“Oh Zoe, what is it? What’s the matter?” Britt said.
Zoe’s eyes spilled over with tears. “My mom,” she wailed between sobs. “She always used to sit and talk to me about stuff when I got home from Kayley’s.” Then Zoe lowered her face against her arms again.
Britt rubbed Zoe’s back and nodded, as if she understood, but she didn’t really It was Greta whom she used to talk to when she came home from a friend’s house. Not Jean Andersen. Jean Andersen was long gone by then. “You know, your mother and I used to talk like that,” she said. “I didn’t have my own mother to talk to.”
Zoe did not lift her head. “Now, I don’t either.”
“I know, sweetie. It must hurt something awful.”
“You don’t know,” Zoe cried, between sobs. “You just said so.”
“I know what it is to grieve,” said Britt. “I do know that.”
“I want my mom back,” Zoe said, her voice squeaky and almost inaudible.
Britt felt heartbroken for her niece, who was crying with helpless abandon. Heartbroken and inadequate to the situation. Britt didn’t know what to say to alleviate Zoe’s misery. What could she say? A loss like Zoe’s wasn’t something you could gloss over with the right phrase.
“What am I gonna do? I need my mom,” Zoe squeaked. “I need her to be here with me. How can we have Christmas without her?”
“I know, honey,” said Britt. “It seems like more than you can bear. But you will survive this. I can promise you that. You’ll be able to handle it. Your mom would want you to handle it. She’d want you to be okay. You know she would, right?”
Zoe nodded and sniffed, and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“You want to try a little more of the sandwich?”
Zoe shook her head, staring at the bread on the plate. Then she did her best to draw in a deep breath. “Your mom ran away, didn’t she?”
Zoe asked, as if trying to prompt the retelling of an old, favorite ghost story.
“Yes, she did,” said Britt.
“And she never came back. I know. My mom told me.”
“No, she never came back,” said Britt, thinking of Greta, and Alec’s latest version of the private detective story. Was it possible? Had Greta initiated a search for their mother? Jean Andersen, who had dropped out of their lives without a tear or a word of regret? “In the beginning, after she left, we’d get a birthday card or a few bucks at Christmas. Always from a different place. Then that stopped. She could have come back, but she didn’t.”
Zoe pulled the sandwich plate toward her, and took a tiny bite.
“That’s the difference with your mom,” said Britt, looking squarely at her niece. “She didn’t leave you by choice. You always have to remember that. She never would have left you by choice.”
“I know,” said Zoe solemnly.
Britt tipped her head back, resting it against the wall and stared blankly across the room. Despite her suspicions of Alec, he had to know that he couldn’t get away with another lie about the reason for Greta’s hiring the detective. And more than that, something inside her told her that it might well be true. There was never really a face or a voice attached to those cards in the mail for her from her mother. But she remembered that for Greta, every perfunctory dollar with a card was the subject of hours of speculation. Speculation Britt found boring and annoying. Greta was always rueful that Britt didn’t take much of an interest. Looking back on it now, Britt realized that those impersonal missives must have pierced Greta to the heart. Filled her with hope and then let her down again. Why else would she have tried to find that woman again? Britt never even thought of her. “I think that was the worst part for your mother, you know,” said Britt. “The hope that our mother might come back.”
“Didn’t you hope for it?” Zoe asked. She sniffed again. Britt handed her a tissue, and tried to form an honest answer. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. I guess so. I mean, I was so little when she left…
I couldn’t even figure out what was happening. And afterward, I didn’t remember what life was like when she was there.”
“Do you still think about her?” Zoe asked.
How can I think about her? Britt thought. I can’t even picture her. She was just a face in a photo album. Not a mother. Britt was still so shocked by the idea that Greta had been searching for Jean Andersen. And was she going to let me know, Britt wondered? Was she hoping for some sort of surprise reunion? Or was she just going to pretend that I wasn’t a part of it? That I didn’t exist.
“Aunt Britt?”
“Some people just aren’t cut out to be parents, Zoe,” Britt said wearily.
“My mom still cried when she talked about her.”
“Your mom was a lot closer to her than I was,” said Britt. “I always favored my dad.”
“I favor my mom and my dad,” said Zoe.
Britt nodded noncommittally and then stood up and walked over to the cabinets. “Where did I put those vitamins?” she wondered aloud, opening the cabinet doors. “You should take one.”
“I think you put them in the refrigerator,” said Zoe.
“That’s right. It said to refrigerate them. I don’t know where my mind is,” she said, although she did know. She just didn’t want to tell Zoe. “Here we go,” Britt said.
Zoe made a face, but took the proffered vitamin. “These are gross,” she said.
“Down the hatch,” said Britt.
Zoe swallowed the vitamin and then yawned.
“Zoe,” Alec called out from down the hall. “Time for you to get in that shower and then to bed. Hurry up.”
Zoe made a face. “I have to clean up the kitchen,” she called out.
“I’ll do it,” said Britt. “You go on.”
“Thanks, Aunt Britt.” She gave her aunt a brief hug and before Britt could respond, Zoe was gone from the kitchen.
