Secrets of the Rose

“What’s wrong, Shelby?”

“I know how this works,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s the percentage of parental involvement in cases of missing children—eighty per cent?” She glared at Natalie. “You suspect I may have had something to do with my daughter’s disappearance. That’s why you questioned me about the garden. You think I buried her?” She stopped, regained control, then continued. “Well, I didn’t! Search every room, go through every yard of the grounds. Tear them up if you want to. I don’t care. But you’re wasting time and I don’t know how much time Aimee has!”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything.” The hollowness of the words echoed around the room. “It’s standard procedure.”

“I don’t care about procedure. Just find my daughter,” she ordered through clenched teeth.

“Shelby, I wasn’t trying—”

“Listen to me, Detective. I love my daughter more than my life. I’ll give anything I possess to get Aimee back, do anything I need to. I don’t care how much it costs, I don’t care what extremes we have to go to. I just want her back—safe. Do you understand?”

Natalie didn’t answer immediately. Instead she walked across the room, sat down, leaned back against the sofa, her face inscrutable. Finally she broke the silence.

“All right. Let’s find Aimee.”

TWO

“I hope I’m not intruding. I saw you sitting out here, and wondered if there was something I could do.”

Tim Austen’s quiet voice roused Shelby from her contemplation of the hedge beyond. She blinked away the shadows, watched him shift from one foot to the other, hands thrust into his pants. In all the time she’d known him, her neighbor had always looked perfectly comfortable here. Now he seemed oddly fretful and that surprised her.

Of course, this wasn’t any ordinary day. Tim’s sandy-brown hair stood in bed-head tufts all over, as if he hadn’t taken time to comb it. His rumpled beige corduroy pants bagged at the knees. The worn flannel shirt he favored now hung partially untucked, a clear sign of his distress. Normally Tim was fastidious about his clothing. Sympathy tugged at her. He was missing that effervescent five-year-old as much as she was.

He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again, then finally spoke. “Are you all right?”

“No.” She motioned to the chair opposite. The tears had stopped. Now she was drained of everything. The first few hours after an abduction were crucial. How long had it been since they’d taken her?

“Shelby?”

She glanced up, saw his concern. “I’m not all right, Tim. I want my daughter back.”

“I know you do. But Aimee is fine, Shelby. We have to believe that.” He stared at her, his eyes filled with shadows. “The writing said she was safe.”

He must know how ridiculous that sounded. To believe a promise scribbled on a mirror? Frustration at his gullibility nipped at her heart and tumbled out in the tone of her words.

“I don’t believe that. And neither do you. She was safe here with me, Tim. Happy and healthy and loved. How can she be safe away from the one who loves her most? That’s ridiculous!” The angry words emerged harsh and bitter, but it felt good to finally unleash some of the violence that whirled inside her.

Tim jerked back as if he’d been stung, eyes wide with surprise.

Shelby knew she should apologize, but she couldn’t. Not now, when she’d been waiting on tenterhooks all day and all night for something, some tiny ray of hope to cling to.

“You really want me to trust the scribblings of a kidnapper?” She shook her head, her freshly washed hair bouncing from shoulder to shoulder. “I don’t think so.”

“But Shelby, you have to have faith. You have to. You’re the one who said God…” Clearly worried by her angry glare, he flopped into her white wicker chair, crossed one leg over his knee, then took it down. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I saw you sitting here and knew you couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d keep you company but I’m making things worse. You look tired.”

Tired? If only that’s all it was.

The mirror hadn’t been kind earlier. Shelby knew her hair was a mess, unstyled, frizzy, dangling around her face like a mop. Pushing it behind her ears only emphasized the lines under her eyes, the down-turning pull of frustration at the corners of her mouth, but she hadn’t wanted to waste time on makeup or hairstyling. She’d made it in and out of the shower in four minutes, lest she miss the kidnapper’s call for ransom.

Only there hadn’t been any call.

“I heard them talking, you know, Tim, the police manning the phones.” She didn’t look at him, didn’t want to see the pity on his face. “I went down around midnight to get a drink. They thought I was upstairs resting so they were talking openly. They’re just as worried as I am that no demand has been made.”

He frowned, glared over one shoulder at her house, as if he could transmit his thoughts through the walls.

