by Mary Birk
While she’d been sailing and surfing and sleeping with another man. He heard the words she’d said earlier. We’re still technically married.
Forcing down the bile that rose in his throat, he made himself continue his search, do what he’d been trained to do. His eyes were drawn to an ornate spiral staircase at the end of the room. He ascended the iron stairs into what was obviously Grainger’s studio. The immense room, circled by large windows, appeared to take up the entire third story of the house. Through the windows vast expanses of sky and sea filled the room. Several easels were set up around the room and dozens of canvases leaned up against the walls. Approaching the easel that seemed to be the one currently in use, Reid saw a little table that held a coffee cup and an array of paintbrushes. Next to the coffee cup sat another monitor.
The red light was on.
Chapter 12
THE DRIVE FROM THE COLONY to the Mermaids was unbelievably tense. Anne couldn’t think of anything to say that would help comfort Andrew. She could hardly assure him that everything would be all right, that people can’t really be evil enough to harm a child, because the news was full of stories to the contrary. Luckily, Andrew didn’t seem to need to talk, but was satisfied just to hold her in silence.
The chief’s SUV rounded the twisting gravel road to where the road curved and intersected with a narrower road and the picturesque Victorian house that was the Mermaids of Bodega Bay filled the vista to the west. At the juncture of the two roads, a sign announced the soon-to-be-opened Bed and Breakfast. The big white house looked as if it sat directly against the sky where the landscape dropped to the ocean, but the grounds behind the house actually sloped down to provide a generous garden and lawn area that stretched to the cliffs.
Anne had landscaped the front of the house with fescue grass shaded by two majestic pine trees. A wide porch furnished with a dozen white wooden rocking chairs and a handful of small tables surrounded almost the entire circumference of the house. Around the side of the house, the glass walls of the sunroom protruded like an obscenely large diamond from the setting of a ring, catching rays of light in reflective sparkles.
Chief McLendon drove around to the end of the driveway and parked. Andrew helped Anne out of the backseat, put her hood up over her head for protection from the cold wind, and kept his arm around her as they ran into the house. When they reached the house, he pulled her close, taking the opportunity to speak without the chief hearing.
He kept his voice to a whisper. “Don’t say anything about us arguing last night. It doesn’t have anything to do with what they need to know about.” He ran his hand down her neck, pulled her to him, kissed her. “I don’t want Reid to think we’ve been fighting.”
She gave a slight nod. Andrew was right. Besides, if Terrence heard what they’d been arguing about, he’d think even less of her than he did right now. If that was possible. And it wouldn’t help to get Lenore back.
Pre-warned by Anne’s telephone call, Jeanne met them at the door. Her chestnut hair hung in a shapely cut around her neck, just barely brushing her shoulders. With Jeanne’s dark hair and deep brown eyes, a stranger wouldn’t have guessed they were related. Neither were they alike in temperament. Jeanne always knew what should be done and when it should be done. The family used to call Jeanne “the little general.” Sometimes Anne found Jeanne’s take-charge attitude annoying, but right now, Anne was grateful for her sister’s calm control and acceptance of the needs of this extraordinary situation.
Jeanne led Andrew and Chief McLendon upstairs to get the clothes she’d found for Andrew to change into, while Anne went into the parlor and collapsed into the big couch that faced the fireplace, feeling comfort in being home. She hadn’t lived at the Mermaids for years, but when she’d gotten the project at the Colony, she’d sublet her condo in the city and moved in with Jeanne at the Mermaids temporarily. Officially, the house still belonged to their mother, although Irene Michaels had moved to San Francisco years ago.
The parlor at the Mermaids was one of Anne’s favorite places in the world. The parlor walls were lined in redwood with a vaulted ceiling to match. Big windows on one side of the room opened to a breathtaking view of the sea and a vigorous fire burned in the hearth of a large stone fireplace. On each side of the mantle were small oriental vases holding living miniature yellow rose plants. In the middle, between the urns, were three low arrangements of parrot tulips, grape hyacinths, and greenish-white hydrangea blooms, all from the plants Anne had nurtured in the Mermaids’ dilapidated greenhouse.
