The Abduction of Mary Rose Page 6

  "I'm not sure she's in any condition to make that decision. A month from now, maybe. But aside from the fact that she's got to be traumatized, just losing her mom from cancer and learning what she did about her beginnings. I also think running this story could put her in physical danger. Her birth mother's attackers could be still out there."

  "Did you share those concerns with her?"

  "More or less. She's taken a bit of a defensive posture." He didn't mention that he'd already managed to tick her off with his dumb comment about how lucky she was that Lillian Waters had adopted her. Like she wouldn't know that, and what in hell did it have to do with the price of tea in China?

  "We're not therapists here, Eric, me lad," Len said. "We're reporters. We're running a newspaper." He waved the story at him. "And this is news. Local news, but news. And human interest. AP will probably pick it up. People love human interest."

  Chapter Eleven

  Naomi waited on pins and needles for the story to come out in the paper, her heart in her mouth, torn between wanting it published and terrified it would be.

  Which, on Tuesday, it was. She heard the small thump as the paper came through the letter slot and hit the floor.

  Seeing her own face looking up at her from the hall floor made her feel ill. She picked up the paper, feeling naked and threatened, as if she'd been tied to a tree and smeared with honey. It didn't help that she'd done it to herself.

  She was a private person, and here she was laying herself out there for all of River's End to feast upon. At the same time, she wanted people to know her story. There had to be someone still around who would remember what happened to a Native girl all those years ago.

  And one or two of those people just might remember details long buried. She was counting on it. At the same time, she was praying this wasn't all for nothing.

  She sat down on the living room sofa with the paper, acutely aware of her mother's eyes gazing down at her from the photo above the fireplace. She had an eerie feeling that if she looked up she would see disappointment on her mother's face, maybe even accusation. I'm the one who should be angry, she thought. And I am. I'm damned angry. But she didn't look up at the photo, or into her mother's eyes.

  Instead, she read the article:

  WOMAN LEARNS SHE IS A CHILD OF RAPE

  Oh, God. Knowing everyone in town who subscribed to the Tribune was reading this didn't feel good. But what had she expected? Get over it, she told herself, and continued to read:

  28-year-old Naomi Waters was born and raised in River's End.

  She is a talented voice actor and adopted daughter of the late Lillian Waters, nurse and labour leader, who died recently after a brave and lengthy battle with cancer. Shortly after Ms. Waters passed on, Naomi learned she was adopted and that her birth mother, Mary Rose Francis, was in fact aboriginal, of Mi'kmaq descent.

  Twenty-eight year ago, on a warm June night, Mary Rose was abducted by two men in a car, brutally assaulted and left for dead on Black Pond Road, an isolated area approximately ten miles east of River's End. The victim was sixteen years old at the time.

  Says Waters, "The two men have never been identified. My birth mother spent eight months in hospital in a coma, and died just five days after giving me life. I've read all the write-ups that appeared in this paper at the time, and it seems to me not much effort was made to find her killers."

  Naomi Waters vows to correct that injustice. She is determined to find her mother's killers and bring them to justice.

  She is asking for the public's help. If anyone has any information …"

  There was more in the sidebar, the location of the abduction, other quotes from people, more sparse details lifted from the articles she'd taken in to him. He'd also gotten a quote from a Sergeant Graham Nelson. "It was a difficult case at the time," he said. "The victim was chosen randomly and those are the hardest cases to solve. There were simply no clues to follow."

  They didn't look hard enough, Naomi thought. More quotes from her and those who were interviewed back then. Naomi closed her eyes for moment. Were her killers reading this story, too? she wondered. Are they looking at my picture? I must come as a big surprise to them. God, she hoped so. She hoped they were shaking in their evil skins right now. And she was suddenly very glad the paper had carried the story. She was feeling better about things.

  It was well-written. No errors or omissions, no twisting of words for dramatic purpose. Not that it needed it. Understated, letting the facts speak for themselves. At her insistence, he'd added both her phone number and email at the end. She thought about his warnings. 'You never know what kind of sickos are out there.'