“I don’t imagine they know that much about kidnapping,” he offered. “I don’t think it happens all that often in a city as quiet as Victoria.”

“It’s not just the local police involved now. They’ve called in the RCMP, a missing persons unit, and I don’t know who else. I don’t really care who they call, as long as they find my daughter. But how can that happen when they have no leads, no suspects, nothing to go on? The neighbors weren’t even awake.” She lifted her head, caught a strange expression on his face. “You didn’t see anything, did you?”

He was about to answer, but Shelby forestalled him, held up a hand. She already knew what he’d say.

“No, of course you didn’t. You were asleep like the rest of the world.” Bitter disappointment nipped at her. No chance of a lead here. “Anyway, I’d imagine the police have already asked you that question, haven’t they?”

“Several times.” Tim reached out, touched her arm. “But I’d answer it a hundred times if I thought it would help. I’d do anything to spare you this pain.” He gulped, swallowed. “I love that little girl, too. You know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Shelby covered his hand with her own, moved by the tears in his eyes. “I’m sorry I sound so cross with you. I’m just…afraid.”

His fingers squeezed hers but didn’t let go. The warmth transmitting from his hand to hers eased the sense of loneliness she’d felt earlier. The hushed night sounds slowly died away. To the east, the horizon began to lighten with its first predawn glimmers. Shelby had always loved the early morning. It was as if God was saying, “Here, I’m giving you another chance. A new day, fresh and clean. Do something wonderful with it.”

What was He saying this morning? Would today bring Aimee home?

“It’s hard to keep hoping, Tim,” she whispered. “All the terrible things you hear that happen to kids—they come back when the night is quiet and there’s nothing to hold back the fear. They replay over and over.” She caught her breath, fought to steady her voice. “In my mind I keep hearing those news reports about that little girl that was abducted last winter. What if Aimee—”

“No!” He jumped to his feet, his color high, eyes blazing. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it! Until we know differently, Aimee is fine. Do you hear me? She’s fine!”

Startled by his vehemence, Shelby stared as Tim paced across the patio. Then he seemed to regroup.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his face drawn in a tight mask. “But I can’t bear to think like that. Please, have some faith, Shelby. Just a little bit of faith.”

She wondered if his reaction had something to do with his past. He’d never told her more than that an accident had caused the scars covering his face and hands. His words penetrated.

“Faith? What exactly does that mean, Tim? I’ve always wondered. Do you keep hoping when everything seems to be telling you there is no hope?”

He shook his head. “It’s not what you hope. It’s Who you hope in. Isn’t that what Aimee’s always singing about?”

The reminder resonated within her. If ever there was a child of hope, that child was Aimee. They’d waited so long for her—five long years when Shelby had secretly feared she and Grant would never have a child. And then Aimee arrived. From her very first day, she’d been a happy, contented baby. She’s spoken earlier than usual, her voice a soft musical tone to her parents’ ears.

By two she was repeating everything she heard, accompanying the words with a tune she composed inside her brain. Oh those songs! Songs of joy, of happiness, of wonder. Songs of hope. Shelby had to believe that precious voice would not be silenced.

She heard a sound behind her, twisted to see who was there. Natalie stood tall, silent, hands hanging at her side. She had an odd look on her face, as if something had surprised her.

“Is anything wrong?” Shelby asked the detective.

“I’m not sure. There’s a man here, Daniel McCullough. I believe you told me he runs your company.” Natalie’s elegant demeanor appeared barely disturbed by her night on the sofa after she’d refused to accept one of the many spare bedrooms Esmeralda kept prepared. “He says he must see you.”

“Daniel’s here? At this hour?” Shelby rose. “Where is he?”

“I’m here, Shel.” He’d trailed behind Natalie and now eased past her. “I know the police don’t want me here, that you’re expecting to hear something. Or maybe you already have?” One bushy eyebrow rose expectantly.

Shelby shook her head, swallowed the lump lodged halfway down her throat.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” One hand reached out to brush her shoulder. His thin body sagged at the news, as if he, too, felt the loss of the small, bustling girl who’d called him “Unca Dan” from the first time she’d spoken.

Shelby cleared her throat. “You said you needed me. What is it, Daniel?”