Slowly, Britt began to gather up the bread and the peanut butter and put it away. She replaced the milk in the refrigerator and rinsed off the plate and the glass before setting them in the dishwasher. She did not want to go back out into the living room. She did not want to see Alec. For a moment she thought about trying to slip upstairs without being seen, but then she chided herself. She wasn’t going to hide from him. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
After she had dawdled as long as possible, she walked down the hall to the living room. From upstairs she could hear the shower running in the bathroom, and the sound of Zoe, singing. Children were resilient, she thought. I was resilient. I didn’t spend my life longing for my mother. Greta had always seemed strong, but here was a piece of the puzzle Britt would never have suspected. Clearly, Greta had never stopped hoping to find her mother.
Alec was sitting on the couch, staring at a basketball game on the television but he was not relaxed. His frame was tight as a bowstring.
Britt took a deep breath and walked into the room. He did not look up at her.
“Alec,” Britt said. “I want to talk to you.”
He kept his eyes trained on the television screen and did not reply.
“Is this really true?” she asked. “That Greta was trying to find our mother?”
“No, I’m lying,” he said sarcastically. “You were right. She hired the detective to trail me.”
“Look, maybe I shouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion,” she admitted.
He turned and glared at her. “No, you’re sorry it’s not true. You were hoping that’s what it was. You’ve been such a busy lady since you got here.”
“I know you’re angry but… I just want to know. What happened when the detective tried to find my mother? What did they find out?”
Alec stood up and walked over to her. His gray eyes glittered under his black eyebrows. “I guess you weren’t listening,” he said. “If you want the information, you can hire them yourself. You can pay for it.”
“Don’t be obnoxious. She was my mother, too. Greta would want me to know.”
�
�Did Greta ever call you and tell you?”
“No,” Britt admitted.
“Then, I guess she didn’t want you to know,” he said. “And I don’t owe you a thing. Except my thanks, of course, for trying to frame me for murdering my wife.”
Britt glared back at him, refusing to back down. “I wonder what Zoe would think about you hoarding this information.”
Alec blanched. He shook his head slowly. “Don’t you dare,” he said. “Don’t you dare try to use my child against me.”
“Or you’ll do what?” Britt demanded.
Alec took a deep breath, and then turned away from her. He sat back down on the couch and stared at the basketball game.
“Look Alec, can’t we…”
He turned up the volume on the remote so that it drowned out her voice. After she stopped speaking, he turned it back down again.
“I want you out of here,” he said.
Britt was stunned, although, when she thought about it.…“What about Zoe?” she said.
“I think she’ll live through it,” he said.
In a way it was a shock, and in another v/ay a relief. She didn’t know where she was going to go, but the thought of spending another night here was impossible. She stalked out of the room toward the stairs. He came out and stood in the hallway.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he said. “Leave. Now. No good-byes, please.”
“I’m going to get my stuff,” she said, through clenched teeth.
“Don’t bother. It’s all out on the porch,” he said. “I packed for you while you were in the kitchen.”
Britt stared at him, speechless.
He looked satisfied by her surprise. “Did you think I was kidding?” he said.
Part of Britt was humiliated. She’d never been kicked out of somebody’s home before. Part of her was furious. But she wasn’t intimidated. She hadn’t worked her way up in the world by being timid. “Zoe wants me here,” Britt said.
“It’s not Zoe’s house,” he explained carefully, as if Britt were a small child. “It’s my house. I decide who stays and who goes. Now, get out of my house.”
“If anything happens to Zoe…”
Alec stalked toward her, his eyes ablaze. “You interfering witch,” he cried. “I’ll take care of my daughter.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” said Britt.
Alec clenched his fist as if he was ready to strike her. Britt gazed back at him without flinching, although inside she was trying to steel herself for the blow His whole body was trembling, but when he spoke, it was in a low, menacing voice. “She’ll do whatever I tell her. Do you think she’d take your part over mine? She adores me. I’m her father. You are nothing to her. Less than nothing. She never even set eyes on you before this week. Go back where you came from. She will never miss you. I promise you that.”
He was so close to her that Britt could feel his warm breath, and smell tobacco and aftershave. She could see the creases that seemed to be sculpted into his face.
“You don’t scare me,” she said. “I’m not some schoolgirl you can push around.”
“Leave or I’ll call the cops myself. I believe I still have a right to lack you out of my house if I want to.”
Britt hated to retreat, but she couldn’t wait to get away from him. “You know what? You don’t have to,” she said calmly. “I’ll get out of here. But I’m not leaving town. I’m going to stick around until I’m sure that Greta is going to get some justice.”
Alec stared at her with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Then, he shook his head and gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah. That’s right,” he said. “You do that, Britt. You come through for your sister. Way to go.”
“Shut up,” said Britt, suddenly furious at him, despite her intention to remain cool. She went out to the hall closet to collect her coat.
“Looking for your coat? That’s out on the porch, too,” he said, with a satisfied smirk.
“Go to hell,” said Britt. She opened the front door and slammed it against him, before he had a chance to reply.
