them to the police, but I have copies.”
“No one ever asked about them again,” Paul said.
Of course, they hadn’t. Gaby exchanged a glance with Rhys.
It was a struggle, but she kept her voice even. “May we see them, and anything else you found?”
Mrs. Bellamy nodded and rose slowly, moving toward the hallway with the photo still clutched in one hand.
When she disappeared into the bedroom, Paul said quietly, staring down at his coffee, “I keep wondering what I missed.”
Neither she nor Rhys interrupted.
“I thought I knew my daughter.”
“You did,” Rhys said.
Paul looked up.
“You knew the sweet, kind, shy woman who called every Sunday. Who worked two jobs to get ahead. Who had dreams and loved dogs.” His voice remained gentle. “Finding out she kept part of her life private doesn’t erase any of that.”
The older man’s eyes brightened slightly. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Bellamy returned with a shoebox. Inside were cover charge receipts, ticket stubs, a folded flyer for a munch in Deerfield Beach, and a small black lace collar sealed carefully in a plastic bag, as if preserving it might somehow preserve the woman who had worn it.
Gaby photographed everything.
Rhys asked a few more questions, gentle enough that neither parent retreated behind their grief.
When they stood to leave, Paul walked them to the door.
“Do you think she’s dead?” he asked.
Gaby had learned long ago that false hope could be crueler than silence.
“We don’t know yet,” she said. “But we’re going to keep looking.”
Paul nodded, as if he had already decided to accept nothing less.
