Now You See Her Page 0,73

the wall.

Marcy woke up with a start, the sound of shoes hitting the floor continuing to reverberate in the distance.

“Housekeeping,” she heard someone say from outside the door to her room, accompanied by a gentle knocking. Not shoes, she realized, sitting up in bed and glancing at the clock. It was after five. She’d been asleep the better part of two hours.

The door opened and a uniformed maid entered the room. Both women gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” the maid said, backing toward the door. “I didn’t realize anyone was here. I knocked and knocked. I’ll come back later.”

“No, that’s all right.” Marcy jumped off the bed, crossing toward the large windows. “I must have fallen asleep. Please, go ahead. Do … whatever.”

“I’ll just be a minute.”

Marcy watched the young woman, whose long dark hair was twisted into a braid at the back of her head, turn down the bed and fold up its ochre-colored bedspread, then lay it across the top shelf in the closet. If the maid was surprised not to see any clothes on the hangers, she didn’t let on.

“Will there be anythin’ else I can do for you?” she asked.

Marcy shook her head. Then, “Wait!” She reached for her purse, quickly extricating the envelope containing her daughter’s pictures and holding out the most recent one. “Do you recognize this girl, by any chance?”

The maid took the photograph from Marcy’s trembling fingers, bringing it so close to her face that she was almost touching it with her short, upturned nose. “No, can’t say that I do,” she said.

Marcy pressed. “Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”

“It’s just that I can’t see so good without my glasses.”

“So you might know her?”

“No. Don’t think so,” the girl said.

“But without your glasses …”

“I squinted. That’s almost as good.” The maid smiled as she returned the picture to Marcy’s hand.

“Damn it,” Marcy muttered when she was gone. Had she really expected her to recognize the photograph? She shook her head, no longer knowing what she expected. She plopped back down on the side of the bed, understanding she was no farther ahead than she’d been when she first arrived back in Cork. If anything, she was in worse shape. She had no leads, no clothes, not even a toothbrush.

As if on cue, there was another knock on the door. “Housekeeping,” a woman’s voice announced.

Had the maid realized she was mistaken, that she recognized Devon after all? Marcy threw open the door to find a big-bosomed, gray-haired woman of around sixty holding a toothbrush in one hand and a small tube of toothpaste in the other. “I understand you’re in need of these,” she said brightly.

“Thank you,” Marcy said, the hand holding Devon’s picture reaching for the items.

“Oh, who’s this now?” the woman from housekeeping asked.

“Do you know her?” Marcy asked in return.

The woman studied the picture for several seconds. “I thought for a minute it might be Katie.”

“Katie?” Marcy could barely fit the word around the sudden pounding of her heart.

“My neighbor’s daughter.”

“Her name is Katie?”

“Yeah, but it’s not her.”

“You’re sure?”

The woman nodded. “Now that I have a good look, I can see they’re quite different around the eyes.”

“You’re sure?” Marcy asked again. “Have you known Katie long?”

“Only all her life,” the woman said, and laughed. “She’s a handful, that one. Always has been. Who’s this, then?”

“My daughter,” Marcy told her. “Also a handful.”

The woman smiled. “Yes, well. I guess they all are at that age. I better be off. Enjoy your stay. If you need anything else, just ring.”

I need my daughter, Marcy thought. “Thank you,” she said. Then, “This girl, Katie …” she began, not sure what she was going to say next.

“Yes?” The woman waited, a puzzled wrinkle disturbing the otherwise serene line of her smile.

“Do you know the sort of places she likes to go? A favorite pub or hangout? My daughter will be joining me soon,” she added when she saw the puzzled expression on the woman’s mouth spread to her eyes. “I thought it would be nice to take her to a few places where there are lots of young people.”

“Oh, there’s no shortage of those.” The woman laughed. “There’s Dingles, over on Oliver Plunkett Street. I understand it’s pretty popular. And there’s Mulcahy’s on Corn Market. It’s a bit rough, but the kids all love it.”

“Thank you.” Corn Market Street was in the flat of the city. No doubt she’d walked past Mulcahy’s many times in the last few days and failed to notice