She laid her head back and closed her eyes. She wanted to cry for more reasons than she could count. Foremost in her worries was her anxiety for Lenore. Her feelings about Terrence and Andrew were too jumbled to bear scrutiny right then, but maybe things happened for a reason. Like Terrence contacting her about her about the annulment just when they needed him to help get Lenore back. If Anne had had any thought he’d want her back, his manner had swiftly dispelled that idea, and for that, she told herself, she should be grateful. She’d worked too hard to recover from their break-up to fall into that trap again.
Jeanne’s steady step on the stairs made Anne look up. “Andrew’s all set. Dad’s clothes were too long, but he fit perfectly into Jeff’s.”
Jeanne’s husband, Jeff, a school teacher like Jeanne, had been killed in a car accident last year. The couple had been living in San Francisco, but after his death, Jeanne had quit her job and moved back to Bodega Bay with her two young children and into the vacant Mermaids.
“Thanks, Jeanne. Where are the kids?”
“Meg and Graham took them to Sunday school. They were going out for breakfast at the café afterwards so I could get some work done, but they should be back anytime now.” Jeanne frowned. “Do Meg and Graham know yet?”
Anne shook her head, then looked up and saw the police chief coming down the stairs with the evidence bag apparently filled with the clothes that Andrew had been wearing. Behind him trailed Andrew. Anne patted the couch beside her and Andrew nodded in acknowledgement of the offer.
Jeanne motioned to a table she’d cleared off. “Dougal, why don’t you set up here? I moved one of the telephones here, and you should have plenty of room to set up whatever you need to do.”
The chief nodded and started unpacking the things he’d brought with him. “Jeanne, Susan and I want to thank you again for putting together that fundraiser last week. You were incredible.”
Jeanne shook her head. “It was nothing. I had fun doing it.”
Andrew sat down next to Anne, putting his arm around her and tilting her head to rest on his shoulder. He kissed her forehead, and she let her eyes watch Jeanne. Anne was continually amazed at what her sister could get done while everyone around her was still trying to figure out where to start. Although the medical bills for Susan McLendon were largely covered by insurance, the hole the loss of her income had made in the McLendon family, along with the portions of the medical expenses not covered, had seriously crippled the family’s budget. Even with the donations from the fundraiser, Anne knew the McLendons were struggling. Four children, two in high school and two still in grade school, needed a lot of things. Jeanne had started taking care of the two younger McLendon children after school and refused to take any money for helping out. Every town needed a saint, and Jeanne was Bodega Bay’s.
No one would ever say that about Anne. Especially not Terrence; he would never call her a saint, in fact, she was pretty sure he’d have another much less flattering name for her. But as long as he stayed and helped get Lenore back, she didn’t care.
She held Andrew’s hand. He hadn’t said it was her fault, but they both knew it was.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered in his ear.
“Shhh.” He shook his head, inclining his head toward where Dougal was talking to Jeanne, and pulled her even closer. Tears started down Anne’s cheeks and he rocked her back and forth.
“Are you okay?” She wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Andrew pulled a tissue from a nearby dispenser and dabbed at her face. “I’ll be okay when we get Lenore back.” He looked at his watch, then over at the police chief. “Dougal, be sure you let me know if Terrence calls with news.”
Jeanne glanced up from where she’d been helping the chief to set up the telephones, gave Anne an inquiring look, but didn’t say anything. When Andrew excused himself to go into the bathroom, Jeanne came over and sat next to Anne.
“Terrence your husband?”
Anne nodded, chewed her lip, hooked a wisp of hair behind her ear.
“He’s here?” Jeanne’s voice was just this side of horrified.
“Yes.” Anne tried to act nonchalant, like Terrence popped up all the time.
“Why?”
Anne shrugged. “He wanted to meet this morning. About the annulment.”
