It was a reminder that she needed to get in to see Dr. Chin as soon as they found Annabelle. Medication wasn’t enough. She needed some therapy—maybe a change in diet. Her pink pills were not enough; you couldn’t erase depression with a chemical treatment. The panic of losing Annie has shocked her into a certain sobriety, but she wasn’t out of the dark woods yet.
She balled up the blanket and shoved it back in the crib. She could imagine her sister rushing in with a rushed explanation of how she hadn’t told anyone about the nursery, how she’d wanted to tell Chelsea but knew it would be insensitive in the face of what Chelsea was going through.
Right now she couldn’t bear to hear that from Emma.
Sucking in the hurt and embarrassment, she headed down the hall to say good-bye.
Chapter 42
“Did you notice the boxes in Helen What’s-her-name’s dining room?” Grace asked Chris.
“I just got a quick look when she stepped out,” he said, checking the rearview mirror. “What were they like? File boxes?”
“It could be. She works at home, and I could see a computer desk set up. But they might have been moving boxes.” She clicked to play a voice mail as she stared out at the darkness beyond the car window. “I’d hate to have her slip away. That woman knows how to move around without leaving a paper trail.”
“If we had more evidence, we could get a search warrant. Till then, we could just sit on her place.”
“Right now surveillance seems like a waste of time, with other suspects out there.” She brought up Eleni Zika’s address in her iPhone. “Like Eleni Zika. Her mother left a message saying we can head over there for a chat.”
“Okay,” he said. “And I think we have a little time if Helen Walker is thinking about skipping out of town. People don’t usually take off in their bathrobes.”
“With our luck, Helen What’s-her-name would be the first woman to drive a U-Haul cross-country in her pajamas.”
“Hey, I’m supposed to be the sardonic one in this partnership.”
“I just want all these people checked out now, and we’re not going to be able to do it all tonight.” Grace tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and pressed her head back against the passenger seat. “Sometimes I wish I could clone myself.”
“Two Graces? That’s a scary thought.”
She pinged his shoulder.
“Ouch. And we’re not the only game in town. You’ve got your boyfriend from the FBI working that Brazilian woman who stole the two kids from her ex.”
“And it’s a good thing. Didn’t I tell you we could use their help?” She checked her messages; nothing from Jimmy. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He’s a married man. At least, he was when we were in the police academy.”
“You were married back then, too. Things change. I’m sure it didn’t work out for him. Cops make lousy mates.”
“So cynical.”
“That’s my job. I’m the bad cop, you’re the good one. Got it?”
Grace grinned as she shook her head. Panteleoni could be such a pain in the ass, but she liked working with him. The guy had no filters, but at least you knew where you stood with him.
Eleni Zika lived with her mother, Maria, in a five-story building not far from Greenwood Lake. It was a nice neighborhood with good schools and plenty of trees, but this building showed signs of age, with brick that needed painting and casement windows that were hanging on by a pinch of putty.
“I’d like to make this quick,” Grace told Chris as they rode the small elevator up to the third floor.
“No argument here.” He checked his watch. “You need to get home tonight?”
She shook her head. “Matt is at his friend’s house again. But I want to start checking Helen Walker’s records in Arizona. Something about that doesn’t sit right with me. And there’s the Jarvis family. We should have followed up on them earlier.”
“No worries. Your buddy from the FBI is all over that,” Chris teased as she rang the bell for apartment 3-H.
Maria Zika was small like her daughter, but rounder, with a hard set to her jaw and a clipped, precision haircut that emphasized her eyes. She invited them in, but didn’t ask them to sit on the green velveteen couch or loveseat. Normally, Grace would have pushed for something more personal, but tonight she was tired and antsy to keep the investigation moving at a good pace.
The flat-screen TV was on Dancing with the Stars, and when Maria picked up the remote, someone called from the kitchen.
“Leave it on,” came the voice. “I need to see this.”
