Authors: Rosalind Noonan

All She Ever Wanted (16 page)

BOOK: All She Ever Wanted

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“Did you?”

“I don't know. I woke up in bed upstairs but I don't remember getting there.” Her thin thread of calm unraveled and, once again, she began to cry.

Off to the side of the living room, Grace noticed Miklowski and his female partner, Viloria, descending the staircase. She nodded as they crossed through the living room and headed out the side door.

“I know this is upsetting, but I need your help. I need to know who has access to this houseâanyone with a key.”

“Leo and me. And my sister Emma. She helps with Annie, and she lives in New Rochelle, too. Oh, and I think my sister Melanie has one, too, but she lives down in central Jersey with four kids of her own. Her youngest is in the terrible twos. She can't get here that often.”

Grace made notes, her fingers flying over the iPhone. “And who else watches Annabelle? Is she in day care?”

“No day care. But we've used a baby nurse named Helen Rosekind. She came through an agency. And there's also a teenage girl someone recommended. I just used her this week and . . .” Chelsea squeezed her eyes shut and sniffed. “She seems like a nice girl, but I was worried. One Saturday night when we came home, her boyfriend was here, and we told her that wasn't cool at all. They're both so goth. They might be harmless, but I felt really uncomfortable around him.”

Grace got their names from Chelsea and typed:
Eleni Zika
and
boyfriend Krispy
. “Any other relatives in the area? Grandparents? Aunts, uncles?”

Chelsea shook her head. “Leo's family is up in Maine, and my dad lives in Florida now. He and Mom . . . they moved down there, but she's gone now. She died just a few days before Annabelle was born.”

“Is there someone, friend or family, who could come lend you some support?”

Chelsea shook her head. “No one.”

“What about your sister Emma? You said she lives close by.”

“No. She's very upset. She . . .” Chelsea squinted. “Or maybe I dreamed that. I think she was crying on the phone last night, but I'm not sure.”

Grace picked up the phone and handed it to Chelsea. “Let's give her a call. Something tells me she'll want to talk with you now.”

Grace was right. When Chelsea told her sister what was happening, she promised to come right over.

Chelsea ended the call and looked toward the open side door. “Shouldn't we be out there? I want to help with the search.”

“You need to be here for when we find her,” Grace said, praying they would recover this woman's baby sooner rather than later. A pang of compassion hit her as she noticed the two stains on Chelsea's robe. “Do you have a pump?”

Chelsea squinted, then looked down. “Upstairs.” She pushed off the sofa, then fumbled up the stairs, nearly tripping on her robe. Grace followed her up, just to be on the safe side.

In the hallway at the top of the stairs, the doors were open but yellow crime scene tape spanned each doorway.

“What's that?” Chelsea paused outside the master bedroom, horrified.

“Not a problem.” Grace pulled the tape off and motioned her through.

“Hey!” Miklowski called from the stairs as Chelsea shut the door behind her. “What about the crime scene?”

“You already searched the bedroom,” she said. “And have a heart. The woman needs to pump her breast milk.”

His face soured and he went back downstairs, shaking his head.

Grace wasn't sure why she felt so protective of Chelsea Maynard, but clearly the woman was in crisis. That observation scared Grace, for more than one reason. First, the desperation in Chelsea's eyes was truly pathetic. That aside, there was the possibility that Chelsea Maynard had snapped and done something to shut her child upâa chilling but valid avenue that would have to be pursued. And, if Grace was truly honest, she had to admit that when she looked at Chelsea Maynard, she saw herself a dozen years ago.

Trying to put personal stuff out of her mind, she peered into the nursery, noting the appliquÃ© elephants marching across the valance. The cheerful yellow walls were stenciled with the same elephants, and the lampshade on the dresser was decorated with a mother elephant nuzzling her baby close with her trunk.

It was one of those well-planned, perfect nurseries, missing just one thing. Annabelle Green.

Chapter 18

T
hrowing clothes and his travel kit into his luggage with one hand, Leo held his cell phone to his ear. “I'm trying to confirm that you have a Detective Grace Santos working for you.”

“Can I ask what this is in reference to?” The desk officer at the New Rochelle precinct was polite, but Leo didn't have the patience for a mannerly conversation.

“I got a call from her, and I want to confirm that it's not some sort of hoax.” After he'd thrown on his clothes and slapped water onto his face, Leo had realized that this was just the sort of thing Jennifer would stage. Rip your heart out, then call it all a joke.

