Searching for Yesterday (11 page)

Annie's eyes drifted to the page in her hand, drifted over the words, and then came back up and looked blankly at me. “I don't know what you mean,” she said.

“Where did you go to live after your mother was gone?”

“With my nanny.”

“And from what you've told me, your mother always referred to your nanny that way, too — as your “nanny.'”

“So?” But even as she asked, Annie was looking again at the note, and I could feel her realizing, for the first time, that the word “grandma” wasn't right.

“Your mother would have written “nanny' not “grandma' wouldn't she?”

Annie's lips moved slowly, as though she was trying to say something, but nothing came out.

“But here, in my notes from our interview with Lenny,” I said, flipping to the right page, “
he
refers to your grandmother as “grandma.' Annie, I believe that
Lenny
wrote that note.”

“I don't know why I never noticed that before,” Annie stammered.

“Because it's just a normal word, unless you take it in context of who's saying, or in this case, writing it.
Then
it matters, but it was easy to overlook.”

“But maybe Lenny wrote it
for
my mother.”

“That's not impossible, which is why it's important
to look at everything — all the information we have — to see if there's anything else that doesn't fit.”

“And ... is there?”

“I think there is. For example, you were telling me just a few moments ago how your mom treasured this carved dragonfly from her father so much that she didn't let you touch it — in case it got broken. But then, she just left it? Something that was special to her because her father carved it? And what about the stone that he gave her?”

“I thought she might have forgotten them, or meant for me to have them,” Annie said.

“If she left here planning to come back — and everyone who knew her agrees that she'd never have planned to abandon you forever — then why leave the things that were special to her? Those would be things you might get from a parent later in life, maybe even after they die, but none of them are things a parent normally passes along to a young child.”

I gave Annie time to think about that. Then I said, “And what about this: your mom took her clothes, but she left her mother's picture, and a locket that she wore all the time — with your picture in it. Why would she leave the locket? If she was leaving it for you, wouldn't she at least have taken the picture out first?

“And what about her jewellery box? Why would she leave that? What woman leaves her jewellery box behind when she goes somewhere?”

“It
was
a bit strange that she didn't take the jewellery,” Annie said. “Especially her earrings. She loved her earring collection. Whenever she was going out she'd hold up different pairs in front of her ears and ask which ones went better with whatever she was wearing.”

“That's what I mean,” I said, lifting a pair out of the box. “Most of the stuff in here is costume jewellery — inexpensive stuff that has no sentimental value to you.”

“Maybe she just forgot to take some of these things,” Annie said.

“I could see that if it was one item, or even a couple. But
all
of these things?”

“I guess that
is
kind of strange, but they
did
pack and go in a hurry.” I could see by Annie's face that she was beginning to accept it — at least as a possibility. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes, there is. Remember how Kayla told us your mother went to work at the bakery because your grandmother was already showing signs of Alzheimer's? That was a while before your mother supposedly left you in your grandmother's care. Would she have done that,
knowing
the person she was leaving you with was barely competent?”

Annie's mouth began to quiver and I reached a hand over and patted her arm.

There was more, but there were a few things that I needed to check out before I said so to Annie. I explained that to Annie, feeling a little foolish that I'd blurted out
my theory without getting more evidence together first. After all, what I'd said was serious.

“I'll just make sure about a few things, and if I'm right, then we can figure out what to do next.”

“You mean without me?”

“I'm sorry, but your emotions could end up giving something away if you come along.”

Annie stared at me in disbelief for a few seconds, and then made it clear that that was a chance I was just going to have to take.

“It's your call,” I said, hoping things wouldn't fall apart. “I'll fill you in on what we need to find out on the way. The first thing we have to do is go see Lenny.”

We had to knock on the door of Lenny's place a couple of times before we heard anyone stirring inside. Even then, it seemed as though a few more minutes passed before the door creaked open a few inches and he peered out at us.

“Hi, Lenny!” I said, forcing myself to sound friendly. “It's us — Annie and Shelby. Can we come in for a couple of minutes?”

“Whadywant?”

“We just had a few more questions — you know, about Gina.”

“It's not a real good time,” he grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I was taking a nap.”

“Sorry about that!” I said, still managing to keep my voice cheerful. “But it's awfully cold out and we walked all the way over here.”

“We should have called,” Annie chimed in. “It was stupid of us not to call first.”

“That's true,” I said, picking up my line. We'd decided it would be best to land unannounced so that we could catch him off guard a bit. And, figuring we might not be welcomed with open arms, we'd come up with a game plan.

“But is there any way you could talk to us? It really won't take long,” I said, turning a pleading face to Lenny. “Annie had a pretty tough time over Christmas, being in a foster home and all — wondering when she'll ever have another holiday with her mom — and you're the only one who can help us.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Lenny agreed grudgingly. He swung the door open a bit more and stepped back. “I gotta use the can first, though. You two can sit in there.” He pointed to the gloomy kitchen.

We followed his instructions and took the same places we'd sat the other time we'd been there. I wanted to whisper something to Annie to encourage her to keep her cool, but couldn't take a chance on the sound carrying through the old walls.

I was glad I hadn't a second later when we heard Lenny clearing his throat in the bathroom. It was as clear as if he'd been right there with us, and it suddenly occurred to me that, if my theory was right, we might be taking a chance being there at all. If he realized that we were suspicious ...

I pushed that thought away and said something to Annie about how fast the winter break was going and how soon we'd be back in school. She answered automatically, her eyes darting around the room, though I had no idea what she might be looking for.

