Page 61 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
I’m already shaking my head. “Have you gone insane? I don’t even know whether you believe what you’re saying. I know you loved your sister, but you’ve got to let her go.”
“Here.” Joe looks me in the eye. Cold fear drops over me like a sheet of frigid ocean water. He could arrest me on suspicion of murder if they found a body. He’s suspicious enough to do it right here on the sidewalk. What that would do to Paige—“They found her here, Beau. Alive.”
He seems serious. Either that or he’s batshit crazy.
Or he’s telling the truth.
All this time there was this uneasy possibility of a ghost. As if she’s returned from the dead to haunt us. Impossible, of course. I don’t believe in ghosts. “Where?” I find myself asking.
“Here in Eben Cape. Downtown.” A hollow laugh. “She’s been right under my nose the entire time. I’m not sure I’d have believed it if I hadn’t seen the video myself.”
A part of me thought it would be easier if they’d found a body. We would have more closure. Paige would have more closure, even if the answer hurt like a motherfucker. It’s going to hurt anyway. Because someday I’m going to have to tell Paige what happened to her mother. That she faked her own death, apparently. It still seems impossible.
“How did they find her?” I blink my way back to looking him in the eye. The sun feels too hot on my skin now. Burning, like a house fire. “And what do you mean, proof?”
Joe takes his phone out of his pocket, swipes across the screen a few times, and hands it to me. “This footage was taken by a security camera in one of the shops early this morning. The owner followed the case when we were actively searching for her. He called the tip line because he remembered our original request for sightings of women matching Emily’s description.”
At first there’s no one on the screen. Just a wide-angle view of the front window of the bakery downtown. The footage is from early in the morning, according to the time stamp. About ten seconds in, the front door opens and the baker comes through. He walks past the counter and disappears from view.
And then a lady strolls in front of the window from the left side of the screen.
It’s her.
I know it instantly from her profile and the way she walks. Emily wears a long white dress with small straps. She walks in front of the bakery’s second window and pauses.
My vision blanks out. All this time, I’ve been wondering. Entertaining the possibilities. Trying to decide which one would be less earth-shattering to discover. This one’s it.
My lips have gone numb. She didn’t die in the boating accident.
If Joe has proof she’s alive, she’s been alive all this time.
Why hasn’t she come for her already? If Emily is alive, why hasn’t she come for Paige?
Emily could never resist a bakery. She loved cinnamon rolls and doughnuts and these little pastries with custard inside. The Emily in the security film leans into the window and cups her hands around her eyes to see through. It gives the camera a perfect shot of her face.
It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.
I shove the phone back into Joe’s hand. “Where has she been all this time?”
“I don’t know.” I never thought I’d see Joe like this again after the funeral. He looks lost. Bereft. “We have an APB out for her, but this all happened so fast.”
“Goddamn it, she’s not a ghost. If this video is real, she’s a real woman walking around Eben Cape. Find her.” It’s not fair to snarl at Joe for this, but for all the other things he’s done—he deserves it. But it doesn’t register with him. He doesn’t bristle or tell me to shut the hell up or threaten me with jail time. He just stares off through the side lawn and out over the ocean.
He thought his sister died out on the water. He blamed me for her death, when she wasn’t really dead at all. “That’s the thing,” he says finally. “She doesn’t want to be found.”
If Emily’s alive, my custody of Paige is in jeopardy.
A fierce protectiveness comes up like a shield over my heart. What the hell am I supposed to do if Emily emerges now? Hand Paige over? She’s become mine. My niece.
Maybe even my daughter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Jane Mendoza
Noah pulls up in front of my old apartment.
The building sags where the foundation has dropped. There’s a hard line of broken bricks down the center. You can feel the shift in the concrete from the inside. Sometimes water pools up from the bottom, spilling into the brown carpet. Our stairs are right in front of the dumpsters, which is great for taking out the trash. Not so great for the smell. It’s not a pretty place, but it’s home.