Grace shifted to see beyond the half wall. Eleni made eye contact, then looked down at her notebook on the table.
“She’s doing homework,” Maria said, turning the volume down with the remote. “They give them so much these days.”
Grace nodded, glad for the common ground. “I have a twelve-year-old, and he’s already doing things in algebra that make my head spin.”
“Twelve is a nice age.” Maria looked toward the kitchen, her dark eyes pinched with worry. “You know where they are when they leave the house.”
“Mrs. Zika, we’re sorry to bother you,” Grace said, “but as you know, we’re trying to locate a missing child. A baby that your daughter has been babysitting.”
“I know that.” She dropped the remote onto the sofa. “And I know she told you about the things Armand said.” She lowered her voice. “That boy is a bad influence. Irresponsible and spoiled. His whole life is being handed to him, while my daughter has to learn to make a living. I don’t want her to see him. No more, that’s what I said. But she doesn’t listen.”
“You don’t trust him,” Chris said. “I can understand why. But do you trust your daughter?”
“I’ve always taught her to do the right thing. Does she sneak around with that boy? Maybe. Would she steal somebody’s baby to make money? No. Never. Not my Eleni.” Suddenly, her eyes filled with tears, and she hurriedly swiped them away.
Grace and Chris waited, listening against the strains of a tango.
“If you saw her when she had to give her baby up . . . after she held him, just for a minute. . . .” She took a jagged breath and swallowed hard. “To have a baby torn from your arms . . . it’s not something any woman should have to bear. She doesn’t talk about it, but I know it’s still with her . . . in here.” She bumped one fist against her chest. “That pain will always be there.”
“I hear what you’re saying,” Grace said. “But the saving grace of pain and memory are that they both fade with time. They may never go away, but it does get easier.”
Maria Zika swiped at her eyes again and nodded. “I hope you’re right. It’s not easy for a girl her age to come back from what she’s been through. But if you think she had anything to do with taking that little Annabelle, you’re wrong. She would never do that to someone else because she knows how it feels.” She thumped her chest again. “She knows it in here.”
“So now we’re down to Helen Rosekind and Raquel Jarvis,” Chris said as they pulled away from the Greenwood Lake apartments.
“That’s exactly what I was thinking. But what about Chelsea’s sisters?”
Chris rubbed his knuckles against the stubble on his jaw. “Nah. They seem like decent people, pretty well adjusted. I don’t think either of them is our perp.”
“Agreed.” For Grace, the two sisters hadn’t really been strong suspects. Yeah, there was a possible scenario with Emma Wyatt leaving town, but it lacked teeth. A stolen baby was not easy to pass off in a functional family, which the Maynard sisters seemed to be.
Grace had a message to call Jimmy Flannigan. “I hope he’s got a break for us,” she told Chris.
“Sure. Let the FBI guys breeze in and crack our case with one phone call.”
Ignoring him, she called Jimmy’s cell.
“Pete and I just left the Jarvises a few minutes ago,” he said. “As far as we could see, they check out. Totally cooperative. Raquel and the husband showed us papers they filed with the au
thorities in Brazil. It looks like the father there is going to release custody. He’s agreed to it in writing, but it’ll take a while for all the paperwork to catch up. You know how that is. I have a call in with a friend at the State Department to see if they can verify it.”
“Did you see any signs of an infant being around?”
“Not at all. We found some baby stuff in the basement, but it hadn’t been used for a while. I have to say, they were really open to anything we wanted to do. We even checked the refrigerator for those missing bottles.”
“That was nice of them, but they have something at stake. They don’t want those kids taken away.”
“True. Raquel Jarvis already lost them once. For that reason, she was very sympathetic to Chelsea Maynard’s position.”
“Good point.” She stared out the window but could only see her own reflection against the dark glass. “Thanks, Jimmy. I appreciate the help. Sorry to keep you away from your family.”
“Mmm. Not a factor. I’ve been on my own for a few years now.”
