Authors: Mariah Stewart
When she returned to her car, Genna pulled her states’ atlas from her briefcase, and was startled to find that Allen’s Springs, New York, was less than a three-hour drive from Patsy’s cottage. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, debating her next move. When she’d formulated her game plan, she reached for her cell phone, and dialed John’s number.
He answered on the third ring.
“Where are you?” He asked.
“I am under an ancient maple tree that shades the parking lot at the Frog Hollow Day School outside of Mystic. I have so far this morning met with Barbie Nelson’s distraught husband, her equally distraught mother, and her best friend.”
“Learn anything new?”
“Actually, I believe I have. That being Barbie had a stepmother and a stepsister, neither of whose names appeared in the investigative file, neither of whom have been contacted—at least, as far as I can tell, officially—since Barbie disappeared.”
“Really?”
“Really. And here’s the tricky part. According to the mother, Barbie and the stepfamily had no relationship at all—she never even bothered to mention
the stepsister. The best friend, however, says that Barbie was very close to these two women, and has visited them—alone, without husband and kids—on several occasions.”
“I’m guessing you’re going to check that out.”
“You betcha. And you’ll never guess where stepmom lives.”
“Hit me.”
“About three hours from the lake.”
“Patsy’s lake?”
“The same.”
“How convenient.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I want to talk to Doris Wright, Barbie’s stepmother, and if possible, maybe just spend the night with Pats and Chrissie.”
“Go for it.”
“I think I will. I’ll fly into Erie and rent a car, drive to the Wright’s, then down to Patsy’s. Then the next morning, I can drive back to the airport—”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Have you heard from Adam or Dale?” Genna asked.
“Dale just checked in, I’m still waiting for Adam. Nothing hot just yet, I’m afraid.” He paused, then said, “Look, I’m sitting outside the home of Justine Lange’s parents and since my plane was delayed, I’m almost an hour late.”
“I won’t keep you.” She hesitated, wanting to say more.
“Call me after you talk to the stepmother, okay?”
“I will.”
“Hey, Gen?” John added.
“Yes?”
“I miss you.”
“Miss you, too,” she replied, meaning it.
“That’s nice. I’m glad. Thank you,” he said as he disconnected the call.
“Thank you, too, John,” she replied, then dialed her office and requested that arrangements be made for her to fly, as soon as possible, to Erie Airport.
Her travel plans in the works, she called information and obtained the phone number for Doris Wright, which she jotted down on the back of the pad in which she’d written her notes from the morning’s interview. As she drove from the parking lot, she debated on whether or not to call Doris Wright before her visit, then decided against it. Maybe she’d do better by just showing up.
The ringing of her cell phone jarred her, and she answered it on the second ring.
“Genna?”
“Yes.”
“Ok, the best we can do for a flight to Erie is from T.F. Green Airport in Rhode Island later this evening.”
“What time?”
“Nine-fifteen.”
Genna glanced at her watch. She had plenty of time to make the airport.
“That’ll be just fine. Thanks so much.”
“Your car will be waiting for you when you get there. I’m assuming you’ll need a room for the night?”
Genna thought it through. It would be late when she arrived in Erie, and Allen’s Springs was a good hour and a half from the airport. Too late to go knocking on the door of the unsuspecting Mrs. Wright.
“You’re right. I will.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks again, Sharon.”
Genna started the engine and headed back to I-95, north toward Providence, all the while thinking about Barbie Nelson’s stepmother, and what she might be able to add to the investigation.
Genna stood at the end of the driveway and squinted in the bright sunlight, cursing the fact that she’d left her sunglasses on the dresser in the hotel where she’d spent the previous night. Shielding her eyes with her hands, she could see that the number on the Cape Cod style house—18—appeared to be the correct one. A glance at the name on the mailbox confirmed that this was indeed the Wright home. Slamming the car door, she set off up the drive, noting that the lawn, if somewhat dried from the hot August sun, was as neat and well trimmed as the flower beds that outlined the path from the front door to the end of the drive. She rang the doorbell and waited before ringing it once, twice more. When there was no answer, she walked around to the rear of the house, where she found an elderly woman wearing a large straw hat bent over and pulling weeds from around a birdbath that sat in the middle of the yard.
