Now You See Her Page 0,8

her own life?”

“No, it’s not possible,” Marcy said adamantly, fleeing the room and racing down the hall before Peter could contradict her. She flung open the door to Devon’s bedroom, swallowing the room in a single glance.

The note was propped up against Devon’s pillow.

“Despite our not being able to visit Blarney Castle,” the guide was saying now, “I hope you have enjoyed our little tour today.” Marcy opened her eyes to see that they had arrived at Dublin’s city limits. “As you no doubt observed from our brief visit, you really need more than one day to fully appreciate Cork. The library is well worth a visit, as is Cork’s Butter Museum and the Crawford Art Gallery. And don’t forget the wonderful university, whose campus is home to more than seventeen thousand students from all over the world.”

Over seventeen thousand students from all over the world, Marcy repeated silently, thinking how easy it would be for someone like Devon to blend in. To disappear.

“Have you ever just wanted to disappear?” Devon had asked Marcy one day not long before her overturned canoe was found in the frigid waters of Georgian Bay. “Just go somewhere and start all over again as someone else?”

“Please don’t talk that way, sweetheart,” Marcy had said. “You have everything.”

What a stupid thing to say, she thought now. She, of all people, should have known that having everything guaranteed nothing.

They’d never recovered Devon’s body.

“That was you I saw,” Marcy whispered under her breath.

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

Marcy shook her head. “No,” she said out loud. But inside a voice was screaming, “You aren’t dead, are you, Devon? You’re here. I know you are. And whatever it takes, however long it takes, I’m going to find you.”

THREE

THE MESSAGE LIGHT ON her phone was flashing ominously when Marcy returned to her hotel.

It must be a mistake, she thought, letting her stained and still-damp coat fall to the thick oatmeal-colored carpet and kicking off her shoes, normally reliable black flats that had lost all credibility sometime around two o’clock that afternoon. She balanced on the side of her king-size bed, watching the phone’s red light flash on and off, wondering who could have called. Nobody knew she was here.

Probably the tour bus company, she decided. They’re holding me responsible for the missed excursion to Blarney Castle and expecting me to cover whatever extra cost they incurred as a result. Fine, it’s the least I can do, she thought, deciding not to listen to the message until later. She leaned back against the stack of fancy lace pillows at the head of the bed and lifted her feet to rest on the down-filled comforter, sleep already tugging at her eyelids. She hadn’t realized how utterly exhausted she was. She closed her eyes. Almost immediately, the phone started ringing.

Marcy’s eyes popped open, her head swiveling toward the sound, a new thought piercing her brain, like an ice pick to the back of her skull.

Could it be Devon? she was thinking as she stared at the ringing black telephone. Was it possible she’d been aware of her mother’s presence all along, that she’d spied Marcy through the pub’s window at the precise moment Marcy had spotted her? Had she watched her mother’s frantic search from a safe distance, and had she been thinking of coming forward when Vic Sorvino suddenly appeared? Had she followed them to the bus terminal, watched them board the bus back to Dublin, then started calling every first-class hotel in the city in a desperate effort to track her mother down? Was it possible?

Slowly, carefully, her heart careening wildly between her chest and her throat, Marcy removed the receiver from its carriage and lifted it to her ear.

“Marcy? Marcy, are you there?” Peter’s voice filled the large, elegant room. “Marcy? I can hear you breathing. Answer me.”

Tears of disappointment filled Marcy’s eyes. “Hello, Peter,” she said. It was all she could think of to say to the man with whom she’d shared the last twenty-five years of her life. “How are you?”

“How am I?” he asked incredulously. “I’m fine. It’s you I’m worried about. I’ve called half a dozen times, left messages.…”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“Your sister called,” he told her. “She’s frantic, says you’ve gone off to Ireland by yourself, that you think you’ve seen—” He broke off, took a second to regroup. “I remembered the name of the hotel in Dublin where we …”

“Were supposed to stay together?” Marcy finished for him.

A