you?”
“Well,” she said sarcastically, “as well as one can be cooped up in this damn bed all day.”
Her voice may have been feeble, but I was happy to see that her spirit remained strong.
“You’re a writer, like Emily, aren’t you, dear?”
I nodded. “Yes, I am. Emily and I met in college. She chose the more glamorous life of fiction, while I hit the gritty newsroom.”
Bee smiled. “Oh, I remember. You write for the newspaper.”
“Yes,” I said. “The Seattle Herald.”
“What are you working on right now, dear? I read the paper cover to cover.” I remembered the stack of newspapers I’d seen piled up outside the bedroom door.
“I’m working on a particularly interesting story right now,” I said. “About a little boy who disappeared in 1933. The day of the May snowstorm.”
Bee looked startled. “I haven’t thought about that snowstorm in a long time,” she said.
“You remember it?”
She smiled, her eyes lost in memories. “I was just a girl. We were living in West Seattle then. Mother let us play in the snow all morning. It was a dream come true for a schoolgirl hoping to get out of her morning arithmetic lesson. And what a shock to all of us. Snow in May. The cold snap we had this week reminded me of it. So what did you say the little boy’s name was again?”
“Daniel,” I said. “Daniel Ray. Probably no chance you’d remember him, right?”
“Sorry,” she said. “I wish I did.” She folded her hands together thoughtfully. “But you might try talking to an old friend of mine. Lillian Sharpe. Well, she was Lillian Winchester when we went to school together in Seattle. Our families were old friends. Her father was one of Seattle’s most prominent attorneys in the 1930s. He took on several famous cases. I remember Lill thinking his work was very dull when we were young, but she became quite fascinated by his legacy as an adult. After he passed, she collected all of his files and donated most of them to a museum in Seattle. He took on some high-profile cases back then. Most have long since been forgotten, of course, but let’s see….” She paused, as if trying very hard to make the wheels in her mind turn faster. “Yes, he represented the woman who shot her husband. It was the talk of Seattle, that case. You should interview Lillian. It’s probably a long shot, but maybe she knows something about your missing boy.”
“I’d love to talk to her,” I said. “I’ll look her up when I’m back in Seattle.”
“I just saw her yesterday,” Bee said. “At the soda fountain. She didn’t like Esther much, but Evelyn…”
Emily gave me a knowing look, then rubbed her aunt’s arm affectionately. “Bee, you must be remembering something from the past. We didn’t go to the soda fountain yesterday.”
Bee looked startled, then embarrassed. “Oh yes,” she said. “Of course. The days sort of jumble together sometimes.”
“I’m lucky if I can remember the year lately,” I chimed in.
Bee gave me an appreciative grin, then reached for my hand. “It’s nice of you,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “What?”
“It’s nice of you to care about a story from the past,” she continued. “So many young people don’t give a hootenanny about anything that doesn’t involve the here and now.”
“Well,” I said, “the story captured me the moment I learned of it. There’s just something about a mother and her little boy separated. I couldn’t not pursue it.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that my editor had killed the story. For me, however, it was very much alive.
Bee nodded. “You’ll find your little boy,” she said assuredly.
“I hope so,” I said, standing up.
“Did you take your medicine?” Emily asked, hovering over her like a mother hen.
Bee smirked and turned to me. “She’s always nagging me about my medicine, this one.”
Emily grinned. “Someone’s got to keep that heart ticking.”
“It’s nice to have someone nagging,” she whispered to me. “Frankly, I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“All right, you,” Emily said, pulling down the shade. “Time for rest. And no more open windows. You’ll catch pneumonia.”
“Good-bye, Claire,” Bee said, shifting positions. “I hope you’ll come visit again. I’ll be looking for your story.”
“I’ll send you a copy,” I said, walking to the hallway.
I caught the six o’clock ferry home, and Gene greeted me where the cab dropped me off. “You just missed Ethan,” he said.
“Oh?” I hadn’t heard from him all day; not that I expected to. We held