As the latch clicked shut, Grace wanted to argue that this could not wait, but she knew it would gain her no ground.

Helen J. Walker was cold as the ice on the corners of her doorstep.

Chapter 40.

Chelsea already had her coat on when she handed Leo the car keys. "Get me out of here." There was a gray cast to her eyes, and even though her hair was pulled back harshly, the soft lines of her jaw were childlike and vulnerable.

He would have done anything to end her pain.

He took the keys and pulled his leather jacket from the hook. "Where are we going?"

"I don't care, as long as it's out of here. I can't spend another night waiting for her. I need to search or spy on the neighbors or something that feels productive."

He got that. Despite their quiet dinner, the gap between them and Annie seemed to be growing wider. Hope and panic were twisting into a tight braid of desperation. "Okay. Let's go."

They started in the neighborhood, their headlights scanning only the black asphalt as they cruised slowly, block by block. Chelsea stared out intently, her fingernails scratching at her cuticles as she searched for G.o.d knew what. A sign that something was amiss? An older woman pus.h.i.+ng a stroller in the cold?

Leo knew the headlights trailing behind them were reporters. He had seen them looking out from the front seat of a van as he and Chelsea went to their car in the driveway. Two others had scurried from the sidewalk to a car, watching to see what Chelsea and Leo were doing.

When they had circled around eight blocks or so and returned to Maple Lane, Leo thought they might return home, but she grabbed his arm before they got to their house.

"Stop here. I've got to talk to these people-the Wilkinsons. The police think the person who stole Annie parked here."

"But the police have already talked with them."

"I know, but I haven't."

She was out of the car before Leo could even put it into park. He jogged up the sidewalk behind her, a little surprised that she had the nerve to ring a stranger's bell at night.

"Chels, we don't even know these people. They might not open their doors after dark."

"But they have to talk to us. We're their neighbors."

A light went on in the front room and the curtain s.h.i.+fted.

"h.e.l.lo?" Chelsea called. "It's Chelsea Maynard and Leo Green. Your neighbors. Our baby Annabelle is missing."

The door opened. Light spilled out when a woman with short-cropped white hair pushed open the storm door. "What's going on?" she asked, her fingers worrying a string of pearls at her neck.

"We need to talk to you," Chelsea said. "The last place our baby was seen was in front of your house."

"That's why you were shouting?" Mrs. Wilkinson squinted, a.s.sessing Chelsea. "Well, I can't say that I blame you. Come in. Get out of that terrible cold."

In minutes, the Wilkinsons seemed like family-the good kind that shared comfort and concerns and tips on how to bet in the Giants' Sunday game. Tina Wilkinson made tea, and her husband, James, turned off the television in the little side den and came over to join them. They sat in the Wilkinsons' formal living area, a room so pristine Leo could see the tracks of the vacuum on the carpet, and talked about the neighborhood, the Wilkinsons' children, who were all grown with children of their own, and the terrible thing that had happened to Annie-bananee.

"The night she disappeared," Chelsea said, her voice ragged with emotion, "do you remember hearing anyone? Or maybe you noticed a car parked in front of your house."

"It's not something we would notice, dear," Tina said. "We have one car and we park it in the garage. I never was one for those street wars over who owned parking spots."

"I wish we could help you," James said, his hand quivering as he reached for his teacup. "It's a terrible thing, this kidnapping. I never dreamed something like that would happen in our neighborhood."

Leo nodded in agreement. He had never imagined something this terrible could happen to him-not in his worst nightmares.

When they left the Wilkinsons', Leo suggested that they leave the car and walk home, but she tipped her head up to the starry sky and said no.

"We have another stop to make," she said, opening the pa.s.senger-side door. "I need to drop in on Emma and Jake."

He glanced at the clock on the dash. "This late? Why don't you just call her back?" Chelsea had been avoiding both her sisters' calls, feeling awkward and sick about the fact that her sisters were suspects as far as the police were concerned.

"I can't do this over the phone," Chelsea said. "Please? It won't take long."

"No problem." As they buckled their seat belts, he thought what a ruse that expression was. You say "No problem" when there are dozens of problems. Someone removes the floor from under you, and you fall through darkness for hours, s.h.i.+tting yourself over the moment when you'll smash and splatter on the ground.

"Sorry," they say.

And your only answer is, "No problem."

Chapter 41.

"You are kidding me." Emma's eyes opened wide with wonder and horror. "Someone stole your milk?" She tucked her legs under her as she settled into a sleek upholstered chair. "Today? While everyone was there?"

"Sometime this afternoon," Chelsea said, watching her sister carefully. She believed in Emma's innocence. She would vouch for Melanie, too. But right now she needed to move rationally, without prejudice. She figured she could help eliminate her sisters from the list, narrowing things down for the detectives.

"Did you tell the police?" Jake asked.

"As soon as Chelsea figured it out. They wanted a list of everyone who was in the house this afternoon."

"Someone must have cleared out the fridge when no one was looking," Chelsea said, watching her sister. Something about Emma had changed; her face was softer, her eyes were round as quarters, and she seemed relaxed. It was as if she had finally grown comfortable in her own skin.

"Did you see anyone rooting around in there?" Chelsea asked.

Emma shook her head. "I didn't notice, but I was in the living room most of the time. I spent hours on the floor with Sam and Lucy and Max."

"Who went into the kitchen?" Leo asked.

"Everyone was in the kitchen." Emma hugged a cheetah-print pillow to her chest. "We'd put out bagels and fruit salad, and people were getting coffee and tea."

"And it's not like you could hide the bottles in your pocket. How do you walk out with eight bottles of milk?"

"Stash them in a bag," Jake said. "Did anyone have a backpack?"

Chelsea nodded. "Eleni carries one, but so does every teenager in New York."

