The Abduction of Mary Rose (20 page)

His mother died of a drug overdose when he was thirteen, and years before that his old man took off with some bimbo. He barely remembered him. His unmarried paternal aunt took him in, a good enough old broad, Gladys, and an easy touch. He pretty much came and went as he pleased growing up. She died a couple of years ago, left him a few dollars, along with the house, which was falling down and not worth a hell of a lot. He had it up for sale. He used to visit now and then to stay on her good side, but the chatter grated on his nerves, and he hated the dark furniture, the heavy drapes and the smell of camphor and dead roses that seemed embedded in the walls. He never thought of her as a mother, just an old lady who gave him a place to stay and something to eat.

"Takin' a break, Mac?" one of the male trainers grinned down at him, startling him out of his unpleasant reverie. The guy was heading for the showers toting an armload of towels. "You're lookin' a little flushed, dude."

"Yeah," he replied, forcing a chuckle. "Must be old age." But his heart was thumping in a way that had nothing to do with the workout. Why was she here? What the hell was going on?

The two women left a few minutes later, heads together, talking. Charlotte, as he'd heard the instructor called, glanced in his direction as she passed him, smiled briefly, then looked away. Were they talking about him? Mocking him?

He did another set of bicep reps, the owl eye winking and opening with each curl, uncurl. He'd got the tattoo when he was sixteen, just walking down the street one night when he saw a gallery of tattoos in a dirty storefront window and the one of the owl's eye spoke to him. One woman he'd dated a few times said she didn't like the tattoo, always felt like the eye was watching her. It made him laugh.

Made him feel good.

Chapter Thirty

They ordered coffee and muffins at a Tim Horton's drive-thru and Naomi drove the two miles out to Little River beach because she wanted some privacy when she talked to Charlotte. A few weeks from now this place would be packed, but now there were only a few cars in the parking area.

A lone young man in a blue jacket and dark pants was walking along the far end of the beach taking photographs, hair blowing in the warm ocean breeze.

She parked the car near a grassy knoll away from the actual parking area. They peeled the lids off their coffees, sipped and watched the big waves rolling in, crashing over rocks and sand, bleached driftwood, the beach a sweeping blue flared skirt with a long stretch of foamy hem.

Naomi was acutely aware of Charlotte waiting for her to say something, tell her why she was here. She cracked the car windows open and let in the smell of salty sea air, the raucous cries and mewling of the gulls.

It was a perfect day, blue skies, fluffy white clouds. The kind of day that inspired pleasant thoughts that relaxed you. But not today, not for her. The woman at the Pet Care Centre was surprised to see Naomi back with Molly so soon, but there'd been no problem leaving her, even if Naomi did feel guilty walking away.

"Good idea, this," Charlotte said cheerfully beside her. "I was surprised when you showed up today, but really glad to see you. Timing was great too, I was due for a break. And if I'm a little later getting back, so be it. I'm working through till ten tonight. I love these blueberry muffins. They're still warm. Great idea, this, Naomi. The ocean is so beautiful. It would never occur to me to drive out here on my own."

Charlotte knew they weren't here just to look at the ocean. Naomi heard it in her voice. A mild curiosity, a certain wariness.

"Charlotte, I need to ask you something."

"Oh? So it's not my radiant personality that brought you to the centre today."
 

"That's part of it," Naomi smiled and touched Charlotte's arm affectionately. "But…."

"If it's the will, I think we've pretty much convinced Mom to give up on—"

"No, no, that's not it. I need to ask you about that crescent moon you were wearing when you were at the house."

"Crescent moon? Oh, the pendant, you mean." She reached down inside her sweatshirt and drew it out. "What about it?" Charlotte asked.

Just then, another car drove up beside them and a young woman and two little boys got out. The boys raced for the beach, armed with plastic pails and shovels. The woman, wearing blue capris and a tee-shirt, followed behind, a jacket slung over her arm and clutching a paperback.

Naomi turned back to Charlotte, trying to conceal the horror and confusion that swept through her as she looked at the pendant. She'd only had a sense of it before, but now she knew it was the same one, or one very similar to the pendant Mary Rose was wearing in the school photo. "Could you take it off for a minute, please. I'd like to look at it."

Charlotte shrugged. "Sure." Looking puzzled, she undid the clasp on the slim, braided leather lace and placed the whole in Naomi's hand. "You really do like it. Hey, I'd give it to you gladly but it's not mine."

"Oh?" While she considered this statement, she turned the little crescent moon over in her hand. On the back, the letters SISIP were etched into the hand-carved bone. She ran her thumb over the shape of the letters. Her heart was beating double time. Dear God. Was it possible?

As she pondered the significance of the letters, a fluttery movement caught her eye. She looked up to see a seagull perched on the hood of the car, looking nervously in at them out of one beady eye. She should have brought treats. Sorry, little gull. It hopped from foot to foot, fluttered its wings. Then flew away.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" Charlotte prodded. "I'm getting the message that this isn't just some piece of jewelry you covet."