“Really.” Grace scratched the back of her neck, keeping her face toward the window so Chris couldn’t see. “Same. But I’ve got a wonderful son. Almost thirteen.”
“He must keep you busy. But I’m glad we reconnected. We should grab coffee sometime. Is there anything else I can do for you right now?”
She told him about the records that needed to be checked in Arizona. “I can get on it in the morning, but I’m thinking you might have access to their databases right now.”
“Let me see what I can do,” he said. “I’ll let you know the minute I have something.”
As soon as she ended the call, she knew Chris would have some clever comment.
“So you got your boyfriend to do the dirty work so that you could go home and get some sleep? It’s a good thing you never played me like a fiddle.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and I’m not going home. We’re going back to the office.”
“Only to get your car. You said it yourself. You’re not going to reach anyone in a state office in Arizona at this time of night.”
“I don’t want to stop. Not till we have Annabelle Green safe in hand.”
“To be continued,” Chris said. “We’ve run every lead we have at the moment. I say we close our eyes for a few hours and reconvene in the morning.”
Grace hated to admit it, but Chris was right.
“And he may not be your boyfriend yet,” Chris added, “but he will be. He wants to get together, right?”
“Did you hear him on my phone?”
“No, but I know how guys are. Did he mention going for coffee?”
“Shut up and drive.”
“He did!” Chris laughed. “God, I am good.”
Grace got off the Hutch at the exit for home, but instead of turning left toward their town house she made a right toward the Larsens. It was almost ten o’clock, but she knew Alicia Larsen wouldn’t mind, and she craved seeing her son.
It took only ten minutes to get Matt into the car, his stuff stowed in the backseat. “Mrs. Larsen said I could stay another night.” There was disappointment in his voice.
“I thought it would be necessary, but I’m done for the night, and I wanted to see your smiling face.” She turned to him, not at all ruffled by his pouting. “I missed you, buddy.”
“We were just getting ready for bed.”
“So you’re not missing anything, and you can walk to school in the morning. Your usual routine.” They lived just three blocks from the middle school, and Matt had insisted on walking on his own this year. Even on rainy days, when she offered to drive him, he told her that he was “one hundred percent waterproof.”
Once inside the house, Grace stole a hug from him, telling him that she’d missed him and that she hoped to be finished with this case soon. After he brushed his teeth, he came to say good night.
“It’s good to be home, Mom,” he admitted. “I like sleeping in my own bed.”
Grace had to restrain herself from tucking him in; he insisted he was too old for that now. But after she showered and changed into sweats, she peeked into his room. Matt was asleep, his body a soft crescent under the comforter.
Quietly, she moved a Frisbee and a half-built LEGO creature from the beanbag chair and sank down into it. With her feet on the floor and her hands cupped under her head as a pillow, she watched her boy sleeping.
Soon, Chelsea and Leo would be able to sleep, knowing their child was safe. They were getting closer to Annabelle—she could feel it.
When she closed her eyes, Annabelle’s face filled the scope of her mind—those stern blue eyes and baby jowls. That gummy smile.
Hang on, little one. We’re coming to get you.
Chapter 43
Another morning without Annie . . .
Day Three.
“Every day on this medication, I feel like I’m getting just a little bit better, gaining some ground,” Chelsea told Leo.
“That’s great, Chels.”
“The downside is, as the dark void fades from behind my eyes, I’m beginning to see what a rotten mother I’ve been.”
He looked up from the dishwasher. “You were never rotten. Just distracted. In pain. Distant. But not rotten.”
She pulled her hands into the sleeves of Leo’s oversized sweater. “Still . . . I wasn’t here for Annabelle. I feel so guilty. It’s like God decided I wasn’t a fit mother, and He moved her to someone better.”
“God doesn’t do social service placements,” Leo told her. “And stop beating yourself up. You’re Annie’s mother, and you love her. She’s a lucky kid to have you. And you’re working on your problem, dealing with the PPD. Things will get better for everyone, all around, once she’s back.”
