Searching for Yesterday (4 page)

“No.”

“Are you sure, dear? Because you
did
answer me.”

“Go away,” I said. “And, just so you know, I'm talking in my sleep.”

I was about to pull my pillow over my head when she said, “Okay, but Annie's on the phone. I'll tell her you'll call her back when you get up.”

I tried to remember if Annie and I had early plans that day, or any plans for that matter. It was like trying to see in a really thick fog. Moaning, I pulled myself out of bed and made my way to the bathroom.

Emerging a few minutes later just a little more clearheaded, I poured myself some orange juice and then picked up the phone and called Annie.

“Hey! I just called your place and your mom said you were sleeping,” she said.

“Yeah, it's pretty hard to sleep with a crazy woman
at your door,” I said, giving Mom a pointed look across the kitchen. Then I felt guilty. Not about Mom — she can handle it — but about Annie and the fact that she'd probably like nothing better than to have her mom waking her up in the morning.

But Annie just laughed. “Your mom's nice. She told me to come over for dinner sometime, and she doesn't even know me. Anyway, are we going to keep investigating today?”

“Sure, if you're up for it. I didn't know if that might have been hard on you, talking to Lenny and all.”

“No, it didn't bother me much. Well, except when he said my mom just decided I was better off with my nanny. It sounds like an excuse to me — like she just wanted to dump me and grabbed any reason that didn't make her sound too terrible.”

I nodded. There didn't seem to be much to say to that.

“Where do you think we should go today?” I asked.

“Well, we could go to where she used to work. There might still be someone who worked there when my mom did.”

I agreed and she said she'd come over to my place around ten. Since we hadn't learned anything useful talking to Lenny, I could only hope for better luck finding and talking to one of Gina's former co-workers.

I'd eaten a bowl of cereal, showered, and had just gotten dressed when Betts showed up at the door. She
was holding a bottle of Pepsi and a bag of Barbeque potato chips. Both were open and half gone.

“That's not your breakfast, I hope,” Mom said, frowning, when she saw her.

“I like to think of it more as brunch,” Betts said. She gave Mom a smile, but there's no charming my mother when it comes to bad eating habits.

“Betts, honey, that's not the kind of fuel your body needs for a good healthy start to the day,” Mom said. It was easy to see she was forcing herself to be stern.

“I know.” Betts folded the chip bag closed and put a fake look on her face. From where I was standing, it either meant she was sorry, or she had bad cramps. “I just grabbed this because my mom is working today.”

“So ... you had to eat junk food because ... there was no one there to make breakfast for you, or was it because there was no one to tell you to eat something nutritious?”

Betts switched to a truly pathetic expression. “No one there to make breakfast,” she said sadly.

“You poor thing!” Mom said. “Shelby, would you show Betts how to pour cereal into a bowl and operate the toaster? Maybe even boil an egg and slice an orange?”

“I'd better take notes,” Betts said.

“You guys are a riot,” I interjected, rolling my eyes. “And since we all know perfectly well that Betts makes her own breakfast every day, I guess there's really no need to go on about this any longer.”

“You sure have a fun daughter,” Betts said to Mom.

“Don't I know it,” Mom answered. She picked up her teacup and headed to the other room.

Betts had her hand back in the chip bag before Mom cleared the doorway. She turned to me, grinning. “I have a great idea.”

“I hope it's not for something to do today,” I told her. “I've just made plans.”

“With that yucky boy?”

Calling any boy “yucky” is a new sentiment for Betts, believe me. It's been going on for about a week, since she gave up on this guy she's been after.

“No, not with Greg,” I said. “And he's not yucky.”

“So, with who?”

“Annie.”

“Annie Berkley?”

“Mmm hmm.” I hesitated. Betts would wonder what was up if I didn't say more than that, but I didn't want to give her anything that she'd gossip about. This was Annie's personal business and I didn't want to be responsible for it getting spread all over town. “We're kind of looking into something.”

“What?”

“Uh, local history, more or less.”

She stared at me like she didn't quite understand the words I'd said. Then she repeated, “local history,” in an incredulous voice.

“Right.”

“Sounds like a blast.” She guzzled the last of her Pepsi and sat the bottle on the counter. “Even so, you can count me out.”

“I knew you wouldn't be interested,” I said quickly. “That's why I didn't ask if you wanted to join us.”

Betts laughed and asked me what time I was meeting Annie. Except, just then, Annie arrived.

She was standing knocking at the back door, the one that leads into our kitchen, and I could see by the look on her face that she'd spotted Betts and was wondering why she was there.

“Hi, Annie! C'mon in,” I said, pulling the door open.

“Hey, Annie.” Betts crumpled her empty chip bag and lobbed it into the trash.

“Hi, Betts.” Annie gave me a questioning look. “Shelby was just telling me about your plans,” Betts said. I felt my heart sink.

“Well, I didn't exactly ...,” I began, but Betts cut me off.

“Not my idea of a good time, that's for sure,” she went on.

“Really?” Annie said. Her voice was like ice.

“Oh, yeah, really. Leave the past in the past, that's my philosophy.”

Annie gave me a look that was wounded and angry all at once. I could see that she thought I'd told Betts the whole story — and going by what Betts had said I'd
have thought the same thing.

“Thanks, Shelby,” Annie said. “I should have known better than to tell anyone about this. Now it will be all over school.”

She turned around and went right back out the door she'd just come through, while I stood there with my jaw flapping, trying to think of the right thing to say.

“Whoa!” Betts blurted. “What was that about? There's something you're not telling me!”

“Look, Betts, I have to catch her and explain. I'll call you later, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, I grabbed my jacket, stuck my feet into a pair of shoes, and ran out the door, wondering why nothing ever went smoothly.

