Searching for Yesterday Page 4

  “She seemed so devoted to you,” she went on. Then she jumped to her feet quite suddenly and crossed to a spot on the wall, her finger reaching out and pointing to a wallet-size photo. “She even posted a picture of you on the staff bulletin board. I never had the heart to take it down.”

  We crossed the room to look and, sure enough, there was a younger version of Annie, smiling awkwardly for the school photographer.

  “Every once in a while, all through the years, I’ve stopped and said a prayer for that little girl. And now, here you are,” Bea said. She reached over and patted Annie gently on the arm.

  Of course, Annie had begun to cry by then. Who wouldn’t, in her shoes?

  Nothing about this investigation was going the way I’d imagined.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “If you could have one wish come true, what would you wish for?”

  That’s not the kind of question my boyfriend Greg usually asks, so it took me off guard a little when he came out with it that evening. I’d almost missed it altogether, being so preoccupied with thoughts of Annie and her mother.

  “I guess I’d have to think about it.” I said, leaning against his shoulder. We were on the couch at his place, listening to a couple of CDs and waiting for a frozen pizza to cook.

  “But if you couldn’t think about it — if you had to answer right this minute, first instinct, what would you say?”

  “That I’d like to find Annie’s mother,” I answered. “No, I take that back.”

  “Interesting,” Greg said. “Why’d you take it back?”

  “Because she obviously doesn’t care about Annie, or she’d be here with her. Or she’d have taken her with her wherever she went. But she didn’t, and that tells me that even if we find her — which is looking less and less likely — Annie’s going to end up disappointed.”

  “I take it you didn’t have much luck today?”

  I told Greg about our visit to Bea’s Bakery and how nice she’d been, but that we hadn’t found out anything helpful.

  “It’s helpful to know that at least one person found it out of character that Annie’s mother took off that way,” he said. “I mean, maybe there were circumstances that forced her to do what she did.”

  “Then why didn’t she come back later?”

  “Maybe something happened and she couldn’t. Or she was too ashamed.”

  “Well, she should be ashamed!” I said. “Look at what Annie has had to live with this all these years. It’s horrible.”

  The bell on the stove rang then, so we moved to the kitchen where the smell of pizza filled the air. Greg set a couple of plates on the table, and added a stack of napkins and a large breadboard, onto which he slid the pizza.

  “Pepsi or root beer?” he asked as he grabbed some glasses out of the cupboard.

  I opted for Pepsi and started slicing the pizza with the wheel he’d laid beside it.

  “So,” he said as he slid into place across from me and passed me my glass of pop, “do you regret getting involved in this search for Annie’s mother?”

  “Not really. I mean, there are things that bother me about it, but at least she doesn’t feel totally alone with the whole thing anymore. And don’t forget, we’re looking for either of her parents, not just her mom.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that she doesn’t know who her father is?”

  “Well, yes, but we might be able to find out.”

  “Sounds like a long shot at best,” Greg said, biting into a slice of pizza.

  “Thanks,” I snapped. “I wasn’t quite discouraged enough.”

  Greg stopped chewing and looked at me. After a long moment of this, he resumed chewing, swallowed, took a drink of pop, and then said, “Nice.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be so negative.”

  “I thought we were just talking in general,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were taking my comments as personal attacks.”

  “Look, maybe I should just go home,” I said. I suddenly felt on the verge of tears. “I’m just in a bad mood right now and I’m probably taking it out on you.”

  Of course, I assumed Greg would say something sweet and comforting and convince me to stay. But he didn’t. He just looked at me again and shrugged, like it didn’t matter to him one way or the other what I did. Then he took another bite of pizza!

  I pushed my chair back and stood up, feeling trapped, as if Greg had tricked me into doing something I didn’t really want to do. Of course, that was stupid. He hadn’t done anything, except for not reacting the way I’d expected.

  He kept eating while I pulled on my jacket and shoes, but as I headed to the door he shoved away from the table and stood up. A little surge of joy went through me because I knew he was going to tell me not to leave and everything was going to be okay.

  “I’ll walk you home,” he said.

  I was about to say I could walk home by myself, thank you very much, but that was just dumb pride. And, even a small town like Little River can have hidden dangers, so I stood silently as Greg got ready, and then we started for my place.

  For the first few minutes, the only sound between us was our shoes scrunching on the compacted snow underfoot. I’d never noticed how loud that can be, or how hard it is to walk beside someone without touching them, but when our sleeves happened to brush against each other I tried to move enough so that it wouldn’t keep happening. And I do realize that was childish and pointless but I did it anyway.

  As we got close to my street, I found my attention shifting from those things to the fact that we hadn’t spoken a word all the way there. A feeling of shame crawled through me. I knew I’d been at fault and, more importantly, I knew I needed to own up to it.

  I stopped walking and turned to face Greg. He nearly bumped into me but we didn’t laugh about it the way we normally would have.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I had no right to be rude to you like that.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he agreed.

  I didn’t quite know how to respond to that. I’d expected him to say it was okay and have it be over.

