“He didn’t know about the storm,” Laura explained for him as she tied off the last of the rigging.
“I’ve been totally unplugged. No TV since I arrived.” Christopher shook his head sheepishly. “But the winds were perfect.”
Lu gazed over toward the sea cliffs of the dunes. “You are rather secluded out here. It’s a good thing you turned back, or nobody would have even known to look for you.”
Christopher’s face darkened. “You’ve got that right. I’ve been caught in a few storms in my day and try not to relive the experience.”
Jason grabbed two life preservers and tried a door at the back of the cottage.
“That’s always locked,” the newcomer yelled to him. “Just throw them into the outside shower stall.”
“I hope you’re packed up and ready to leave,” I called out to Laura.
She came closer to be heard. “I’ve left three messages on your cell phone. Christopher hadn’t made any plans to evacuate, so we’ve invited him to stay at The Bluffs. I hope that’s okay?”
“Of course.” I turned to Christopher, who said, “I hope you have room for another stray”—he then pointed to the dog, who was crouching between his legs—“or two. This is Gypsy. She’s a bit timid. And not too keen about storms herself.”
“You and Gypsy are welcome to join us.” I looked around. “Where’s your car?”
“I’m without wheels.” He shrugged.
“He’s hitching a ride with us,” Jason said. “Our car’s up at the harbor because they’ve blocked off the road. We came down to help Christopher with his things.”
“Well, let’s get a move on.” I grabbed a pack and slung it over my shoulder. “This storm will be bearing down soon enough.”
The five of us humans, plus the two canine companions, silently trudged our way back up the beach, working against the whipping winds. Even shouts could not be heard above the pounding surf.
We loaded Gypsy, Christopher, and his things into the Princes’ car. It was decided that Laura would take them out to The Bluffs and get settled in while Jason went to help with evacuations. I volunteered to take Whistler, as the two dogs were wary of each other, and it didn’t seem like a good idea to coop them up in the same car.
We all said our goodbyes, and they headed out. As Lu and I got Whistler settled into Daniel’s Land Rover, Evelyn Hilliard ascended the public access steps from the beach, holding the hand of a young tow-headed boy who looked to be about six.
“This is Nicholas,” she told us, to which the boy nodded shyly.
“You came into the gallery with your family a couple days ago, didn’t you?” Lu chatted with the boy for a moment while Evelyn took me aside.
“Mom was beside herself because she couldn’t find little Nicholas. She has her hands full with four little ones.”
“That’s a large brood to manage alone,” I sympathized.
“George and I were rounding up stragglers, and we stopped by to check on them. They’ve been renting The Lookout.” She pointed her thumb in the direction of one of the most coveted rentals in town, with its beautiful large roof deck and private steps down to the beach. “George helped her get the others to the inn while I went looking for this one. He was just standing at the edge of the water, staring out at the sea as if he was hypnotized.” She glanced over at him. “It was a little spooky.”
As Evelyn was telling me this, a metallic blue Porsche SUV pulled to a stop beside us, and out hopped an attractive, well-dressed man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Daddy!” Nicholas called out to his father.
“Hey, Bud.” The tall, slim man lifted the boy up for a hug, then set him down again, looking around, confused. “Where’s Mommy?”
“I’ve got her and the other boys up at the inn,” Evelyn answered, then offered a quick introduction. “Lu, Cassie, this is Nicholas’s father, Matthew Kleister.”
The man nodded as he took off his glasses to wipe away the mist, but he was clearly more interested in gathering his family. “I’ll drive up and get them out of your hair.”
“The inn will be a more comfortable place for you to wait out the storm. We’ve got a generator and lots of food, water, and blankets. Even some games and toys.” Evelyn smiled sweetly down at the child.
“Daddy.” The little boy tugged at his father’s shirt.
“Just a minute, buddy.” Then to Evelyn, “I think we’d be fine staying where the boys are used to being. I just made it down from Boston without a problem.”