“So, what do you want to know this time?” Lenny asked when he came into the room. He crossed to the sink, filled an old metal kettle, and sat it on the stove with the burner turned to high. While he waited for the kettle to boil, he rinsed out a mug and spooned some instant coffee and sugar into it.

“Did my mom ever mention anything about opening her own bakery? Or taking a course to become a pastry chef?” Annie asked. We knew the answer, of course, but we'd already decided the best way to get the information we needed was to ask a few unrelated things first — things that couldn't possibly arouse his suspicions.

“Ah, she talked about doing a lot of things,” Lenny said, tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug. “If you ask me, Gina was kind of out of touch with reality.”

Annie's eyes flashed with anger at that. I spoke up quickly to keep his attention away from her.

“Well, haha, you know how women are, haha.” I tapped Annie with my foot under the table to remind her we had to play this right if we were going to find out what we needed to know.

“Do I ever,” he agreed, chuckling as though we were sharing a great joke. I secretly seethed inside. The kettle
had begun to whistle and he poured steaming water into his cup, stirred it, and came to the table.

“So, what else do you want to know?”

“We wondered if maybe you'd thought of anything since we were here the other day.”

“Can't say I have. I haven't thought of Gina much over the last few years. To be honest, that's kind of a chapter in my life I'd just as soon leave closed.”

I didn't doubt that. I kept asking general questions, and at the same time kept an eye on Annie. She had to take over at some point, and I needed to be reasonably sure she wasn't going to blurt out an accusation or even just say the wrong thing in anger. I was glad I wasn't in her position. It can't be easy to be sitting in the kitchen of someone you suspect may have done something terrible to your mother, so I was really proud of her for keeping it together.

Lenny seemed to have remembered that he was talking to the girl who'd been left without a mother. He didn't say anything else that was critical of Gina, but I did notice that most of his answers were designed to make him sound pretty saintly.

Even if I hadn't suspected him of something terrible, I'd have had a hard time picturing him as the great guy he was describing to us. That might just have been because he was unshaved and, quite frankly, didn't smell particularly good. It was a combination of body odour and some kind of cheap cologne. I figured he hadn't
showered in a few days and was probably the sort of person who thought slapping on something scented did the trick. Ugh!

Annie interrupted my thoughts with a barely perceptible nod to let me know she was ready to pick up her part of the conversation.

“The day you and my mom left Little River,” she said, as if it had just popped into her head. “I can't remember — where was she gone in the morning?”

“We left that morning, right after you went to school,” Lenny said.

“Right. But I mean before I went to school. You were there, but my mom wasn't. I think you told me she had to go somewhere ...”

“Oh, yeah.” Lenny paused to think. “She had to go get her pay cheque from work. That's why she wasn't there in the morning.”

Annie nodded, like she was remembering, too. “Yes! That was it,” she said. She even smiled at him! He concentrated on his coffee.

We asked a few more questions, none of which yielded anything useful, that I could tell. Even so, I took notes, just in case.

When we left Lenny's house I had an irrational urge to run, which I just barely managed to resist. I told this to Annie, who giggled nervously and admitted she felt the same way.

“Okay,” she said once we'd turned the corner and
were out of Lenny's viewing range, supposing he was watching us. “So, what did that prove?”

“Not yet,” I said. “We have one other stop to make first. But if I'm right, this is pretty solid proof of ... well, of
something
.”

“Of
something
?” she echoed. “Aren't you looking for proof of a ... uh ... a crime?”

It chilled me to realize she'd been about to say: “murder.”

“What we're looking for right now is evidence that Lenny is lying about your mother leaving Little River,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “We have to do this one step at a time, and this is the first step.”

“Okay.”

I was relieved that she didn't push it. It was hard to imagine what it was like for her to have to deal with all of these horrible, dark thoughts.

We walked in silence and I remembered how she'd said that she could handle the truth, no matter how hard it was, just so long as she could find the answers. I wasn't sure that included finding out something as terrible as what I now believed had happened.

By the time we got to Bea's Bakery we were both shivering. The warmth of the place and the smells of breads and spices wrapped around us as we went in, stomping our feet to warm them.

“Hello, girls!” Bea was in the front part of the store, marking down some cookies for quick sale. “How's the
search coming along? Any leads?”

“Nothing definite yet,” Annie said. “But there was something else we wanted to ask you about. If you have time, that is.”

“Of course! Let me get Gwen to come out here and we can go into the back again.” As soon as she'd said this to us, she turned to face the kitchen and hollered, “Gwen ... can you come here for a few minutes?”

Gwen arrived seconds later, untying a full-length white apron as she rounded the corner. She hardly glanced at us as she made her way to a stool beside the cash register and hoisted herself up on it. I thought she looked quite content to have as little to do as possible for a while.

In the back room a moment later, I got right to the point.

“When we were here the last time you mentioned how disappointed you were that Annie's mother never said goodbye to you.”

“Yes, I was. But don't get me wrong. I felt bad about that all right, but it didn't change my opinion of Gina. She was a really nice girl.”

“What I was wondering about,” I said, flipping back to my notes of our first interview with her, “was this one thing you said. That one day she was working and the next day you found out she'd left town.”

“That's right. It was such a shock.”

“What about her final pay cheque?” I asked.

“Her last pay cheque ....” Bea paused and thought for a moment. “Now, let me think.”

I could hardly breathe. So much depended on her answer.

“I know she didn't call with a forwarding address or anything,” Bea told us. She looked back and forth at us helplessly. “Was that what you were hoping — that I might have a starting point for you to check into?”