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“Geraldine was the woman’smiddlename. She went by that because she apparently hated her given name. I would have, too, I suppose. It’s not the prettiest.”
“What was her given name?”
“Agnes.”
Gibson glanced at her computer screen.Holy shit.
Among the articles she had found about things going awry recently at assisted living facilities was the story of anAgnesLeland, who apparently disappeared from one in Greenville, South Carolina, right around the time of the call to Clarisse.
Or was it now almost certainly Francine?
CHAPTER68
AFTER FINISHING HER CALL WITHJan Roberts, Gibson just stared at the screen for a long time wondering what to do.
She believed she had just received confirmation that Clarisse was none other than Francine Langhorne. And her mother, Agnes Geraldine Langhorne (Leland), had gone missing from an assisted living facility in South Carolina, a facility in which perhaps the daughter had placed her mother. Had someone kidnapped her? Someone who wanted to gain leverage over the daughter? Maybe to ensure that they would get all or part of the treasure? Because it seemed like everyone was motivated by that goal.
Maybe me included, since I don’t have a job right now and I’ve got two kids to feed, clothe, and take care of.
Sam Trask’s words came rushing back to her, so she finally picked upthatphone and called the woman.
“Yes?” said Clarisse, not sounding like herself.
“Did something else happen?” asked Gibson. “After you left my place?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Can we just cut the shit, please? We both have a lot to lose here.” Gibson paused and steeled herself for what she was about to say because, if she was right, it was going to be a tsunami for the woman, and she had no idea how Clarisse would react. “For God’s sake, they kidnapped your mother,Francine.”
Gibson had not turned on her stress analyzer app. She didn’t have to. She was a daughter. She had a mother. And if what had happened to Francine’s mother had happened to hers? She would be out of her mind with worry.
The woman said nothing. All Gibson could hear was elevated breathing.
“I put two and two together, Francine. I’m good at that, which I guess is why you brought me into this. I just found out your mother’s name was Agnes, coupled with what you let slip about—”
“Okay, okay, you’re fucking Sherlock Holmes!”
The call cut off.
Ten minutes went by and Gibson did nothing except stare at the phone.Come on, come on, I can help you. I really can. Iwantto help you.
When it rang she nearly fell out of her chair.
“I’m sorry about that,” said a now-composed Clarisse.
“I’m sorry I dumped all over you like that,” replied Gibson. “I just didn’t know if we had time to waste. Do you have any idea where your mother is? Have they made contact? Do you know who it is?”
“Can you get away?”
“Yes.”
“Meet me at this address in an hour.”
Gibson wrote down the address of a restaurant in Newport News, clicked off, quickly changed her clothes, and headed out after checking in with Silva and the kids.
She took great pains to make sure she was not followed. When Gibson pulled up in her van there was a woman standing out front. She had on a hat and sunglasses. She walked over to the van and held up her hand.
Gibson unlocked the door and Francine Langhorne climbed in.
