by Lucy Kerr
I glanced around. Many of the rocking chairs were indeed taken with exhausted-looking mothers and fathers. “Second-guessing?”
“A little, at least to start. Once they see us in action, they usually come around. I can’t blame them, you know. Scary enough to have your baby here, but when you think it’s not safe …”
I stood and stretched, feeling the twinge in my back. Tension, a not-very-old injury, and a series of long days had left me moving a little gingerly when I’d been sitting in one position for too long. Along the far wall of the NICU, I noticed a poster. “Stillwater General NICU” was lettered across the top in pink and blue marker, followed by “Our Family Is Your Family.” I’d never noticed it before—I always scrubbed in at the sink closest to Riley’s isolette, and the poster hung on the far side of the counter. Now I inspected it carefully.
Every NICU staff member had contributed a photo of themselves with their family. Husbands, wives, children, parents, even pets. There was a photo of Garima with her parents, wearing traditional Indian dress, and one of Donna surrounded by grandchildren. I skimmed over the familiar faces, looking for one in particular.
“There,” Donna said, coming to stand beside me. She tapped at a picture in the corner. “That’s Jess.”
Jess sat on a bench with three teenaged boys, her arms around their shoulders, all of them mugging for the camera with wide identical grins.
“I still don’t believe it.” Donna’s voice was thick with tears. “I can’t. Jess would never hurt that baby. You saw how she was with him.”
“Do you think she snapped?”
“Not a chance. That girl was as sane as you or me.”
“She needs to turn herself in,” I said. “If they think there’s even a chance she might hurt him …”
I didn’t finish the sentence, but I didn’t need to. Donna understood perfectly.
“Do you have any idea where she could have gone?” I asked. No doubt Noah and his team had already grilled every nurse on the floor, but maybe a friendly conversation would uncover more details.
“None,” Donna said. “They’ve searched her locker, they’ve pulled all her files, they’ve looked everywhere they possibly can.”
“Not everywhere,” I said. “Did they see this picture?”
Empty nesters, Noah had said. A couple whose kids were already grown when Jess came into their lives. But the boys in this picture, with their gangly limbs and scattering of acne, were definitely younger. I’d bet every penny in my checking account that these were Jess’s biological brothers.
“I don’t think so,” Donna admitted. “It’s a recent one, though. See that purple streak in her hair? She had that put in over the summer.”
Noah was wrong. Jess and her brothers hadn’t lost each other after all. I gently freed the photo from the poster and examined it more closely, tilting it under the light.
“Can I keep this?” I asked.
Donna blinked. “I suppose. It’s not as if we want parents to have a reminder. Is it important?”
“It might be,” I said and tucked the picture in my pocket as we left.
*
By the time I arrived home, everyone had left for the day. I dropped my stuff on the kitchen counter and studied the picture, something about the image making me feel prickly, like a song you couldn’t get out of your head. Eventually, I gave up, leaving the picture on the table while I went upstairs to sleep.
When I woke, my mother was home, sitting at the table, reading glasses on, picture in hand.
“I thought you’d be at the store,” I said to my mother as I came into the kitchen.
She didn’t look like she was dressed for working behind the counter. She was wearing a brighter lipstick than usual, and her silk blouse and spotless wool trousers would show dust in a heartbeat.
“I’m meeting a friend for lunch.” Her cheeks turned a faint pink.
“Awfully fancy for the diner.”
She stood and passed me the photo. “What is this, Francesca?”
“A clue, I hope. Jess Chapman and her brothers. I hope so, at least. I’m trying to make out the background.”
“Ask Marshall,” she said, pulling off her reading glasses. “He has all those photo-editing programs for the newspaper.”
Rather than watch Uncle Marshall enter the information age, I pulled out my cell and snapped a picture of the picture, then began zooming and editing, cropping out everything except the background.
My mother was not normally a patient woman. But I had to hand it to her—she managed to hold her questions until I set the phone down.
