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  “And what exactly do you mean by that?” Betts finally said.

  “I’ll tell this guy how old you really are, for one thing,” I said. I was surprised at my own words. I hadn’t planned to say that at all.

  “Too late,” she said. “I already told him I’m only seventeen. He doesn’t care. In fact, he said he’d already thought I was younger than I said the other day.”

  The other day! It seemed impossible that this had just started a few days ago. How could Betts be so determined over a guy she barely knew? Despair washed over me.

  “I’ll tell your parents,” I said.

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, I would.” My voice was shaking and I didn’t know why. My throat felt sore and tight.

  “You do that, and I will never speak to you again as long as I live.” Every word was clipped and precise and very, very cold.

  I shrugged to show her I didn’t care. Of course, the gesture might have been more convincing if I hadn’t started to cry then. Tears came, and they weren’t fake or forced. And all the while that I stood there with my chest aching and my face wet and hot, Betts sat still and watched me without the slightest show of emotion.

  After a few moments, I crossed the room blindly, into her bathroom, and closed the door behind me. Anger and hurt filled me. I sat on the toilet seat and pulled at the toilet paper, dried my eyes and blew my nose. I sat there for what seemed a long time, trying to collect my thoughts.

  When I stepped to the sink I saw that my face was flushed and my eyes puffy and red. I took a facecloth from the shelf, wet it with cold water and held it on my eyes for a few minutes. It helped, though if my mother had walked in she’d have known in a split second that I’d been crying.

  A few deep breaths and I went back into Betts’s bedroom. She was lying back with the comforter pulled up to her shoulders, staring at the ceiling.

  “Don’t do it,” she said.

  I didn’t answer, but walked out of her room and down to the end the hall. There, I hesitated, knowing Mrs. Thompson was in the kitchen and that all I had to do to protect my friend was turn left, go there, and tell her.

  Instead, I crossed the foyer to the front door and let myself out.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Something’s bothering you.”

  I looked at Annie, surprised at how quickly she’d picked up on what I thought I’d hidden quite well.

  “It’s nothing to do with this,” I said.

  “Are you okay, though?”

  “Sure. I’m fine.”

  “Well, if there’s anything I can help with ...”

  “Thanks, Annie. I appreciate that. I really do. But it’s not something I can talk about ... because it involves someone else.”

  “I understand,” she said. “Oh! Before I forget to tell you, Kayla called to see if I could come in a few days this week, to train and stuff. She wants me to come in at four o’clock today, so she can show me some basics, and then, when they close, she’s going to teach me how to do a few arrangements.”

  “Sounds great,” I said. I was genuinely happy for her too, not just that she had a job, but that she’d be working with someone who’d known her mother so well. I was sure they’d talk about Gina lots of times, and maybe that would help Annie feel closer to the mother she no longer had.

  I reached across the Nortons’ kitchen table where we were sitting and picked up the carved dragonfly that was there, along with the other things that made up the little collection Annie’s mother had left for her. As I turned it over in my hand, I wondered how the last week of Christmas holidays had gotten so complicated. Was it possible that the only thing on my mind a few days earlier had been getting to know Annie a bit better? And now, here I was, in the middle of what seemed to be a dead-end investigation with her and on the verge of ending a lifelong friendship with my best friend Betts.

  “My mom wouldn’t let me touch that when I was a kid.”

  I glanced up at Annie’s words, drawn back to the moment, and the fact that we were back to going over the same old things. And getting nowhere.

  “When Nanny brought all of these things to her place, she let me keep them in my room. Until my mom came back for me, she said. I put them in the bottom of my dresser drawer and never touched them — for years. I remember thinking how proud she’d be when she came back to get me and saw that I hadn’t broken anything.”

  She stared at the dragonfly in my hand for a moment and then picked up the teardrop-shaped stone and rubbed it lovingly between her palm and fingers. “I bet she worried about this stuff a few times, especially since it was with me and Nanny. She was always saying things like, “Nanny lets you get away with everything,’ and “Nanny sure didn’t let me do this or that when I was your age.’”

  I smiled. It sounded a lot like the things I’d heard from my own parents about my grandparents when I was younger. I was glad to think that Annie had, at least for a while, been with her grandmother after her mother left. Sadly, that was the only relative she had — that she knew of, anyway. And it didn’t seem that we were likely to find her father, since Gina hadn’t even told her best friend who he was.

  I sat the dragonfly down and picked up the old black-and-white picture of Annie’s grandmother. The eyes in the picture looked bright and happy. It was hard to believe they now stared out blankly from an aged face in a nursing home.

  I sat the picture down. The things it made me think about were too unsettling.

  Next, I picked up the note — as though I hadn’t looked it over so many times that, like Annie, I had it memorized. Even so, I read it again.

  Dear Annie,

  Me and Lenny are going to the city to make a better life for ourselves. I’ll send for you soon as we get a new place and get settled. Go to your grandma’s house and tell her you will be staying with her for now.

  Love,

  Mom.

