Chapter Five
Franny didn’t sleep even though by the time she got back to her apartment she was exhausted.
She’d spent her entire evening at the sheriff’s department, assuring Audra and Rosalie she was fine, listening to Copeland and the sheriff and even Mr. Simmons lay out all the reasons she wasn’t in any danger.
Then repeating that to her cousins ad nauseam until they finally relented.
She’d showered the day off when she’d gotten back, crawled into bed and then…stared at the ceiling replaying the scene in her head, over and over again, trying to remember new details. A detail that might help.
But it was the same scene. The same feeling that if she’d been smarter or stronger she might have stepped in and done something about it.
Instead, the kidnapper’s eyes had met hers and she had done nothing.
And, like both the federal agent she’d spoken to and the sheriff, she thought if the kidnapper was worried about witnesses, he would have done something about it at the time.
She considered the deputy who’d been so appalled Copeland and Mr. Simmons were going to let her go back to her apartment. He seemed to be the only one with concerns.
She rolled over onto her stomach, buried her head into her pillow. She wasn’t afraid exactly. Not for herself anyway. She was afraid for Albennie, afraid of what this all was, but she didn’t think a kidnapper who’d gotten exactly what he wanted was going to concern himself with her.
But she was…tense. Wound up.
“And not kidnapped so maybe stop feeling sorry for yourself,” she muttered into the pillow before shoving up onto her elbows and blowing out a breath.
Okay, she wasn’t going to sleep. Maybe she could work.
She reached over to her nightstand where she always left her laptop and pulled it onto her lap as she sank into the covers.
She didn’t often let herself work in bed, because it tended to turn into a two- or three-day marathon of sloth, but she got to make an exception for kidnap witnessing.
She opened her book document, looked at the last paragraph she’d written…then immediately pulled up her internet browser.
She typed Albennie Ward into the search engine. And then spent the next thirty minutes getting more and more frustrated.
Albennie Ward didn’t really seem to exist on the internet. No social media Franny could find, no public records, and that was weird considering how unique a name Albennie was. But there wasn’t even the stray mention of her in the obituary of a family member or on Hope Town’s bakery website.
Or anyone else for that matter.
Maybe Albennie was a nickname or a middle name, but that didn’t help Franny’s search any since she didn’t know what her real name might be. She didn’t even know how old Albennie was.
Not that finding out more about Albennie was going to do anything. It was none of her business, and she wasn’t some TV show character. She didn’t think she was going to solve a crime before the FBI or the local police department.
But she was curious, and curiosity had led her to her career. If you asked questions, followed clues, you came up with a story.
Maybe it wouldn’t be the right story, or the true story, but it felt like…something. Something better than staring at the ceiling wishing she could have been braver and stronger and better in a scary moment.
Maybe she could ask Lia if Albennie went by a different name, or what her background was, or if Lia had any ideas about what had happened.
Except that Lia was obviously close to Albennie, and questioning Lia felt insensitive at the moment.
Poking around like she thought she was a detective when Lia had no doubt already fielded tons of questions wouldn’t be right.
What about Mr. Simmons? What was his deal?
Which lead to the next question. What was Hope Town’s deal?
That was why she was here, trying to write a book, so looking into that was work.
She typed Zach Simmons into the search engine and then added FBI to the search.
And a few articles showed up. Zach Simmons was a much more common name than Albennie Ward, but it was still too much of a coincidence that there was a court document from about seven years ago that included a Special Agent Zach Simmons. Something about cult members.
In Wyoming.
But he hadn’t been with the other federal agents yesterday. Was he some kind of…supervisor? Was Albennie part of some… FBI thing? A cult? It would explain some weirdness.
But not the sheriff department weirdness.
Did Lia know about Mr. Simmons? It clearly wasn’t a secret if it was easily searched on the internet, but had anyone in Hope Town put it together? Was Franny the only one out of the loop, or was everyone?
Franny glanced at the time on her computer. It was nearly seven now. Would the bakery open today? Would it be bustling or empty? If empty, she could maybe get some face time with Lia, but if she was Lia, she’d damn well be taking the day off.
She didn’t think Lia was the type.
Well, there was only one way to find out. She pushed the laptop away and went to get dressed.
Sleeping be damned.
