“Evidently, Emily was gay,” he said.
“Gay? But I thought you said she was involved with a married man?”
“We assumed it was a man. It turns out that it was a woman,” Donald said.
“She was involved with a married woman?”
They nodded.
“Do you know who?”
“We think so,” said Rachel. “That’s why we’re here.”
Chapter 61
Dearest Em,
Please forgive me for writing to you about matters of the heart, for not facing you, my love. I do not have the strength. For now, it’s best that we have no connection. My husband is getting suspicious. I found him looking at my e-mails yesterday. He keeps badgering me about sex, and I simply can’t do it.
I know that it seems easy to you for me to pick up and leave my family for you, but it’s complicated when you have children. I promised myself I would not be like my selfish bitch of a mother, who left us alone with my father. Children need their mother. I cannot turn my back on them. And, if he knew about you and me, it would be a battle for me to keep them. I don’t want to place any of us in that position.
I’ve been pleading with you to not make me choose. And all along it was there, in front of my face. I love you, but my choice is clear. It has to be, for now. I can’t ask you to wait for me. You are so young, beautiful, and talented. You really must put me behind you.
With all my heart,
L.
Annie slipped the letter back into her bag as she approached Vera’s old house. Sad. The Reillys were not really keeping it up. The shrubs were overgrown, and the flower beds needed weeding.
She rang the doorbell, and Leola answered.
“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Annie said.
“No problem. I’ve got a few minutes to spare, though I do have an appointment in a bit,” Leola said. “Please come in. Can I get you anything?”
Inside the house was exactly as Vera had left it. It was as though Leola and her family were not even living there.
“Temporary quarters,” Leola said, observing Annie looking around in shock. “What’s the point in redecorating? Not really my thing, anyway. Please sit down.”
Annie sat down on Vera’s old, beautiful plush blue couch. Leola sat in the chair across from it.
“What can I help you with?” Leola said, perched on the edge of the chair, folding her hands over her knees. White knuckles. Ruby-red nail polish.
“I’d like to chat with you about Emily McGlashen,” Annie said.
Leola’s eyes lowered to the floor. She nodded. “What can I tell you about her?”
“I understand your husband was on the board at Alicorn with her,” Annie said.
“Oh, that.” She waved her hand. “Yes. They were both so into that place.”
“Why?”
“Well, Emily was adopted, you know, and so these matters were important to her,” Leola said.
“And your husband?”
“An old friend of ours got him involved. He needed to be on a board for his résumé. Once he was on the board, he liked it. And he and Emily saw eye to eye on many things,” Leola said, sitting back in her chair, relaxing just a bit. Then she crossed her legs. “They were both into Irish music, for one thing,” Leola added and smiled.
“Well, yes, I know that,” Annie said. “But let me be clear here. What was their involvement together on the board?”
“Hell, I don’t know. We never talked about that kind of stuff. Didn’t interest me in the least.”
“Do you know if they ever disagreed about anything?” Annie asked.
“Let me think,” Leola said. “There was something about some funding that John didn’t like. Funding from some group . . . oh yes. Emily hired that Luther to do some research for her. Turns out he was a member of that group, the New Mountain Order. When he found out she was on their board, they gave it some money. John didn’t like it. He said it was stepping on the toes of another project or something.... I don’t remember exactly.”
“Nice suit,” Annie said.
“Thanks,” Leola said. “As I said, I’ve an appointment soon.” She looked at her watch.
“Yeah, usually you don’t dress like this,” Annie said and smiled. “What is it with all the women around here dressing in long jean skirts? Long jumpers and stuff?”
Leola shrugged. “Modesty,” she said. “The church we go to is really into it. I don’t dress like it for work, though.”
Annie nodded. Modesty? Hmmm. There sat Leola, made up to the hilt, in a beautiful formfitting suit and a low-cut silk blouse.
“Are you sure I can’t get you something?” Leola asked during the awkward silence.