  I found myself staring at something I hadn’t noticed before, wondering how I’d missed it. Then, as always happens when clues start to come together in my head, other things tumbled into place: a few innocent words, something that had seemed insignificant — things that were so small I’d thought they couldn’t possibly have been important.

  “Shelby?”

  My throat had tightened and I could barely answer Annie with a strangled, “Yes?”

  “What is it? You’ve gone so pale. Are you feeling sick?”

  I was feeling sick, all right. And I didn’t know how I was going to tell Annie what I needed to say. I asked for a glass of water while I tried frantically to sort through my thoughts.

  She hurried to the sink where she rinsed a glass and then filled it from the cooler. When she sat it on the table in front of me, I could hardly squeak out a “thank you.”

  “Maybe you should lie down for a while,” Annie suggested. She sounded a bit nervous. Probably thought I was going to pass out there on the kitchen floor.

  “I’m okay,” I said after I’d taken a few sips and some deep breaths. “I, uh, just had a thought that ... well ... it’s pretty upsetting.”

  She sat down across from me, her face serious. “What?”

  “I can’t ... it’s just a thought ... it’s probably way off.”

  “Tell me. If it’s about my mother, I have a right to know. We’ll figure out if it’s right or not later.”

  What she’d said was true and I knew it. She did have a right to know, but I didn’t want to be the one to tell her. Still, helping her find her mother had been my idea. I couldn’t just walk away from it because it had gotten unpleasant.

  “Annie,” I said, reaching out and taking her hand, “I think it’s possible — and remember, this could be completely wrong — but, well, I’m not sure your mother ever left Little River.”

  Annie stared at me like I’d been talking in some foreign language that she didn’t understand. I waited, silently, for it to sink in. There was more I needed to tell her, but I had to give her time to absorb that much first
. “I don’t understand,” she said at last. “You think she’s still here — in town?”

  Deep breath.

  “I hate to say this,” I said, meaning it with all my heart, “but I think it’s possible that Lenny killed your mother, and then pretended that they left town together to cover it up.”

  “No,” she said. Her voice was very calm. “That can’t be.”

  I said nothing. I waited.

  “There’s no evidence of anything like that,” she said after a few moments.

  “There’s no evidence that your mother ever left Little River,” I answered quietly.

  “But she left this note.” Annie’s hand’s trembled as she reached across the table to take it from me. She held it up in front of me as though I hadn’t seen it before.

  “Someone wrote that note, but I don’t believe it was your mother,” I said. I wanted to blurt it all out — everything that had just come together in my head — but I knew I needed to take things slowly for Annie’s sake. After eight years of believing her mother had left her, the idea that something far different than that may have taken place was going to be difficult for her to absorb. I wanted to give her time to take in each bit of evidence slowly.

  “You have no proof of that.”

  “I think I do.” I paused and cleared my throat, searching for the right words. “Look at it closely, Annie. Look carefully at the words that were used. Ask yourself if there’s anything there that doesn’t fit.”

  Annie’s eyes drifted to the page in her hand, drifted over the words, and then came back up and looked blankly at me. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

  “Where did you go to live after your mother was gone?”

  “With my nanny.”

  “And from what you’ve told me, your mother always referred to your nanny that way, too — as your “nanny.’”

  “So?” But even as she asked, Annie was looking again at the note, and I could feel her realizing, for the first time, that the word “grandma” wasn’t right.

  “Your mother would have written “nanny’ not “grandma’ wouldn’t she?”

  Annie’s lips moved slowly, as though she was trying to say something, but nothing came out.

  “But here, in my notes from our interview with Lenny,” I said, flipping to the right page, “he refers to your grandmother as “grandma.’ Annie, I believe that Lenny wrote that note.”

  “I don’t know why I never noticed that before,” Annie stammered.

  “Because it’s just a normal word, unless you take it in context of who’s saying, or in this case, writing it. Then it matters, but it was easy to overlook.”

  “But maybe Lenny wrote it for my mother.”

  “That’s not impossible, which is why it’s important to look at everything — all the information we have — to see if there’s anything else that doesn’t fit.”

  “And ... is there?”

  “I think there is. For example, you were telling me just a few moments ago how your mom treasured this carved dragonfly from her father so much that she didn’t let you touch it — in case it got broken. But then, she just left it? Something that was special to her because her father carved it? And what about the stone that he gave her?”

  “I thought she might have forgotten them, or meant for me to have them,” Annie said.

  “If she left here planning to come back — and everyone who knew her agrees that she’d never have planned to abandon you forever — then why leave the things that were special to her? Those would be things you might get from a parent later in life, maybe even after they die, but none of them are things a parent normally passes along to a young child.”

  I gave Annie time to think about that. Then I said, “And what about this: your mom took her clothes, but she left her mother’s picture, and a locket that she wore all the time — with your picture in it. Why would she leave the locket? If she was leaving it for you, wouldn’t she at least have taken the picture out first?