“This storm may be upgraded to a hurricane, and Hilliard House has withstood many of those,” I assured him.
“Your rental is much more exposed. I’d be afraid that deck might tear loose and take the roof with it,” Evelyn warned. “I think you’ll be safer with us.”
A Whale Rock police cruiser pulled up, and Brooks hopped out, waving his hands at us as if herding a group of goats. “Let’s get a move on, everybody.”
“Okay,” Matthew reluctantly agreed, before remembering his manners. “Thanks for your hospitality. Let’s go, Nicholas.”
“But Daddy,” the child pleaded, “I’ve gotta tell you something.”
“Later. Get in the car.”
Nicholas cast a frightened look down to the beach.
“Don’t worry, Bud. We’ll be okay. Let’s go be with Mommy, Lucas, and the twins.”
“No, Daddy.” It was barely a whisper.
Matthew squatted down beside his son and kindly but firmly said, “Nicholas, we are going right now. Understand?”
“Yes,” Nicholas said, but I didn’t think Matthew could see the one lone tear trailing down his son’s cheek as he lifted him into the booster on the backseat of the vehicle.
“I’ve just got to collect my laptop and some paperwork from the house, and I’ll be right up,” Matthew told Evelyn.
But it was Brooks who answered. “Five minutes.” He then turned to Lu and me and said, “It’s really getting bad. Let’s get you both home.”
“I’ll go try to drag my fiancé away from his precious boats.”
“I’m out of here.” Lu gave me a quick hug and then hopped into the cruiser with Brooks.
As I made my way down to the docks, from a distance I could see a woman gesturing wildly as Daniel was adding extra tie-down lines to one of the Mitchell touring boats, waving a piece of paper in front of him, but he just shook his head. I caught a glimpse of her frustrated face as she slipped into the harbor office but didn’t recognize her. Maybe one of the tourist boat owners?
“Here, let me help,” I yelled down to Daniel, and he handed me the end of the rope, which I secured to the cleat with a bowknot. “What was that all about?”
“What?” He was distracted by his efforts.
“That woman you were just talking with?” We were shouting to be heard over the waves crashing against the docks.
He glanced toward town, but the woman had disappeared. “She’s looking for someone. Nobody I recognized.” The wind gusts were making it hard for him to grasp the lines.
“We really should go now,” I insisted.
“I’d’ve been done long ago if that damn Wes Creed had shown up to help. And yesterday, he skipped out early.”
Perhaps Wes hadn’t turned his life around as Johnny had hoped.
“Left two messages, the latter less kind than the first.” He pulled a tarp up over the boat and began to tie it down. Finding good help had been Daniel’s biggest challenge. He had no patience for the human resources aspect of his new role as business owner.
“Wishing you were back at the Bureau?”
He looked up and said, “Never. I’m exactly where I want to be. Just not in the midst of a hurricane.”
“Hurricane Cassandra is what Lu is calling it.”
“It appears Mother Nature wasn’t too keen on our getting hitched.”
It was a cavalier remark, but it left me briefly wondering if there was something more behind it. Like me, Daniel had been married before
; was he reluctant to try again? The vibration of a heavy tread on the already swaying dock pushed aside that momentary flash of insecurity. I looked behind me to see Brooks purposefully striding toward us.
I raised my hands and called out. “We’re leaving now.”
Daniel finished tying off the tarp and stood, wiping his face with his sleeve. The wetness was no longer only due to sweat from the August heat and humidity. The storm clouds had begun to release large drops of rain.
Brooks beckoned impatiently and yelled, “The tides are rising, and with this surf the road out to The Bluffs will soon be impassable.”
“We’re outta here,” Daniel said as we walked at a brisk pace in the direction of his car.
“Actually, Cassie needs to go,” Brooks took hold of Daniel’s arm, “but I could really use your help. We have an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?” I asked.
“A missing child emergency.”
