“Don’t worry.” She smiled grimly. “I have plenty of experience dealing with the press.”
I’ll bet you do, I was about to say, remembering that Erika had been all over the news when a firm she used to work for had been defending a Baltimore slum lord against charges of flipping houses. “We could use some advice, I guess.”
Erika looked me up and down, taking in my crumpled sweat pants, tank top, and hoodie. “How are you doing, Hannah?”
“I’m doing okay, under the circumstances, but I’m really worried about my daughter. The FBI has been trying to prepare us for all eventualities, but some of those eventualities are more than Emily can take. Everything they say just seems to upset her. My sister-in-law is with her right now, but I would appreciate any suggestions.”
Erika hoisted the casserole dish. “I’m not sure a turkey-noodle casserole will do much to help in that department, but I’ll give it a try.” She studied me thoughtfully. “I’m sure you’re aware that I do quite a bit of pro bono work.”
I wasn’t, but didn’t want to admit it. “Yes?”
“I’m a passionate advocate for children’s rights, for one thing,” she told me, “and fortunately, my firm encourages my efforts. Recently I worked with Amnesty International seeking asylum for a woman who’d fled to the United States with her seven-year-old daughter to prevent the daughter from being subjected to female genital mutilation.”
I shivered. Chloe would be seven next year! Just thinking about the torture female children were subjected to in the name of cultural tradition made me ill. And the practice wasn’t limited to third-world countries, either, I’d heard. “Tell me you were successful.”
“Oh, yes,” Erika said, in a tone of voice that suggested that once she was on the case, you’d better lend her a hand, or get the hell out of the way.
“Thank goodness!” I glanced at my watch. “Oh, gosh, it’s getting late, and I have to pick up my grandchildren from school.”
“Don’t let me keep you, then.”
I smiled a genuine smile of gratitude. “Thanks, Erika.”
She’d taken several steps past me, and then turned back. “Hannah?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sure the police are doing an excellent job with their investigation, but I know from experience that there are other things we can do that might improve our chances of getting Timmy back. And time is of the essence.”
“I know that,” I said. “And we’re prepared to do whatever it takes. Anything.”
“Good. Well, you’d better get on with picking up your grandkids, we can talk later. Will you be coming back here?”
I shook my head. “Not tonight. We’ve decided it’s better for Chloe and Jake to stay with Paul and me.” I indicated the bag I was carrying. “Emily picked out some clothes for the children to wear over the next couple of days, but in her rattled state, she didn’t do a very good job of it, I’m afraid. It’s a good thing I checked, because Emily’d forgotten the socks and the underwear.”
“Is anyone with her, then?” Erika took a breath. “A woman, I mean. Husbands aren’t always the best choice in times like this, I’ve discovered.”
That was certainly the truth. Dante had been trying to help, Lord knows, but Emily had seemed inconsolable.
“Her aunt is with her,” I said.
“Good. Good. Well, I’ll see you later, then.”
See you later. That, as it turned out, was the understatement of the century.
CHAPTER 11
The next morning, to avoid the press corps that was camped out like Boy Scouts in my daughter’s driveway, I parked in the next block, cut through the neighbor’s backyard, squeezed under a split rail fence, and let myself in through the back door.
To my surprise, my baby sister, Georgina, was in the kitchen, fixing coffee. I hadn’t seen her since her new baby, Tina, was born six months ago.
“Georgina!” I spread my arms wide and gave her a hug.
“Careful, or you’ll spill the coffee.” She set the grinder down on the counter. “So good to see you, Hannah. I’ve been trying to get to Annapolis for several days, but with the kids…” She shrugged. “I just couldn’t bring the kids.”
“I understand. How are they?”
“A handful.”
“I’ll bet.” Sean and Dylan, the twins, were nearly nine, and their younger sister, the wise, witty, and wonderful Julie, was seven going on twenty-seven. “And Scott?”
“Bitching and moaning. I simply told him I was coming down to help out and he would be in charge of the children. It’s not like he has to drive to the office or anything.”
“I thought he was going to share an office with some other CPAs.”
Georgina stuffed a paper filter into the coffee machine and tapped the fresh grounds into it. “I wish. It’s always wait until this account comes through, or that one.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll never get him out of the house.”
“You make it too comfortable for him.”
“I guess I do. Maybe I should stop cleaning up after him. Once the papers reach his ears, maybe he’d take the hint.” She grinned.
I grinned, too, pleased with how normal my sister sounded. Her new shrink deserved a bonus.
“What’s happening?” I asked. “Any news?”
“No, and it just breaks my heart. If anything happened to our little Tina…” Georgina dabbed at her eyes with the paper towel she’d been using to blot water up from the counter. “I can’t imagine what Emily’s going through. I took her some hot tea with honey a few minutes ago, and she looked like she’d been run over by a truck.”
“I know.”
“Dante’s with her now, trying to get her to drink some of it.”
“Good,” I said, somewhat distracted by a noise wafting in from the direction of the driveway. I raised a hand. “What’s that?”
Over the gurgle of the coffeemaker, what began as a murmur became a dull roar. One shout, then another, and another. Then silence.
Dante met us coming down the hall. “What the hell? Just as I got Emily settled down.” He muscled his way past us to the living room window, drew the drapes aside and peered out.
“What is it?”
“The reporters are talking to somebody.”
I hurried to the window and opened the curtain just wide enough so that both Georgina and I could see what all the fuss was about.
The press was interviewing a woman who stood before them, her fingers laced primly together at her waist. She was dressed in a long black skirt, a tailored white shirt, and wore a shawl with a peacock feather design fastened at the shoulder in a bulky knot. Her eyes were just visible under a coarse black fringe that looked like it’d been nibbled by a small and very hungry animal.
“I don’t recognize her, do you?” Georgina said.
“No.”
“What’s going on, then?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
I’d just opened the front door and stepped out onto the stoop when the woman extricated herself from the clot of reporters and hurried up the driveway toward the house. As she got closer, I saw that her eyes were rimmed in black. Eyebrows had been painted on generously with a pencil. She had pink cheeks never dreamed of by Mother Nature. Clearly, a woman not in the habit of studying herself in the mirror each morning, wondering if she was wearing too much makeup.
She lifted her skirt slightly as she climbed the steps. “Mrs. Shemansky?”
I had to admit being flattered at being mistaken for my daughter. “No. I’m Emily’s mother. How can I help you?”
“Is Mrs. Shemansky in?”
Dante squeezed past me. “Mr. Shemansky is in. How can I help you?”
“It is I who can help you,” she said, her glossy red lips pulling back over impossibly white teeth. “At least I hope so.”