“You have to eat.”
Her mother sighed, then propped herself up against the brass headboard. She took the plate and fork and fed herself a few bites.
Aubrey sat down on the bed. “I just spoke to Special Agent Smolleck.”
Her mother toyed with a cheese stick.
“He asked a lot of questions about our family. About Dad and Jonathan.”
“Jonathan?” Mama’s head swung up. “Why was he asking about Jonathan?”
She was surprised by her mother’s defensiveness. “It makes sense that the FBI would consider the Supreme Court angle,” Aubrey said. “Has Jonathan mentioned any enemies to you?”
Her mother shook her head, then put the plate of food on the nightstand.
“Smolleck also asked about the family of the little boy who died. Do you think it’s possible the Coles kidnapped Ethan to get back at you?”
“I don’t know, Aubrey.” She lay back down.
Something was definitely wrong. A half hour before, her mother had been sharp and alert, very much herself, despite the trauma of Ethan’s disappearance, but now she was exhibiting signs of deep depression.
“Did something just happen?” Aubrey asked. “Did Dad come in here when I was downstairs and say something that upset you?”
“Please let me be.” Her voice was flat. “I want to sleep.”
Aubrey glanced at the mail strewn over the bed. Bills, flyers, and magazines, but something was missing. She thought back to her mother aligning the envelopes earlier. A square white one had stuck out above the others. She had noted a stamp on the envelope, which suggested a personal letter or card, but hadn’t thought more about it.
Until now.
She surveyed the mail on the patchwork quilt, but the square envelope wasn’t on the bed with the others. Had there been a ransom demand? That would bring them a step closer to getting Ethan back.
“Mama?” she said. “Was there something in the mail?”
Her mother opened her eyes and searched Aubrey’s, as though she wanted desperately to communicate something. Then she shook her head.
Whatever had happened while Aubrey was downstairs with the FBI agent, it was clear that Mama wasn’t willing to talk about it—at least not here in the house.
Aubrey breathed in the smell of vomit. She needed to get her mother away from here to somewhere less toxic. To a place where her mother would feel safe and tell her what was terrifying her.
For Ethan’s sake, she needed to do it quickly.
CHAPTER 9
They walked in silence toward the park, along the route Aubrey used to take on her bicycle, zigzagging through narrow streets of dense foliage, past old wood-frame and stucco houses, then down the gentle slope from the top of the bluff to South Bayshore Drive.
It was close to five and the shadows were deepening.
Her mother clutched her hobo bag against her chest like a shield, her face in a tense frown. As desperate as Aubrey was to find out whether Mama had received a ransom note, she had to approach her delicately. Rushing her mother might cause her to shut down, and that would be the worst thing for Ethan.
They reached the corner of South Bayshore and waited for the traffic light as cars streamed by. Mama stared straight ahead, lips moving, as though she were working out a complex problem. The light changed and they crossed to the bay-front park, passing young people who were working out on the fitness circuit and running along the jogging path. The sky was a rich blue, the air sweet and crisp. It seemed incongruous with the anxiety Aubrey felt inside.
She and her mother sat on a shaded bench near where the water lapped against a low wall of coral rocks and they could see the boats docked at Dinner Key. Behind them, a dog barked plaintively in the fenced-in dog park.
Where was Ethan now? Crying for his mom or dad, or even Aunt Aubrey to come and rescue him?
They had to find him.
“Talk to me, Mama,” Aubrey said. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Her mother held her bag more tightly against her chest but didn’t answer.
“You can’t do this alone.”
“Let it go, Aubrey.”
“What are you so terrified of?”
“Don’t you understand? I have to protect Ethan.”
“Protect him from what?”
Mama stared at the water sloshing against the rocks. “They said . . .” She shook her head.
Aubrey took in a sharp breath. “They?”
“Nothing. I’m not thinking clearly.”
“Mama, did you get a ransom demand?”
Several dogs began barking in the dog park.
“I saw a square envelope with the rest of the mail,” Aubrey said. “Did it contain a ransom note?”
Her mother nodded ever so slightly.
“Oh, my God,” Aubrey said. “We have to tell the FBI.”
“No.”
Her mother wasn’t being rational. “Tell me. What did the note say? Is Ethan okay?”
“Please, Aubrey. It’s not safe for you to get involved.”
“I am involved, so let’s talk about this.” Her voice sounded stronger in her own ears than she felt. “Why are you afraid to tell the FBI?”
“They said . . .” Her mother took a breath. “They said not to tell the police or FBI.”
“But Ethan—is he safe?”
“I think so.”
“What does that mean?”
“The note said they have him. That he’s safe.”
Safe. Ethan was safe. And if this was a ransom situation, the kidnappers would hopefully try to keep him comfortable until they traded him for what they wanted.
“Do they want money?” Aubrey asked. “Let’s give them whatever they’re demanding so we can get him back.”
“It’s not so simple.”
“I’m sure the Simmers will contribute whatever is needed.”
“They don’t want money.”
“Then what? What do they want?”
Mama looked down at her right hand, at the engagement ring Jonathan had given her, a small sapphire surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds. Her mother mumbled something so softly Aubrey wasn’t sure she’d heard her correctly.
“Did you say Jonathan?”