Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I t was the fourth day since Frankie left. Ida was desperate. Ida had lost control of herself. Eating and drinking water and sleeping had flown out the window, and she hadn’t bothered to go to work either. Lucky for her—she supposed—violent storms had plagued the island, and Nantucket Sunset Cruisers had postponed or canceled sixteen cruises so far. The tourists weren’t happy. Ida didn’t know what to tell them. We can’t help the weather. We live on an island. Everything is apt to change in the blink of an eye.
Sophie and Katrina had spent much of the four days at Ida’s place, trying to take care of things and keep the house running. They cooked meals and vacuumed and urged everyone to get enough rest. But nobody was willing to do anything but drive around the island, looking for Frankie, or send text message after text message to Frankie’s phone, or call every person Frankie had ever known in her life to see if they’d heard from her.
Because Frankie had texted to say she was safe, the police were even less inclined to help. “A twenty-three-year-old girl can do what she wants,” an officer said over the phone, sounding distracted. “I’m sorry to break it to you, but your daughter is an adult.”
Ida threw the phone across the room.
My daughter is in danger. My daughter needs me.
Ida went out for a long drive that fourth day. She scoured the long and beautiful acres of an island she’d loved to her bones since she was a little girl. Once, she thought she spotted someone who looked a bit like Frankie from behind, hiking along the edge of a wooded area with a backpack on her shoulders. But when she stalled to get a better look, she realized this person was far younger than Frankie—a teenager. Ida burst into tears.
She’s probably not even on the island anymore. She probably went to Manhattan with that horrible man.
That horrible man who took my daughter away.
Ida got a cup of coffee at the coffee shop near the harbor and considered what to do. The storms had cleared, and cruises were disembarking as planned from the Nantucket Sunset Cruisers’ docks. It meant that the company was making money again. But Ida couldn’t find it in her to care.
Going against every instinct, Ida texted Shelby to say hello and ask if she needed anything.
SHELBY: Hey! All good here.
SHELBY: How are you feeling, honey?
SHELBY: Can I bring anything by? Food?
IDA: No. I think I might come to work.
IDA: I need a distraction.
Ida walked around the harbor to the docks. A line of tourists boarded a yacht and chatted happily, their eyes glinting with sunshine. Shelby was in conversation with a bald man in a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses. Ida got closer to hear what she said.
“We picked out the docks long before we could afford them. We used to come here every afternoon and pretend that we had a business here,” Shelby said with a soft laugh. “We were delusional.”
“It must have felt like a dream come true when you could finally purchase them,” the man said.
“It’s hard to explain,” Shelby said. “We jumped up and down with joy.”
Ida remembered that day like a glossy photograph. She remembered Shelby leaping on her with a hug, popping a bottle of champagne, and telling everyone, We did it! We’re going to start our own business! Just like we always said we would!
The man in the sunglasses noticed Ida watching them and nodded. Shelby twisted around to see her and excused herself. Her eyes were bright and angelic, and even her tone was fluttery.
Ida thought, Have I ever seen her this happy before?
Seeing her best friend like this so soon after Frankie disappeared was jarring.
“I was just telling him our origin story,” Shelby said.
“I heard.”
Why did it seem like a performance? Why did it seem like Shelby was pretending?
Shelby’s smile tilted just the slightest bit. “Good weather today.”
“Yes.” Ida swallowed.
It had never been so difficult to talk to Shelby before. She felt as though they spoke two different languages.
Ida realized Shelby hadn’t come by the house at all since Frankie’s disappearance.
In any other year, my best friend Shelby would have been at my place in a heartbeat.
“What have you been up to?” Ida asked.
Shelby stuttered. “What do you mean? Mostly, I’ve been here. Working.”
“We had so many cancellations the past few days,” Ida said.
“Right. But we had so many angry customers,” Shelby said. “Calling and calling about the canceled cruises.”
“Wasn’t Caitlin handling that?” Ida asked, referring to their head of ticket sales.
“She was, but she couldn’t do it all herself.”
“Right.”
Why does this ring hollow to me? Ida couldn’t put her finger on it.
“Honey, you don’t look good,” Shelby said, wincing. “When was the last time you slept?”
Ida’s thoughts were twisted and anxious. She rubbed her forehead. Sleep? It’s the furthest thing from my mind.
“She’ll come home when she’s ready,” Shelby said, her shoulders slumping. “You know she’s twenty-three, right? She’s an adult. A confused adult, but an adult nonetheless.”
A shiver of anger ran through Ida.
Maybe I’m making things up. Perhaps lack of sleep and food has gotten to me.
“You should go home,” Shelby said. “I have everything handled up here.”
Tears sprang to Ida’s eyes. She just wants to take care of me, she told herself.
“Maybe you’re right,” Ida breathed.
