Page 97 of Is Anyone Listening?
"Of course." She settled into a floral armchair and gestured for me to take the sofa.
I perched on the edge, trying to figure out how to phrase my concerns. "I've been hearing things about Ray. And I'm worried about what's really going on at the inn."
Dorothy's expression grew troubled. "I have to say all this talk has gotten me more concerned, too. But Cassidy, I've known Ellen for fifty years. She's a hard woman; I won't deny that. But she's not cruel. And Ray—he's had a rough life, but he's loyal to Ellen because she gave him a chance when no one else would."
"I understand your loyalty, but what about Natalie? What about Jessica and Anna?"
"I don't know what happened to them. But I don't believe Ellen or Ray hurt anyone," she said decisively. "They wouldn't do that. Sometimes people just leave, Cassidy. Sometimes they need to disappear and start over. All three of those women seemed lost when I met them. They were lovely women but sad, too. They were running from things in their past. Maybe their pasts caught up with them."
"All three? Don't you think that's a bit coincidental?"
"I really don't," she said with a definitive shake of her head. "It's not like someone disappeared every day. It's been over the course of a year, and like I said, those women were searching for something. They weren't content. They were lonely. They wanted love, family, something to fill the void in their hearts."
"I didn't realize you'd talked to all of them."
"I talk to everyone. Anna didn't say much, though. She was like a scared little rabbit, darting away every time someone looked at her. But the others were a bit more open. And so pretty, too. It was sad. They had beauty and heart, but they were still unhappy."
"I just wish I had proof that my grandmother isn't sticking her head in the sand, that Ray or someone else isn't doing something that could come back to hurt her, too."
"Maybe you just need to trust your grandmother. Get to know her."
"How can I when she won't open up?"
"You keep trying. You seem like a woman with a lot of stubborn determination, much like your grandmother, in fact. Or maybe you need to press your father for information. Does he know you're here?"
"No. And he's as tight-lipped as she is. They have some secret. It might have to do with my grandfather, maybe Lily, or maybe both. But neither one of them wants to talk about it, and I don't know how to break this deadlock."
"Lily? I haven't heard that name in a long time."
"Apparently, my father had a crush on her. And then she killed herself."
"That was a very sad situation. I wish I could help." Dorothy stopped abruptly. "Maybe I can."
"How?"
"Pictures."
"I've seen a few photos of my grandmother and my dad when he was a little boy. I'm not sure more photos will help."
"What about when your father was in high school? When he was playing baseball? When your grandmother used to cheer him on at his games?" Her face grew more animated as she spoke. "Lily used to go to those games, too. I bet I have pictures of her as well. I didn't have children of my own, but I was always close to the Holloway family, and I used to go to all the games to cheer Tom on. He and David played on the same team."
"And they liked the same girl."
"I don't know about that, but I think it would be good for you to see your father and your grandparents in happier times so that you can get a better idea of who they really are."
"That could help, I suppose." Looking at family photos wouldn't get me closer to finding Natalie, but it might help me understand the two people who shared my blood but little else.
"Let's go downstairs," she said cheerily, leading me through the kitchen and down a stairway to the basement. It was quite a large room and very full, I thought, as she flipped on the lights. An assortment of random old furniture was along one wall, as well as a workbench with tools, and an area for gardening equipment. There were also quite a few boxes and a couple of old filing cabinets.
"Let me see," Dorothy muttered, moving toward a stack of boxes in the corner. "I think the yearbooks and photos are in these boxes. My husband, Harold, was always organizing things down here, but I haven't been through any of this since he passed. It was difficult enough to clear his things out of the house, the bedroom." She smiled sadly. "It's funny how the memories hit at the oddest times. Anyway, let's start opening boxes."
"Are you sure you want to do that? I don't want to create more clutter for you to clean up."
"It would be good for me to see what's here, and I won't have to do it by myself, so that's a bonus. I'll start here. You start over there."
"Okay," I said, my gaze moving to a stack of paint cans next to me. Tucked behind them was a large cardboard box. I was about to reach for it when the doorbell rang upstairs.
"Oh, who could that be?" Dorothy said, giving me an apologetic smile as she headed for the stairs. "I'll be right back. Keep looking."
