Chapter 6 - THE GIRL IN THE PHOTOGRAPH
Daniel arrived at Maple Street Books twenty minutes later.
He entered without his usual coat.
His hair was windblown.
For the first time, he looked less like a man who controlled half of Boston and more like someone terrified of hoping.
I handed him the photograph.
He stared.
His fingers trembled.
“Hannah.”
He sat slowly.
I watched his face.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
“She had that scar.”
He touched the photograph.
“She fell off her bicycle when she was seven.”
His voice broke.
“I told her not to ride down the hill.”
I sat beside him.
Daniel laughed softly through tears.
“She told me I wasn't the boss of her.”
I smiled.
“Sounds like your sister.”
“She was.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“She was eleven when she disappeared.”
The girl in the picture looked fourteen.
Three years.
Three years of life his family had never known existed.
***
The address led us to a small town in Vermont.
A white farmhouse stood beyond a line of maple trees.
Sarah arranged contact with the current owners.
They remembered a woman named Margaret Carter.
She had visited occasionally.
Always alone.
Except once.
She'd brought a teenage girl.
The owners had rented the house to an elderly woman named Ruth Ellison.
Ruth died six years earlier.
Her personal papers had been donated to a local historical society.
I almost laughed.
Of course.
Another archive.
Another trail of paper.
My mother had hidden the truth in places nobody thought to search.
***
The historical society occupied a converted church.
An elderly volunteer named Mrs. Palmer brought us three boxes.
“Ruth kept everything,” she said.
Daniel and I spent hours searching.
Bills.
Letters.
Photographs.
Receipts.
Then I found a journal.
On the first page:
HANNAH IS SAFE. BUT THEY WILL NEVER STOP LOOKING.
Daniel read over my shoulder.
We turned the pages.
Ruth had helped Margaret hide Hannah after the girl witnessed Thomas Vale assaulting another child at Harbor House.
Margaret had tried to report the abuse.
Martin Bennett threatened her.
Thomas Vale threatened Hannah.
So Margaret took the girl away.
Ruth gave her shelter.
They planned to contact federal authorities.
But someone discovered their location.
Hannah had to move again.
The final journal entry was dated fifteen years earlier.
She has a new name now. I pray Daniel will forgive us for keeping her away.
Daniel closed his eyes.
“New name?”
I looked at him.
“We can find her.”
He shook his head.
“You don't know that.”
“No.”
I took his hand.
“But we found this much.”
He looked at me.
Something softened in his expression.
“Thank you.”
I smiled.
“You don't have to thank me.”
“Yes.”
His voice was quiet.
“I do.”
***
That evening, we stayed at a small inn.
Separate rooms.
Dinner in a quiet restaurant.
No chandeliers.
No expensive wine.
Just soup, bread, and the strange comfort of talking to someone who understood grief.
Daniel asked about Maple Street Books.
I told him about the elderly customers who came every Thursday.
The little boy who only read books about dinosaurs.
The woman who bought romance novels and pretended they were gifts for her sister.
Daniel laughed.
“You love that place.”
“I do.”
“Why?”
I thought about it.
“Because books don't pretend to be something they're not.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Have you read many mysteries?”
I smiled.
“Fine. Books lie professionally.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
Warm.
Unexpected.
I liked it more than I wanted to admit.
***
Later, we walked beneath the streetlights.
Snow began falling.
Daniel took off his coat.
I shook my head.
“Don't.”
“You're cold.”
“I'm not accepting your coat.”
He looked amused.
“Why?”
“Because I know how this story goes.”
“What story?”
“Rich dangerous man gives poor bookstore girl his coat. Next thing you know, she's living in a mansion and nobody lets her leave.”
Daniel stopped.
I worried I'd offended him.
Then he laughed.
“I promise you can keep your apartment.”
“Generous.”
“And your bookstore.”
“Excellent.”
“And your terrible shoes.”
I looked down.
“My shoes are practical.”
“They're six years old.”
I stared.
“How do you know?”
“You told me.”
“Oh.”
He smiled.
“I listen.”
The words stayed with me.
I had spent years talking to people who heard only what they wanted.
Daniel Brooks listened.
That was more dangerous than his reputation.
***
The next morning, Sarah called.
She had found a woman matching Hannah's description.
A teacher.
Thirty-three years old.
Living in Portland, Maine.
Her name was Grace Ellis.
Daniel stared at me.
“Grace?”
I nodded.
“She changed her name.”
Sarah continued.
“There's one complication.”
“What?”
May you like
“Grace Ellis has been missing for three days.”
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