“And?”
“I’d just gotten to the café when Andrew found the note and called.” She lifted up her face, tried to set her mouth into a calm line, make her lips form civilized sounds. “He’s over at the Colony house waiting for the FBI to get there.” But then, her bottom lip started to tremble, her face crumpled, and she started to shake.
“Oh, Anne.” Jeanne pulled her into her arms, her voice exasperated and sympathetic all at once. “Not again. Why couldn’t the goddamned man just stay away?”
Chapter 13
ALMOST SIMULTANEOUSLY, the doorbell rang and the door opened. Two young children tore into the entryway, noisily announcing their return. Behind them came Meg and Graham Grainger, holding the children’s artwork.
Anne ran a finger under her eyes to wipe away any traces of her crying and went out to the entry way where Meg was smoothing down her windblown hair. Meg’s face was free of any trace of the make-up she had worn the night before to the party and her eyes looked tired and reddened, as if she had not slept well. The light freckles sprinkled across her cheeks and small upturned nose stood out against her pale skin, softening the natural seriousness of her demeanor. She had that delicate quality of vulnerability that wasn’t just an illusion; since her last miscarriage so late in the pregnancy, Meg had never totally regained her strength.
Graham peered around the room through thick eyeglasses, looking bemused. Unlike his younger brother, Andrew, who even looked good in his borrowed clothes, Graham always looked slightly unkempt, rumpled, no matter what he wore or how much time Meg fussed over him. The brothers had the same curly brown hair, even features, and athletic builds, but with Andrew, it worked, and with Graham, it didn’t.
Jeanne rushed out of the kitchen past her sisters and Graham to scoop up her children, squeezing them until they wiggled to get away. Phillip, her older child, took the artwork that his aunt and uncle had been carrying. “Look at the pictures we made at Sunday school, Mom.”
Phillip had both his parents’ dark hair and dark eyes, but it was in his serious face that Anne thought the resemblance to his late father was the strongest. She knew it was a comfort for Jeanne to see so much of Jeff in her children. A comfort and a maybe a little bit of a heartbreak.
The little girl chimed in, “Gloria gave us extra whipped cream on our waffles. I had lots and lots of whipped cream.” Hannah stretched out her arms to illustrate.
“Sorry, Jeanne, I know you don’t like them to have so much sugar.” Meg shot an accusing glance at Graham. “She didn’t even ask first.”
Graham seemed annoyed at Meg’s remark. “She was just trying to be nice. A little extra whipped cream isn’t going to hurt them. You need to loosen up.”
Meg tightened her lips. Anne tried to like Graham, she really did, but sometimes it was hard.
Graham crossed the room to his brother. “What’s going on? Chief, what are you doing here?”
Jeanne quickly took the children to the kitchen, admiring their pictures. Turning to the others, she said, “I’ll bring in coffee and something to eat for anyone who’s hungry.”
Once the children were out of the room, Andrew recounted the story of Lenore’s kidnapping.
Graham said, “You’ve got to be kidding. This happened after the party was over? After we had all left? “
“Sometime in the night or early morning.”
“Have you told Dad?”
The patriarch of the family, Nathanial Grainger, was in New Mexico where he spent most of his time now, coming back for the holidays and for a few months in the summer. Anne knew that Andrew hadn’t wanted to distress his father or the rest of his extended family with the news until they had more information.
Andrew shook his head. “No, not yet. If we get her back soon, it won’t be necessary.”
Graham didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press the issue. “Frank knows?”
“Yes. He’s over at the Colony right now with the police.”
Anne forced herself not to show the distaste she felt for Frank Bolton. The Grainger family relied on Frank to make sure the myriad of details necessary for the Colony to run smoothly were taken care of without needlessly bothering them, but he gave her the creeps. He had that peculiar quality of giving offense while not actually doing anything she could put her finger on, nothing concrete enough to justify a complaint. It was just that sometimes she’d look up and his eyes were on her breasts, or even creepier, fixed on her crotch. He always looked away quickly, then, his eyes like rats scurrying back into their holes.