5
Renée
New York City ~ Mid-1980s
Renée had feared the day would come when she’d have to face her demons, but she wasn’t prepared to see her younger sister’s face looking back at her through the peephole of the apartment door. Isabella hadn’t changed much in the fifteen years since they’d last seen one another; still petite with honey-gold skin and bright jade-green eyes. Renée could pretend she wasn’t home, but how to be certain Isabella would give up and go away? No, best to let her in while Michael was at work.
“Sorella mia.” Isabella fell into her arms as soon as she opened the door.
Renée was surprised by the surge of emotion. How she’d missed her little sister. They clung to each other for several moments until the neighbor across the hall came out of his door.
“Good morning, Renée.” The older gentleman seemed to wait for an introduction, but Renée merely bid him a pleasant day and ushered Isabella into her living room, closing the door swiftly behind them.
“You live very well, Renata.” Her sister walked about the space, admiring the décor as she wiped away the remaining vestige of tears, her voice still clinging to the slightest hint of the accent they’d all brought with them from Italy.
“It’s Renée now.” It had been Renée since she’d fled her old life all those many years ago.
“And I’m Sister Bernadetta.”
Renée looked at her sister in surprise. “But you’re dressed normally.”
“We are a progressive order,” Isabella said.
“Is that what I should call you now? Sister Bernadetta?” Renée asked, still processing this news while trying to push aside feelings of guilt for having abandoned her younger sister.
“Whatever makes you most comfortable.”
“I’ll make us some coffee … Sister.” If she was asking her sister to respect her own self-imposed alias, then shouldn’t Renée in turn respect Isabella’s calling?
“Such a lovely view.” The woman, a stranger and yet not, gazed out the window to the tree-filled courtyard below while they waited for the coffee to brew. “I’ve come about Vito.”
Renée’s hands were shaking so badly she dropped one of the cups she was taking down from the cupboard.
Her sister rushed over and gently took hold of those trembling hands. “I didn’t mean to upset you. But our brother is very sick.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” This was true. Renée would never wish Vito ill.
“He wants to see you, to ask your forgiveness and put his troubled mind to rest.”
Renée broke free of her sister’s grasp. “Then please tell him I forgive him.”
Isabella shook her head. “He needs to hear it from you. And you need to do it for yourself.”
“How do you know what I need?” Renée snapped. She would not allow her heart to be torn open again.
“I’ve been praying. God will help you.”
“Tell me, sorella, where was God fifteen years ago?”
“It is not for us to know.” Her sister’s face was so serene and beautiful, like the nuns portrayed in movies, but with the soul of a wise old woman. Renée envied her sister that confidence. Isabella opened her black pocketbook, which had the look of a thrift store bargain. “I’m going to Italy to see him in three days. Here is a ticket for you.”
“Italy?” Renée stared at the ticket. “He went back?”
“Yes, after … everything that happened, he couldn’t bear to stay here.” Isabella lifted and released her shoulders in dramatic defeat. “But he has done quite well for himself back home. He bought us these tickets.” Her sister took out a slip of paper with the name and address of a nearby convent. “This is where you can find me until I leave on Friday.”
The two long-estranged sisters walked numbly toward the apartment door, where the younger took the older into her arms again. “I pray you will go with me, Renata.”
Renée leaned against the door for a time afterward, wondering how she could manage a trip to Italy without telling Michael the truth.
* * *
Boston ~ Early 1960s
Vito, Renata, and Isabella huddled together, tired, hungry, and scared in the baggage claim area of Boston airport as they waited for their aunt and uncle to collect them. Vito did his best to keep them smiling with his jokes.
“How will we know Zia Rosa and Zio Enzo?” Isabella, the youngest, asked.
“I will show you.” Vito, the oldest at seventeen, was very protective of his younger sisters. He flipped over his ticket and with the nub of a pencil drew caricatures, joking that, “We will recognize Zia Rosa by her crossed eyes and mustache. And Zio Enzo has a big crooked nose and very bushy eyebrows that waggle when he laughs.”