“Well?” she finally asked.
“Jess didn’t hate Kate Tibbs,” I said finally. “They were friends.”
“How do you know?”
“The reflection.”
She snatched up the phone and peered at the image I’d enhanced.
Jess and her brothers had been seated in front of a large plate-glass window. I’d cropped out Jess and the boys and instead had zoomed in on the reflection of the photographer, lightening the shot and boosting the contrast. The resulting image was blurred, and her eyes were hidden behind the camera, but it was enough. The smiling face on my phone was the same one I’d on the news countless times over the last week.
“That’s her. Kate,” my mother whispered.
“If Kate and Jess were taking pictures like this, I don’t think Jess was plotting her murder.”
“It doesn’t seem likely,” Mom said, picking up the original photo and reaching for her glasses again. “But why would she have taken Trey?”
“And where? She wouldn’t go to her brothers,” I said, thinking out loud. “She planned this out. She would have known they’d dig up the information on her biological family. They’d be sending officers to check the houses of anyone related to her by blood or adoption.”
I stared at my screen, willed the smiling faces to speak. Jess couldn’t have traveled far—everyone in the world would be looking for Trey. She must have holed up somewhere, waiting for the worst of the attention to pass before she … what? What was her end game? She couldn’t possibly hope to kidnap the child of a potential US congressman and evade capture indefinitely.
“This shop,” my mother said hesitantly. “I know it. They’re renowned for their fudge.”
“You’ve been there?”
“Oh, yes. It’s not a far drive—it’s in Hale, near Cumberland Lake. Plenty of people rent little cabins and such in the summer. But it’s popular with tourists year-round because of the antiquing and festivals and so forth. This place is known for its candy but especially their fudge. See? The kitchen has windows so the tourists can watch them make it. Maybe she’s gone there?”
“Wouldn’t she do better in a city, where she could blend in?”
“She’s a pretty enough girl,” my mom said, pursing her lips. “But she’s not particularly striking. Her features aren’t memorable. The news is showing a blonde woman with a baby. If she dyed her hair and kept Trey out of sight, nobody would give her a second thought.” She set the picture down. “You should call Noah. Tell him to have a SWAT team go down there.”
“Because of a picture? He’d never believe me.”
“He might,” she retorted. “It’s not as if they’re exactly overrun with leads. And time is of the essence, isn’t it?”
I envisioned a group of black-clad officers kicking down the door of a vacation cabin, guns at the ready. The number of ways that scenario could go wrong was breathtaking. “Even if Jess is in Hale, a SWAT team is the wrong approach.”
“Francesca.”
“Let’s say they go there and find Jess. They don’t need to storm the place right away. They can try talking to her first. If they go in there with guns a-blazing, there’s no telling what might happen. Someone could die.”
“Someone has died. Call Noah,” she repeated and checked her watch. “I’m late. Promise me you’ll call him.”
The sense of foreboding that swep
t over me was so strong, I had to grip the back of a chair to stay upright. Forcing a smile, I said, “I promise. Go have lunch.”
She nodded and left, secure in the knowledge that I always kept my word.
Which is why I’d been careful not to say when I would call Noah.
*
“I’m sorry,” said the receptionist at the sheriff’s department. “Deputy MacLean is in a meeting and can’t be interrupted.”
“Okay,” I said slowly. “What about Sheriff Flint?”
“He’s unavailable as well. Would you like to be put through to voice mail? If not, I can try to find another officer for you to speak to.”
I wanted the officer I knew would listen to me, who’d take me seriously. Who would act without overreacting.
“Go ahead and put me through to voice mail,” I said as the sign outside my car window welcomed me to Hale, Illinois.
Twenty-Two
Hale was as quaint as my mother had predicted. A covered bridge, cobblestone streets, and block after block of tiny, colorful shops offering antiques, art, gourmet foodstuffs—particularly fudge. I cruised around for a few minutes, my pace slowed by the hordes of tourists in town for the harvest festival, my mood growing worse with every fanny pack I spotted. Could Jess really have come here? And if she had, how was I going to find her among the throng of tourists? She wouldn’t be browsing the shops or enjoying a lunch at one of the fussy little tea shops. She would have gone to ground.