“Excuse me?” Genna called.
When the woman didn’t answer, Genna called again, a little louder this time. She was within twenty feet of the woman before she noticed the headphones
under the hat and the Disc Man clipped to the woman’s waist. She opted to approach from the other side, where her shadow would precede her, rather than from the back where a tap on the shoulder would surely startle.
“Oh!” The woman jumped slightly when Genna was almost upon her. Removing the hat and the earphones in almost one motion, she stepped back and said, “Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Wright?” Genna asked.
“No. Mrs. Wright isn’t here. Something I might help you with?”
“You are. . . ?”
“Jeanne Maynard. I live next door. I told Doris I’d keep an eye on the place while she was gone. . .”
“Gone?” Genna repeated. “Do you know when she’ll be back?”
“Sometime Monday, I think she said. She’s visiting her sister down in Scranton.” She paused, then asked again, “Is there something I can help you with?”
“If I leave my card with you, will you ask Mrs. Wright to call me as soon as she gets back? It’s very important.” Genna searched for a card, then as an afterthought, took a pen from her bag and wrote Patsy’s phone number on the back of it. “Tell her she can reach me at any of these numbers.”
Jeanne Maynard glanced at the card, her eyebrows raising slightly. “FBI, huh? You’ll be wanting to talk to her about Barbie, then, I suppose.”
“Do you know Barbie?”
“Certainly. She was born right over in Jamestown, you know. Didn’t move to Connecticut till she was, oh, fourteen, maybe. Then, of course, Sarah, her
mother, remarried, and Bob, her dad, married Doris, and for a long time, Barbie and her father didn’t seem to have much to say to each other. ’Course, I always held that it was Sarah who didn’t have much to say to Bob or Doris, frankly, but that’s none of my business. Wasn’t till Bob got sick that Barbie finally came around. I’ve always said it was a blessing that she did, there at the end, so’s that Bob could go to his grave having said good-bye to his only blood child, you know.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Five years ago, maybe.”
“And up until that time, Barbie didn’t see her father?”
“I don’t recall that she did.”
“Do you know why?”
Jeanne Maynard considered the question, and in the time it took for her to do so, Genna knew the answer. Of course, she knew.
“Well, I think that’s a question for someone else to answer.”
“Someone like who? Doris? Sarah?”
“Either one that cares to.” Mrs. Maynard crossed her arms over her chest and added, not unkindly, “It just isn’t my place to talk about another’s family troubles, you understand.”
“Any idea why Sarah and Bob divorced in the first place?”
Mrs. Maynard seemed to deliberate this carefully, then replied, “She wanted to move back to Connecticut. He didn’t. His business was here.”
“Was the business losing money?”
“Makin’ it hand over fist, best I could see. Bob always made a good living.”
“Then why would she want him to move hundreds of miles away. . .”
“I don’t know that she cared if he went with her or not. I think she just wanted away from. . .”
“Away from what?”
“From here,” she said uneasily.
“Why? What happened to her here?”
“You’ll have to ask Doris.” The woman turned her head as if aware she’d possibly said too much.
“I’ll do that. Will you be sure to ask her to call me?”
“I will. Certainly.” Mrs. Maynard nodded.
“Thank you. I appreciate it.” Genna smiled and turned away.
“Miss. . .” Jeanne Maynard took Genna’s card from her pocket and glanced at it again, “. . . Snow. Miss Snow.”
“Yes?” Genna turned back to her.
“Is Barbie. . . do you think Barbie is. . .” The woman struggled with her words.
“We don’t know, Mrs. Maynard. I don’t want to even speculate. Right now, we’re just trying to find out what might have happened to her.”
“I’ve been prayin’ for that girl ever since I heard about it on the news the other night.”
“You just keep on doing that, Mrs. Maynard. You just keep on praying for her until we find her,” Genna said before turning to walk back down the drive, adding, as she went, “and pray that we find her real soon. . .”