Annie was almost at the corner, walking with her head down and her shoulders kind of slumped. I jogged, catching up with her just after she'd turned onto the cross street, and then fell into step at her side.

She was crying softly. For some reason, instead of feeling sorry for her, I suddenly felt angry.

“You could ask me what happened before you go making accusations and taking off out the door,” I said, surprised at how harsh my voice sounded.

Annie looked startled. She glanced in my direction just as a big fat tear reached the overflow point and slid out onto her cheek.

“Ask you what?” she said. “Betts made it pretty clear you'd told her all about what we were doing.”

“I told Betts
nothing
about what we were doing,” I said, trying to keep my anger in check. “All I said to her was that we were looking into some local history —
which is true, in a way — but that's
all
I said.”

I let that sink in for a minute, then added, “The main thing was, it sounded so boring she'd never have asked another thing about it. Now, you've made sure she'll be all over it.”

Annie just looked at me for a bit. Her bottom lip was still trembling when she said, “Sorry.”

I shrugged, the anger slipping away. “Forget it,” I said. “Let's just get back on track. For starters, I have to go back to my place and grab my notepad and a few things.”

“Is Betts still there?”

“Who knows? If she is, we'll deal with it.” Thankfully, Betts was gone, though she'd left a note on the kitchen table that said, “Call me!!!”

“That'll be fun,” I mumbled, sticking a pushpin through it under my name on the bulletin board. I could just picture the conversation. Or, I should have said, the interrogation, since Betts would be trying to pry information out of me.

But there was no point in worrying about that until it happened. I gathered up the things I needed for a day of investigating and we headed out.

As we walked toward Bea's Bakery, where Gina Berkley's last job had been before she left Little River, Annie told me she'd remembered a second place her mom had been employed.

“Only, it's not there anymore, so it probably won't be any use to us,” she added.

“What was it called?”

“I don't actually remember the name of it,” she said. “When my mom worked there it was a craft supply store. On the town square. Only, it went out of business and now it's a flower shop.”

“I know the place,” I said. “It probably won't be of any use to us unless we can find out who else worked there back then. But it's good you're remembering things.”

“I've been trying to do what you told me,” Annie said, “and think of as many details from back then as I can.”

“Have you come up with anything else?” “Not exactly, but I did bring something so show you. My mom's locket.”

She reached into her pocket and drew out a tiny plastic bag with a delicate chain, on the end of which was an ornate oval locket. I could see before she even passed it to me that it wasn't junk jewellery.

“It looks valuable,” I said once I'd seen it up close.

“It might be. It's really old,” Annie said. “My nanny told me it used to be her mother's. She got it when my mom was born, and she passed it on to my mom when I was born. My mom was supposed to pass it on to me when I had my first child.”

“How'd you get it now, then?”

“She must have forgotten to take it out of her jewellery box the day she left. I was surprised, because she usually wore it all the time.”

“You have her jewellery box, too?”

“Sure. It's in my closet at the Nortons'.”

I made a note to take a look at the jewellery box sometime. Just in case.

I started to hand the locket back but then Annie said, “Aren't you going to open it?” So I did, and found a tiny, and very cute, picture of her when she was younger.

“It's
you
,” I said. I don't know why that surprised me.

“She always had a picture of me in there,” Annie said. Her voice was sad and soft. “She used to tell me that I was always next to her heart no matter what.”

I closed the locket and passed it back, not knowing what to say and thankful that we'd almost reached the bakery. Spicy smells wafted through the air along with the yeasty scent of baking bread. My stomach grumbled even though I'd had breakfast just a little while earlier.

We'd already agreed that it would be best for Annie to do the talking, at least at first. I could see that she was nervous as we stepped inside and if it hadn't already been obvious by the look on her face, the way she jumped when the bell over the door rang would have made it pretty clear.

“You okay?” I asked quickly, before anyone could come from out back.

She forced a smile and nodded as a woman appeared carrying a tray of fat, round molasses cookies.

“Can I help you girls?” she asked as she slid the tray into an empty spot in the display counter.

“My mother used to work here,” Annie blurted. “Eight years ago. Her name is Gina Berkley. Did you know her?”

Not the best start in the world, I thought, but at least it was direct.

“I've only been here for a couple of years,” the woman answered.

“Because I'm trying to find her,” Annie said. “Well, she's not here.” The woman's eyebrows had gone up and I could almost see the thought going through her head that we must be on drugs or something.

“We're looking for someone who may have worked with Annie's mother,” I explained. “Do you have any co-workers who have been here that long?”

“Nobody that I can think of on staff,” she answered. “Unless you want to talk to Bea Curtis. She owns the place.”

“That would be great.”

She paused, as though she was trying to decide if she should be bothering her boss for something like this, but then she turned and went into the back room. A moment later a different woman came along, drying her hands on a hand towel. She was in her mid forties, with a pink, pleasant face.

“Hi there,” she said with a wide smile. “Can I help you?”

“Is there somewhere we could talk privately?” I asked quickly, before Annie could repeat her earlier performance. “It will only take a few moments.”

“Sure, why not? I was due for a break anyway,” she said. “We can use the staff room if you don't mind a bit of a mess.”

We followed her as she led us into a small room that was perfectly clean and tidy. I wondered where the mess was supposed to be, but then I thought of how my mother automatically tells people not to mind the mess when they drop by our house, even if she just put the vacuum and dust cloth away three minutes before they came to the door.

“Have a seat,” Bea said, gesturing toward some mismatched chairs that circled a round, glass-topped table. As we obeyed, she turned to a sink and washed her hands.

“There!” she said, joining us a moment later. “Can't stand flour on my hands. When I'm not actually baking, that is. Now, how can I help you girls?”