“I’m fine,” Annie said. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Leola said, leaning forward, white knuckles no more. Yes, she felt much more at ease with Annie. Her body language told her that. So now was the time to zoom in on her. Annie felt a little sympathy, but she set it aside.
“How long had you and Emily been lovers?” She looked Leola squarely in the eye.
Leola’s jaw grew firm, and her face flamed red. “What are you talking about?” she spat.
Annie reached into her bag and pulled out the letter that Emily’s family had given her.
“This is what I’m talking about,” Annie said. “I’ve not gone to the cops about this. But if I did, I’m sure a handwriting analysis would tell us exactly who wrote this. I’m sure it was you.”
Leola just looked at her. Her mouth hung open slightly and her eyes were moving back and forth, as if she was trying to find the right words.
“Besides that,” Annie said, “this is extremely personal. I don’t know what purpose it would serve. Unless it has to do with her murder. I don’t think you killed her. You loved her. That much is clear.”
Leola lost her composure as she looked into Annie eyes. She began to unravel with a shudder. She bit her lip.
“What do you want from me?” Leola said at last.
“I want to find out who killed her. I’m betting that you do, too. Maybe we can figure this out together,” Annie said.
Leola sighed. “I’ll do anything I can.”
Chapter 62
When Vera woke up, she was standing next to her mother’s bed with something in her hand. Something sharp, metallic, gleaming.
Beatrice wasn’t stirring.
The moonlight shone through her lace curtains onto Beatrice’s wrinkled skin.
“Mama?” Vera whispered. What had she done?
Beatrice didn’t stir.
Vera gingerly reached for her mother’s shoulder and shook her.
“Mama?”
Beatrice sat straight up. “What’s wrong, girl?” She switched on her light. “Vera?”
Vera stood in her nightgown, perplexed. What was she doing here?
She had gone to bed early. She had been thinking about Detective Bryant. She had fallen asleep quickly. What was she doing here?
“I . . .” She held up the object she’d been carrying.
“What are you doing with a pie slicer?” Beatrice said.
Vera shrugged.
“Are you sleepwalking again?” Beatrice said, sitting up farther on her bed, reaching for her glasses. “Oh!”
It was then that Vera noticed the blood on the sleeves of her pink nightgown.
“What!” she exclaimed. “What have I done?”
“Now, now, just calm down,” Beatrice said, getting up from the bed.
Vera scanned herself. . . . A burning, stinging pain came from her lower arm.
Beatrice grabbed her wrist. “You cut yourself. That’s all,” Beatrice said. “That thing is sharp.”
“Yes,” Vera managed to say as Jon entered the room.
“What is happening?” he asked, bleary-eyed.
“She cut herself,” Beatrice said. “Go back to bed, Jon. I’ll take care of this.”
He shrugged. “She cut herself at one thirty in the
morning?” He looked at both women. “Very well. Good night.”
Beatrice looked frazzled.
“Please, Vera, sit down over there and I’ll get you cleaned up.”
After Vera was cleaned up and a bandage was placed on her wrist, a wave of weariness overcame her. “I’m so tired, Mama.”
“Listen, Vera,” Beatrice said, “we need to get to the bottom of this. You can’t live your life like this.”
“I know, Mama.”
“We’ll call the doctor in the morning and see if he can adjust your medicine, okay?”
Vera nodded. “I can’t remember coming into your room.”
She looked around at her mom’s room. The quilt-covered bed. The stacks of hand-crocheted and knitted afghans. The books. The doily-covered tables. The paintings. Her jewelry box, one that she had had since Vera was a girl. It had held such magic then. In fact, this whole room had. Her mother’s closet, most of all. She used to find such comfort here.
“I realize that,” Beatrice said. “Do you remember anything at all?”
“I just remember thinking about something before I went to sleep. Bill and Kelsey, for one thing. And I thought about Leola.”
