Last night, she'd been worse than ever. Comatose. Unaware of her own actions. She didn't know why that would happen, when she'd been religiously taking her Nebula every day, but she couldn't let it happen again.

Images from this morning rushed through her mind. Stammering when the cop questioned her. Her garbled words and jumbled memory of last night. Had she really sat outside pretending to rock her missing baby in the cold? There'd been a frantic search for a photo of Annabelle when there was one hanging on the wall over the desk. She'd been mortified when the cop pointed it out while she was digging through old mail and insurance bills.

Chelsea zipped up the baggy old fleece jacket she'd been wearing since Annabelle was born, grabbed the bottle of breast milk, and held carefully to the railing as she went down the stairs. The detective was still in the kitchen, making notes on her iPhone.

She placed the bottle in the refrigerator, where it stood on the shelf, a lonely soldier. Annie would be drinking it before it went bad. Yes, she vowed. Yes, she would.

Closing the fridge, she wondered where the two cops had gone. "Have they given up?" Chelsea asked, her voice catching. "The police can't stop looking. She must be around here, somewhere."

"There are several search teams outside canva.s.sing the neighborhood." Grace looked up from her iPhone when she spoke, and her dark brown eyes were rea.s.suring. "We called in the canine squad, and they've been searching. Remember that outfit of Annabelle's you gave to Officer Miklowski?"

"That's right." He had taken the little pink-flowered romper, the last outfit she remembered stripping off Annabelle when she changed her. He had told her that it would help the dogs know her scent so that they could search for her. "I'm sorry. I've been in such a fog. I don't know what came over me last night. Maybe the flu."

"How are you feeling now?" Grace asked.

"Better. Like my thoughts have a connection to reality. Does that make sense?"

Grace nodded. "What you're going through, it can't be easy. Why don't you make yourself a cup of tea or some coffee?"

Something warm to drink sounded soothing, but when Chelsea turned on the faucet, she remembered about the leak. "I had to turn the water off on this line," she explained, telling the detective about the broken valve upstairs.

"Isn't that just how things go?" Grace said. "Bad enough you get a leak, but it has to happen when your husband is out of town."

Chelsea's fingers tightened around the handle of the kettle. This woman wasn't out to get her. In fact, the kindness in her voice made Chelsea mist over. "Would you like some tea?"

"That sounds great."

Chelsea went to the little bathroom to fill the teakettle. As she started the electric stove and went about straightening up the kitchen, Grace's words washed over her, brisk but rea.s.suring. There was an Amber Alert out for Annabelle, so people everywhere would be on the lookout for her baby. Search teams were combing the neighborhood.

"They'll do an extensive grid search of the area," the detective told her as she removed boots and shoes from the table and tossed them back into the dry closet. "Right now they're going door-to-door, asking neighbors if they've seen anything."

Neighbors? A chill crept up Chelsea's spine as she thought of the caustic woman next door. "You need to talk to Louise Pickler," Chelsea said.

"On which side?" Grace made a note as Chelsea pointed toward Louise's house and recounted the relations.h.i.+p that had always been tinged with bitterness.

"She was cold to us when we moved in, but we thought that was just because Louise was close with the previous owner. While we were building the carport, Louise used to come out and measure to make sure we weren't violating the building codes and encroaching on her property. She warmed up to us when she noticed I was pregnant, but even that made me uncomfortable. There's something off about her."

"How's that?"

"She treats Annie like . . . like a pesky pet lizard. Louise says creepy things like how she's going to gobble Annie up. It sounds like she's going to roast her in the oven, like a turkey. And she always has some dire warning about keeping Annie out of the street, away from the germs breeding in malls, or safe from baby s.n.a.t.c.hers."

An image of Louise's stern eyes flashed before her. "They like the blue-eyed, blond ones," Louise had said. "You'd better keep an eye on her."

A new panic bubbled inside Chelsea as she babbled on about Louise. "She's crazy. We've got to go next door and see if she has Annie."

"We'll check it out. I'll talk with her myself," Grace promised.

The shrill whistle of the kettle snapped Chelsea out of her panic. Yes, she had to keep moving. Straighten up . . . eat something. It wouldn't help Annabelle to have her mother fall apart. She took two mugs from the cabinet.

"So, then, I guess this Louise Pickler isn't the kind neighbor who gave you these cupcakes," Grace said, pointing to the last two cupcakes in the box.