  “I don’t talk to you that way,” Greg said. “Ever. But I’ve noticed lately that you seem to think it’s perfectly all right to snap at me whenever you feel like it.”

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “I know you did, and I appreciate that, but I think we need to talk about this anyway.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “I don’t want to be the person you take bad moods out on, or someone you speak rudely to because I’ve said something that didn’t quite fit with your own ideas. I don’t treat you that way.”

  “You make me sound so horrible,” I said. I felt pretty horrible just then.

  “You’re not horrible. At least, not that horrible,” he said with a smile. “And it’s just lately that you’ve started doing these things. I don’t even think you’ve been aware of it.”

  “I haven’t!”

  “So, okay. Now you are.” He reached for my hand. “You never met my mother’s sister and her husband, but if you ever do, you’ll see an example of two people who shouldn’t be in the same room together, much less married. They hardly ever speak to each other in a civil tone of voice. They snap and snarl and bicker full time. They even call each other names, if you can believe that. It’s gross.”

  “And I reminded you of them?” I asked, horrified.

  “Not by a long shot, though now that you mention it, you do look a little like my uncle.”

  “Hey!”

  “Well, okay, his moustache is thicker.”

  “Greg!”

  He smiled and stepped a little closer. “No, you don’t remind me of them,” he said. He leaned over and kissed the tip of my nose. “But I asked my dad about them one time — why they got married if they don’t even like each other. And I never forgot what he told me.”

  “Which was ...?” I asked, impatient at the pause he’d taken.

  “That, just like most coupl
es, they seemed to like each other just fine when they first got married. But as time went by, the way they talked to each other changed. It started out with small things — the wrong tone, a nasty word here and there. And then it just got worse and worse, until now they hardly say anything to each other in a civil tone. You’d swear that they hated each other.” “That’s horrible!” I said, before I remembered this conversation had started over the way I’d taken to speaking to Greg.

  “It really is. But I got thinking, if you know what to watch for, and never start treating the person you’re with carelessly, you can be pretty much guaranteed it won’t happen to you. And I think you’d keep liking each other, because you wouldn’t be building up all the resentments you’d start feeling if someone was being nasty or critical or whatever.”

  “I wasn’t actually being nasty, was I?”

  “No.”

  I thought about it for a minute and then I hugged him. “I’m really, really glad I’m going out with you,” I said. “And that you care enough about how things are between us to talk about stuff like this. Most guys wouldn’t.”

  “Well, don’t let it get out,” he laughed. “I’ll be kicked off the rugby team.”

  “My silence,” I told him, “can be bought.”

  “Yeah? How much?”

  “How about a couple of slices of that pizza at your place?”

  “Sounds fair.”

  So, we went back to his place, and as we walked along I had one of those moments of such acute happiness that make you feel like you might cry.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I won’t be home for dinner tonight,” I told Mom as I got ready to leave the house the next morning.

  She glanced up from kneading a round ball of dough on a floured board. I was a bit surprised to see the dough. Dad had been making comments for the past week that he sure missed the bread she used to make. When it comes to dropping hints, my father isn’t exactly subtle. But Mom had told him he’d keep right on missing it, because he ate half a loaf slathered in butter every time she made it, and she wasn’t going to help him kill himself.

  “Giving in to Dad’s begging, or did you change your mind about helping him kill himself?”

  She laughed. “I’ll try to keep an eye on him,” she said. “It just doesn’t seem fair that he has to miss out on so many of the foods he loves.”

  I could have told her a few stories about some of the foods he wasn’t missing out on when she wasn’t home, but I didn’t. It wasn’t that often, and after all, he’d been taking medication for his cholesterol. How much harm could the occasional bowl of ice cream with crushed Oreo cookies do?

  “Anyway, you said something about dinner ...?”

  “Yeah. I won’t be here.”

  “Plans with Greg?”

  “No. Annie’s foster mother invited me to eat at their place tonight.”

  “That’s the Norton place, right? Pearl and Lou?”

  “I think it’s Lucas, actually.”

  “Oh, yes, you’re right. I haven’t seen Pearl in ages. We went to school together — she was always such a sweet, friendly girl.”

  “She seems very nice,” I agreed, glancing at my watch. “Anyway, I’d better get going. I told Annie I’d be there early.”

  “You girls having any luck with your search for her mother?” Mom stopped kneading while she waited for my answer.

  “Not yet. But we’re still looking, and there’s always a chance we could find out something about her father, too.”

  “I wonder if he even knows he has a daughter.” Mom shook her head. “Anyway, be sure to invite Annie here for dinner some night soon, too. And tell Pearl I said “hello.’”

  I said I would and headed out. There’d been a light snowfall the night before and the ground glistened as though it was covered with a million tiny white diamonds. The air smelled clean and fresh and I breathed it in with pleasure as I walked along.

  When I got to the Nortons’ house, Annie was ready and waiting. She had on a deep chestnut sweater that really complemented her fair complexion. I told her so, but she didn’t answer.

