Chapter 22

 

Neal Williamson was taller than Amy had expected, and a bit heavier than his online photos showed. Amy’s gaze swept pale blond hair cut short around the ears, a florid complexion with a long nose that broadened at the tip. She met his eyes, blue and somewhat wary. Was he regretting this?

She stepped back to let him in. “Neal. I’m glad you came.” Her voice carried a flutter, as if one of the birds had escaped.

A cardboard cake box dangled by its strings at his right side. He set it on the floor and extended his hand. “It seems stiff to shake hands with my daughter, but shall we?”

His grip was strong, his palm dry. Not nervous after all? But he was, by the tightness around his eyes.

Amy liked his direct approach, and the slow smile that crept out of hiding when their hands clasped.

Neal picked up the cake box and offered it to Amy. “The hotel desk clerk said I couldn’t go wrong with a dessert from the Seaport Market.”

“You didn’t need to bring anything, but their bakery choices are amazing. Thank you.” Amy reached for the box.

“And I found this outside the door. A child must have dropped it.” Neal held out a fashion doll in a glittery wrap.

“That’s odd. Our neighbours have a little boy, but no girls.” Amy turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. “Neal, I’d like you to meet Beatrice Rockland and Michael Stratton. Michael, Aunt Bay, Neal Williamson. My father.” They knew that, but it felt good to be able to say it — to acknowledge the relationship and to not fear their judgement.

Amy watched the hand-shaking and tested the tones of their greetings. What if they didn’t like one another?

“What do you have there?” Aunt Bay’s sharp question came out of nowhere.

“Just a doll I picked up from the step. Amy says there are no little girls around, though.” Neal held it out. “I’ve heard of duct-tape dresses, but never aluminum foil.”

Michael’s aunt took it, frowning. The doll’s head popped off, long hair trailing as it bounced across the floor. Aunt Bay shrieked and jumped back.

When was the last time Aunt Bay let anything startle her? Amy tried to catch Michael’s eye, but he had ducked under an easel to retrieve the errant head.

Neal apologized. “I tried to put it back on.”

Aunt Bay stared at the slim figure in her trembling hand. “Michael?”

He handed her the head, sliding the hair through his fingers. His face had taken on the waxy tint from the other night.

Amy went rigid, limbs frozen. “It’s — me. Isn’t it? Hair like mine. Silver clothes.”

Michael took the cake box from Amy’s unresisting fingers and handed it to Aunt Bay. He pulled her into his arms in a grip that barely let her breathe.

Cold, so cold… but his warmth enveloped her. One hand pressed her head against his chest, caressed her hair. Amy caught a few of his whispered words. Praying. Michael was praying. For her. She burst into tears.

Behind her, Aunt Bay’s clipped tones informed Neal what had been happening.

His voice rose in protest. “Amy, come home with me. It’s not safe here.”

Michael’s arms crushed Amy’s ribs. He spoke over her head. “They’ll find her anywhere.”

“She’s my daughter. I want to help.”

“She’s my—”

Michael’s face pressed into Amy’s hair and his hold relaxed enough to let her breathe. Her heart banged against her ribs, so hard and fast that he had to feel it. Would he think its pace, her arms’ frantic grip, was only fear? Did she want him to know the rest, since he clearly didn’t share the emotion?

He cleared his throat. “My responsibility to keep safe.”

Whatever he’d been going to say, these words didn’t carry much clout. Amy could practically hear the electric charge of the two men’s eyes meeting over her head.

Aunt Bay’s approaching heels clicked on the tile. “That’s enough testosterone. There’ll be an officer here shortly. In the mean time, shall we sit? Amy, Neal, it’s a shame your first meeting had to be spoiled like this. You go into the living room and I’ll make us some coffee. Michael will help me.” Her tone made it an order.

It felt like Michael pressed a kiss into Amy’s hair before releasing her. Her lips twisted. Wishful thinking on her part.