  “And what about her jewellery box? Why would she leave that? What woman leaves her jewellery box behind when she goes somewhere?”

  “It was a bit strange that she didn’t take the jewellery,” Annie said. “Especially her earrings. She loved her earring collection. Whenever she was going out she’d hold up different pairs in front of her ears and ask which ones went better with whatever she was wearing.”

  “That’s what I mean,” I said, lifting a pair out of the box. “Most of the stuff in here is costume jewellery — inexpensive stuff that has no sentimental value to you.”

  “Maybe she just forgot to take some of these things,” Annie said.

  “I could see that if it was one item, or even a couple. But all of these things?”

  “I guess that is kind of strange, but they did pack and go in a hurry.” I could see by Annie’s face that she was beginning to accept it — at least as a possibility. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes, there is. Remember how Kayla told us your mother went to work at the bakery because your grandmother was already showing signs of Alzheimer’s? That was a while before your mother supposedly left you in your grandmother’s care. Would she have done that, knowing the person she was leaving you with was barely competent?”

  Annie’s mouth began to quiver and I reached a hand over and patted her arm.

  There was more, but there were a few things that I needed to check out before I said so to Annie. I explained that to Annie, feeling a little foolish that I’d blurted out my theory without getting more evidence together first. After all, what I’d said was serious.

  “I’ll just make sure about a few things, and if I’m right, then we can figure out what to do next.”

  “You mean without me?”

  “I’m sorry, but your emotions could end up giving something away if you come along.”

  Annie stared at me in disbelief for a few seconds, and then made it clear that that was a chance I was just going to have to take.

  “It’s your call,” I said, hoping things wouldn’t fall apart. “I’ll fill you in on what we need to find out on the way. The first thing we have to do is go see Lenny.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  We had to knock on the door of Lenny’s place a couple of times before we heard anyone stirring inside. Even then, it seemed as though a few more minutes passed before the door creaked open a few inches and he peered out at us.

  “Hi, Lenny!” I said, forcing myself to sound friendly. “It’s us — Annie and Shelby. Can we come in for a couple of minutes?”

  “Whadywant?”

  “We just had a few more questions — you know, about Gina.”

  “It’s not a real good time,” he grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I was taking a nap.”

  “Sorry about that!” I said, still managing to keep my voice cheerful. “But it’s awfully cold out and we walked all the way over here.”

  “We should have called,” Annie chimed in. “It was stupid of us not to call first.”

  “That’s true,” I said, picking up my line. We’d decided it would be best to land unannounced so that we could catch him off guard a bit. And, figuring we might not be welcomed with open arms, we’d come up with a game plan.

  “But is there any way you could talk to us? It really won’t take long,” I said, turning a pleading face to Lenny. “Annie had a pretty tough time over Christmas, being in a foster home and all — wondering when she’ll ever have another holiday with her mom — and you’re the only one who can help us.”

  “Yeah, yeah, all right,” Lenny agreed grudgingly. He swung the door open a bit more and stepped back. “I gotta use the can first, though. You two can sit in there.” He pointed to the gloomy kitchen.

  We followed his instructions and took the same places we’d sat the other time we’d been there. I wanted to whisper something to Annie to encourage her to keep her cool, but couldn’t take a chance on the sound carrying through the old walls.

  I wa
s glad I hadn’t a second later when we heard Lenny clearing his throat in the bathroom. It was as clear as if he’d been right there with us, and it suddenly occurred to me that, if my theory was right, we might be taking a chance being there at all. If he realized that we were suspicious ...

  I pushed that thought away and said something to Annie about how fast the winter break was going and how soon we’d be back in school. She answered automatically, her eyes darting around the room, though I had no idea what she might be looking for.

  “So, what do you want to know this time?” Lenny asked when he came into the room. He crossed to the sink, filled an old metal kettle, and sat it on the stove with the burner turned to high. While he waited for the kettle to boil, he rinsed out a mug and spooned some instant coffee and sugar into it.

  “Did my mom ever mention anything about opening her own bakery? Or taking a course to become a pastry chef?” Annie asked. We knew the answer, of course, but we’d already decided the best way to get the information we needed was to ask a few unrelated things first — things that couldn’t possibly arouse his suspicions.

  “Ah, she talked about doing a lot of things,” Lenny said, tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug. “If you ask me, Gina was kind of out of touch with reality.”

  Annie’s eyes flashed with anger at that. I spoke up quickly to keep his attention away from her.

  “Well, haha, you know how women are, haha.” I tapped Annie with my foot under the table to remind her we had to play this right if we were going to find out what we needed to know.

  “Do I ever,” he agreed, chuckling as though we were sharing a great joke. I secretly seethed inside. The kettle had begun to whistle and he poured steaming water into his cup, stirred it, and came to the table.

  “So, what else do you want to know?”

  “We wondered if maybe you’d thought of anything since we were here the other day.”

  “Can’t say I have. I haven’t thought of Gina much over the last few years. To be honest, that’s kind of a chapter in my life I’d just as soon leave closed.”