Liam wouldn’t have noticed. He was looking past me toward the stairs. Edward was coming down with the phone to his ear and a frown on his face. He wore boxer shorts and nothing else, clearly unconcerned with Liam’s being there.
“She’s not talking to media,” he said into the phone then, “Yes, you said that, but how do I know for sure?” He listened as he approached me and inhaled to speak, only to hold his breath when whoever it was went on. As he listened, his eyes flicked to mine and half-mouthed, “Area code 860. Says it’s personal.”
860 was my mother’s area code. But it sure wasn’t my mother. If it were, Edward wouldn’t be looking puzzled. He wouldn’t be asking questions. He’d be handing the phone over ASAP.
I looked to Liam for a clue. His eyes were apprehensive, but they stayed firm on Edward, who began to repeat, like it was part of the conversation, what he was hearing so we would know.
“You’ve been trying to reach Liam and can’t get through,” he said, eying first my brother, then, after a pause, me. “You don’t know how to reach Mackenzie.” Another pause, eyes downcast now. “No, my number hasn’t changed.”
The person at the other end was upset. I could hear that much.
Finally, loud enough to get her attention, he said, “Okay. I believe you. Let me see what I can do. What did you say your name was?”
19
Edward held the phone to his ear for a last minute before lowering it out of voice range and asking me a skeptical, “Do you know an Annika Allen?”
I didn’t.
But the low Fuck! behind me said Liam did. My eyes flew to his in time to see embarrassment. “She’s Mom’s assistant,” he said, but the guilt slipping over his face told more. Annika Allen was Liam’s relationship that had ended badly. Of course, she’d been trying to reach him. Of course, he hadn’t answered.
The question—not reassuring at all—was why she was calling to speak with me, on Edward’s phone, no less.
Taking it from his hand, I put it to my ear and said a cautious, “Hello?”
The relief on the other end was palpable. “Mackenzie? Thank God! I’ve been trying to call your brother for days, but he won’t pick up. I’m sure he sees my number and thinks I’m calling because I miss him, but I don’t. He can be a real shit, y’know?”
I did know, but he was my brother, so I wouldn’t have said it even if she paused, which she didn’t.
“When I couldn’t get through to him, I decided to try to reach you, but the number listed in your mother’s Rolodex wasn’t in service, and I had no idea where you were living or what name you were using. I asked everyone around here, but no one knew, so I tried searching online, but all I got were articles about, well, from the accident. Then I was flipping through People last night, and there you were in Vermont. At least, I thought it was you, because your mom does have a picture of you in her wallet, and while it doesn’t have bangs, the face is the same, y’know? Maggie Reid, makeup artist at the Devon Spa. Your mother never told me.”
During her monologue, I had been looking at Edward. He seemed curious but calm. I clung to that. I didn’t know what Annika Allen wanted, but the fact that she was my mother’s assistant and had seen my picture in Mom’s wallet raised a bunch of scary possibilities.
“I tried calling the Spa,” Annika said, “but this was, like, really late last night, and it was closed. So I Googled the place and found an article about the new owner, and I guessed that maybe Ned Cooper was Edward, and remembered that his phone number was in Margaret’s Rolodex, so I actually went back to the bakery really, really late last night, but I just couldn’t get myself to call him so late, because maybe I was wrong that he was the right one. The names were all screwed up, and you’re divorced, and his cell phone still had a Massachusetts area code, so if this one was actually in Vermont? As open as your mom is about things at the bakery, it’s like there’s a wall between that and her private life—”
“Has something happened to her?” I finally broke in. My thoughts were going every which way.