Three Weddings and a Murder (35 page)

“And ran off with my grandson. So if you know where she is you need to come clean now.” Carlisle prowled the room as he spoke.

Anna replied coolly, “What I meant was could someone please explain why Bobby was in the hospital in the first place?”

“Simone abused him.” Carlisle’s voice held no empathy for his daughter-in-law.

Nate’s head shot up. “That’s enough, Sir.”

“Maybe you should try listening, Mr. Carlisle, because I have something to tell you.” Charlie motioned toward an armchair, and thankfully, Carlisle took the hint and sat down. “I did a full SNAT work up.”

“What’s that?” three voices asked in unison.

“Suspected nonaccidental trauma—child abuse. The results that had already come back were negative, and Simone knew that. The irony is, if she had only waited a few more hours, she would have also known that social services signed off on the case. When the last of the blood work came back…as I explained to your son on the phone, Sir…” He threw in that
Sir
to appease Mr. Carlisle for the sake of all concerned, but the word left a saccharine taste on his tongue. “When the blood work came back, it showed that Bobby has a minor bleeding disorder called Von Willebrand disease.”

Carlisle didn’t react.

Anna’s hand went to her throat. “Is that serious?”

“Some types are worse than others, and we need to run more tests to know which type Bobby has.” He paused to let everyone in the room digest the information. “But usually, Von Willebrand can be safely managed, and in more good news, it probably explains the bruises.”

“What do you mean
probably
explains the bruises?” Anna asked.

Carlisle jumped to his feet. “He means an innocent person doesn’t yank her child out of the hospital and go on the lam. He means even kids with weird diseases can be abused. An innocent person doesn’t run.”

“Simone was afraid social services would take Bobby away from her,” Anna fired back.

Carlisle slammed a fist into his palm, and a loud
smack
added a soundtrack to the tension in the room. “So she did talk to you.”

“No, she didn’t. I haven’t spoken to her since Sunday afternoon when she stopped by the library. I’m just speculating that she must’ve been frightened, and that’s why she ran. Simone would never hurt Bobby.”

“Innocent people don’t run.” Carlisle repeated.

Charlie chose to let this last statement dissipate into the air, rather than feeding Carlisle’s fears by continuing to talk about them. In fact, he wished he could ignore Nate’s father altogether. He didn’t have time to waste trying to mollify the arrogant bastard.

Charlie felt responsible, at least in part, for Simone and Bobby’s disappearance, and he had every intention of seeing them home safe. Until then, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He made a point of directing his next question to Nate. “Have you considered calling the police?”

Nate nodded. “Dad suggested we get the police to put out an Amber alert. I asked, but they refused. Said it wasn’t appropriate in this situation.”

“Then what did they advise?”

“They said Simone had every legal right to take Bobby out of the hospital, and that I should stay here and wait for her to come home—that I should be here when she did come home to calm her down and make her feel safe. They said they wanted to employ a watch-and-wait approach for now.”

Charlie steepled his fingers. “I can see their point about the Amber alert, but still, with a mother and child missing, you’d think they’d want to help.”

“They said this kind of thing, a mother taking off on her own for a few hours, happens all the time. I called her sister and her mom, but they say they haven’t talked to Simone in days.”

“Not to state the obvious, but have you tried calling Simone? Even if she doesn’t answer, you can at least leave a voice mail to let her know what’s going on. I have to believe she’d come home right away if she knew about the Von Willebrand disease,” Charlie said.

“I wish I could call her, but I found her phone sitting on the kitchen counter by the sink. I don’t know if she forgot it, or if she left it on purpose.”

Anna closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples with her index fingers. “Why would she leave her phone behind on purpose?”

Carlisle took back the conversational reins. “Because, sweetheart, she knows we can track her using the GPS on her phone—that’s why the bitch left it behind.”

Tuesday Night

A
BANDONING HER KEYS
in the front door of the library, Anna flipped on the lights and then sprinted for the security panel on the far wall. Her index finger connected with its target with an entire split-second to spare. Triumphantly, she planted her arms akimbo and turned to Charlie.

His response: the high arch of one disdainful eyebrow. “Your mission, should you decide to accept it, is to sneak into the library where you are, in fact, authorized to be at any time, and stealthily disable the security system, which you, in fact, programmed yourself.” He gave her an exaggerated slow clap. “Dangerous business breaking into the Tangleheart library after hours.”

Putting too much spin on her wrist, she waved a dismissive hand and banged it on the wall in the process. It stung a little—so did Charlie’s sarcasm. “Do you want to know what Simone was doing in the vertical file or don’t you? Go ahead and make fun, but I could lose my job over this.”

“Mrs. Marlowe must’ve changed. Last I knew, she was as addicted to the pleasure of your company as to that nip of brandy she thinks no one knows about. Does she still bring you brownies on Saturdays and call you
dear heart?”

Nursing her wrist, she said. “I suppose you think protecting the privacy of a library patron is less important than doctor-patient privilege.”

He shrugged. “You say so.”

“This is serious stuff. Maybe Mrs. Marlowe wouldn’t fire me if she found out, but I’m violating a professional code of ethics. If I didn’t think Bobby and Simone might be”—her tight throat changed her voice into a thread—“in real trouble, I’d never allow you in here. I’d never misuse my position as librarian to snoop into Simone’s business or any other patron’s.”

“I’m sorry.”

He sounded sincere, but after that slow clap…

“No. Really. I know how hard this must be for you.” He tapped his finger to his nose. “Hey, remember the time we went to see
The Sixth Sense,
and there was no one manning the ticket booth?”