“Well,” Beatrice said, sitting down on her bed, “I imagine that was quite a confrontation. I don’t reckon you’d be dropping those charges.”
“Hell no, Mama,” Vera said. “And the more I think about it, the thing that disturbs me the most is that night she was in Elizabeth’s room. What was she doing there? And then for Bill—” Her voice cracked. “And then for Bill, the man I lived with most of my life, the father of my daughter, to approach me about it . . . the way he did.”
“It’s another heartbreak,” Beatrice said.
Both women sat quietly with their own thoughts.
“Bah, that thing between Bill and Kelsey won’t last. You know that, don’t you?”
“It doesn’t really matter to me, Mama. I think what my gut is telling me is that I don’t want my daughter around him as long as she is in his life.”
“Vera—”
“I mean it, Mama,” Vera said. “I hate to take her from her father. But Bill is making bad decisions. I don’t want Elizabeth caught up in it.”
Beatrice’s lips gathered, as if she was trying not to speak.
“I know she loves her daddy. The way I loved mine. It hurts. But I think I’m going to need to talk to another lawyer about this.”
“What made you come to this conclusion?”
“My whole life has brought me to this conclusion,” Vera said, rising from her chair, listening for the same old creaks in the floorboards that had been there since she was a girl. She stopped. “You need to get those floorboards fixed.”
Beatrice waved her off. “Go to bed, Vera. I like my creaks.” She sank into her bed as Vera walked out of her room.
Of course, Vera stopped in Elizabeth’s room to gaze at her as she lay in her bed.
Only the bed was completely empty.
Vera blinked her eyes. Was she seeing things? Dreaming? Still sleepwalking?
She blinked again. No. Elizabeth was gone.
“Mama! Jon!” she screamed into the night.
Both came stumbling into the room.
“Where’s Elizabeth?” Beatrice said.
“The window is open,” Jon pointed out. “Someone has taken the child.”
“I’ll call the police,” Beatrice said.
Jon reached for Vera, who was swooning. The room was swaying. She was trying to keep her footing. She leaned on Jon, whose eyes were wide, hair standing straight up. Jon. What a good guy.
“Find my baby,” she found the strength to say before it all went black.
Chapter 63
Annie was sound asleep when sirens jarred her awake.
She reached for Mike, who was already halfway sitting up, struggling to untangle himself from the bed.
“What the—” he said.
And Annie’s cell went off.
“Shit,” he growled.
“It’s Bea,” Annie said. “Yes, Bea?”
“Annie.” She sounded strange. Was she crying? “Someone has taken our baby girl. Someone has Elizabeth. The police are here. They are searching . . . already.”
“Be right there,” Annie said.
“What the hell?”
“Mike,” Annie said, placing her hand on his shoulder. “It’s not the paper. It’s Elizabeth. She’s been taken.”
“Good God,” he said after a moment. “What can we do?”
“I need to get over there . . . for Vera. For Bea. I’ll call you later if there is anything you can do. Can you get the boys off to school?”
She leapt out of the bed and slipped on her jeans. Years of practice enabled her to dress quickly in the dark room. Mike turned the light on.
“Well, that makes things easier,” she said.
“Damn,” he sighed.
“What?” she said, slipping off her nightshirt and reaching for her bra.
His eyes lingered on her breasts. “Sometimes I forget how beautiful you are. How can that be? We live together. I see you every day.”
Annie smiled. “I am going to remember to pay you back for that compliment.”
She leaned over and hugged him.
“I need to go,” she said.
He held her there. “Annie, I love you so much.”
“Hey.” She sat down at the edge of the bed. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I mean no. But we can talk later. It’s fine,” he said.
“You need to go.”
She looked at her husband, who looked bleary-eyed and rumpled. Brown hair ruffled. Eyes deep brown and worried.
“You are my number one concern, Mike, always,” she said.
Eyes met eyes. Something was exchanged. Renewal. Commitment. Love. In one glance.
