Chapter 57
FIFTY-SEVEN
Tired of speculating, Quinn reached for her mobile to call Rhys. He answered right away. “Quinn, are you all right? How’s Max?”
“We’re as well as can be expected,” Quinn said softly.
Max was asleep in his cot, and she didn’t want to wake him.
She was tempted to tell Rhys about Alex’s harrowing experience but realized she didn’t want to relive it.
It had been awful enough the first time.
“We’ll be back tomorrow evening. Were you able to learn anything? ”
“I have, as it happens. Lynn had the well drained, and the workers found several items at the bottom. They were buried in the silt.”
“What sort of items?” Quinn asked, sitting up in her excitement.
“The second earring, a gold bangle, and a pair of white gloves.”
“White gloves? Ladies’ or men’s?”
“Men’s. The sort a footman might wear. Did you see a footman in your visions?” Rhys asked.
“The staff was greatly diminished since the war, but footmen might have been hired from the village to serve at the New Year’s Eve party. And then there was the butler and Lord Bellamy’s valet. He might have owned white gloves.”
“Might the butler have done it?” Rhys joked.
“I doubt it, but the valet confronted Geneva and was distressed about the possibility of losing his position. He’d had a hard time in the war and suffered from PTSD.”
“It could also be that one of the footmen who’d been hired for the party tried to force himself on Geneva and accidently murdered her when she tried to fight him off. Perhaps he was drunk and followed Geneva when she left the house to meet Rory Sullivan at the well.”
“They had met at the well before,” Quinn agreed, but she had not yet come to the story’s climax and preferred not to speculate. “I wonder what became of Honor after Geneva died.”
“Would you like me to do a search?” Rhys offered.
“No, not yet. But I would like to speak to Dinah Wilson. She must know something.”
“Do you think you could go see her before you leave?”
“I don’t think so,” Quinn replied wearily. “The visit to Dinah will have to wait.”
“Any word on Logan?”
“No. I was told that the police will not be actively investigating the case.”
“I’m sorry. That must have been difficult to hear. And Jude?”
“Nothing from him either. It suddenly feels as if people are just disappearing.”
Rhys chuckled. “We’ve become so accustomed to being able to reach people via phone or online anytime that it’s alarming when someone doesn’t respond immediately.”
“That’s because there’s usually a good reason they can’t,” Quinn said morosely.
“Quinn, if there’s anything you need, I’m here, you know that. And if you want to set this case aside for the time being, I completely understand.”
“I know, but I find it helpful to focus on someone else’s trials at the moment, tragic though they may be.”
“Few people are lucky enough to escape tragedy,” Rhys said. “What was it Henry Wadsworth Longfellow said, ‘Into each life some rain must fall’?”
“But most people are not faced with the murder of a close family member.”
“We don’t know that they were. The body was never found or even properly buried, so maybe no one ever knew that Geneva had died.”
“You think they assumed she ran off?” Quinn asked.
“Possibly. Honor might have thought her sister was happily living in Pittsburgh. It’s not unheard of that people become estranged and don’t correspond.”
Quinn sighed. “I almost hope that’s the case. I would certainly prefer to believe that the person I love is somewhere out there, alive and well, rather than floating in a slimy well just a few feet away.”
“There is something to be said for closure,” Rhys remarked.
“Closure is overrated. I’ll take hope any day.”
“I’m sorry, that was insensitive,” Rhys replied. “Of course you should continue to hope.”
“I know you weren’t speaking about Logan, but thank you.”
“I’ll hold on to the items from the well until you can examine them,” Rhys offered. “In the meantime, stay safe, and I pray you get some answers soon.”
After she ended the call with Rhys, Quinn tried Drew and Jude, but neither one answered.
It was only then that she realized Max wasn’t asleep.
The little boy lay on his bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
He looked so dejected, he reminded Quinn of Emma when she’d first come to live with her and Gabe at the age of three and had kept asking about her mum.
How awful it had to be to suddenly be torn away from the one person you relied on most in the world, and who was supposed to be there no matter what.
For the first time since Logan had vanished, Quinn felt a hollow feeling in her chest. It was as if a candle had suddenly gone out and the room had been plunged into darkness. She knew that feeling. She’d experienced it several times before, and she found herself trembling with fear.
“Quinn, what is it?” Gabe asked as he walked into the bedroom.
“Logan,” Quinn whispered and instantly realized she shouldn’t have said even that much in front of Max.
The vacant look was gone, and Max was watching her, his bottom lip quivering as he tried to hold back tears. “Dad?”
Quinn went to sit on his bed and gathered Max into her arms, stroking his hair gently. “Everything is going to be all right. I promise.”
But Max wriggled away from her and lay back down. He buried his face in the pillow, and his narrow shoulders shook with grief. Quinn made to reach for him, but Gabe shook his head.
“Let him be,” he said softly. “Anything we say will only belittle his feelings.”
Quinn nodded, then kissed the top of Max’s head and returned to her own bed.