The Truth About Comfort Cove

He covered her hand with his and the ice started to melt again. “You’re doing great, Luce. And in answer to your question…Sandy saw someone driving down the street right after she grabbed you up. So she dived into Frank’s car with you. She tried to keep your head down, but you popped up and she didn’t want to make you cry, which would have been when Cal saw you in his father’s car. And when you dropped your teddy bear. As near as we can tell, Cal was sneaking into the backyard while Sandy snatched you, because she did it when Jack made the delivery two doors down, and Cal used his truck to hide behind.”

“I didn’t cry?”

“Apparently not. Jack said that you clung to Sandy from the very beginning. Like you recognized her and were meant to be hers. At least, that was the way he chose to see it.”

Nodding, she put down her fork. Picked up her wine. “This means that Sandy is a kidnapper.” Think about wallpaper. Or table linens. Think about paperwork. Target practice.

“Yes.”

“She’s in custody?”

“For now. I suspect that she’s going to make an insanity plea and be admitted to a mental-health facility.”

Lucy nodded again. Sandy probably should have been put in a facility a long time ago. And she might have been. If Lucy hadn’t been a child at the time.

“She’s asking to see you, luce.” They were still sitting at the table. There was still wine in her glass. Ramsey had cleared the plates away. And Bill was on the phone.

“Not now.”

“Agreed.”

He finished with Bill and she asked, “If I’d said I’d see her,

would you have taken me in?” “Yes. But I’d have told you that I didn’t agree with the decision.”

“Good. Because I’m relying on you to help me see what I might miss.”

“That’s what we do, right?”

“On cases, yes.”

His look was not at all professional. “It’s what we do, Luce. Period.”

She believed him. And would have told him so, except that this time her phone rang.

“Sandy’s got my number,” she said, before pulling her phone out of its holster. It was the only holster she was wearing. Sometime between walking into the Comfort Cove Police Department and waking up on the divan, she’d been relieved of her gun.

She didn’t ask about it. Ramsey didn’t say anything about it, either.

But she knew protocol. She’d get her gun back when she passed a department physical—which, in her case, meant a therapy session.

“Bill wouldn’t let her call,” Ramsey said as Lucy looked at her phone.

“It’s Emma Sanderson.” The case. The job. She looked at Ramsey. The phone rang a second time.

“Frank’s in custody,” he reminded her. “Bill said the family’s upset.”

She looked at her phone.

“She doesn’t know…” Ramsey said. The fourth ring sounded.

“Shouldn’t Frank be free now? Since they have Colton? Frank Whittier had nothing to do with my disappearance.”

She’d said my. As the word sounded, her heart missed a beat.

Frank Whittier was once almost her stepfather. A fifth ring sounded.

“Bill said he’s giving us until the morning to tell the family. Colton hasn’t been extradited yet. No charges have been formally filed.”