“This.” He thrust out a small, brown padded envelope toward her. “I don’t know when it came in. I’ll check as soon as the regular staff gets in, but I found it on your desk this morning when I arrived. I figured it might be important, maybe something about Aimee.”

Daniel always arrived at work in the early hours—that was nothing new. But going into her office without calling to ask—that was unusual. Still, she’d called him last night, told him about Aimee. Maybe he’d had an idea to help. She glanced down.

“Who would send me something via Finders?” she murmured, turning the envelope over and over. There was no return address, no markings of any kind, other than the scribbled letters of her name. “I haven’t been in my office in months.”

“Which is why I don’t think it came through the mail. There’s no postage, for one thing. And Joanie knows to route all your stuff here.”

Daniel often neglected to eat, so that his body had learned to run on adrenaline. Shelby recognized the telltale signs from his glittering eyes and knew adrenaline was pouring through his veins now. He shifted from one foot to the other, shoved his hands into his pockets, then reversed his action and dangled them at his sides. Finally he clasped them behind his back. His amber eyes, framed by the narrow black glasses he’d begun wearing lately, honed in on the envelope like a missile locked on target.

“Could it be important?”

Shelby shrugged, glanced at Natalie for direction. But the stylishly competent officer seemed confused by her scrutiny of Tim.

“Natalie? Am I supposed to open it, or wait for fingerprints, or what?” Shelby prodded.

Natalie metamorphosed as she straightened her shoulders, the in-charge persona firmly back in place.

“I suspect Daniel’s prints, and yours, have already obscured whatever was on it, and that whoever sent this was very careful not to leave a trace, but we’ll try all the same.” She drew two surgical gloves from her pocket. “Let me open it.”

Shelby had to force herself to hand it over. She wanted to rip the envelope open and examine its contents. One part of her warned that they were probably nothing. The other part of her wanted desperately to believe that something inside that thick brown paper would lead them straight to her daughter.

Natalie examined the envelope in minute detail.

“Too thin to be a bomb,” Tim told her, his voice quiet.

Natalie quirked an eyebrow at him. Shelby saw the flash of sparks, knew that neither completely trusted the other. It was odd, really. Tim was usually so easygoing.

“And you know this because…?”

“I’ve read up on it. I had to do some research.” His chin thrust out in a belligerent jut meant to resist her attitude. “I do a lot of research. It’s crucial to my work.”

Shelby ignored the scowl. “You read about bombs to write children’s books?” Now she was curious about her unusual neighbor.

“Can we just open it?” Daniel had obviously lost patience. He reached out as if to wrest the envelope from Natalie.

“Sure. But I’ll do it out here.” With one lithe twist, Natalie moved out of his reach, strode to a patch of grass, fifty feet from the house. “Ready?” She slit the package, turned it upside down.

Something small and gold slipped onto the grass. Something very familiar.

Shelby flopped onto the grass, reached out to gather Aimee’s locket into her hands.

“Don’t touch it!”

The warning came from two sets of lips. Tim looked chagrined, Natalie furious. He stood silent as the cop grabbed the radio from her belt and called headquarters to request a fingerprint technician. That done, she pulled off one glove, handed the locket to Shelby and told her to look inside.

She didn’t have to look, of course. She knew that locket, had helped Grant choose it for their daughter’s fourth birthday. The tiny scrolled lettering in the heart on the front read Aimee. Inside were two pictures, hers and Grant’s. But there was also a slip of paper, much like the one found inside fortune cookies.

“There’s something here,” she mumbled, unnecessarily as it happened, for the others were already gathered around her, watching.

“Finders, Inc.?” Daniel scowled at the name on the paper. “Someone’s playing a trick We didn’t take her.”

“Finders, Inc. That’s the name of your business, right? And they took the trouble to print it and stick it inside the necklace.” Natalie pinched the paper between two gloved fingers and turned it over. The same words appeared on the back. Finders, Inc.

“Yes.” Shelby was just as puzzled as Daniel, but she picked up on the speculative tone of Natalie’s voice. “Why, I wonder?”

“Look inside the envelope. Maybe there’s something else.” Tim squatted beside her, his face inscrutable as he watched the way Natalie carefully examined the interior. “There’s a note.”

