The Abduction of Mary Rose

by Joan Hall Hovey

  "You wanna tell me what's going on?" Charlotte prodded. "I'm getting the message that this isn't just some piece of jewelry you covet."

  "Any idea what those letter on the back mean?" Naomi asked.

  "No. I figured somebody called Sis or something. You want to enlighten me, kiddo. I'm really in the dark here."

  By way of answer, Naomi reached across Charlotte and took the sheet of paper from the glove compartment. It was a copy of Mary Rose's school picture. She handed it to Charlotte. "Does the pendant look familiar to you?"

  Charlotte looked at the photo for moment, then handed it back to Naomi. "This is the girl who was abducted all those years ago … your mother."

  "Yes, my birth mother. Mary Rose Francis. Lillian Waters was my mother." Charlotte nodded her understanding. She examined the necklace again, looked back at the photo. "It's similar, I guess. You can't tell too much from this black and white copy though. Why?"

  "Just something I'm working on. If it turns into anything significant, I'll call you. You said this necklace isn't yours, Charlotte. Whose is it?"

  "Mom's. It's been in her jewelry box for years. She never wore it. Not her style. But I've always liked it." She grinned sheepishly. "So I … secretly borrowed it when I was at the house a few weeks ago."

  "Charlotte, do me a favour. Don't mention our conversation to your mother, okay? Or to anyone else. Okay?"

  She gave a quick shrug of her shoulders. "Sure."

  "May I borrow this?"

  She shrugged again. "I guess."

  "Thanks. I'd really appreciate that. I'll get it back to you shortly." She slipped it into her purse.

  "You think it's hers, don't you? Your birth mother's. That's pretty obvious. But you're wrong about that, Naomi. You can get this kind of jewelry lots of places, online. There are reproductions that…."

  "Yes, I know that's possible."

  "There's no ways it's hers. I get why this is important to you, Naomi, I do, but don't you think you might be getting a little … obsessed?"

  She was tiptoeing, not wanting to overstep her boundaries, and Naomi knew it. She took no offense. She supposed it could seem like obsession to someone who's never been where I am. Not that Charlotte didn't have her own share of problems. Naomi wouldn't have wanted Aunt Edna for a mother on a bet.

  "You could be right. Probably are. I don't know, Char. Like I said, I'll call you if I learn anything more. That's a promise. Your coffee's getting cold."

  Charlotte looked her straight in the eye. "Why would Mom have something that girl Mary Rose Francis owned?" There was a coolness in the question, a defensiveness. Naomi wasn't surprised.

  "I don't know. Maybe she doesn't. Right now all I have is questions." She finished off her coffee and sat the empty cup in the cup holder, noted that more people had come to enjoy a day at the beach, though it was not yet summer.

  The two little boys were running to the edge of the water and back, squealing and laughing. It would be numbingly cold yet. A group of girls were setting up a net for a game of beach volleyball. "Either way," Naomi said, "I'll call you."

  Charlotte nodded, not looking at her, but out the passenger window. "I have to get back to work."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The schedule for fitness trainers was pinned on the cork board by the counter. He ran his eye down the list of names, stopping at Charlotte Bradley. The only Charlotte on the list.

  She was working tonight. He'd talk to her, that was all. Find out her connection to Naomi Waters. Just mention it casually, nothing to make her suspicious. She'd just figure he was interested in her; women were like that. She was cute, not half bad, but the jock-type had never turned him on. How did they know each other? he wondered, unable to dismiss the anxiety building in him, like a dog sensing a coming storm. Even while a small voice was telling him it didn't matter. All he had to do was make Naomi Waters disappear forever and his troubles would be over. No one could pin anything on him, no matter what they thought they knew.

  No one knows anything, Mac. You're turning into the freaking Weaz.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Naomi couldn't get home quick enough. Locking the front door behind her, she let Molly out of her carrier, then rushed into the studio and turned on the computer. She sat impatiently, waiting for the thing to go through its paces. She'd bookmarked the Mi'kmaq dictionary and brought it up now, typed in SISIP, the letters carved into the back of the crescent moon.