"Any idea what those letter on the back mean?" Naomi asked.

"No. I figured somebody called Sis or something. You want to enlighten me, kiddo. I'm really in the dark here."

By way of answer, Naomi reached across Charlotte and took the sheet of paper from the glove compartment. It was a copy of Mary Rose's school picture. She handed it to Charlotte. "Does the pendant look familiar to you?"

Charlotte looked at the photo for moment, then handed it back to Naomi. "This is the girl who was abducted all those years ago … your mother."

"Yes, my birth mother. Mary Rose Francis. Lillian Waters was my mother." Charlotte nodded her understanding. She examined the necklace again, looked back at the photo. "It's similar, I guess. You can't tell too much from this black and white copy though. Why?"

"Just something I'm working on. If it turns into anything significant, I'll call you. You said this necklace isn't yours, Charlotte. Whose is it?"

"Mom's. It's been in her jewelry box for years. She never wore it. Not her style. But I've always liked it." She grinned sheepishly. "So I … secretly borrowed it when I was at the house a few weeks ago."

"Charlotte, do me a favour. Don't mention our conversation to your mother, okay? Or to anyone else. Okay?"

She gave a quick shrug of her shoulders. "Sure."

"May I borrow this?"

She shrugged again. "I guess."

"Thanks. I'd really appreciate that. I'll get it back to you shortly." She slipped it into her purse.

"You think it's hers, don't you? Your birth mother's. That's pretty obvious. But you're wrong about that, Naomi. You can get this kind of jewelry lots of places, online. There are reproductions that…."

"Yes, I know that's possible."

"There's no ways it's hers. I get why this is important to you, Naomi, I do, but don't you think you might be getting a little … obsessed?"

She was tiptoeing, not wanting to overstep her boundaries, and Naomi knew it. She took no offense. She supposed it could seem like obsession to someone who's never been where I am. Not that Charlotte didn't have her own share of problems. Naomi wouldn't have wanted Aunt Edna for a mother on a bet.

"You could be right. Probably are. I don't know, Char. Like I said, I'll call you if I learn anything more. That's a promise. Your coffee's getting cold."

Charlotte looked her straight in the eye. "Why would Mom have something that girl Mary Rose Francis owned?" There was a coolness in the question, a defensiveness. Naomi wasn't surprised.

"I don't know. Maybe she doesn't. Right now all I have is questions." She finished off her coffee and sat the empty cup in the cup holder, noted that more people had come to enjoy a day at the beach, though it was not yet summer.

The two little boys were running to the edge of the water and back, squealing and laughing. It would be numbingly cold yet. A group of girls were setting up a net for a game of beach volleyball. "Either way," Naomi said, "I'll call you."

Charlotte nodded, not looking at her, but out the passenger window. "I have to get back to work."

Chapter Thirty-One

The schedule for fitness trainers was pinned on the cork board by the counter. He ran his eye down the list of names, stopping at Charlotte Bradley. The only Charlotte on the list.

She was working tonight. He'd talk to her, that was all. Find out her connection to Naomi Waters. Just mention it casually, nothing to make her suspicious. She'd just figure he was interested in her; women were like that. She was cute, not half bad, but the jock-type had never turned him on.
How did they know each other?
he wondered, unable to dismiss the anxiety building in him, like a dog sensing a coming storm. Even while a small voice was telling him it didn't matter. All he had to do was make Naomi Waters disappear forever and his troubles would be over. No one could pin anything on him, no matter what they thought they knew.

No one knows anything, Mac. You're turning into the freaking Weaz.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Naomi couldn't get home quick enough. Locking the front door behind her, she let Molly out of her carrier, then rushed into the studio and turned on the computer. She sat impatiently, waiting for the thing to go through its paces. She'd bookmarked the Mi'kmaq dictionary and brought it up now, typed in SISIP, the letters carved into the back of the crescent moon.

She clicked find. When the words
small bird
came up on the screen, she could hardly get her breath, only sit there in wonder, the blood draining from her face. She had been staring at the words for what must have been a full minute before she realized she was crying, silent tears sliding down her cheeks that she didn't bother to wipe away.

It's hers. Not that she was all that surprised, and yet at the same time it seemed impossible that the pendant she held in the palm of her hand had once belonged to a young girl whose grandfather called her Little Bird, and who had made it for her. The same young girl who had given her life.

A myriad of emotions swam through her, setting every nerve ending afire and sparking. This was a gift she'd been given. A small miracle. Had Mary Rose not confided to Lisa Boyce that her grandfather had called her Little Bird, I would never have known. She asked the question Charlotte had asked of her, but with a little different take. How did the pendant wind up in Edna Bradley's possession? She'd have to find out. But not yet. First, she'd do a little more digging on her own. She didn't want to betray Charlotte's confidence without a very good reason. Right now she needed to know if Mary Rose had been wearing this pendant on the night she was taken. If she was, then why wasn't it with the rest of her clothing, to be returned to her grandfather at some point?

Lisa would know. Yes, she would know.