"What?" Chelsea blinked. "Oh. Actually, no. Those are carrot m.u.f.fins from my sister Emma."

"Really?" Grace picked up the card, attached to curled yellow ribbon. "And she left this card?"

Chelsea picked it up, then frowned when she saw the message about good neighbors. "I thought Emma baked them. She brought them over." She pushed her hair back behind one ear.

"And you ate some of them?"

Chelsea nodded. "Last night, I was so hungry but I didn't feel like making anything. I had a few in the evening, then woke up later and ate some more."

Grace's fingers closed on the yellow ribbon. "I wouldn't eat any more of them until you check with your sister."

"Do you think someone . . . someone tried to poison me? Maybe that's why I felt so foggy last night." Chelsea's hand shook as she removed the tea bag from her mug. "Oh, G.o.d, any poison would have gone to Annabelle in my breast milk."

Grace frowned. "It sounds a little farfetched. Let's see what your sister has to say about these m.u.f.fins, okay?"

She sipped the tea, still too hot, but it helped brace her against the awful truth. "What if I hurt my baby?"

Although Grace didn't answer, the question floated uncomfortably in the air.

Cupping the hot mug, Chelsea leaned against the kitchen counter and squeezed her eyes shut and prayed to wake up from this nightmare.

Chapter 20.

"How could Annie be missing?" Jake's voice was rea.s.suring, even over the phone.

"I don't know." Emma turned onto Maple Lane, Chelsea's street. "But I'm worried. What if Chelsea left her outside again, and someone came by and s.n.a.t.c.hed her?"

Jake heaved a weary sigh. He had been on the early train to the city when Chelsea first called. Now Emma imagined him walking down the Manhattan street to his West Side office, looking so handsome in his suit. Jake rarely wore a coat; he just didn't get cold.

She wished he could hold her now, warm her up. He was her rock.

"Are you okay to go over there?" he asked. "You should be resting."

"Chelsea needs me. I'm almost there."

"And Leo?"

"I imagine he's on his way back from Boston, but it'll take a few hours." She had to park two doors down, behind a police cruiser.

"What a wretched thing. Look, if they need volunteers to search, I'll take the next train home and join in. Just say the word."

"I'll keep you posted."

"And you take care of . . . of yourself."

Take care of our baby-that was what he'd been saying these past couple months. Emma unbuckled her seat belt and fanned her fingers out over her belly.

Are you still there, little baby? Not knowing was killing her. G.o.d help her, but she wanted to be done with this business with her sister and get over to her doctor's office. Maybe it would all be resolved by now; maybe a kind neighbor had found Annabelle outside in the driveway, given her cover, and returned her as soon as the sun came up.

A handful of cops were standing out on Chelsea's front lawn, their radios squawking, their words forming puffs of white in the cold air. Their expressions, heavy as lead, told her that they hadn't found Annie. One cop questioned Emma as she turned up the driveway, but when she identified herself as Chelsea's sister, he walked her up to the side door.

"Can you vouch for this one?" he called inside.

"Emma." Chelsea's face crumpled, that froggy expression her sister always got as a kid when she was about to cry. Emma went over to the table and leaned down to give her a hug.

"We'll take it from here. Thanks, officer," said a woman's voice.

"Honey, what happened?"

"I don't know," Chelsea said, a tremor in her voice.

Emma slid out of her arms and took a seat beside her. "When I called you last night . . . do you remember that?"

Chelsea nodded, her eyes s.h.i.+ny with tears.

"That was around nine, nine thirty, and Annie was with you, right?"

Chelsea sc.r.a.ped her hair back. "I wasn't sure what time you called, but I thought we talked on the phone. Yes, Annie was here. I . . . she was beside me on the couch or . . . maybe I was feeding her. Something like that."

"So the baby was still here when you called around nine thirty," the woman said. "That's helpful for our timeline."

When Emma looked over, the woman nodded. "I'm Grace Santos, a detective with the Missing Persons Squad. And you're Emma Maynard?"

"Emma Wyatt."

The detective had warm brown eyes and s.h.i.+ny black hair in a stylish cut that curled under her chin. Emma would not have pegged her as a cop; there was an easy, nurturing vibe about her. "Thank you for coming over. Your sister really needs your support right now."