  She clicked find. When the words small bird came up on the screen, she could hardly get her breath, only sit there in wonder, the blood draining from her face. She had been staring at the words for what must have been a full minute before she realized she was crying, silent tears sliding down her cheeks that she didn't bother to wipe away.

  It's hers. Not that she was all that surprised, and yet at the same time it seemed impossible that the pendant she held in the palm of her hand had once belonged to a young girl whose grandfather called her Little Bird, and who had made it for her. The same young girl who had given her life.

  A myriad of emotions swam through her, setting every nerve ending afire and sparking. This was a gift she'd been given. A small miracle. Had Mary Rose not confided to Lisa Boyce that her grandfather had called her Little Bird, I would never have known. She asked the question Charlotte had asked of her, but with a little different take. How did the pendant wind up in Edna Bradley's possession? She'd have to find out. But not yet. First, she'd do a little more digging on her own. She didn't want to betray Charlotte's confidence without a very good reason. Right now she needed to know if Mary Rose had been wearing this pendant on the night she was taken. If she was, then why wasn't it with the rest of her clothing, to be returned to her grandfather at some point?

  Lisa would know. Yes, she would know.

  She started to get up just as the phone rang. She picked up in the living room, thinking for the millionth time that she should get a cell phone, but it wasn't a serious thought and she knew she probably wouldn't. As her mother often said, she had a foot planted in two worlds. You're something of a computer nerd, she used to tease her, but you're still an old soul, Naomi.

  It was Lisa on the phone. Naomi smiled to herself, surprised by nothing today, as Lisa said, "You've been on my mind, Naomi. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

  "I'm fine, Lisa. I was just going to call you. I need to ask you something."

  "Sure, dear. What is it?"

  "In the school photo of Mary Rose, it shows her wearing a pendant. A little…."

  "Crescent moon," Lisa filled in. "She always wore it."

  "Then she was wearing it that night."

  "Yes. Why? What...?"

  "I think I'm holding that pendant in my hand right now, Lisa. I want you to see it and confirm that it's the same one, although I don't think there's much question…."

  "Oh, my God. How could...?"

  "I'll explain when I see you. Can I come over now? Are you busy?"

  A half hour later, Naomi pulled into Lisa's drive to see Lisa standing in her doorway, smiling, looking happy to see her. She also looked anxious.

  "I'm so glad you're here," she said. "Hi, Molly. I was worried. Come in, come in. I've got dinner nearly ready. I hope you like tuna casserole. I know Molly will," she laughed, and closed the door behind them. "I've got a litter box already for her, so not to worry. I had a bag of the stuff left over from winter that I used for the driveway. Here, give me your coat."

  Naomi unlocked the carrier, and Molly wandered about the kitchen warily, but not unhappily, and Naomi suspected the smell of tuna made the strange surroundings easier to take. Or maybe she was just becoming a seasoned traveler, looking forward to that next experience. She thanked Lisa for letting her bring Molly, and Lisa chuckled, saying, "Oh, posh, I love animals. Had a cat until the poor little thing died, twenty years old he was. His name was Hobo. So, let's have a look, shall we?"

  Naomi had put the pendant in a small black velvet bag she'd found in her bureau
drawer, that had once held a pair of crystal earrings, one of which went missing ages ago. Now she sat down at the kitchen table, took the bag from her purse, upturned it into her hand.

  Naomi had often read of someone's jaw dropping, but Lisa's actually did. "Oh, I can't believe it. But you're right, it is hers. Where did you...?" As she ran a thumb over the bone, tracing the letter with the pad of her thumb, as Naomi had done, her eyes shone with tears.

  "My cousin was wearing it. My cousin by marriage, not blood." It was the first time she'd ever made the distinction aloud. "She said it was her mother's. That would be my Aunt Edna … through adoption. Gets complicated."

  "How did she get it?"

  "That's the question I intend to ask Edna. But I wanted to be absolutely sure this was Mary Rose's before I went any further with this."