Her arms didn’t want to let him go. “Thank you,” Amy whispered, drying her eyes on her sleeve. The tears turned the silky green fabric almost black.

She turned to her father, staying as close to Michael’s side as she could. “I should have told you on the phone, instead of waiting to see you in person. Thank you for not bolting straight out the door. It’s not your fight.”

His face settled into grim lines. “When you accepted me into your life, it became my fight.” He tossed out a laugh that didn’t fool anyone. “I never backed down from a scrap on the ice, and I’m too set in my ways to change now.”

A long look passed between Neal and Michael. Then Michael stepped forward, one hand trailing across Amy’s back until he lost contact. The other hand reached for Neal’s. “Then we’re on the same side.”

Neal gave a crisp nod and took his hand. “The police should take this seriously now that it’s escalated to a physical threat.”

Aunt Bay huffed. “I certainly hope so. What about Gilles’ friend and his contacts?”

Michael pulled out his cell phone. “He’ll be furious. But he needs to know. Excuse me while I make this call.” He walked into the gallery.

The office door clicked shut. Did he really need that much privacy? They all knew what had happened. Amy rubbed her palms against her upper arms for warmth. “I guess now we wait for the police. Again.”

Amy led her father to the living room. She dropped into her favourite chair and elevated her leg to ease her hip. Her other foot tapped the floor.

Neal stood with his back to the window, feet wide and hands clasped behind his back. “No one knows we’re connected. Fly west and stay at my place until the authorities solve this. Come back to your job and your life here when it’s safe.”

So far away… Would absence make Michael’s heart grow fonder, or would she slip his mind entirely? “This is our busiest time of the year with exhibits and shows.”

“I’m sure they’d rather hire a fill-in worker than see you hurt.”

Amy’s toes tapped faster. “Michael said they’d find me anywhere.”

“Assuming he’s right, it would give the authorities more time to catch them first. I don’t like this contact who’ll only speak with him.”

“He started by texting me to stop asking questions. Maybe I made him mad by not cooperating.”

“Apparently you inherited a touch of my bullheadedness.” Neal rocked back and forth on his heels. “Use it wisely.”

Amy smiled. “It’s come in handy so far.”

Aunt Bay poked her head in the doorway. “Coffee’s ready, if you’re interested.”

Neal straightened. “I’ll come and get it. No need to deliver. Amy?”

“None for me, thanks.”

He returned with a mug of coffee and a tall glass of water. “Beatrice thought you might like this.”

“Thanks.” Amy cradled the glass carefully in her lap. Maybe the focus on not spilling it would slow her still-jittery pulse.

After a few false starts, Amy and Neal fell into an exchange of stories about her mother, Isobel. Neal’s memories spanned a brief time, but they helped Amy see her mother differently than she had as a child. Her own anecdotes brought smiles.

They’d somehow progressed to comparing cancer caregiver experiences when the doorbell rang. Amy placed her half-finished drink on the side table. “They’ll probably join us in here.” Would this be good cop, bad cop, or new cop?

Aunt Bay ushered a uniformed officer and two others in civilian dress into the room. The lead officer held a clear plastic bag with the broken doll.

Michael followed, carrying chairs from the kitchen. “Excuse the art on display everywhere. We have an open house tomorrow.” He glanced at the man in uniform. “Unless you tell us otherwise.”

Amy took her foot off the stool. “You’ve worked too hard to cancel.”

Michael still looked pale. What had Gilles’ friend said? “Your safety comes first.”

The officer scanned the room. “I’m Constable Arnsberger. My associates, Finn and Kane, bring some special expertise to the case. They’ll make the call on the event going ahead. Which one of you discovered the doll?”

Neal lifted a hand from the arm of his chair. “Neal Williamson. I found it on the doorstep when I arrived. I assumed it was a neighbour’s lost toy, and brought it inside.”

“You were unaware of the previous warnings?”

“Correct.”