Kate had taken the picture of Jess and her brothers only a few months ago. Obviously, even after all this time, they were in close contact. Friendly contact. So why would Jess have taken Trey? Grief could warp even the strongest person—maybe losing Kate in such a graphic, immediate way had twisted something inside her.
Maybe I was wrong not to have waited for Noah.
I stopped in at a vacation rental office where the elderly woman behind the counter made it very clear that spur-of-the-moment lodging was simply not done. There were no available cabins.
Then again, Jess hadn’t stolen Trey on the spur of the moment.
“What’s a reasonable amount of lead time, then? Like, could I call two days before? Three?”
“We recommend at least three months,” she said with a sniff. “Minimum.”
“Three months?” My shoulders slumped. There was no way Jess had planned this three months in advance. It was a good thing I hadn’t spoken to Noah, because bringing him out here would have been a colossal waste of time and resources—not to mention, I would have gotten Steven’s hopes up for nothing. I started for the door. “Sorry to have bothered you. Thanks for your time.”
“You could try our wait list,” the woman called, misunderstanding my disappointment. “We have cancellations occasionally.”
I paused, gripping the strap of my backpack. “How likely is that? I mean, have you had one recently?”
“Yes, actually. Within the last … month or so? I didn’t actually handle that booking, but I seem to remember that we had a cabin open up unexpectedly, and the next person on the wait list accepted immediately.”
My throat was suddenly very dry. “What cabin was that? Are they staying a long time?”
“That’s Dove Cottage,” she said. “It’s lovely. One bedroom plus a loft, right on the lake, with a private dock. The current occupant is only staying another week or so, but I’m afraid it’s booked solid until after the holidays. I was just telling someone else the same thing yesterday, in fact.”
I pasted on a smile. “It sounds great. I’ll have to plan ahead next time.”
“Take a brochure,” she offered, and by some miracle, my hands were steady enough to accept it.
Only when I was back in my car did I trust myself to open it, the paper rattling in my hands. It was a short drive to Dove Cottage. Fifteen minutes, at most. I could pop out there, look around, and if anything looked suspicious, call Noah.
I’d probably end up surprising some middle-aged couple on their anniversary.
I took a few deep breaths, steadying myself the way I did before facing a particularly rough trauma—locking away the fear, focusing on the plan.
I was halfway to the cottage when my phone rang.
“Where are you?” Noah thundered.
I winced. “I left you a message.”
“I heard it,” he replied, “but I’m having trouble believing I heard it correctly.”
Briefly, I explained about the picture I’d found and my certainty that Jess and Kate were friends.
“We have her on video! You’ve seen it, Frankie. Not to mention the fact she may have killed Josh Miller.”
“I’m not saying Jess didn’t take the baby,” I said, turning onto a gravel road. “I’m saying there’s a good reason. But I don’t believe she killed Josh, and neither do you.”
He didn’t deny it.
“Noah, if you storm in there, you might lose the chance to get any answers at all. Don’t you want to know why she took Trey?”
“There is never a good reason for kidnapping.” Noah fell silent, as if the call had dropped. But I could hear the sounds of the station house behind him. My shoulders crept higher with every passing second, waiting out the battle between his disbelief—she wouldn’t—and his instinct—of course she would.
It took less time for instinct to win than I would have guessed.
“Frankie,” he said, his voice full of warning, “where are you?”
“About three minutes away from Dove Cottage.”
I heard him inhale, as if the simple act of taking a breath might keep the fuse of his temper from lighting.
“Are you sure she’s there?”
“I don’t know.” I spotted the sign and pulled over, killing the ignition. “I don’t want to drive all the way up to the cabin; it’ll spook her. I’ll walk in and try to get a closer look.”