However, they would soon learn that their Zio Enzo seldom laughed and was not at all pleased about the arrival of his new responsibilities.
“Ha le bracce corte.” It was an insult about their uncle’s cheapness, meaning his arms were too short to reach his wallet.
“In English,” Renata, the serious middle child, scolded as Isabella giggled. Renata had tried to insist they speak only English so they would learn their new language before arriving to this foreign country. She’d been tutoring them for weeks after they finally heard from their mother’s sister in America. The three children had been orphaned when their parents both died in a train crash. Although Zia Rosa took on a second job to raise the money to bring her sister’s children to Boston, it had still taken over a year for her to scrape up enough to pay for their travel fares, during which time the siblings had been separated among neighbor families trying to keep them from being taken into the orphanage system.
They’d been told there would be wonderful opportunities in America. Better schools especially. But only Isabella would benefit from an American education. They were barely in their aunt and uncle’s home before Zio Enzo found situations for the three parassiti (parasites), as he frequently referred to them. “Don’t we have enough of a struggle with four children of our own?” he spouted often enough.
Their aunt’s husband was basically a lazy man, but when it came to farming-out his new wards, he became quite industrious. Zio Enzo was toughest on Vito, not appreciating having a handsome, lighthearted young man around. He was constantly berating the boy and even took to slapping him around. Vito wasn’t one to take abuse and left of his own accord after finding a job with a fishing crew in South Boston. Isabella, the youngest at thirteen, had always been drawn to the church, and with strong Catholic connections, Enzo was able to find her a place in a convent. In exchange for working in the kitchen, scrubbing pots and pans, she was given food and shelter and was also permitted to attend classes at the adjacent parochial school.
For Renata, he found a live-in nanny position with the Welles family through connections with his brother, who was the gardener for another wealthy Boston family.
“But uncle, I can speak well in English. May I please go to school?” Renata begged.
“You’re almost sixteen. You have no need for
study.” He hadn’t even allowed his own daughter to finish high school. But this offered no consolation to Renata, who had a great love for books. She immediately sought out the local library and applied for her first American library card. If she had to, she would teach herself. However, her love of learning would also lead to a world of problems.
* * *
New York City ~ Mid-1980s
Renée wasn’t certain how long she stood there, lost in her memories, before hearing the elevator ding. She rushed to her bedside table and stuffed the tickets Isabella had left her under some books. Luckily, she had a glimpse of her reflection in the bureau mirror and quickly fixed the tear tracks before the door opened to the happy sounds of her husband and son.
“Mamma! Look at my prize.”
The little boy leaped into her arms, melting her heart as no other could. It wasn’t until she was holding on tightly to her sweet young son that she could breathe easily, for only then could she be assured he was safe.
6
Cassandra
Whale Rock Village ~ Present day
“Oh my God! Who’s missing?” I said at the same time that Daniel, his FBI background taking over, asked, “When was the child last observed?”
“It’s the little Kleister boy,” Brooks answered me first.
“But Evelyn found Nicholas,” I said in confusion. “You were there, Brooks. Did he wander off again?”
“It’s not Nicholas. It’s the younger brother, Lucas.” To Daniel, he said, “There’s some confusion about that. George Hilliard was evacuating the mother and children to the inn while Evelyn went off searching for the older boy, Nicholas. But either George didn’t realize there ought to have been four children in total, or he thought one was with the father. Either way, he said the mother was disoriented, and it was all he could do to get her and the little ones up to the inn. It wasn’t until the father arrived with Nicholas that they realized Lucas was missing.”
“How old is Lucas?”
“Three.” Brooks looked grim.
“How could they lose track of a three-year-old?” I was aghast.
“Mrs. Kleister thought Lucas was with Nicholas,” Brooks said. “Apparently he often looks after his little brother.”
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