Aunt Bay told the rest of the story and fixed a stern eye on Constable Arnsberger. “How are you going to stop these people and keep Amy safe?”

“Ms. Rockland, I can assure you we will do everything in our power to ensure the safety of each one of you. Ms. Silver is clearly the primary target, but it may be that those close to her are in danger as well.” He gestured to Finn and Kane. “With your permission, I’d like to ask my associates to go through the house and assess your security.”

“Michael?”

“Of course.”

Once they left, Arnsberger settled in one of the kitchen chairs and dropped the bagged doll at his feet. He opened a notebook. “We know essentially what happened, but I’d like to hear what each of you has to add. Impressions, related incidents, anything that comes to mind. Most of it won’t be connected, but sometimes what looks like an insignificant detail can be critical.”

All eyes turned to Amy. She focused on Arnsberger. “It has to be about the plane crash. I’ve had warning texts from this guy who claims he was Gilles’ friend, and flak from Gilles’ father. A phone call, a letter, and now this doll. And Troy — the reporter who started the sabotage idea. Someone ran him off the road.”

Arnsberger made a note. “We couldn’t be sure that was connected. I’ll take another look.”

Amy shifted in her chair. “Gilles’ father knows who’s behind this.” And he’d kill her for saying so. “He’s terrified. But we can’t let them win.”

Michael pressed his lips together and stared at the floor.

The officer glanced at him, then back at Amy. “Would you give me his contact information?”

“He may be too scared to talk to you. What if they find out?” She brought up the contact list on her phone and read off Luc’s phone number. “I don’t know if he’s still in town. He shuttles between here and Montreal.”

Aunt Bay didn’t have much to add. Michael spoke even less. Arnsberger’s gaze made Amy feel vaguely guilty, but she had nothing else to offer. And this problem wasn’t her doing.

Finn joined them. “Everything is as secure as it can be in a private dwelling. Keep your doors and windows locked as a precaution, and let your security system provider know there’s been a threat.”

Arnsberger stood. “Maybe they’re just trying to scare you enough to stop asking questions, but we can’t be sure of that. Call if you encounter anything suspicious.” He picked up the evidence bag. “Is Kane nearly done?”

“Almost.”

Amy kept her eyes averted from the doll in the bag. “What about the show tomorrow? Can we go ahead?”

“There’s been no clear threat connected with the event. Whatever they plan, they won’t want to have witnesses. I see no need to cancel.” Finn’s grim tone did not inspire confidence.

“Thank you.” Michael rose and shook both officers’ hands.

As everyone stood and filtered toward the door, Amy found herself beside Arnsberger. She hesitated. “Constable, I know you’re busy, but would you have time to let my neighbour’s son have a look at your cruiser? He’s seen them here a lot lately, and he’s only four. It’d be a big deal for him.”

Constable Arnsberger checked his watch. “I think we could fit that in. Let me lock the evidence in the trunk. He doesn’t need to see that.”

“Thank you. I’ll phone them.”

Safia and Dafiq arrived in minutes. The boy’s brown eyes shone, and if his grin grew any wider, his face would split. Arnsberger showed him around the car and even let him sit behind the wheel. A siren pierced the air. Amy jumped, then giggled at the embarrassment on Safia’s face.

The car door opened, and the boy zoomed to his mother’s side. “Didya hear? He let me do the siren!”

Arnsberger followed, smiling. “He was careful to ask before he touched anything.” He squatted beside the boy. “It was good to meet you, Dafiq. You take good care of your mom, now.”

Dafiq seemed to grow visibly. “I will. Daddy too. I wanna be a police officer when I grow up. I’ve been watching for bad guys.”

Arnsberger raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen any?”

“There was someone sneaking around Mr. Michael’s house today.” His high-pitched voice stopped the other conversations.

Still crouched to Dafiq’s eye level, Arnsberger looked up at Safia. “I’d like to hear that story.”