  That was kind of the point, wasn't it? Ferreting the two scumbags out from under their rocks.

  She set the paper aside. "Well, Molly, what's your guess? Think we'll rattle some cages?" she asked, mixing her metaphors. Molly blinked up at her from her patch of sunlight on the floor by the window. "You know everything, don't you?" Naomi chuckled. "You are so smart." Molly gave her face a quick wash and went back to sleep.

  The phone rang and her heart jumped, the smile vanishing from her face as she sprinted to answer it. "Hello."

  "How dare you?" came the familiar voice, her aunt's venom oozing through the phone line, tying Naomi's stomach in knots. Old head tapes played on cue and she mentally braced herself for the onslaught. You are not a child, she reminded herself, even though her aunt could still take her back there with a look or a word. At Frank's prodding, she'd almost managed to put the woman out of her mind. Putting her out of her life was another matter entirely. But she should have expected this reaction from Edna. She didn't think I'd have the guts to go to the paper. And maybe I just don't give a damn anymore what she thinks. It hadn't been her intention to embarrass anyone, but if that was part of the cost, well … tough….

  She could hang up, but best to let her rant. Get it all out.

  "How dare you drag our family through your own muck...?" Edna was saying over Naomi's thoughts, sounding like she was breathing fire and burning up with her own fuel. "Who the hell do you think you—"

  "I'm sorry if this is uncomfortable for you, Aunt Edna. Isn't this what you wanted? For the truth to be told?" This she said calmly with a perverse satisfaction, surprising herself. "As I recall, you were quite adamant about that."

  "You ungrateful little … My sister took you in and gave you a home. Damn little half-breed. You are nothing, a spawn of Satan. You…."

  Unable to listen to more, Naomi hung up. Not banging the receiver down, she hurt too much for that, but placing it gently in its cradle. To hell with you, Aunt Edna. But her hands were shaking and she had to fight back the tears. Her mother wasn't here as a buffer anymore and Edna was giving full rein to the rage she'd always harboured where Naomi was concerned, a satisfaction denied her while her sister was alive. Still, Naomi was stunned at the depths of her hatred. Devil's spawn? She'd been speaking of Naomi's biological father, of course. The rapist. The monster.

  She was devastated by her aunt's cruel words, and missing her mother more even than she realized. Why was she so surprised? She angrily mopped at tears with a tissue from her slacks' pocket. She had seen her aunt look at her with that same hatred and disdain from the time Naomi barely came up to her waist.

  The crying had given her a headache and she took two Tylenol and went upstairs to lie down.

  That's the last time I will shed tears because of Edna Bradley, she promised herself fervently as she climbed the stairs. The last damn time.

  On silent paws, Molly padded up the carpeted stairs behind her.

  * * *

  "Don't you think you were a little rough on the kid, Edna?"

  She'd just hung up the phone and now she whirled around to face her husband. "She's not a kid, Sam. Did you read this?" she asked, snatching the paper off the table, folded to Naomi's story, shook it at him, practically shoving it in his face.

  He snapped it from her and tossed it back on the table. "I read it
. She's got a right to try to find out who abducted her mother that night, raped her and beat her into a coma, if she wants to. I think it took courage to go public with this. Anyway, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't told her she was adopted. But you couldn't wait for Lili to take her last breath, could you? So you could tell her. Damned if I know why. I don't suppose you want to enlighten me?"

  Rage bubbled up like bile in Edna as she faced the tall, gentle man who was looking at her with such bewilderment and dislike. It was as though he had seen deeply into her soul for the first time and was more saddened than angry at what he saw, serving only to infuriate her more. How dare he judge her?

  "That's not true. I loved my sister. Naomi always was your favourite, wasn't she? More important even than your own daughter. Makes me wonder why, Harold?" she sneered, leaving no doubt as to what she meant.