Emma nodded, wis.h.i.+ng she could tell the woman that she needed support, too. She was so worried about her own tiny baby, but no one besides Jake seemed to understand what she was going through. "I want to help. I don't think Chelsea should be alone right now, but I have to head off for an appointment soon. Is Leo coming home?"

"On his way," Grace answered. "He was hoping to catch the next flight out of Boston."

"That's a relief. Leo will be able to help you more than I can." Emma pressed her palms flat on the table, as if it could keep her upright. "But what happened to Annabelle?" She turned to Chelsea, who seemed lost inside herself. "Did someone s.n.a.t.c.h her from out in the driveway?"

"I don't know." Chelsea's voice was quiet and dead. "I don't remember."

"But she does remember finding the side door unlocked," Grace offered.

"Chelsea." Emma put one hand on her sister's arm. "Did you leave her out in the driveway again?"

Grace Santos was looking at her iPhone. "She's done that before?"

"The other night . . . my husband and I found her out there," Emma told Grace. "Chelsea walks her out there sometimes. The fresh air soothes her."

"I know how it is with a colicky baby." Grace nodded. "You have to go with the things that calm them down, even if they are a little unconventional."

"Annabelle was crying when we found her, and soon after we got here the police arrived. They said there'd been a noise complaint. We figured it was from the obnoxious woman next door."

"Louise Pickler," Grace said. "I'll check on that. But I'd love to know about last night . . . whether someone keyed their way in or was Annabelle out in her stroller. What do you think, Chelsea? Has your memory gelled at all? Do you remember taking Annabelle outside last night?"

"I don't know."

"Just try and remember, honey, because it's so important." Emma knew her frustration was coming through, but she wasn't going to sit back and let Chelsea play dumb when Annabelle was in danger. Just yesterday, her niece had come down those stairs, bright-eyed and curious in her little snowsuit with the hood. She wanted that moment back. She wanted Annabelle back.

"It was a terrible night," Chelsea said. "I couldn't stay awake. When you called, I didn't even think I'd make it up the stairs to bed. Everything just came down on me and . . . I couldn't think clearly."

"I have a question for you, Emma," Grace said, s.h.i.+fting the focus. "Is there anyone you can think of who would have a reason to take Annabelle? Any relatives or friends? Caregivers?"

Emma shook her head. "I can't think of anyone, but that doesn't happen very often, does it? The random kidnapping of an infant?"

"It does not." Grace's eyes flickered over to Chelsea, as if testing the moment. "Infant kidnappings are rare, and when a baby is taken the odds are much better of finding that infant than of recovering an older child. Generally, pedophiles do not steal infants. They tend to take older children."

A whimper escaped Chelsea's throat, and Emma squeezed her hand.

"That's the good news, I guess," Grace said. "But when an infant disappears, the odds are that the baby has been killed by a caregiver, either accidentally or intentionally."

Emma's belly roiled as that fact sank in. Was Chelsea one of those statistics? Had she acted through one of the dark visions that had been playing out in her head these past weeks? She didn't want to believe that was possible of her sister, but then the woman sitting beside her at the table barely resembled the little sister who had believed she could conquer the world.

Tension was thick in the air. Neither Emma nor her sister dared tread on that tender spot.

"Maybe you can answer a question for me." Grace picked up a box on the counter and showed Emma. There were two m.u.f.fins left. "Did you bake these for your sister?"

"No. They were from a neighbor. That's what the note said."

"But you brought them over yesterday," Chelsea said sharply. "I'm not imagining that."

"No, honey. I didn't make them. I just brought them inside. They were sitting on your porch, with that note. I figured you would know who they were from."

Chelsea raked her hair back. "You didn't make them for me?"

Emma shook her head. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm . . . I told you. I guess you didn't hear me."

"Okay, then." Grace put the lid on the box. She picked up the note by the yellow ribbon and dropped it into a bag. "This might sound crazy, but I'm going to take these last two m.u.f.fins and have our lab do some a.n.a.lysis. Chelsea, you said you ate three or four of them, and you weren't feeling well. It's worth checking to see if they're laced with something."

"Who would do that to my sister?" Emma asked.

"It might be unfounded." Grace looked down at the box. "And in the end, maybe they're just two carrot m.u.f.fins from a kind neighbor, right?"

Emma couldn't bear to look at her sister, thinking that she might have contributed to making Chelsea even more disoriented than she already was. But I told her they were from a neighbor. I know I said it. Why didn't I just toss those d.a.m.ned m.u.f.fins in the garbage?