Secrets Of The Rose. Lois RicherЧитать онлайн книгу.
the room, felt a stab of anguish when it came upon the Christmas portrait they’d had taken the summer before, while the roses still bloomed. Aimee, beautiful beyond description in her white fairy-princess dress, as she called it. Grant, brown and fit from that trip to Greece, with his arms around “his girls.” Herself, grinning, blissfully happy, totally unaware her world would soon shatter. In the weeks and months that followed, Aimee was the reason she’d hung on, kept it together. The Christmas cards with the picture sat in the basement yet, still boxed, never to be sent. But this one photo she kept up here. It helped ease the loss of Grant somehow, helped her remember to be grateful she had his child to love.
Aimee. Her baby. If Aimee didn’t come home…Fear for her beloved girl clawed at her. She was so tiny, so innocent. Shelby’s heart shuddered. She could no more stop her tears than the rush of love that welled up inside her.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized over and over, “I can’t seem to stop crying.”
“You go ahead and cry if you want. Believe me, I understand.” Obviously uncomfortable, Natalie got up, walked around the room. “This is an interesting old house. How many rooms are there?”
“H-how many rooms?” Shelby considered it a most dubious inquiry to make at this particular time and began to wonder about Natalie’s experience in cases such as this. Shelby’s patience was running short, she wanted action. “I don’t know how many rooms there are. I never counted them.”
“Did your husband mind living here?”
Shelby blinked. She’d always assumed Grant had loved the old place as much as she. But she realized now that she’d never outright asked him. Something else there hadn’t been time to do.
“He always said he liked this room the most. We couldn’t have bought anything like this house, not at first, certainly not until we got the business off the ground. But it was my grandmother’s home and she didn’t want to leave. It seemed easier to move in with her when she started to fail, give her those last few years in the place she loved, among her roses. Of course, when Aimee came, we were glad she was near, that she could watch her great-granddaughter grow up.”
She knew she was babbling and grasped for control. Suddenly a new thought hit. Shelby felt her eyes widen, knew she was staring at Natalie. She should have expected this!
“What’s wrong, Shelby?”
“I know how this works,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s the percentage of parental involvement in cases of missing children—eighty per cent?” She glared at Natalie. “You suspect I may have had something to do with my daughter’s disappearance. That’s why you questioned me about the garden. You think I buried her?” She stopped, regained control, then continued. “Well, I didn’t! Search every room, go through every yard of the grounds. Tear them up if you want to. I don’t care. But you’re wasting time and I don’t know how much time Aimee has!”
“I didn’t mean to imply anything.” The hollowness of the words echoed around the room. “It’s standard procedure.”
“I don’t care about procedure. Just find my daughter,” she ordered through clenched teeth.
“Shelby, I wasn’t trying—”
“Listen to me, Detective. I love my daughter more than my life. I’ll give anything I possess to get Aimee back, do anything I need to. I don’t care how much it costs, I don’t care what extremes we have to go to. I just want her back—safe. Do you understand?”
Natalie didn’t answer immediately. Instead she walked across the room, sat down, leaned back against the sofa, her face inscrutable. Finally she broke the silence.
“All right. Let’s find Aimee.”
TWO
“I hope I’m not intruding. I saw you sitting out here, and wondered if there was something I could do.”
Tim Austen’s quiet voice roused Shelby from her contemplation of the hedge beyond. She blinked away the shadows, watched him shift from one foot to the other, hands thrust into his pants. In all the time she’d known him, her neighbor had always looked perfectly comfortable here. Now he seemed oddly fretful and that surprised her.
Of course, this wasn’t any ordinary day. Tim’s sandy-brown hair stood in bed-head tufts all over, as if he hadn’t taken time to comb it. His rumpled beige corduroy pants bagged at the knees. The worn flannel shirt he favored now hung partially untucked, a clear sign of his distress. Normally Tim was fastidious about his clothing. Sympathy tugged at her. He was missing that effervescent five-year-old as much as she was.
He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then finally spoke. “Are you all right?”
“No.” She motioned to the chair opposite. The tears had stopped. Now she was drained of everything. The first few hours after an abduction were crucial. How long had it been since they’d taken her?
“Shelby?”
She glanced up, saw his concern. “I’m not all right, Tim. I want my daughter back.”
“I know you do. But Aimee is fine, Shelby. We have to believe that.” He stared at her, his eyes filled with shadows. “The writing said she was safe.”
He must know how ridiculous that sounded. To believe a promise scribbled on a mirror? Frustration at his gullibility nipped at her heart and tumbled out in the tone of her words.
“I don’t believe that. And neither do you. She was safe here with me, Tim. Happy and healthy and loved. How can she be safe away from the one who loves her most? That’s ridiculous!” The angry words emerged harsh and bitter, but it felt good to finally unleash some of the violence that whirled inside her.
Tim jerked back as if he’d been stung, eyes wide with surprise.
Shelby knew she should apologize, but she couldn’t. Not now, when she’d been waiting on tenterhooks all day and all night for something, some tiny ray of hope to cling to.
“You really want me to trust the scribblings of a kidnapper?” She shook her head, her freshly washed hair bouncing from shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t think so.”
“But Shelby, you have to have faith. You have to. You’re the one who said God…” Clearly worried by her angry glare, he flopped into her white wicker chair, crossed one leg over his knee, then took it down. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I saw you sitting here and knew you couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d keep you company but I’m making things worse. You look tired.”
Tired? If only that’s all it was.
The mirror hadn’t been kind earlier. Shelby knew her hair was a mess, unstyled, frizzy, dangling around her face like a mop. Pushing it behind her ears only emphasized the lines under her eyes, the down-turning pull of frustration at the corners of her mouth, but she hadn’t wanted to waste time on makeup or hairstyling. She’d made it in and out of the shower in four minutes, lest she miss the kidnapper’s call for ransom.
Only there hadn’t been any call.
“I heard them talking, you know, Tim, the police manning the phones.” She didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see the pity on his face. “I went down around midnight to get a drink. They thought I was upstairs resting so they were talking openly. They’re just as worried as I am that no demand has been made.”
He frowned, glared over one shoulder at her house, as if he could transmit his thoughts through the walls.
“I don’t imagine they know that much about kidnapping,” he offered. “I don’t think it happens all that often in a city as quiet as Victoria.”
“It’s not just the local police involved now. They’ve called in the RCMP, a missing persons unit, and I don’t know who else. I don’t really care who they call, as long as they find my daughter. But how can that happen when they have no leads, no suspects, nothing