A bell tinkled as Diane opened the front door to Lavender & Lace. The shop’s cool air was filled with the aromas of potpourri and scented candles. Embroidered linens, fine lace, and hand-milled soaps were displayed on white shelves that lined the lavender walls. Antique hat pins stood in tall porcelain holders, while boxes of ornate stationery and greeting cards crowded the counters. There were gaily colored parasols in umbrella stands, a display case full of fanciful gloves and feathered fans, and dozens of beaded evening bags hung from tiny hooks throughout the store. As she surveyed the room, Diane wondered how a search headquarters could possible have existed in this place. There wasn’t enough room for one more stickpin, let alone a small army of volunteers.
She paused to look at the collection of stuffed teddy bears that were arrayed on the steps of an old wooden ladder. Each was dressed in a lavender taffeta skirt, wore a matching wide-brimmed bonnet with lace trim, had a strand of faux pearls draped around its neck, and held a feathered fan in one of its paws.
A trim, middle-aged woman came out from behind the beaded curtain that covered a door at the back of the shop. She managed a wan smile as she navigated her way down the narrow aisle toward Diane.
“May I help you?” the woman asked automatically, pushing strands of gray-streaked hair behind her ear.
“These are delightful,” said Diane, picking up one of the bears.
“Thank you. I’ve been carrying them for years, ever since my daughter fell in love with hers.”
Diane put the bear back on the ladder step. “Are you Mrs. Patterson?”
“Yes.” There was caution in the woman’s voice.
Diane took off her sunglasses and extended her hand. “I’m Diane Mayfield.”
“Oh.” Audrey Patterson was flustered. “Forgive me. I didn’t recognize you. I’m so sorry. I guess I have too much on my mind.”
“Please. There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have left my sunglasses on.”
Diane could feel Audrey studying her face. She’s looking for every line and wrinkle, she thought—just like most people do when they meet someone they’ve seen only on television. She’ll want to tell her friends that the KEY News personality looked prettier, homelier, thinner, fatter, older, younger in real life than she does on the screen.
“I was hoping that we might be able to talk some more,” she said, getting to the point.
“About Leslie being on your show, right?”
“About interviewing her. Yes.”
The bell at the front of the shop rang as a pair of older women walked inside.
“Let’s go to the back,” Audrey suggested.
“I can wait, if you need to help your customers,” offered Diane.
“No, come on.” Audrey lowered her voice to a whisper. “Those two are in here all the time. They’re browsers, not buyers.”
They went through the beaded curtain into a large storage room. Cardboard shipping cartons had been stacked high against the walls to make room for trestle tables that were littered with used paper coffee cups and empty donut boxes. A map of Ocean Grove and the surrounding towns was mounted on a giant easel. Grids had been drawn in red crayon across the map, organizing search areas.
“Would you like to sit down?” Audrey indicated a metal folding chair.
“Thank you.”
Audrey leaned against the corner of the table. “I talked about it with my husband last night, and he says we have to wait until we hire a lawyer and see if he thinks it’s all right for you to talk to Leslie.”
“When do you think that will be, Mrs. Patterson?”
“Lou is making more phone calls today. But you know, Leslie hasn’t been officially charged with anything yet.”
“Let’s hope she isn’t,” Diane said with sincerity. “It would be a terrible ordeal for a young woman to go through. I have a daughter of my own, and I can imagine how worried you must be.”
Tears welled up in Audrey’s dark eyes. “How old is your daughter?”
“Fourteen.”
“Fourteen,” Audrey repeated. “That was the year Leslie started to have problems.”
Diane felt a pang of anxiety as she thought of Michelle. The idea of her own daughter following Leslie Patterson’s path was beyond distressing. But the journalist in her recognized an opportunity. Audrey Patterson was opening up, and Diane had to encourage her to keep going.
“What kinds of problems?” she asked gently.
“Eating problems.” Audrey cast her head downward, as if ashamed. “She got thinner and thinner. She was exercising more and more. At first, I didn’t think too much of it. I’ll always blame myself for that. By the time I realized anything was really wrong and got her to a doctor, he diagnosed her as having anorexia.”
“Was he able to help her?” Diane felt herself rooting hard for an affirmative answer.
“God knows, he’s tried.” Audrey shook her head. “Owen Messinger is a saint as far as I’m concerned. He’s treated Leslie for all these years, and he’s been unfailingly patient with her when I…” Audrey’s voice trailed off, and a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Why is it that mothers always blame themselves?” Diane asked gently. But the real question she wanted to ask was, If Owen Messinger was such a good therapist, eight years later why wasn’t Leslie well?