The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,34
hadn’t when they were still in touch.
Maybe it wasn’t RaeLynn. Maybe it was some other relative. But who and why? And why now?
She opened a web browser on her phone and typed the names of Jeff and Nora Skinner into the search bar. Jeff had received such a long sentence he’d most likely die in prison. Nora, on the other hand, had received only thirty-eight years for her part in what’d happened. She could be out by now. Most inmates didn’t serve their full sentence, what with early parole and time off for good behavior. Could she be the one who was looking for Bailey?
That made Mary’s skin crawl. Nora would be sixty-eight years old—no longer the young woman she’d been when she’d assisted her husband in kidnapping a child. But the thought that Nora was out in the world, free to do as she would, frightened Mary all the same. The memories she had of Nora were too terrible.
Surely, Nora wasn’t the one who’d hired Drake D. Owens...
Or did she have some purpose in doing so? Did she blame Mary for her long incarceration and plan to get even? Was she still angry, after all of this time, that Mary had dared defy them after “being part of the family” for seven years—which was the twisted way she claimed to have looked at Mary’s imprisonment? Jeff came from a very wealthy family; that was what had enabled them to do a lot of the things they did. Maybe they hadn’t used all their money on their defense.
Mary wiped the sweat that was beading on her upper lip—despite the fact that she’d left the air-conditioning running—and scrolled through the links that popped up.
She couldn’t find anything that mentioned Jeff or Nora, not recently. Because most people assumed Jeff was the mastermind behind it all, and he’d had a child with Mary when Mary was only sixteen, he’d received far more attention. Considering that, it was possible Nora had been released without anyone noticing.
Closing her eyes, Mary leaned her head back on the headrest as she remembered the cold stare Nora had given her upon being sentenced. Nora had remained unrepentant and defiant to the end—in some ways, more of a monster than Jeff, who’d at least pretended to feel some remorse.
Her phone dinged with a text. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to slow her breathing and her heartbeat, she glanced down.
Autumn. Again. Mary had been too rattled to respond to her daughter’s previous calls and texts. She felt pressure to do so now, but she couldn’t say she was sitting outside in the parking lot without going right in, and she still hadn’t decided what to do about Drake Owens.
Lenore had never heard of Bailey North. She was too young. But if Owens continued to poke around Sable Beach, he’d eventually find someone who would. Even when he did, just remembering the story wouldn’t necessarily reveal that Bailey North had become Mary Langford, but if Mr. Owens got everyone’s curiosity up, and they began to look at each other more critically and piece together the past, she could find herself on a short list of possibilities. And once that happened, she couldn’t imagine it would take long to arrive at the truth.
After turning the closest air-conditioning vent so that it hit her more directly, she blocked her number and called him. Now that he was here, she had to stop him from digging.
And the only way she could figure to do that would be to see what he wanted.
8
Acid churned in Mary’s stomach as she waited to see if the private investigator would answer. Was she making a mistake to tackle this head-on?
Maybe. It was possible that he wouldn’t get anywhere and he’d move on, assuming whatever had brought him to this small town had been a false lead. She could get that lucky. But it could just as easily go the other way. She couldn’t have him out there asking about the girl who was held hostage thirty-five years ago, stirring up interest in her old case—especially with her daughter and grandchildren in town.
“’Lo?”
Just when she’d begun to hope he wouldn’t answer, he did. “Mr. Owens?”
“Yes?”
“This is—This is Bailey North.” Those were difficult words to get out. She hadn’t said them in almost three and a half decades.
The resulting silence suggested she’d taken him by surprise. Then he said, “How do I know it’s you?”
“Do you have a lot of people calling, trying to impersonate me?”