“Don’t,” Noah ordered, but I was already climbing out of the car, easing the door shut.
“You’re going in, aren’t you?”
“Shhh.” I crept down the gravel drive. The cottage was as sweet as its name, painted a soft gray with white trim, shutters on the windows, and a wide front porch. It was quiet here. The only sounds were the lake, the trees, and the intermittent honking of geese. The other cabins on the map were spread out far enough that I couldn’t see them, adding to the sense of solitude.
“There’s a car. Silver Volkswagen,” I whispered, keeping the vehicle between me and the house.
“Get back into your car and get out of there,” Noah said. Then grudgingly, “Is it hers?”
“How would I know? You said she abandoned her car at some truck stop.” I peeked in the window. “There’s a car seat base.”
“She’s got him?” Noah’s next words were muffled, like he’d covered the receiver to shout orders. I couldn’t hear exactly what he said, but the urgency in his voice was hard to miss.
“It’s only a base,” I warned him. “We don’t even know if it’s her car.”
“Why are you defending her?” he asked. “What if it was Rowan who was missing? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be barging in there raising hell.”
He was right, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was looking at this through the wrong lens, missing the whole picture. Then I remembered Steven, how desperate he was to find his son, the sheer agony of not knowing. Whatever Jess’s reason for taking Trey, it couldn’t justify the horror she was putting Steven through. Nobody deserved that kind of pain.
“Fair enough,” I whispered and turned toward the house.
“Frankie, do not go in there,” Noah said, as if he could see me. “I’m on my way, and I’m bringing backup. The local sheriff’s department will be there in ten minutes and the state police are sending a chopper right now.”
I ignored him, spurred on by adrenaline and fear and a need to see Trey safe. Jess wouldn’t have hurt him; I was certain of that. But once the police arrived, the situation would escalate; there’d be no going back. If I co
uld talk her into handing him over before they reached the house, it would be safer for everyone. The last thing we wanted was for Trey to become a bargaining chip.
There’s a fine line between risk and recklessness, and there was too much at stake for me to cross it, even by accident.
The strain in Noah’s voice—fear and fury and frustration—nearly stopped me in my tracks. “Get back into your car, drive to the nearest gas station, and wait for me. Do not move from that spot until I send someone to escort you back to police headquarters.”
I hesitated. It was the reasonable thing to do.
“Now.”
Being ordered around, however, tended to make me unreasonable.
I hung up the phone and peered in a window. The room, decorated in knotty pine and inviting, slipcovered furniture, was deserted—no shadows, no noise from inside. Nobody having lunch at the farmhouse table, nobody watching TV or getting ready for a day at the harvest festival.
I tried the door, expecting it would be locked, but the knob turned smoothly under my hand. The door swung open with the barest squeak, and I stepped inside, my footsteps near-silent.
My phone was buzzing like mad—Noah trying to reach me again. In the absence of any other noise, even the vibrations seemed loud, filling the empty room. I turned it off, shouldered my backpack, and began a slow, cautious walk around the first floor.
“Jess,” I called softly. “It’s me. Frankie Stapleton from the NICU? Rowan’s aunt?”
There was no reply.
“I’m here by myself,” I said, making my way around the first floor, peering out at the empty deck that led to the glass-smooth lake. “The cops are on their way, but we have a little time before they get here. Can we talk?”
Silence. Had they run again? Had someone tipped Jess off? Or was she hiding upstairs, lying in wait for me? Was I walking into danger, or was I too late? I couldn’t let myself believe that, couldn’t consider what “too late” might look like.
“Jess, I’m sure you had a really good reason for taking Trey. Can you tell me about it?” I pushed open the door to the bedroom, talking all the while. “I can help, you know. I’m friends with one of the deputies. If you want someone to plead your case, I’m your best shot, but I need to see Trey. Everyone’s worried about him; we’d all feel a lot better if we knew he was all right.”