Laurie banged her fist once again on the front door. “Frankie!” she yelled.
She set the box of photographs down on the Wards’ porch and made her way through a flowerbed to get a better look into the house through the living room window, cupping her hands at her temples to block the glare. The lights and television were off.
She circled the house, peering through windows, but there was no sign of Frankie. At each stop, she would try Frankie’s cell again, hoping she might at least hear it ring from inside the house. Only more outgoing voicemail messages.
When Frankie had called her about whatever she had discovered, she had raised her voice over the sound of the wind. She had been outside.
Laurie went to the back of the house and spotted a narrow path through the brush, which she followed toward the water.
She placed her hands on her hips as she scanned the beach. In the distance, she spotted a female jogger with a black Lab, but no Frankie.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. A new message from Frankie. Please stop calling me. I went for a long run. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Laurie turned to go back to the house, but as she did, she noticed a series of footsteps and disruptions in the otherwise pristine sand. The bulk of the activity was in front of a large rock about twenty feet from the clearing in the brush, as if someone had made a temporary nesting place there, but a trail of footprints continued farther down the beach.
As Laurie made her way closer to the rock, she noticed something in the sand beside it—an open book, its pages fluttering in the wind. When she picked it up, she felt a catch in her throat. From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
Frankie had been reading here. She would never leave this beloved book outside on the beach.
She studied the imprints in the sand more closely. It looked like two sets of footprints, extremely close to each other, led from the rock to south of the Wards’ property. Laurie had a sudden image of Frankie being guided away against her will.
She created her own path parallel to the footprints, saying a silent prayer that she would find Frankie safe and sound at the end of the trail. After she’d made her way up the bluff, her heart fell when the sand ended. She was standing at a gravel access road to the beach, a literal dead end.
She looked again at her exchange of messages with Frankie.
I promise I’m fine. But today was intense. Give me some time to think. Is it possible to reschedule the interview for tomorrow?
Don’t feel bad. I really am okay. Just need to think.
Please stop calling me. I went for a long run. I’ll see you tomorrow.
She had told her brothers the same thing. How many times should she have to say it? In Laurie’s own guilt for having messed up this morning’s interview, had she overreacted to Frankie’s desire to be left alone for a few hours? Or was she missing something?
She looked down futilely at the gravel road, hoping for some form of validation that Frankie had departed the beach from here for a run, exactly as she had said. She was about to leave when she noticed one tiny spot of pinkish white shimmering among the gray-brown pieces of gravel.
She bent down and plucked up a single, small stone. Not a stone. A pearl. She scanned the road surface for any other irregularities. A metallic glint, six inches away. She immediately recognized it as the clasp from the bracelet Betsy had given Frankie the previous night.
The discarded book. The broken bracelet.
When Frankie left her last voicemail, she said she had figured something out. She sounded desperate to see her family photographs and had pleaded for Laurie to call her back. That did not sound like a woman who wanted to be left alone.
She started to call Frankie again but composed a new text instead. I found that lipstick you were looking for at the house. You left it on the powder room vanity.
Bouncing dots. Frankie was replying. Or at least, someone was replying.
Thanks so much! I’ll get it from you tomorrow!!
There was no missing lipstick. Something was desperately wrong. Frankie was in trouble.