Once Annie gets back.
As soon as they find her.
They talked about it as if it were a given, mostly because they weren’t able to deal with the alternative.
With Leo at the store buying new baby bottles, Chelsea meandered through the house, feeling like a stranger in her own home.
The sunken spot on the sofa screamed of the hours wasted there when she could have been soothing her baby.
Annie’s empty bucket seat taunted her. How many times did you stash me in here, too tired or grouchy to walk me around when I was crying?
And the changing table, sanitized and flat as a runway now. No pack of wipes left open, no balled-up diapers left behind. Can’t you sleep three hours without a diaper change? she used to lament to Annie. What will it take to make you stop crying?
The crying had stopped. The silence crushed her.
Through the living room blinds, Chelsea saw that news vans were still parked out on the street. What were they holding on for?
Video of the crying mother? So far, whenever she went out front, she had been careful to keep her face covered with sunglasses and a hooded jacket.
Should she go on camera and plead for the safe return of their daughter? She would do it in a heartbeat if she thought it would help, but the detectives did not advise it. “There’s been no ransom,” Grace had pointed out. “Infant abductors aren’t motivated by money; they want a baby.”
Or maybe they thought they’d spin a story out of a break in the case. That might interest viewers, but the detectives weren’t feeding them any information. Grace didn’t want the kidnapper to know if they were getting closer to her.
She watched a man hoist a heavy camera onto his shoulder, shooting footage of a woman in a parka at the edge of their lawn. Turning away from the blinds, Chelsea imagined the news crews filming everyone who had crossed the line of reporters and entered the house yesterday afternoon. The media would be buzzing once they found out that the person who had kidnapped Annie was one of those visitors.
She imagined them running old footage from yesterday.
Would it be Eleni, so young and tormented?
Or Raquel Jarvis, exotic and strikingly beautiful?
Or Helen Rosekind,
aloof but efficient, with all her ducks in a row?
Chelsea was convinced that the person who had stolen her milk had Annabelle, and she thought it was a damned good assumption. Why else would someone take breast milk, right under her nose?
Taking a seat at the rolltop desk, she grabbed a pen and started to jot down her memories of yesterday’s late morning. At first she’d been sitting in the kitchen with Sasha, then with Melanie while Emma played with the kids in the living room. But after that, Chelsea has spent most of her time in the living room. That’s what a person did when a half dozen guests unexpectedly dropped by.
She circled her sparse notes and doodled tiny stars around the circle. Grace Santos was on her way, and although Chelsea had hoped to have something for her, she simply had not kept an eye on the refrigerator yesterday.
In front of her, the Sounder bills were neatly clipped into three stacks. Before Annie had been taken from them, Chelsea had been starting to get them organized. She didn’t have the patience to go through these invoices with the rep today, but now would be a good time to get that preapproval for her visit with Dr. Chin.
It was a positive thing, a step in the right direction, so she called the helpline. With the speakerphone on, she was free to fidget, buffing the fixtures at the kitchen sink, dusting the fireplace mantel and the balustrades of the staircase. Nervous cleaning.
A few minutes later there was a tap on the side door, and Chelsea opened it to Grace.
“Come in.” She tossed her dust rag under the sink and wiped her hands on her jeans. “I’m on hold with my insurance company, but I can’t hang up. They’re so hard to reach and I’m number two in the queue, and—”
“No problem.” Grace nodded toward the speakerphone. “We can talk over it.”
“I hate that annoying music they play.” Chelsea adjusted the volume. “Do they really think anyone likes that?” For the first time she noticed lines radiating from the outer edges of Grace’s eyes. Was there bad news? “What’s happening?”
“To cut to the chase, we’re closing in on Helen Rosekind, your baby nurse. Her credentials are questionable—we’re not even sure she’s a licensed nurse—and it appears that she’s living under a stolen identity.”
All She Ever Wanted Page 27