Chapter Eighteen
Britt pulled into the driveway of the secluded white farmhouse and looked at the address on the slip of paper she was holding. This was it. A discreet scripted sign which hung beneath the lamppost near the driveway read Bayberry House, Bed-and-Breakfast, Letty and Michael Morrison, Proprietors.
Her first stop had been the Glace Mountain Lodge. The manager there had explained apologetically that the lodge was full for the weekend but he would have rooms available by Monday night, and offered her a list of the local B & Bs which might be able to accommodate her over the weekend. Bayberry House was at the top of the alphabetical list.
Britt sighed. Part of her was ready to call the airline and get a flight back to Boston. The humiliating sight of her belongings set outside the door on the porch as Alec locked the door behind her made her want to just leave this place in the rearview mirror. But if she did that, Alec would spin some He about her for Zoe, and, more important, there would be nobody here to pressure the police on this investigation. Nobody but Dean Webster, she reminded herself. And he might give it up if he thought his network introduction was gone. Britt was certain that Chief Stern was dragging his feet because he sympathized with Alec. She had no such feelings. She was not going to give up on this. Not now.
Britt trudged up to the front door of the house and heard a dog barking inside as she rang the bell. A chubby woman with her shiny, brown hair twisted up in a silver clip answered the door, telling her dog to hush, a command that the golden lab cheerfully ignored. “Mrs. Morrison?” Britt asked.
“Call me Letty,” she said pleasantly.
“I’m sorry to come by so late. I just um…got to town. My name is Britt Andersen. I need a place to stay for a couple of nights.”
“Come on in,” she said. “Get down, Ranger,” she said as the dog, tail wagging, tried to position his head under Britt’s hand for a pet.
Britt stepped into the house. It was fastidiously kept, and decorated with twig wreaths, birdhouses, braided rugs and comfortable-looking furniture with checked upholstery. “Where are you from?” Letty asked.
“Boston,” said Britt.
“Are you here to ski?”
“No. Just visiting family,” said Britt not wanting to offer details about her situation.
‘Well, I have two rooms available upstairs. Although I should warn you I have a seventeen-year-old who likes to blast his music.”
Britt smiled grimly as the dog let out another explosive series of barks.
“Or, the cottage out back is available. It’s a little bit more expensive, but it has its own kitchen and a separate driveway.”
“That sounds perfect,” said Britt, relieved. She didn’t much relish the idea of meeting the family, coming and going to the shower.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. It’s late and you’re probably tired. How about I just give you the key and you can make yourself comfortable out there? We can settle up on the details tomorrow.”
“Okay,” said Britt, a little surprised by the casual arrangement. She was more accustomed to the suspicion of strangers in the city. “That’s awfully kind of you. Do you want a deposit right now?”
“That’s all right. You have family here. I’m not worried. Even though you’re in the cottage, you can still have breakfast in the main house. My husband, Mike, bakes all the bread himself.”
“Oh, thanks,” said Britt. “I’m not much of a breakfast eater.”
“Well, it’s included, if you change your mind. I haven’t met the first person who can resist Mike’s baking,” she said.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Britt, examining the key which was attached to a large, maple-leaf key chain.
“You can just see the cottage from our backyard, but you have to take your car around to the other driveway, and pull in there. Just back out, and make a left at the first corner, and then it’s your first left,” said Letty. “You have to look
for it. It looks like a little gravel path between the trees.”
“Okay, thanks,” said Britt.
“You stop by in the morning or whenever it’s convenient and we’ll do all the official business.”
“I will,” said Britt. “Thanks.”
She went out to her car and pulled out of the driveway and followed Letty’s simple directions. She soon found herself facing a little one-story cottage with a peaked roof surrounded by bare trees. She unlocked the door, and went inside, turning on the overhead light.
The cottage consisted of one room with a double bed, a bathroom and a galley kitchen. This will do fine, Britt thought with relief. She threw her bag on a chair by the window, and lay down on the denim-quilted bedspread, covering her eyes with her hands. In a way, it felt good to finally be alone again, but when she closed her eyes, she pictured Zoe, and wondered how Alec would explain her absence when Zoe woke up in the morning.
Never mind that, she thought. You can get in touch with Zoe tomorrow and explain it yourself. Meanwhile, you have a place to sleep. She forced herself to get up, unpack her toiletry kit in the bathroom, and throw her few clothes into the dresser drawer. There, she thought. Unpacked.
The events of the last few days ran like a loop through her mind. She needed to talk to someone. Someone who would take her side. Someone who was not involved. A friend. She looked at her watch. Nancy would be at the studio. It wasn’t even airtime yet. Britt rummaged in her pocketbook for her cell phone and dialed Nancy’s extension at the studio. They’d spoken a few times since she got up here, but mostly just to touch base on business matters. Britt hadn’t had time for a proper conversation with her friend since she arrived in Coleville. The phone rang three times and then a man answered.
“Donovan Smith.”
“Donovan,” she said, surprised and flustered to hear his voice.
“Britt.” He sounded chipper.
“Where’s Nancy?” she asked.
“Oh, some business about the grandchildren being in a play. She had to leave early. How are things on the slopes?”
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