"That nurse had a big tote bag," Emma said. "I remember how she whipped out that fruit for you."

"Helen Rosekind and her fruit," Chelsea said. "Nothing says you're fat like a gift of apples."

"Don't take it personally," Emma said. "I brought fruit salad."

In two big grocery bags, Chelsea thought. Had everyone come with some sort of baggage that could have been used to sneak the bottles out? Raquel Jarvis had that colorful woven satchel she'd used to carry the black bean soup. Melanie's kids had toy bags and mini-suitcases. Mr. Kellog was just about the only one who had come in empty-handed.

As discussion of that afternoon's visitors went on, Chelsea felt her resolve to confront her sister fading. What had seemed logical an hour ago now seemed petty in the warm light of Emma and Jake's living room. The idea of Emma and Jake taking Annabelle to Chicago and pa.s.sing her off as their kid-that was plain lunacy. For one thing, Jake was a lawyer. He wouldn't jeopardize his career by being an accomplice to kidnapping.

There was also the logistical issue of keeping Annabelle from the rest of the family. It would be impossible.

But mostly, Emma was her sister, and despite all the hair pulling, taunting, and infuriating arguments in their past, there was the tough, steady bond of family between them.

When their conversation went to Jake's prospective job in Chicago, she was reminded that Emma and Jake had an early flight in the morning. She slipped away and ventured down the hall to the bathroom. After this, she and Leo would go home. It would be inconsiderate to keep Emma up after the scary episode she'd had earlier this week; she needed her sleep.

The floors had recently been redone in a warm, gleaming teak, and as Chelsea made her way down the hall, she felt that familiar hook of envy. With Jake's salary and bonuses from the firm, Emma could have just about anything she wanted. No waiting to remodel the house. No qualms about asking for diamond earrings for Christmas.

Inside the powder room, the granite counter gleamed. The flecks of garnet in its travertine veins matched the oil-rubbed bronze fixtures. Chelsea sighed as she lathered up her hands. Maybe she was just a tad jealous of Emma's nice things.

As she stepped out of the powder room, a soft light coming from the guest room caught her eye. The light cast an odd shadow on the s.h.i.+ny wood floor-the parallel lines of bars.

A baby's crib.

A sick curiosity pounded in her chest as her socks whispered along the hall floor.

She paused in the doorway, her blood gone to ice, her heart trembling in her chest.

The dark walnut crib was lit from behind by a soft night-light, which cast the patterned shadows on the floor.

What was Emma doing with a crib so soon? She had told Chelsea that she was superst.i.tious about those things; since the last miscarriage, she had refused to buy any baby products until her last six weeks of pregnancy.

There was something inside the crib-a small bundle of cloth the size of a baby.

A bundled-up infant.

My baby.

Oh, Emma, Emma, how could you keep her from me?

Holding her breath, Chelsea rushed forward and reached over the high wooden rail. Before she even touched the cloth, she knew it wasn't a living thing. The mound of cloth was only a baby blanket, folded and rolled.

Still, she s.n.a.t.c.hed it up and unfurled it and pressed it to her face. It smelled of a synthetic fiber . . . not even laundered yet. There wasn't a hint of Annabelle's b.u.t.tery skin. Not even the sweet scent of baby detergent.

The dim quiet of the room closed around her.

Empty. Just like Annie's crib.

The air leaked out of her lungs in a sad whimper as she began to take in the rest of the room. The bed had been removed. The taupe paint had been covered with a b.u.t.tery shade of yellow. The upholstered chair was gone from the corner, and in its place stood a white chest of drawers, still covered in hazy plastic wrap.

Baby furniture.

Emma had started her nursery.

And I'm a fool to even be here.

How could she suspect her own sister, a person she'd slept beside for years, the girl who'd shown her how to pluck her eyebrows and told her the real deal about getting your period?

It was a reminder that she needed to get in to see Dr. Chin as soon as they found Annabelle. Medication wasn't enough. She needed some therapy-maybe a change in diet. Her pink pills were not enough; you couldn't erase depression with a chemical treatment. The panic of losing Annie has shocked her into a certain sobriety, but she wasn't out of the dark woods yet.

She balled up the blanket and shoved it back in the crib. She could imagine her sister rus.h.i.+ng in with a rushed explanation of how she hadn't told anyone about the nursery, how she'd wanted to tell Chelsea but knew it would be insensitive in the face of what Chelsea was going through.

Right now she couldn't bear to hear that from Emma.

Sucking in the hurt and embarra.s.sment, she headed down the hall to say good-bye.

Chapter 42.

"Did you notice the boxes in Helen What's-her-name's dining room?" Grace asked Chris.

"I just got a quick look when she stepped out," he said, checking the rearview mirror. "What were they like? File boxes?"

"It could be. She works at home, and I could see a computer desk set up. But they might have been moving boxes." She clicked to play a voice mail as she stared out at the darkness beyond the car window. "I'd hate to have her slip away. That woman knows how to move around without leaving a paper trail."

"If we had more evidence, we could get a search warrant. Till then, we could just sit on her place."

"Right now surveillance seems like a waste of time, with other suspects out there." She brought up Eleni Zika's address in her iPhone. "Like Eleni Zika. Her mother left a message saying we can head over there for a chat."

"Okay," he said. "And I think we have a little time if Helen Walker is thinking about skipping out of town. People don't usually take off in their bathrobes."

"With our luck, Helen What's-her-name would be the first woman to drive a U-Haul cross-country in her pajamas."

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the sardonic one in this partners.h.i.+p."

"I just want all these people checked out now, and we're not going to be able to do it all tonight." Grace tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and pressed her head back against the pa.s.senger seat. "Sometimes I wish I could clone myself."

"Two Graces? That's a scary thought."