  "You've got a dirty mind, Edna. I didn't favour her over Charlotte at all. I just never understood your hatred of the girl, that's all. I felt sorry for her."

  Chapter Twelve

  It was late in the afternoon when Naomi came downstairs to find the machine's red light blinking. She had four messages. She hit the play button and heard Frank Llewellyn's familiar voice.

  "Hi, Naomi, Frank here. As you can imagine, I was surprised to say the least when I opened my morning paper. I wish you'd spoken to me first about this before you went ahead. I'm worried about you, honey. I'm not sure this was a wise move on your part, although I can understand why you did it. Edna will have a conniption." She heard a soft satisfied chuckle, before he said, "Still, you're very vulnerable in that house all by yourself. Call me, okay? If you're determined to pursue this, maybe I can be of some help."

  Thanks, Frank, she thought. I might just take you up on that. She wasn't sure just how at the moment. But Frank was smart and he had connections. He could probably get the case file for her if it was still in existence. She felt a stirring of hope.

  The next call was from her cousin. "Hey, Naomi, I just wanted you to know that I've been feeling really crappy about your finding out like you did … about everything. I love my mother, but she can be such an ass sometimes. She does have a good side, you know. It's just that she keeps it hidden most of the time. Anyway," she went on, "I hope you nail the creeps. Let's hook up for lunch soon if you're not too ticked at the whole family, for which I wouldn't blame ya. But I hope not. See ya. Oh, great picture of you, by the way. You look like that actress, Jennifer Connelly. Well, take care, Jen…." she giggled and clicked off.

  Yeah, right, Naomi thought, allowing herself a small smile. She had almost forgotten how irreverent Charlotte could be, and how much fun. Tall and athletic with kinky wild blond hair, she'd always been something of a tomboy, which had irked Edna to no end. Charlotte was a fitness instructor at the Aerobics centre. They might have been friends had Edna allowed it. She wanted to call her back, but it seemed to her getting between Edna and her daughter could only invite more trouble, which she definitely didn't need and neither did Charlotte.

  Uncle Harold, with his quiet, peace-loving ways couldn't have been much help to Charlotte growing up. He sure was no match for Edna. Naomi liked him though, and as a child, sensed he liked her too, though he was careful not to let it show when Aunt Edna was around.

  The third message was from her publisher. Angela Haines spoke in her clipped, New York accent, friendly but no-nonsense. She had a new assignment for her.

  Being in New York City, it was unlikely the editor would have any knowledge of happenings here in Naomi's neck of the woods, which was just as well. The River's End Tribune wasn't exactly well-known in the Big Apple. Naomi called her back and accepted the new assignment. She couldn't afford to be without a job. And her work was important to her.

  The last message was a hang-up. She replayed it twice. In the background, she could hear country music. Only a fragment, three or four seconds at most, and then the click. Cranks, she thought, but she didn't dismiss the call altogether. She replayed the message half a dozen times, listening for some clue as to who her caller might be, but the connection was too brief. Someone trying to get up the nerve to talk to her? A neighbour who perhaps lived on the street at the time and saw something out her window?

  Another possibility was that there was another woman out there who had suffered at the hands of these monsters, but survived the attack, and now decided to come forward, chickening out at the last minute.

  Whoever you are, please call back. But she tried not to let her hopes get too high. It was well she didn't. For the next day she received no calls at all, or in the days following. When a week passed and still there was nothing, her disappointment came close to despair. Had it all been for nothing? She stared at the mute phone. Please, please, call back, she pleaded silently with her mysterious caller.

  Not that she received no other responses to the write-up. She did, as well as numerous emails, mostly from other adoptees eager to share their own stories. A few from anonymous sources, but nothing relevant to Mary Rose's case.

  And then, out of the blue, while Naomi was washing the kitchen floor, Lisa Boyce called. "I used to be Lisa Cameron," she said. Even before she related that information, Naomi knew instinctively who it was. Perhaps it was the warmth, the kindness that came through the line that made her so sure. A voice belonging to a woman who, as a girl, would be the one to reach out to another child, one who stood outside the hallowed circle and needed a friend.