At least he didn’t live at the Colony anymore. For the first few years that he worked at the Colony, Frank had stayed in the guest apartment over the large garage barn. Recently, however, he’d found a place in town. But he was still at the Colony most of the time, and Anne always seemed to run into him when she’d stayed the night, or was obviously going to stay the night, with Andrew. Sometimes she could almost see the man’s thoughts trying to follow them into the bedroom.
Anne gently disentangled herself from Andrew and went over to where Dougal McLendon was testing the temporary telephone equipment he’d set up.
“Thanks for all you’re doing to get Lenore back. I know Andrew appreciates that you’re involved.”
“I’m not sure how much I’ll be doing after the Feds get here.” McLendon’s gaze seemed to size up the situation without being intrusive. “So is your husband sticking around to help?”
Anne felt her face redden. “I think so. For a while, anyway.” Her head was starting to ache. It had been so long since she let herself even remember she had a husband.
“If you ask me, Andrew should just pay the money. He can afford it. If it was one of my kids, and I had his money, I’d pay in a heartbeat.”
She was a little taken aback by the chief’s quiet vehemence. “He’s planning to. He’s willing to do anything to get her back.”
He nodded. “Good. I’d hate for anything to happen to Lenore.”
Anne thanked him again for his help and returned to her place next to Andrew who was assiduously making the lists of people who’d been to the house.
Right before noon, the police chief’s cell phone broke the quiet. He spoke, keeping his voice low, giving the caller directions to the Mermaids.
He ended the call and announced, “The FBI is here.”
Chapter 14
A FEW MINUTES AFTER NOON, FBI Special Agent Jack Shelton arrived at the big Victorian house. He looked past the house to the wild sea beyond the cliff. The northern California sea coast was always spectacular, no matter how many times he saw it, but the wind was fucking cold. He climbed the steps to the porch and rang the doorbell.
Jack recognized the woman who opened the door immediately. Her soft blonde hair was pulled back in a black velvet headband and her eyes were deep blue drown-in-me eyes. She was an unforgettable woman—perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But today, her face was drawn and she’d clearly been crying.
“Hello, Anne.” He’d talked to Reid on the way up, knew they were to cooperate with him in the investigation, but why was Reid’s wife here? He’d heard vague rumors that
they were separated. When had that been? More than a year ago, he thought. Well, apparently not anymore.
“Come in. We were glad to hear it was you coming.”
Anne closed the heavy door against the wind after ushering him inside.
“Terrence isn’t here, is he?”
“No, he’s still over at the Colony house.”
Jack nodded and looked around the spacious entryway, its gleaming wood floors covered with a circular oriental rug. In the middle of the rug stood a round table on which sat a vase filled with flowering branches.
Anne held out her hand. “May I take your coat?”
“Yes, thanks.” He handed it to her and brushed his sandy hair back into place, drew himself up, and let his eyes examine Anne briefly, but with the respect he gave to a woman who belonged to a friend. Jack was maybe an inch or two taller than she was, and if she were in heels, he’d be shorter, but he was perfectly satisfied with his height. Confidence was what mattered in his business, and for that matter, with women, and he had plenty of confidence.
She motioned with her hand to show him what direction to take. “Go on in. Everyone is waiting for you in the parlor. I’ll hang this up and join you.”
Jack passed through the hall and was immediately greeted by a man whose commanding presence silently announced he was law enforcement.
“I’m Chief McLendon. You’re Shelton?”
Jack nodded and scanned the room, taking in the number of obvious civilians milling around. What was this, a fucking party? He’d have to do something about this mess, but first, he needed to establish with the victim’s father who was in charge.
Andrew Grainger wouldn’t have been hard to pick out even if Shelton hadn’t known him from newspaper photos. That look, Shelton thought, the desperate look of a parent whose child has been taken. You can’t miss it.