  "Well, be sure then. We were in the same class for an entire year, and she always wore this pendant, every day. And she was wearing it the last time I saw her. She even let me hold it once."

  "It apparently wasn't with her when they found her," Naomi said. There was no mention of it in the paper.

  "Her grandfather your great-grandfather, Naomi asked the same question. I remember he came to our house one time, he wanted to know about the pendant. He looked so old and broken standing in our doorway. Yet there was a strength about him, a special dignity that came from somewhere deep inside him, beyond the grief. My mother offered him tea, but he wouldn't come in. When I told him I didn't know where it was, he left. That was the only time I ever saw him."

  Naomi surmised he probably told the police she'd been wearing it that night and they brushed it off, didn't believe him, thought he was an old man with an unreliable mind. And an Indian to boot. You couldn't ignore that possibility. Otherwise, they would have followed up on the lead. Because it was a lead.

  "Things are somehow coming together, aren't they?" Lisa said.

  "I think so. Somewhat. I'm getting a lot of help. Certainly from you."

  "Mainly from Mary Rose, I'll bet," she said softly, the faintest smile on her face.

  It was good to be with someone who had known Mary Rose back then, who knew what happened to her, and cared. And besides, she liked Lisa for herself. Naomi liked being with her. "Being with you is like coming in from the cold, Lisa," she said impulsively, "and warming my hands over a lovely fire."

  "Oh, honey, you sure you're not Irish," she laughed, but Naomi heard the pleasure in her voice. "What a sweet thing to say." She left the table then, and still smiling, opened the oven door to let out a blast of heat and more of the aroma of tuna casserole and homemade biscuits. "I hope you're hungry."

  "I am now."

  Molly echoed her sentiments in cat language, and later thanked her benefactor by licking the saucer clean.

  Molly knew a good thing when she smelled it. The casserole was amazingly tasty, tender in a creamy dill sauce. Not to mention the green salad with cherry tomatoes, real bacon bits and chives. "I didn't realize I was so famished," Naomi said, dabbing at her mouth with a linen napkin, having polished off a second helping of the casserole with only a slight embarrassment.

  "You're using up a lot of fuel with all this detective work," Lisa smiled. "You need to replenish. Anything would have tasted good."

  "Not so. You're an amazing cook and you know it." She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually cooked a meal for herself. "My turn next. I promise. I'm no Lisa Boyce, but I make a pretty mean lasagna."

  "I'll hold you to it. I love Italian. My favourite."

  "Then we'll do it." How good it would be to live like a normal human being again. To have people over for dinner. Good conversation, a little wine, a few laughs. Would she live so long? Did Eric Grant like lasagna? Now where did that come from? She hardly knew him.

  Lisa smiled at her, almost as if she could read her thoughts. "Let's put the dishes in the dishwasher and take our coffees outside. We'll sit on the swing."

  They sat and chatted till the sun went down. The wonderful meal, the gentle motion of the swing, even its soft rhythmic squeak, lulled her into a peaceful state as she listened to Lisa telling her about her husband and their wonderful years together. She talked about her kids. In turn, Naomi told her about her mother, Lili, and how close they'd been. She answered Lisa's questions about her job as an audio book narrator, which seemed to fascinate Lisa no end.

  Naomi told her how much she loved narrating stories, becoming each of the characters in the book, like performing in a one-woman stage play, except she imagined an audience of one. One rapt little face caught up in the story, rather than a sea of faces.

  "One little girl writes me fan letters and calls me the storybook lady," she said. "She sent me a picture of herself. A serious little girl with braids and braces. She reminded me of myself as a kid."

  "Your mom must have been so proud of you, Naomi."

  "She was. She was my biggest fan. She's really the reason I'm in this business." She told her about her mother's fondness for old radio stories like The Sealed Book, The Squeaking Door and Suspense Theatre. "She had a stack of those old shows on CDs she'd ordered online. They instilled in me a love for the medium, and starting me thinking narrating might be something I could do."

  She'd been right; her dream evolved into a career that she loved. Audio books were a big part of the publishing industry. She was lucky to have found her niche there.