  Naomi went to bed that night eagerly looking forward to meeting Mary Rose's old school pal at her home the next day. There were so many questions she wanted to ask her about the girl who gave birth to her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lisa Boyce was a pretty woman with warm coffee-coloured eyes and streaked blond hair. The few extra pounds she complained about, as far as Naomi was concerned, just added to her appeal. Her husband died three years ago of a sudden heart attack, she told Naomi, and she lived alone. Their four grown children were scattered around the country, with children of their own, she said.

  It wasn't hard to see Lisa through Mary Rose's eyes. To see her as a trusted friend, someone to talk to, to share secrets with. She exuded warmth and compassion, along with a sense of fun. At the moment she was explaining that she was computer illiterate, saying it would have been easier if she could have emailed, then Naomi could have had a choice of whether to answer or not. "I suppose it's always harder for people to say no on the phone."

  "Naomi laughed, "It's not like you're a telemarketer, Lisa. Of course I would have answered your email. With pleasure! I can't imagine anyone saying no to you."

  "Oh, I'm sure there are any number. Anyway, the kids are always at me to learn how to use the computer so we can all stay in touch easier, and so they can email me pictures of the kids. I've finally decided to give it a try. The local library is running a course for beginners. I'm scared to death," she laughed. "I'm about as low tech as you can get. I can't even program my DVD player." She gave a soft self-deprecating chuckle and sipped her tea.

  They were sitting at a round maple table centred with a cut-glass bowl of flawless red shiny apples, in Lisa's bright kitchen, enjoying tea and home-made cheese biscuits that were high and light as clouds.

  The apples in the bowl looked waxen they were so perfect in shape and colour, but their sweet apple smell told her they were real. As real as Lisa Boyce herself.

  "You'll do great, Lisa. You'll surprise yourself at how quickly you'll learn with a bit of hands-on help. Just takes practice. Six months from now, I guarantee, you'll wonder how you ever got along without your computer. You'll love it, I promise."

  "That's what everyone keeps telling me. Well, we'll soon see. But enough about me. You know, when I saw your story in the paper, Naomi, I could hardly believe it. I didn't know if I should call or not. I really have nothing helpful to tell you. I wish I did. And I didn't want to bother you for nothing…."

  "Hardly for nothing, Lisa," Naomi reassured her quickly. "I'm really glad you
called. Actually, I was planning to call you. You're the only person I know who can tell me anything about my birth-mother."

  "I … I suppose that's true. I hadn't thought of it that way. I only wish I could help you find out who did such a terrible thing to Mary Rose. But I'm so excited you're here, Naomi. That you exist. It's like a miracle." An embarrassed laugh held tears. "I'm so happy to meet you, you have no idea. You have her smile."

  "Do you think so? Thank you for that, Lisa." Her words had sent a pleasant warmth through Naomi. Strange how easily the conversation flowed between them, as if they had known one another all their lives.

  "I'm surprised some lucky guy hasn't grabbed you up by now," Lisa said, getting up to refill their cups from the Pyrex teapot on the stove.

  "There've been a couple of close calls," Naomi said easily. "Things just didn't work out. I'm probably too independent." I'm more like Mom, my adopted mom, than I realized. "I like my freedom."

  "Ah, a cat who walks alone," Lisa teased, returning to her chair. Then more seriously, she added, "You just haven't met the right one is all. But you're young yet."

  "I'm not really looking. And speaking of cats, I have one who's wonderful company. Molly. The love of my life. And I keep busy." Even as she spoke the words, an image of Eric Grant's blue eyes smiling at her out of that bushy face leapt unbidden into her mind's eye, surprising her. Strange. Had revealing her story to him created some childish bond in her mind? Like someone who develops an attraction for her shrink? What did they call it, transference? Whatever, it would pass. She was just another story to him.