Shelby stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Ida. Ida fell into her—
the familiar smell of Shelby’s patchouli perfume, the familiar smoothness of her hands, and the sweep of her blond bob. Ida had spent so many years loving her best friend. Don’t jump to conclusions.
“Promise me you’ll get some rest?” Shelby said, breaking their hug and stepping back to look Ida in the eye.
“I promise,” Ida said, puffing out her cheeks. “I’m sorry I came by. I’m probably scaring the customers.”
Shelby giggled, and its sound echoed through Ida’s mind, bringing a chill to her bones.
There was a distraction in Shelby’s blue eyes.
It was almost as though she carried a secret.
It reminded Ida strangely of a time when they’d been in their early twenties. Shelby had just met Malcolm but hadn’t yet told Ida she was falling in love with him. Shelby had said, “I just wanted the story to be all mine for a little while. I didn’t want to share it yet. Sharing your secrets dilutes them. You know?” Ida had been hurt that her best friend hadn’t raced out to tell her everything immediately. But she’d taken it with a grain of salt. People were different, she’d reasoned. They handled things differently. Even best friends.
Ida drove back home to find Sophie hard at work in the kitchen and Katrina and Nellie in the living room, clicking through channels distractedly. Ida stood at the kitchen counter and listened to Sophie’s knife slide through onion slices. On television, somebody was talking about “the kind of love that lasts forever.”
“How do you know if someone’s lying to you?” Ida asked Sophie now.
Sophie stopped chopping. “I don’t know. I guess it depends on the person.”
Ida crossed her arms over her chest. She couldn’t look Sophie in the eye.
“Is someone lying to you about Frankie?” Sophie asked.
“No. It’s not that.” Ida rubbed the back of her neck. “I can’t put my finger on it.”
It felt sacrilegious to say Shelby might be lying to her. But what could she be lying to me about?
That was when Ida remembered Susan Sheridan.
That was when she remembered her question: do you really trust your business partner?
“I’d trust her with my life.”
But did Ida still feel that way?
“I’ll be right back,” Ida said.
Ida hurried into her office and turned on the computer for the first time since Frankie left. Feeling bleary-eyed and very strange, she entered the details for the Nantucket Sunset Cruisers’s online bank account. But immediately, it read: INCORRECT PASSWORD.
Ida’s tongue felt like sandpaper. She tried again, typing the words out carefully to make sure they were one hundred percent accurate. Again, it didn’t let her in.
Ida felt like she was going to throw up.
It’s happening again. It’s happening again.
Within a few seconds, she had Susan Sheridan on the phone. Ida gasped with surprise and said, “Remember what you said about my business partner?”
Susan made a soft noise in her throat. “Oh. Oh no. Do you think it’s her?”
Ida was on her feet, pacing her office. She explained what she’d just discovered. “And I just have a strange hunch. I can’t explain it.”
“Sometimes our hunches are all we have to go on,” Susan said.
“But what should I do?” Ida asked. “I’m actually frightened. I don’t want to go back to work and accost her. And what if her husband did this? Or, heaven forbid, my husband?”
Susan sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do. I can only advise you to do the following. For the time being, move everything to a separate bank account that only you can access.”
“But isn’t that as good as stealing the funds for myself?”
“Your lawyer advised you to do this,” Susan said. “You have a witness.”
Ida took a deep breath. Her world felt upside down. “I don’t know why she would do this.”
“People do things for all kinds of reasons,” Susan said. “I’ve been a lawyer for a long time. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen.”
She’s seen all kinds of betrayals. She’s seen murder and heartache and pain.
“Go to the bank as soon as you can,” Susan instructed. “Don’t waste a second.”
Ida got off the phone, grabbed her car keys, and drove like a maniac to the bank.
It was a good thing she went as quickly as she did.
Thank you, Susan Sheridan. Thank you for knowing better than me.
Twenty-one thousand dollars had bled from the business account late yesterday and this morning. Ida balked at the bank statements, searching for the term “Tyson Rogers Advertising.” Instead, the money was paid out to other people, other names, and other businesses, ones she didn’t recognize. Tears drained from her eyes. But she raised her chin and looked the bank teller in the eye.
“I need to move this money to a private account,” Ida said.
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
It was far easier to do this than Ida assumed it would be. But Ida was the daughter of Grant Coleman. She was the granddaughter of Chuck Coleman. She was a small business owner and Nantucket royalty and the mother of two beloved daughters—daughters who’d danced at the Nantucket recital and gone caroling at Christmastime and baked cookies for the bake sale. Ida was the sort of woman everyone on the island trusted.
But Shelby is, too, Ida thought. Terror rocketed through her. If I’m not right about this, I’m officially destroying a friendship. Not trusting someone is as good as telling them you don’t love them.
Ida signed her name for the new account. Nobody else had access. Not even Rick.
Back in the car, Ida pressed her forehead against her steering wheel and screamed. Her body shook as tears dripped from her chin.
Where are you, Frankie? Won’t you please come home?