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“Did she say where she got the baby shoe?” Kate asked. “Maybe she found it in a secondhand store. You knew about the cross so maybe other people did. Janet was very good at research.”
Everett sniffed. “She certainly knew who owned it because she said she wasn’t sure she should tell me. If she did, it would ruin that person’s reputation forever.”
“Come on,” Sara said. “She must have given you some clues. Some hints.”
Everett was silent.
Arthur spoke up. “If you don’t tell everything you know, no one will help you find out the truth, and you’ll never get your story published.”
Everett didn’t hesitate. “Did Janet have a best friend?”
The trio’s gasp was audible.
“She did,” Sara said, but didn’t explain.
“I’m not sure, but I think maybe that friend was the kidnapper.”
Nine
THEY WERE SILENT as Jack drove them home. Kate knew they were thinking what she was: How could Sylvia, who had been described as elegant and kind, steal a baby?
When they got to the house—the guards were gone—Jack pulled into the garage and they went through the back hallway. He usually let the women out in front. That he didn’t do so today showed how upset he was.
They began preparing dinner as mechanically as though they were robots. After all they’d had for tea, no one was very hungry. Jack put some shrimp on the outdoor gas grill while Kate and Sara cut up vegetables for a salad. The iced tea seemed to make itself.
They ate outside in Florida’s soft, warm weather.
“I bet Janet knew,” Kate said when they sat down. “Sylvia confided in her.”
“Probably needed to relieve her conscience,” Sara said.
Jack, who was good with numbers, said, “In 1994, Sylvia was forty-seven and her daughter was eleven. Think it was a last-ditch effort to have a second child?”
“Baby lust is powerful,” Sara said.
“With boxes flying and people pushing, maybe she saw an opportunity and took it.”
“Okay,” Jack said, “maybe she picked up the kid, but how did she get away with it? Police were searching all over the place. Where did she hide a month-old baby? In her handbag? Those little critters are noisy.”
“Maybe—” Kate began but couldn’t think of anything. She and Jack looked at Sara for a writer’s answer.
“They hid somewhere no one thought to look.” She waved her fork about. “In real life a person can do something you don’t expect but in a novel, you damned well better lead up to it. But from what we’ve heard of Sylvia Alden, it doesn’t fit. Her daughter went to college and got involved in drugs. My guess is that the girl was probably always a handful. Sylvia had a husband she adored, a business she was running, a brother who was suing her. But she yearned for an infant to take care of? I can’t see it.”
“So now what?” Jack said. “We run to tell Flynn this?”
“Why?” Kate asked. “Sylvia didn’t kill Janet. He’s interested in that murder, not an old kidnapping.”
Sara said, “Maybe the real kidnapper is...”
“Still killing?” Jack said. “Protecting his or her reputation at all costs?”
Sara pushed her plate away. “I’m going to bed and reading more of Sylvia’s books. I’m about to start number three. I really don’t believe she’s capable of stealing a child. My impression of her is that if she saw an unguarded infant in a stroller she’d protect the baby.”
“Think people’s good memories of Sylvia will stop this guy Everett from writing about her?”
“No,” Kate and Sara said in unison.
Sara grimaced. “It won’t take long for him to hear about Janet’s friendship with Sylvia. That she committed suicide will make him sure he’s found the guilty one, and Sylvia Alden will be declared a kidnapper. People will say that she was right to kill herself. That story will—” She broke off, not seeming able to say more. She stood up. “Good night.”
