Chapters (73)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Part IAnnie
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Part IIHarry
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Part IIIAnnie
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Part IVHarry
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Part VAnnie
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Linwood Barclay
- About the Publisher
“Mr. Sproule was in touch, asked me to leave a key in the mailbox in case you weren’t here when he arrived.” Her chin quivered. “I shouldn’t have done that. I had the best of intentions.”
The road to hell, Annie thought.
“He was so excited about coming to see you, to bring you some New York treats. If I had known, if I’d had any idea—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“And I came to tell you that I’m so sorry that Bert—he’s my handyman—hasn’t been by to install the chains, but he got swamped with some other projects and has promised to come by tomorrow, and—”
“We’re leaving.”
“You’re what?”
“First thing tomorrow. We’re packing up and going home.”
Candace nodded slowly. “I can’t blame you for that. I wish things had turned out differently.”
There was something in the back of Annie’s mind, something she had been meaning to ask Candace about.
“The photographers,” Annie said. “The ones who were here last.”
“Yes?”
“Why did they leave?”
Candance looked uncomfortable. “Sometimes people want a change.”
“I’m betting there was more to it than that.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway. You’ve decided to leave, so leave.”
“What were their names?”
“I really don’t—”
“Names. If you don’t tell me, I’m betting Daniel will know. But I’d really rather not bother him right now. His wife’s not well. Is it Smitherton? That’s the name still on the mailbox.”
Candace sighed, as though admitting defeat. “Yes. Graham and Steph. Short for Stephanie.”
“Where’d they move to?”
“New Haven, I think. They were from there originally. Look, I’m really sorry how things turned out, but if you ever—”
“Good night,” Annie said, turned and went back into the house.
It didn’t take her five minutes of Google-searching on the laptop in her bedroom to find a Graham and Stephanie Smitherton in New Haven who ran a photo studio. Their website offered a variety of services, from simple things like passports to more ambitious projects like weddings. There was a phone number, but when Annie called it went straight to voicemail. It was late in the day, and their business hours were nine to five.
There was an email address. Annie dashed off a quick message, identifying herself not as someone who lived in their former residence, but as the children’s book author and illustrator. (She hoped they might recognize her name.) She said she had an urgent request, and would they be good enough to call her when they received this email?
She hit send.