  “What will we do today?” she asked instead.

  “I thought we’d check at the other place your mom worked.” I tried to look hopeful, but it seemed highly doubtful that we’d learn anything.

  “But it’s not even there now.”

  “That’s true, but I got thinking about that this morning and I realized whoever runs the flower store will almost certainly know something about the former occupants of the place. Even if we get the owner’s name, it would give us somewhere to start.”

  “Hey, that’s a great idea!” Annie’s enthusiasm almost made me feel guilty, but I reminded myself that I’ve come across information in less likely places. It couldn’t hurt, and I was quickly running out of ideas. At least this would give us something to do.

  Mrs. Norton was going to the grocery store, so she dropped us off, reminding us as we got out of the car to be home by five-thirty for dinner.

  The flower shop’s windows were crowded with plants and different flower arrangements. Beyond that we could see a couple of women chatting near a counter. I pushed the heavy wooden door open and we went in while a bell tinkled overhead.

  At the sound of the bell, both women looked over at Annie and I. One looked to be in her early thirties, short and slight with short, dirty-blond hair. The other was probably closer to forty, a good deal taller and a little heavier, with her brown hair tied loosely in a ponytail.

  As quickly as they registered the fact that it was just a couple of teenagers who’d come in, they went back to talking to each other, though both kept a sharp eye out in our direction. I don’t know if they thought we might try to stuff a cactus under our jackets or what, but I found it insulting to be watched that way. I had to remind myself that we were there for Annie’s sake. Otherwise, I’d just have walked out.

  The tall woman turned toward us as we neared the counter and said, “Can I help you?” in a flat voice.

  “Yes, good morning,” I answered, forcing myself to sound pleasant. “We were looking for some information on the store that was here before the flower shop opened up. A craft place.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Well, the name of the owner, if you happen to remember it,” I said. I hoped that she’d want to prove her memory was good — that might motivate her to tell us even if she wasn’t inclined to be helpful.

  “What for?” she asked.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “What do you need to know that for?” she repeated. Her eyes narrowed.

  “I’m trying to find someone who knew my mother,” Annie said. “She used to work at the craft store.”

  “Oh yeah? What was your mother’s name?”

  That was too much for me. The nerve of her, expecting Annie to offer personal information when she was too snooty to give us a store owner’s name.

  “What do you need to know that for?” I asked, repeating the question she’d posed to us.

  She gave me a long, hard look. Then she said, “A smart mouth, huh? Well, I’d say it’s about time you girls left, wouldn’t you?”

  We left. As soon as we hit the sidewalk I turned to Annie. “I’m really sorry,” I said. “I messed that up badly.”

  “Don’t worry about it. She wasn’t going to help us anyway.” Annie smiled to prove she wasn’t upset. Then she asked, “So, what do we do next?”

  “We’ll ask the people in the stores on either side,” I said. “They’re likely to know who owned the craft shop.”

  There was a place on the left called Inkpen & Harmony, which we tried first. It turned out to be an insurance office. There were three desks in an open room but only one was occupied — by a man who was on the phone. He looked over, smiled, held a finger up to show us he’d just be a minute, and pointed us to some chairs along the wall. We’d hardly sat in them when he finished the call.

  “So, what can I do for you lad
ies?” he said from across the room. He motioned us toward him and we obediently moved from the chairs by the wall to a couple in front of his desk.

  “Chris Inkpen,” he said, introducing himself. He shook our hands and when we told him our names. He said, “Nice to meet you Shelby. Nice to meet you too, Annie.”

  “We’re not here to buy insurance,” I said, feeling a little guilty for wasting his time when he was being so nice.

  “Great!” he answered. “It’s about time I had a break for a few minutes.”

  We explained what we wanted to know.

  “Hmm. Can’t say I know that,” he said, tilting his chair back and putting his hands behind his head. “But hang on a sec. I can probably find out.”

  He pulled a phone from his shirt pocket and pressed a button. A few seconds later, someone answered and Chris asked for the name. He gave us a thumbs-up and leaned forward to make some notes.

  “Here you go, ladies. I wish everything was as easy as that,” he said, passing us the paper. “It seems the previous owner’s daughter took over the place from her mother and turned the craft store into a flower shop. I’ve written it down, but my boss said the daughter — her name is Kayla Fulton — should be able to answer any questions you have about when her mother owned the place, because she worked there then, too.”

  Hearts sinking, we thanked him for his help and left. Standing on the sidewalk a moment later we looked at each other in dismay.

  “Let’s just forget it,” Annie said. “What are the chances we’d have found out anything from her anyway?”

  “We can’t forget it,” I said, though I really wanted to agree with her and leave. “That woman almost certainly worked with your mother at the craft store. We’ve got to go back in there and at least try.”

  Annie shrugged. She looked about as enthusiastic as I felt when we pushed the door open and stepped back inside the flower shop. I was putting together an apology in my head when the short woman, who was now alone at the counter, yelled out, “Hey, Kayla! Those two girls are back!”