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“Who was that in the pickup truck?” Sloan asked.
“Lester, our handyman. He’s as loyal as they come. I asked him for a favor, and he didn’t hesitate. It bought us some time. Come on.”
Sloan followed Nora down the alley and through the back door of the photography studio. Inside, Nora closed the blinds.
“You’re safe here for now, but the rest of this town is a crapshoot. Reporters believe you’re staying at the Cedar Creek Inn, and there are a bunch of news crews there. Now, they obviously found your rental house. Reporters are lurking outside the gates of Tilly and Reid’s estate, too. They’ll probably go to my house at some point, but my studio is too far removed for anyone to find us here. For a while, at least. We’re working on Plan B.”
“Maybe I should just talk to them.”
“No way,” Nora said. “You need a lawyer before you do that. You could get a nice payday out of it if you give the right person an exclusive. Probably pay off all your medical school debt. Plus, I’d talk with that FBI agent you mentioned before you start dishing out interviews. Never know what you can and can’t say.”
Sloan walked over to the window and peeked through the blinds. “So we’re just going to hide at your studio? For how long?”
“Hopefully not long. Tilly said things should be ready in about an hour.”
“What things?”
“Until we can help you organize the right journalist to speak with in the right setting, we’re getting you out of Cedar Creek.”
“And going where?”
“Margolis Manor. The family’s winery is the only logical choice. It’s only a few hours away, but it may as well be on the other side of the earth, because once we’re there no one will find us or bother us. Even if the press somehow tracked us there, the property is massive and impossible for anyone to penetrate. We can stay there until things settle down, or at least until we figure out your best path forward.”
“Are you sure? I feel terrible that I’ve brought all this drama with me.”
“Of course. It was Reid’s idea. A couple thousand acres of isolated land covered by wine grapes in Oregon? It’s perfect. Reid’s arranging things now and will call when everything’s set. The press outside the front gates of Reid and Tilly’s estate are throwing a wrench into things at the moment, but he’s figuring that out as we speak. For now, we’ll just wait here until we get the all clear.”
Sloan rubbed the front of her pants. A buzzing nervousness filled her gut. She needed to find a discreet way to call Eric and let him know what was happening.
“Oh, look at you,” Nora said. “You’re a nervous wreck.”
Sloan forced a smile. “I just feel awful for putting everyone in such an awkward position.”
“Listen, there’re lots of things about Ellis’s family that are hard to swallow. But one thing Tilly and Reid are good at is protecting the people they care about. They’ll help you navigate this thing with the media. They have the contacts and the influence to calm this frenzy down and get you in touch with the right people. It’ll just take some time.”
Nora pointed at the remaining boxes of Annabelle’s photos.
“Let’s finish looking through the last two boxes,” Nora said. “It’ll get your mind off all this nonsense.”
Through the congestion in Sloan’s mind, and the anxiety coursing through her veins, a thought came to her. She and Eric had spent the previous night combing through the details of the investigation into the disappearance of her and her birth parents. The biggest revelation they’d come across was that Annabelle’s blood had been found in the kitchen of her home, having been cleaned up in an attempt to hide the evidence. The closets in the home were empty and Preston and Annabelle’s clothes were missing, hinting that they’d left of their own volition. Margot Gray’s confession that someone had paid her to pose as baby Charlotte’s birth mother only added to the confusion. When midnight came, Sloan and Eric had more questions than answers. But perhaps the boxes in front of her, and the photos Annabelle took that summer, held the missing pieces of the puzzle.
“Are Annabelle’s photos time stamped?”
“They should be.”
Nora walked over to one of the boxes and removed a photo. In the bottom right corner the date was stamped in red. Nora held the photo up.
“Yes. June 22, 1995.”
Sloan squinted and lifted her chin. “How close do the photos come to July Fourth?”
Nora looked at the remaining boxes and then back at Sloan, a shade of understanding coloring her eyes. “The day she disappeared?”
“Yeah. You’ve seen most of these photos. How close do they come to July Fourth?”
“All the way to that morning,” Nora said. “If I remember correctly.”
“Let’s see.”