“Yes, we do have a Grace Santos on duty. Detective Santos.”

“Oh.” Hope faded in his chest. “Can you confirm this phone number she gave me? Or . . . wait. Can you tell me if you've had a missing baby reported in New Rochelle? It would have come in early this morning.”

There was silence on the line for a moment, then the cop asked, “Do you live on Maple Lane?”

“That's right. Twenty-two Maple Lane. Leo Green.” He paused as the cop's silence gave him the answer. “This is real.”

“I'm afraid so.”

“All right. I have to get home. Thanks.” He slid the cell phone into his pocket and put his dress shoes into his suitcase without even bagging them. In the bathroom he snatched up his shampoo and aftershave and tossed them into the trash can. He wouldn't take any liquids in his bags. Nothing to slow him down. He would carry his bag on the plane and speed home from the airport.

Downstairs in the lobby he asked the concierge to get him a cab to the airport right away.

“If you don't mind waiting a bit, I'd be happy to call a shuttle service we recommend,” the woman said. “The service is excellent at half the price.”

Leo thanked her but explained that there was no time for that. “It's a family emergency.”

The phrase seemed so alien, and yet, for the first time in his life, he was in the thick of it. A true emergency . . . Annie was missing. It seemed impossibleâinsane!âbut right now his house was probably crawling with cops and detectives contemplating the same question that baffled him. Who would steal a baby from her crib on a winter night in a suburb?

The cab smelled of cigarettes and old shoes. He sank into the seat, raked his short hair back, and tried to imagine what could have happened. He opened his wallet for the photo of Annie that they had taken at Sears. She hadn't been old enough to prop herself up yet, but the photographer had managed to capture that gummy smile. And the light in her eyes . . .

Those intelligent, curious eyes that followed him as he loaded the dishwasher or cooked up a batch of spaghetti sauce.

What could have happened to her? He knew Chelsea had been in a bad way, but she would never have lifted a hand to hurt their baby. She barely had the energy to lift a hand at all lately. No, Chelsea would never hurt Annabelle.

But who, then? Who the fuck took their daughter?

Why didn't you tell me you have a baby?

Jennifer.

A sick feeling hit him when his ex-wife came to mind. The messages that filled his voice mail were unsettling.
Why don't you ever call me? When can we get together? I want to meet your kid.

He had thought he was rid of her, but no . . . now she was back in New Rochelle. Jennifer was a borderline personalityâunreliable and self-centeredâbut would she stoop so low as to kidnap an infant? He couldn't imagine what she would do with an infant once she had it in her clutches.

Another thought that stopped him cold.

Oh, God, don't let anything happen to Annabelle.
She wasn't even crawling yet. Where was she right now? He had to know. She was out there somewhere, maybe hungry, maybe cold, and here he was, hundreds of miles away, unable to help her. What kind of father was he?

Where was his Annabee?

He sank low in the backseat of the cab and began to cry.

Chapter 19

T
he fog was lifting.

The haze that had hung over her head through the night was draining away at last, and as her mind began to awaken, a few things solidified in her thoughts: She was a mess. She didn't care who knew it. And she didn't care if the police taped over everything in her house if it meant that they would find her baby.

Last night, she'd been worse than ever. Comatose. Unaware of her own actions. She didn't know why that would happen, when she'd been religiously taking her Nebula every day, but she couldn't let it happen again.

Images from this morning rushed through her mind. Stammering when the cop questioned her. Her garbled words and jumbled memory of last night. Had she really sat outside pretending to rock her missing baby in the cold? There'd been a frantic search for a photo of Annabelle when there was one hanging on the wall over the desk. She'd been mortified when the cop pointed it out while she was digging through old mail and insurance bills.

Chelsea zipped up the baggy old fleece jacket she'd been wearing since Annabelle was born, grabbed the bottle of breast milk, and held carefully to the railing as she went down the stairs. The detective was still in the kitchen, making notes on her iPhone.

She placed the bottle in the refrigerator, where it stood on the shelf, a lonely soldier. Annie would be drinking it before it went bad. Yes, she vowed. Yes, she would.

Closing the fridge, she wondered where the two cops had gone. “Have they given up?” Chelsea asked, her voice catching. “The police can't stop looking. She must be around here, somewhere.”

“There are several search teams outside canvassing the neighborhood.” Grace looked up from her iPhone when she spoke, and her dark brown eyes were reassuring. “We called in the canine squad, and they've been searching. Remember that outfit of Annabelle's you gave to Officer Miklowski?”