  She asked Lisa how the computer lessons were going, how she met her husband, about her kids. One thread of conversation leading to another, weaving the narrative of Lisa's life.

  Soon, a sprinkle of stars appeared in the dusky sky. A hint of the bay was in the air, mingled with the apple blossom growing on the lone tree in the yard.

  "I really have to go, Lisa," she said. "It's getting late."

  Lisa pleaded with her not to go, insisting she stay the night. “You have nothing you need to go home to," she said. "Molly's here with you, and she's fine. And you need some rest. I didn't want to say anything earlier, but you don't look good, Naomi. You've lost more weight and you've got circles under your eyes. You need a good night's sleep, and there's an excellent Posturepedic mattress on the bed in the guestroom. I have a nice Victorian nightie you can wear. You can even take it home with you when you go, far too small for me. One of the kids gave it to me for Christmas and I've never worn it."

  "Hard to resist," she chuckled softly. "Really, I'd love to stay, Lisa, but I have so much to do. I have to make a plan. I have to…."

  "You'll think better once you've had a good night's sleep. Personally, I think you should take what you have to the police and let them handle it. But I know you won't do that. And I understand. But why can't it wait a little. It's waited this long. In fact, you could stay here with me for a while, a week, two…."

  "That's very generous. And I would leave it to the police if I thought they'd listen to me. They won't, Lisa, anymore than they listened to my great-grandfather all those years ago. There was a policeman who had begun to believe me, but unfortunately he had a heart attack and is no longer on the force. Though I'm told he's recovering nicely. No, I need more evidence. I need to solve the damn case."

  The phone in Lisa's sweater pocket burbled. After it burbled a second time, she answered, hanging up a few minutes later, still smiling.

  "My son," she said, "the one in Alberta." He was checking up on her wanting to know if she was all right and relating his own news, which was limited since he was working long shifts for a construction company. "He's a great kid," Lisa told her. "He hates being away weeks at a time, but the money's great. He has a girlfriend, Janet, and they're saving for a down payment for a house before they get married."

  "They sound like a great couple."

  "Yeah, they are. So, are you going to be my housemate for awhile?"

  "I can't, Lisa, I…."

  "For tonight at least, then. I have such a bad feeling about you going home tonight. I really do. I don't think I could stand it if anything happened to you,
too. I'd never forgive myself. And Mary Rose would never forgive me."

  It was that last argument that persuaded her. And Lisa's unearned guilt over Mary Rose. The truth was she didn't want to go home at all. She wasn't brave, she was terrified. Maybe it was a good idea to stay away from the house for tonight.

  Her hesitation gave Lisa an opportunity to reiterate the reasons why Naomi should not go home, and she seized upon it, though there was no need. She had already made up her mind. As soon as she did, a blessed sense of relief washed over her. It would be so nice to have one night where she didn't jump at every sound.

  "I'll stay," she said. "And thanks, Lisa."

  Despite the night sounds outside the screened bedroom window, a light wind, and once the moan of a foghorn out on the bay, Naomi soon slept.

  When she woke, the plan was in place.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The Puffin Club was a hot spot in River's End, attracting a wide clientele, though tonight they were mostly a younger crowd.

  When Mac walked in the place was jumping. The place reeked of booze and sweat and sex. The slick, gyrating bodies of women in scant clothing moving to the pounding, thrusting music, nightmarish in the strobe lights, sent a surge of fury through him. Made him want to go on the prowl. The thing that set him off, though, was showing up at that bitch's house and finding the car gone and no one home. Not even the damn cat, which he would gladly have slaughtered on the spot, just to punish her. Where was she? He could feel the vein pulsing in his forehead as he scanned the room. Easy Mac, he told himself. Be cool, man.

  And then he spotted two of the fitness instructors from the centre, including the one called Charlotte, sitting at a corner table with two other girls. She might know where her friend was. In fact, he was almost certain she would know. They knew him from the centre, so it would be natural he'd go over and say hi. Maybe he'd ask Charlotte if she'd like to dance. He sauntered over to the table. Women were always wanting someone to dance with them.