Surely he wasn’t still holding a grudge over ten dollars. She blew out an exasperated breath. “My stars. Do you have some sort of point?”

“I wanted to just go inside and watch the movie, but oh no, you insisted on chasing down the manager and paying. You always did have an overdeveloped conscience. I never thought I would say this, but I miss that about you.”

“You were mad at the time.”

“Well, yeah. It cost me ten bucks, but when you don’t see someone for a long time, it’s the little things that sneak up on you and make you realize…” He looked over her shoulder. “I’m rambling, and we really should get on with it. I honestly don’t want to cause any trouble for you with Mrs. Marlowe, and the sooner we find Simone and Bobby, the sooner we can get this mess cleared up.”

This
mess
was largely, if not entirely, due to Charlie involving child protective services as part of the hospital evaluation. Of course the fact that he had been looking out for Bobby mitigated Anna’s disapproval. That and the worry that Bobby might need a doctor once they found him were the only reasons she was willing to let Charlie in on whatever information she found in the files.

She twisted a strand of her hair around her finger and sighed. This undercover operation at the library was most likely a wild goose chase. There was probably no connection whatsoever between Simone’s trip to the library on Sunday and her disappearance from the hospital on Tuesday.

Only Anna couldn’t forget how agitated Simone had seemed after looking through the file, or the way she’d rushed out of the library without so much as a wave good-bye. Top that off with the fact that she desperately wanted to find Simone and Bobby, but was at a loss as to how to proceed, and there you had it—sneaking into the library and snooping through the files suddenly seemed like a completely reasonable course of action. She had to start somewhere,
didn’t she? “Grab my keys and close the door, then. The vertical file is back here.”

Charlie did as she asked and followed her into the file area. “What’s a vertical file again? I didn’t catch that.”

“Sorry, that’s librarian talk. I suppose a lot of libraries don’t have them anymore. But Mrs. Marlowe is—”

“A sweet old bat.”

“I was going to say
old school
. Basically, the vertical file is just a cabinet full of newspaper clippings from the
Tangleheart Gazette
—stories that were reported before the paper went online. Mrs. Marlowe wants to be sure important articles, especially the ones about town history and locals, won’t be lost to posterity. I’ve been meaning to scan all of the stories in for her and get rid of the clippings, but I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“And Simone was digging through the vertical file on Sunday afternoon?”

“She came in, nodded hello and went straight to the back. I saw her riffling through the file cabinet, and I thought it was odd she didn’t ask me to help her find whatever it was she was looking for.”

“What’s so odd about that?”

“Well, I suppose it seemed odd because even though anyone can go through the vertical file on their own, no one ever does. The vertical file is rarely used, and the patrons who do use it routinely ask me to get the clippings they need for them.”

Propping her hip against an oversized hickory reading desk, she continued, “We don’t allow patrons to refile the clippings. They leave them in this basket.” She indicated a large wire basket. “And then either Mrs. Marlowe or I file them back when we get time.”

“Lucky for us you haven’t had time.” Charlie winked, snatched the only folder in the file-back basket, and politely awaited her consent.

A pang of conscience prickled down her spine.

Simone and Bobby are missing
.

She nodded her permission.

Charlie opened the folder, displaying its contents. “We’ve got trouble here.”

There appeared to be at least fifty clippings in the file Simone had pulled.

Her heart sank. “How are we going to figure out what Simone was looking for with all these clippings to choose from?” This really was turning into a wild goose chase.

“You know Simone better than just about anyone, Anna. Maybe something will stand out.”

A lump rose in her throat. Sure, she and Simone were close, but Anna was no psychic. Where the devil had Simone gone, and how could she just up and take Bobby out of the hospital before the cause of his bruising had been diagnosed?

Simone loved Bobby.

Simone was a good mom.

Deep in her heart, Anna knew these things to be true. And yet, Simone’s actions didn’t appear to be in Bobby’s best interests at all. Her mind drifted back to the day her own mother had disappeared from the rehab facility, and to the days that followed—one heartbreaking, terrifying week that had ended with her mother being apprehended by the authorities and charged with drug trafficking. A flash of tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks, but she blinked them back. “The police should be doing the job of trying to find Bobby and Simone, not us. We’re hopeless amateurs.”

“Agreed. But the police are
not
trying to find Simone and Bobby. They’re employing a watch-and-wait approach, and I’m not the watch-and-wait type. At least not when it involves a missing mother and child—a child who is technically still under my care. We’ve got to either find Simone and Bobby ourselves, or find some kind of evidence that will compel the police to get involved in the search.”

He was right. If the police refused to get involved, the only hope of finding Simone and Bobby quickly was for her and Charlie to do the looking. “Let’s go home and put on a pot of coffee. This could take awhile.” Dropping the manila folder full of clippings into her shoulder bag, she said, “I’ll bring the file back in the morning.” She glanced at the wire basket on the reading desk, snapped her bag closed, and then she heard the door scrape open. Her shoulders jumped. “Mrs. Marlowe?”

Silence.

Silence at a time like this was both disconcerting and discourteous. “Sorry. We’re closed,” she called out in a clipped tone.

Again, no answer, and yet she could
feel
the presence of another person nearby. “I said—”

Charlie held up one hand in a shush sign, and his eyes darted around the library.

“Maybe it was the wind.” Why was she whispering?

Charlie shook his head, and she realized he was right. The wind hadn’t blown the door open. She’d watched him retrieve her keys and pull the door shut tight. A person, not the wind, had followed them inside. Her heart started to race and dip and do all sorts of crazy acrobatics. As the room grew quieter, her breathing grew louder. In order to silence her fear, she held her breath.