you said your grandson was missing. What do you want?”
Winnie held the phone tighter. She was the one in control here; she could call the police.
“You tell me.” Terry Russel turned toward Winnie, a cold smile on her face, served with ice-blue eyes. She was walking on black kitten heels. It occurred to Winnie that no one would be walking in the park with their grandkid while wearing Prada kitten heels.
“Tell you what? I have no idea what you’re talking about and if you don’t get out of my house, I’m going to call the police.”
At this Terry smiled, reseating herself on Winnie’s foyer chair.
“I think you should,” she said, crossing her legs. It looked like she was settling in for the night. “Tell them that Josalyn Russel’s mother is here, and that she would like a DNA test done on that boy!” The woman pointed at Samuel’s photo.
The fingers on her spine turned into a heat that exploded inside Winnie’s chest. She heard herself stutter “Ja—joss—”
Terry looked triumphant. “Josalyn,” she said, enunciating each syllable of the girl’s name, her eyes drilling accusatory holes into Winnie’s face. “My daughter.”
Winnie didn’t know what to do. The sound of the dead girl’s name paralyzed her, and she stared at Terry Russel, feeling like her face had turned to plaster. How had Terry found her? Everything that had happened that night had felt like the sort of thing that would happen in the movies, the sort of mistakes a stupid character made that left you yelling “No!” at the TV.
Even though Winnie was in her own house, on her own turf, she took a step back, and that was obviously enough to solidify her guilt in Terry’s mind. The older woman looked murderous.
“I know everything,” she said. “I know exactly what you did.”
“It was you!” Winnie said. “You sent me those articles and you somehow checked out a book on my library card! You’ve been stalking me!” She shook her head, openmouthed, so angry now that she missed the look of confusion on Terry’s face. “You’re crazy! I didn’t do anything to your daughter. Get the hell out!” Winnie marched toward the front door, determined to get this madwoman out of her home before Samuel heard or Nigel came home. She tried not to let her fear show as she yanked open the door and stared expectantly at Terry. Winnie had learned that if you used confidence to command people, they were often compelled to listen.
She heard Samuel’s bedroom door open at the same time Terry Russel turned to face the exit she clearly didn’t plan on taking. She stared right at Winnie as she said, “I know that you worked for Illuminations, the supposed facility where Josalyn was receiving care.”
Winnie’s heart was racing. If either she or Terry called the police, there would be questions. Of course, there was no proof—nothing. Was there?
“I have the police report Josalyn made, reporting her kidnapped infant,” Terry continued, and that’s when Winnie’s vision shook like there was an earthquake in her head. If she hadn’t been holding on to the door, trying to usher Terry Russel out, she would have collapsed.
The police report. No one knew about that because the woman in it had not been named—she’d been a Jane Doe. Josalyn had somehow found Winnie’s landline after she stopped picking up her cell—and left a message on the answering machine.
Winnie could still hear the girl’s voice, thick with something she’d either drunk or smoked. When she said Winnie’s name it came out “Wunnie...”
“Someone took my kid, my fucking kid. Please call me. I don’t have a phone anymore, I’m calling from a payphone. I tried to go to the police and make a report, but fuck, they don’t give a shit about me, they never did! Fuck you, Officer Morales!” She’d shouted the last part, like there was an officer standing in front of her. “They thought I was drunk, they wouldn’t listen to me...!” And then the line had gone dead. She’d played the message once more and then deleted it. Within the hour, Winnie had disconnected the home phone with the company and put the cordless relic in the pile to take to Goodwill. She changed her cell number, too, and made sure the new one was unlisted. She’d replaced the landline later, when she wasn’t so afraid, and Nigel asked why they got rid of it in the first place.