his credentials as former FBI and the reason for the break-in were bound to get him some professional courtesy, if it came to that.
He rushed to the computer and booked a 6:20 a.m. flight to Rochester. As he got ready for bed, his first flicker of optimism was tempered with the realization that someone did not want HIPP to find Sunshine and may have already killed to make sure of it.
He got to Trudy’s home at 10:15. The street was empty of people, but Tommy went around to the back door anyway. He slipped a pick out of his pocket, slid it into the small hole in the doorknob and, with three turns, heard a click. He turned the knob and entered the kitchen of Trudy Harrington. It was bright enough outside, even with the windows covered in curtains, that he didn’t need to turn on any lights. Patty kept her address book in a kitchen drawer, and that’s where he began his search. “Try the drawer closest to the telephone,” she had told him. He scanned the room and saw an old-fashioned phone on the wall under a kitchen cabinet. The nearest drawer was filled with loose papers, a stapler, restaurant menus and a plastic bag filled with business cards. He opened the next drawer. Sitting on top of an Olmsted County phone directory was a blue address book with a photo of a dog on the cover. Tommy grabbed it and, after saying a quick prayer under his breath, opened it. He turned to the “H” page, hoping Trudy had just crossed out Sunshine’s maiden name and wrote over it with her married name. No luck. He started at the beginning. As he turned the page from the A’s to the B’s, he caught his breath. Right at the top was Sunny Bergman. He stared at the page,
He couldn’t believe it. Sunny Bergman lived in Manhattan. Not only Manhattan but just a few blocks from the HIPP office. Quickly, he took out his phone and called Melanie. “I found her,” he said as soon as she answered the phone.
“Who?”
“Angelina. Or at least Sunshine Harrington.”
“How? Where?”
“I’ll explain the how later, but she’s in Manhattan, on East 16th Street. You’ve got to get over to her apartment right away.”
“Oh my god! This means—”
“That’s right. This means we might be able to save him.”
CHAPTER
34
Eric was right. They’d needed a vacation, an escape from the city. Although it was only May, the heat had started to build, trapped by the tall buildings that surrounded the small island of Manhattan. It was the last weekend before the Hamptons officially opened to the hordes that descended on them from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and the beaches were blissfully empty. Sunny had been unsure when Eric told her of his friend Ken’s offer of his East Hampton home for the weekend. Her mother’s death remained ever-present, a heaviness she carried with her every day. Eric had insisted, though, and she was happy he had. They drove out of the city Thursday afternoon and wouldn’t go back until Monday. The air smelled fresher here at the end of Long Island, and the weight of her mother’s death seemed lighter in the salty air. Even Eric seemed relaxed, more so than he’d been in weeks.
The ocean, which seemed to go on forever, was a new experience for Sunny. The house they were using, a three-bedroom home styled after a beach bungalow but filled with expensive furniture and knickknacks, was just steps away from it. The morning sun and the crash of the waves awakened Sunny early. Each morning while the others slept, she’d gone for a long walk along the water’s edge, picking up shells for Rachel along the way. Rachel loved playing in the sand, loved burying herself in it. She’d laugh when she tumbled over the sand castles she’d built. A digital camera hung around Sunny’s neck at all times, ready to capture photos of Rachel. She’d asked her mother once why there were no pictures of her from before her sixth birthday party. “They were lost during our move to this house,” her mother had answered. Now Sunny’s computer was filled with pictures of Rachel, and the full memory cards were locked away in a safe deposit box.
The weather had been glorious. Cloudless sunshine every day. The ocean water still felt too cold for swimming, but she and Rachel had dipped their toes in the foamy surf.
They’d visited South Hampton and window-shopped in