“I can see that, Mr. Austen.”

Everyone’s attention focused on the envelope as a slip of paper fell out. Shelby stared at the sprawl of childish letters across notepaper with the Finders logo printed across the top.

Aimee is safe. Don’t worry.

“Don’t worry?” Shelby snorted. “As if!” She watched Natalie turn the paper over, scrutinize the back. “Why is this written on company stationery?”

“Exactly my question. This handwriting looks like a child’s.”

“It’s not Aimee’s. She always makes the A in her name very decorative.”

Natalie’s intense inspection seemed completed. She replaced the paper in the envelope and put both it and the locket in a plastic bag she had pulled from her pocket, then looked at Shelby. “I think we’d better begin investigating your company, Mrs. Kincaid.”

“Us?” Daniel shook his head. “But why? What possible reason could one of our employees have for taking her child? We return things, we don’t steal them.”

“Can you tell me who else would have access to your letterhead, your company notepaper? The general public?”

Flustered, Daniel opened his mouth, closed it, then finally spoke. “N-no. But—”

“Actually, a number of people could have found a sheet of it.” Shelby rose. “I have several pads of that very notepaper in the house. I know there’s a pad on Grant’s—that is, the desk in the study. And probably one by the phone in the kitchen, as well.” She offered an apologetic smile. “I used to scribble notes to myself on them and I often carried a pad home with me. There must be a number of them around. Whoever took Aimee could have easily taken a single sheet, or a whole pad, for that matter—if they’d been in this house before. And they must have, to get in so easily. Don’t you think?”

“This case is a puzzle within a puzzle.” Natalie’s epithet was terse and short, spat out in a whorl of frustration. “No apparent motive, no ransom note or call, no tracks. No fingerprints. No clues until today, and now this one is tainted.”

Then, as if suddenly aware that she had an audience, she straightened, called over a waiting technician and handed him the evidence.

“So what do we do now?” Shelby asked when it became clear that Natalie wasn’t going to volunteer any opinion on the state of her investigation.

“We wait. If your, er, manager?—will give me the names of your employees, I’ll have someone check them out.”

Daniel glanced at Shelby, and in one imperceptible movement of his head transmitted a no. That could only mean that right now he had someone conducting a sensitive search. Police investigations would mess that up.

“I’ll go you one better. I’ll check them out myself.”

The idea had burst upon Shelby only a moment before when she’d seen the company logo on that slip of paper, but it was a good one. She was sick and tired of sitting around, waiting. She needed to do something, anything, to help find Aimee. Checking out employees who had already passed an extremely thorough investigation would be little more than busywork, but at least she could prove that her employees were trustworthy.

“You? But we need you here.”

“Why?” She faced Natalie head-on, saw the confusion in her eyes and realized she had to soften her tone. Natalie was not the source of her frustration. “You and I both know there isn’t going to be a ransom call, Detective. Not after this long. Anyway, I don’t think taking Aimee was about money. It’s about something else. Right now, I don’t know what that could be, but maybe I’ll uncover something at work.”

She knew it sounded weak, as if she was running away. But she had to do something!

“I can’t sit here, waiting for the phone to ring, asking myself a thousand times why I didn’t rush in there and stop whoever did this, blaming myself for her disappearance. I have to act. Can’t you understand that?”

“I can.” Tim stepped forward, patted her on the shoulder. “And I think it’s a good idea.” He turned to Natalie. “Surely you and your team wouldn’t turn down whatever help Shelby’s company can offer? After all, Finders has a sophisticated system dedicated to finding people and recovering lost things. Maybe they could help your…er…department?”

The faintly challenging note in his voice puzzled Shelby. What was he implying?

“You don’t think my office or the police department is handling this case properly?” Natalie’s tone was icy.

“I never said that.”

“You’ve hinted at it more than once.” Natalie shrugged her elegant shoulders. “I don’t really care what you think, Mr. Austen.” She laid heavy emphasis on his last name. “I’m in charge here and I intend to find that little girl.” She nodded at Shelby. “Go ahead. Do your checks. You’ve got files on everyone, I imagine?”

“We have.” Daniel smiled.

“I’ll want to see them.”