Patsy dipped the paddle into the water and eased the kayak out onto the lake. Behind her on the dock, Crystal sat, legs dangling inches from the water’s
surface, her head bent over the book she had selected from a shelf in the living room. Patsy would have liked to have had her along on this little trip around the lake, but there’d been too few books in the girl’s life, too few opportunities for Crystal to sit and read by the last light of a summer day, and Patsy didn’t have the heart to press her to come along. Besides, she could do with a little solitude tonight. A little time to reflect on all that had happened over the past few weeks.
“It’s been a doozy of a summer, that’s for sure,” she muttered as she passed the Williams’s dock and waved to old Mr. Williams, who was, by Patsy’s estimation, roughly ninety-two this year, give or take.
First, of course, there was Crystal.
“Poor baby,” Patsy sighed.
Patsy shook her head. All those years she’d had Genna in therapy, hoping that someday it wouldn’t all hurt her quite so much to look back on the past, and then hadn’t the past just popped up out of nowhere, just like that? And while Patsy’s first concern had been for Genna—hadn’t she made it from the cabin to Genna’s apartment in record time, leaving poor Kermie with a few days’ supply of cat food and insulin at the McDonoughs’ down the road, so that Genna wouldn’t have to deal with her sister alone, after all these years. The sight of Crystal sitting on the sofa, her hands folded in her lap as if waiting for disaster to fall from the sky, well, that had just about done Patsy in. She hadn’t known for sure what she’d expected to find when she arrived, but Patsy knew she hadn’t been prepared for Chrissie’s fragility. What could Patsy do, but take her under her wing and try to help out a little? After all, what had
that girl had to give her a solid footing in this world? A father who beat her and a mother who stood aside and let him?
And she’s such a pretty little thing when she smiles. And she has smiled more lately. A little more each day.
“I’d wish I’d been able to get my hands on Crystal back then, when I’d taken in Genna,” Patsy spoke softly as she skimmed the surface of the lake, all deep blue now as the sun dropped a little behind the clouds. “I’m not bragging, Lord, you know that’s not my way. But I can’t help but think that a loving home and a little stability would have meant the world to this child.”
She paddled through a cluster of waxy white water lilies and watched the shadows lengthen across the water. A bat darted overhead, dining on mosquitoes, and off to her right, a fish jumped as the kayak approached. The end of another summer day on Bricker’s Lake, with the sky turning shades of pink and lavender and orange. Peaceful. Serene. Patsy rested the paddle across her knees for just a moment, coasting a little before heading back toward her dock, humming a song she’d heard on her favorite Frank Sinatra tape that morning.
She floated as close as she could to the shore before hopping out and walking through the shallow water to haul the kayak onto the shore. It was darker now, and Crystal must have gone inside to start dinner. She was real good about things like that, Patsy reflected. Helpful as could be, with a willingness to join in whatever task needed to be done. She was, in fact, a joy to have around.
Patsy hadn’t taken but ten steps up the grassy
slope that led to the cottage before stopping in her tracks. In the quiet dusk, a figure loomed between her place and Nancy’s.
“Hey! You! What are you doing over there? Step on out into the light, you hear?” Patsy called into the shadows.
The figure stood stock still, then stepped toward her.
“It’s me, Ms. Wheeler. Kenny. Kenny Harris.”
“Now, what are you doing, lurking around here like that? Good Lord, Kenny, you’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”
“Sorry, Ms. Wheeler. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just taking a walk around the lake, and you being down there on the lake, and me seeing someone in your cottage, well, I thought I should take a closer look. I didn’t realize that Ms. Snow was here this week.”
“She’s not. Well, it’s Miss Snow, but it’s not Genna. It’s her sister, Crystal.”
Kenny stared at her for what seemed to be the longest time.
“What?” Patsy asked, wiping her still wet hands on the front of her shirt.
“I didn’t know. I mean, I thought it was Miss Snow. The one we’re supposed to be watching after. I didn’t know there was another one.”
And with that, Kenny mumbled something imperceptible and shuffled off back up the lawn and across the street.
“I swear there’s a full moon on the rise tonight,” Patsy muttered as she went into the house, where she found Crystal in the kitchen. She was peering down the short hallway that led to the front of the cabin, where the screen door stood open.
“Something wrong?” Patsy asked.
“No. I guess not. Just for a minute, it felt like someone was watching through the door,” Crystal told her.