“I know,” he said and smiled. “We will talk later.”
“Good,” she said. And it was about time.
What was it about the middle of the night? Some of their best moments as a couple were during talks in the middle of the night. Was it a sense of vulnerability? Or just the opposite? A sense of safety? And how many times had she wakened in the middle of the night just to check on her boys with a sense of pending horror? Feeling like something was wrong? What a relief it was to see them sleeping snug in their beds.
Vera was living every mother’s worst nightmare.
Beatrice’s living room door was open, and Annie walked in. She had expected to see chaos, but instead was surprised to find a team of officers quietly moving about their home. Beatrice, Sheila, DeeAnn, and Paige were sitting at the kitchen table. The smell of strong coffee permeated the house.
“Where is Vera?” Annie asked.
Beatrice looked up at her. In her weary eyes, Annie saw the eighty-three-year-old woman that she was. That was rare with Beatrice.
“Vera is with Eric, upstairs in her room,” Beatrice answered. “We are trying to keep it calm and quiet. She passed out, then was hysterical. He has given her something to calm her.”
“A sleeping pill. But she can’t sleep forever,” Sheila said.
Annie glanced around the table at the normally jovial bunch, and they almost looked like different people. The strain showed in the way they held their mouths, eyes, jaws. Every mother’s worst nightmare.
“Where is Detective Bryant?”
“Out. He had a gut feeling or something,” DeeAnn muttered.
“Did he question you?” Annie asked Beatrice. “Have they sent out an AMBER Alert? Is it on the news?”
“Calm down, Annie,” Sheila said. “Yes, he questioned Beatrice.” She reached her hand out and held Beatrice’s hand.
The next thing Annie knew, Jon was handing her a cup of steaming hot coffee and leading her to a chair at the table.
“Adam thinks it was Kelsey,” Jon said. “He and his team are looking for her. Roadblocks and so on. It is under control. Inasmuch as it can be,” he said.
“What makes him think that? I mean, we know she is disturbed, but to take a child?” Annie asked.
Nobody replied. Paige looked at her and shrugged. They were wilting.
“What can we do?” Annie said after downing a few sips of coffee. “Can we help search?”
DeeAnn looked up at her sheepishly. “I asked the same question and was given the smack down.” She pointed at Beatrice.
“You all need to stay out of it. Let the law do its job. Two counties and the state police are looking. The best we can do is be here for Vera when she wakes up.”
Sheila caught Annie’s eye and nodded.
Annie’s cell phone blared. It was her editor. “Yes,” she said into the phone.
“Annie, I hear there’s been a kidnapping. I need you to get to two-eleven Ivy Lane.”
“I’m already there,” she said, looking at the circle of women around the table. Did she really want to be the reporter in the crowd?
“What? Good work.”
“I am not covering this one, Steve. I’m too close to it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am very close to the family and am really upset.” Her voice cracked. Oh no. Was she going to cry sitting there in front of everyone and with her editor on the other end of the line? She choked it back.
“I’m sorry, Annie. I can find someone else,” he said.
“I wish you would,” she said and meant it. She couldn’t write about this situation with any kind of objectivity. But she could not help it when her brain made leaps in logic and strange connections as she thought about Elizabeth and the fact that Bryant knew right away who to look for. She had known that he was holding something back from her. Kelsey must have more of a record or a problem than what Annie knew. In fact, maybe he knew something like this was bound to happen.
And where was Bill? Had anybody even called him? Or was he waiting on the other end of Kelsey’s path to take his baby away from her mother?
Chapter 64
Beatrice didn’t want to mention the tightening in her chest. She was certain it was stress. Nothing to worry about. Of course she was stressed. Someone had taken Elizabeth out of her bed—in her home—in the middle of the night. Evidently, the intruder had used a ladder, one of the ladders that belonged to the Virginia Department of Historic Resources. Had just placed the ladder right under the window of Elizabeth’s bedroom.
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