“That's right.” He had taken the little pink-flowered romper, the last outfit she remembered stripping off Annabelle when she changed her. He had told her that it would help the dogs know her scent so that they could search for her. “I'm sorry. I've been in such a fog. I don't know what came over me last night. Maybe the flu.”

“How are you feeling now?” Grace asked.

“Better. Like my thoughts have a connection to reality. Does that make sense?”

Grace nodded. “What you're going through, it can't be easy. Why don't you make yourself a cup of tea or some coffee?”

Something warm to drink sounded soothing, but when Chelsea turned on the faucet, she remembered about the leak. “I had to turn the water off on this line,” she explained, telling the detective about the broken valve upstairs.

“Isn't that just how things go?” Grace said. “Bad enough you get a leak, but it has to happen when your husband is out of town.”

Chelsea's fingers tightened around the handle of the kettle. This woman wasn't out to get her. In fact, the kindness in her voice made Chelsea mist over. “Would you like some tea?”

“That sounds great.”

Chelsea went to the little bathroom to fill the teakettle. As she started the electric stove and went about straightening up the kitchen, Grace's words washed over her, brisk but reassuring. There was an Amber Alert out for Annabelle, so people everywhere would be on the lookout for her baby. Search teams were combing the neighborhood.

“They'll do an extensive grid search of the area,” the detective told her as she removed boots and shoes from the table and tossed them back into the dry closet. “Right now they're going door-to-door, asking neighbors if they've seen anything.”

Neighbors? A chill crept up Chelsea's spine as she thought of the caustic woman next door. “You need to talk to Louise Pickler,” Chelsea said.

“On which side?” Grace made a note as Chelsea pointed toward Louise's house and recounted the relationship that had always been tinged with bitterness.

“She was cold to us when we moved in, but we thought that was just because Louise was close with the previous owner. While we were building the carport, Louise used to come out and measure to make sure we weren't violating the building codes and encroaching on her property. She warmed up to us when she noticed I was pregnant, but even that made me uncomfortable. There's something off about her.”

“How's that?”

“She treats Annie like . . . like a pesky pet lizard. Louise says creepy things like how she's going to gobble Annie up. It sounds like she's going to roast her in the oven, like a turkey. And she always has some dire warning about keeping Annie out of the street, away from the germs breeding in malls, or safe from baby snatchers.”

An image of Louise's stern eyes flashed before her.
“They like the blue-eyed, blond ones,”
Louise had said.
“You'd better keep an eye on her.”

A new panic bubbled inside Chelsea as she babbled on about Louise. “She's crazy. We've got to go next door and see if she has Annie.”

“We'll check it out. I'll talk with her myself,” Grace promised.

The shrill whistle of the kettle snapped Chelsea out of her panic. Yes, she had to keep moving. Straighten up . . . eat something. It wouldn't help Annabelle to have her mother fall apart. She took two mugs from the cabinet.

“So, then, I guess this Louise Pickler isn't the kind neighbor who gave you these cupcakes,” Grace said, pointing to the last two cupcakes in the box.

“What?” Chelsea blinked. “Oh. Actually, no. Those are carrot muffins from my sister Emma.”

“Really?” Grace picked up the card, attached to curled yellow ribbon. “And she left this card?”

Chelsea picked it up, then frowned when she saw the message about good neighbors. “I thought Emma baked them. She brought them over.” She pushed her hair back behind one ear.

“And you ate some of them?”

Chelsea nodded. “Last night, I was so hungry but I didn't feel like making anything. I had a few in the evening, then woke up later and ate some more.”

Grace's fingers closed on the yellow ribbon. “I wouldn't eat any more of them until you check with your sister.”

“Do you think someone . . . someone tried to poison me? Maybe that's why I felt so foggy last night.” Chelsea's hand shook as she removed the tea bag from her mug. “Oh, God, any poison would have gone to Annabelle in my breast milk.”

Grace frowned. “It sounds a little farfetched. Let's see what your sister has to say about these muffins, okay?”

She sipped the tea, still too hot, but it helped brace her against the awful truth. “What if I hurt my baby?”

Although Grace didn't answer, the question floated uncomfortably in the air.

Cupping the hot mug, Chelsea leaned against the kitchen counter and squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to wake up from this nightmare.

BOOK: All She Ever Wanted

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