“I can arrange for copies to be sent to your office, but you don’t have to bother. If anyone can find out something that’s not obvious, it’s Shelby. Research is what she does best. No stone unturned.” He held out his arms. “I know it’s not the best of circumstances, but welcome back, Shel.”

“Thanks. I think.” She returned his hug. Already Shelby felt better, as if she could somehow come to grips with this by doing something to help Aimee.

Natalie watched them, her veiled glance hiding her true feelings.

“Anything, however small, that could connect your daughter to someone in your company is what we’re looking for.” She waited for Shelby’s nod of understanding. “We’re patched into your phone here in case something comes through, but I expect you to contact me immediately if you find anything. Anything,” she repeated with emphasis.

“Of course. We have worked with the police before, you know, Natalie. We also have a very secure method of screening incoming calls to Finders, Inc. I’m not unfamiliar with the way things are done.” Shelby frowned. “I certainly wouldn’t dream of holding anything back that could jeopardize the safe return of my child.”

The detective’s cheeks flushed, but all she said was, “Right,” before she turned and walked back inside.

“Bossy, overbearing, pushy…” Tim ran out of words.

“What’s going on with you two?” Shelby was curious about his attitude. “You’ve been at loggerheads ever since you met.”

“Something about her bugs me. I don’t know what it could be, other than the aforementioned attribute of pure bossiness.” Tim shook his head. “Forget about our personality differences, Shelby. Go and do what you have to do.”

“I’ll do it,” she agreed. “But I hate it. We screen very carefully. Once our staff have been cleared, we do periodic updates and yearly investigations. It’s all part of the very specialized work we do. I don’t see how anyone in our offices could be implicated in this.”

“Nor do I.” Daniel walked along beside them, his forehead pleated in a frown. “But I’ll be glad to have you there, Shelby. I’d like to keep this as low profile as we can.”

“Is something wrong with the company, Daniel?”

He appeared to debate his answer. Finally he spoke, his voice soft, reflective. “Now’s not the time to burden you with work, Shel. Let’s just concentrate on Aimee. The rest can wait for a more appropriate time.”

He wasn’t telling her everything, and she knew it. But for now, Shelby wouldn’t press him. Daniel might be holding his own counsel until they could speak freely. Or he might not yet be sure of his facts. One thing she knew—Daniel was as loyal as any of her employees. Grant had trusted him implicitly. So did she.

Daniel may not want to bother her now, but if something was seriously wrong at Finders, she intended to find out during her own probe. Finders, Inc. had gained its reputation because of its specialized capability to locate and recover without eliciting undue attention. One rotten apple could spoil the entire business; seriously threaten their ability to handle confidential work, especially those government contracts they periodically won. So she’d do whatever she could to ensure that Daniel’s investigation would stay hush-hush. For now.

Shelby left home to the tune of Esmeralda’s grumblings about the policemen who’d moved into the house she’d lovingly cared for these past twenty years, men who couldn’t get enough of her double chocolate cookies, men who left footprints from the rose garden on her clean carpet. Shelby left, knowing the older woman was just as upset about losing Aimee as she was. Looking after the officers would keep Esmeralda busy.

But as Shelby drove through the security gates and onto the lot of the company that she and Grant had built, a shiver of trepidation crept up her spine—which was probably natural. After all, she hadn’t returned to Finders since Grant’s death. Perhaps that accounted for the foreboding she felt as she watched the security camera track her steps, punched in her pass code to transmit the secure sequence that sent the elevator to the top floor. The feeling didn’t lessen when she unlocked her office door.

Everything was as she’d left it, though Joanie, her secretary, had already pulled the files and placed them on her desk. And apparently the cleaners had also been in for there wasn’t a speck of dust on the clear glass surfaces. When she caught a glimpse of the photo on her desk, a snapshot of her and Grant laughing at each other on a catamaran off the Sicilian coast, her heart took over and she struggled to remain calm.

He’d died here, on these grounds.

The knowledge stabbed anew, but time had taught her how to handle the pain. Shelby drew in deep breaths, forced herself to turn away, focus on the names numbered on a list beside the files. She sank down in the comfortable chair and began an intense scrutiny of each. When Shelby glanced up two hours later she was not a whit closer to finding a betrayer.