ROYAL SURVEYED THE apartment Simmons had led him into. It was above an empty storefront and across the street from the bakery and Franny Perkins’s second-story apartment. If he looked out the big window in the living room, he could watch the comings and goings of both.
He could even see a little sliver of the parking lot behind the bakery building. He wouldn’t be able to see the comings and goings out the back of the building, but he could see any car that came in or out of the parking lot if he was watching.
“It’s a nice place. Updated,” Simmons was saying. “But if you have any issues, you can call the number on the fridge. Mr. Poole handles any fix-it stuff around here. Obviously if there’s something going on with the case, I’ll want to know.”
“Last time I checked, I report to the sheriff, not you,” Royal replied without any heat.
The man didn’t get offended, and also didn’t offer an argument. He looked at his watch, edgier than he’d been yesterday. Not quite so cool and calm—not so FBI-like.
Instead, he was fidgety. Like he was waiting for something.
“Got somewhere to be, Simmons?”
He looked up at Royal. There was a moment’s hesitation, then a shrug. “My wife is waiting on me downstairs. I forgot we were getting family pictures today. Felt like a normal thing to do instead of worry about Albennie. So this is a quick stop before we head into Fairmont.”
Wife? Family pictures? Zach Simmons having a real life? It didn’t quite compute.
But before Royal could come up with something to say to that, he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps on stairs. And a baby crying.
Simmons swore. “Give me a sec.” He opened the front door, and on the other side of it was a woman. She had long blond hair pulled back in a clip and a screaming baby with a giant bow on her head in her arms.
She didn’t look like she did on stage, but Royal recognized her immediately anyway.
“Zach, I’m losing it.” She shoved the baby at Simmons, then gave Royal a pinched smile over Zach’s shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but this one is a daddy’s girl, and she’s driving me insane.”
Royal blinked at her once. Twice. “You’re…” He didn’t finish the sentence. She knew who she was.
But she did flash him a grin this time, maybe because the baby had in fact immediately quieted once she’d tucked her head into Simmons’s neck.
“See?” she said, jabbing a thumb in the air toward the baby. “You do the work of carting them around in your body for nine months, shove them out and this is how they repay you.”
Royal knew he shouldn’t say it. He knew he should sound less like a moron, but something had short-circuited in his brain, probably seeing one of his favorite singers in person. “You’re Daisy Delaney.”
She winked at him. “In the flesh. I go by Lucy Simmons around these parts though. What’s your name, Deputy?”
Daisy Delaney was asking his name, and since he was still in some kind of shock, he answered. “Royal Campbell.”
“Royal. That’s a cool name. I like it. And the tattoos.”
“All right,” Simmons said, a mixture of irritation and affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”
Daisy—Lucy—laughed, low and husky. “He’s so easy to move along when I need to. Flirt with somebody and he’s ready to rush me out the door.”
“You’re a real riot, you know?” Simmons said, nudging Daisy toward the door. “Call if you need anything, Deputy.” But he had clearly already turned his attention to his family. “Where’s Coop?”
“Running the streets wild,” Daisy—Lucy said as they walked out of the apartment. “You did promise it would only take five minutes, and I did tell you we could postpone.”
“So I take it Lia has him.” Their family chatter slowly faded away and Royal stood exactly where he was in the middle of a very sparsely furnished apartment.
Daisy Delaney had said his name, complimented that and his tattoos. And weirder still, for a few seconds, Simmons had seemed very, very human.
He was married to Daisy Delaney. Had kids with Daisy Delaney.
Royal shook his head. What a weird-ass world Bent County was.
But he didn’t have time to think about that too deeply. He had to get ready for work and clock in. Still, he couldn’t help crossing the empty living room and looking out the big window.
Simmons was loading the baby into a minivan. Simmons had a minivan.
He shook his head. Unbelievable. He surveyed the rest of the street. Mostly empty this morning. Most of the shops didn’t open until ten. Except the bakery.
He glanced at the door across the street as Simmons drove away. And thought jackpot, because his eyewitness was jogging down the stairs outside her building and turning toward the bakery door.
He hadn’t quite figured out how he was going to handle keeping an eye on a virtual stranger, but he figured the first step was to not be strangers anymore.