Now You See Her Page 0,21

that I do,” he said at last.

“You’re sure? It’s possible she’s a student at the university. I understand it’s very close to here.”

“Just up the next block a bit,” he concurred. Then, “No. Don’t know her.” He handed back the photograph. “She looks very sad, doesn’t she?”

Marcy’s eyes immediately filled with tears. It was her fault her daughter looked so sad.

“Sorry to have kept you,” a high-pitched voice trilled as a heavy-set woman with gray-flecked, reddish-blond hair entered the small foyer. Her eyes were the same shade of hazel as her son’s, although they twinkled more mischievously, as if she’d just come from something she probably shouldn’t have been doing. “Name’s Sadie Doyle, owner of this proud establishment.” Large, surprisingly expressive hands fluttered in front of her, sweeping together the foyer, the living room to her left, and the narrow staircase to her right, the walls of which were all covered with the same garish, purple-flowered wallpaper. Marcy couldn’t tell whether or not the woman was being facetious. “Mind if I have a look at that?” Sadie Doyle asked, indicating the picture of Devon. “Pretty girl. Looks a little sad though, don’t she?”

Marcy felt her heart sink.

“Your daughter?”

“Yes. Do you know her, by any chance?”

“No chance at all, I’m afraid. She’s here in Cork, is she?”

“Yes, she is. I’m trying to find her.”

“You don’t know where she is?”

Marcy felt the question sting her skin. “We’ve kind of lost touch.”

Sadie Doyle smiled wistfully, as if she understood, although her eyes retained a hint of rebuke. “Wish I could be of help.” She walked behind the counter and opened the guest register. “It’s one hundred and fifty euros a night for a single room.”

“That’s fine.” Marcy couldn’t remember the exchange rate between dollars and euros but decided she’d worry about it later.

“Just how long will you be staying with us, Mrs …?”

“Taggart. Marcy Taggart. And I’ll be staying a few days. Maybe a week. I’m not sure exactly how long.” As long as it takes, Marcy thought. “Is that a problem?”

“No problem at all. If you could just fill this out.” Sadie pushed a sheet of paper across the reception desk. “And I’ll need your passport, of course. Colin here will bring it up to you in a few hours. What credit card will you be using?”

Marcy handed over her American Express card.

“You’ll be in room seven, top of the stairs to your left.” Sadie Doyle handed Marcy a large, elaborately carved brass key. “It’s one of our nicer rooms. I think you’ll be very comfortable there.”

“Thank you.”

“Good luck with finding your daughter.”

“Thank you,” Marcy said again, returning Devon’s picture to her purse as she followed Colin up the stairs.

The room was small and crowded with inexpensive furniture: a double bed with an old brass headboard, a shabby-looking armoire and matching nightstand, an even shabbier-looking dresser that was missing the knobs on two of its three drawers, a high-backed chair upholstered in heavy purple brocade that was fraying along its seams, and a battered mahogany table beneath a window that looked through a slightly worn lace curtain directly into one of the upstairs windows of the B&B next door. The purple-flowered wallpaper was only slightly more muted than the wallpaper in the common areas and the carpet was a tired-looking mix of mauve and brown. No more tired-looking than I am, Marcy thought, plopping down on the bed’s too-soft mattress and staring at her reflection in the frameless rectangular mirror on the opposite wall.

You’re beautiful, she heard Vic whisper in her ear.

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, pushing at her hair.

“Sorry, did you say something?” Colin asked.

“What? No. Did I?” She hadn’t realized the boy was still there. Probably waiting for a tip, she realized, fishing in her purse for some change.

“Is everything all right?” he asked nervously, his weight shifting from one foot to the other.

“Yes. Everything’s just fine.”

“Enjoy your stay,” he said, his shins knocking against her suitcase as he turned toward the door.

“Oh, well. It’s not so bad,” Marcy exclaimed after he’d left the room, hoping to be reassured by the sound of her own voice. After all, she was used to convincing herself that things were other than the way they really were. So if she told herself enough times that the room was beautiful and that everything was fine, she would no doubt eventually come to believe it. “You pretend, therefore you are,” she whispered, walking over to the window and parting the dusty lace curtains, staring into the