Dilly spoke in her usual gentle manner, which didn’t make her words sting any the less. Did you do it for her . . . or did you do it for yourself?
Leo simply sneered. Anything to win Mummy’s love, right, Antoinette?
And that was the thing about her puppets . . . They spoke the truths she didn’t want to confront.
She glanced out the window and saw something moving in the distance. A horse and rider, stark against a sea of gray and white, tearing across the winter landscape, as if all the demons in hell were chasing them.
AFTER ANOTHER DAY OF COUGHING spells, naps, and indulging in her hobby of sketching goofy-looking cartoon kids to cheer herself up, she could no longer ignore the problem of using her cell. More snow last night would have made the already hazardous road impassable, and that meant another trek to the top of the cliff in search of a signal. This time, however, she’d steer clear of the house.
With her puffy down-filled coat, she was better equipped for the climb than she’d been last time. Although it was still bitterly cold, the sun was temporarily out, and the fresh snow looked as though it had been dusted with glitter. But her problems were too big for her to enjoy the beauty. She needed more than a cell signal. She needed Internet access. Unless she wanted a dealer to take advantage of her, she needed to research everything she listed in her inventory notebook, and how was she going to do that? The cottage had no satellite service. The hotel and inns offered free public Internet during the summer, but they were closed now, and even if her car could handle the trips to town, she couldn’t imagine randomly banging on doors, looking for someone who’d let her inside to Web surf.
Even with her coat, the red knit cap she’d pulled over her rambunctious hair, and the scarf she’d wrapped over her nose and mouth to protect her airways, she was shivering by the time she hiked to the top of the cliff. Glancing toward the house to make sure Theo wasn’t in sight, she found a place behind the gazebo to make her calls—the elementary school in New Jersey that hadn’t paid her for her last visit, the consignment shop where she’d left Mariah’s remaining pieces of decent furniture. Her own shabby furniture hadn’t been worth selling, and she’d hauled it to the curb. She was so sick of worrying about money.
I’ll pay your bills, Peter declared. I’ll save you.
A noise distracted her. She looked around and saw a child crouched under the low branches of a big red spruce. She appeared to be three or four years old, too young to be outside by herself. She wore only a puffy pink jacket and purple corduroy pants—no mittens, no boots, no hat pulled down over her stick-straight light brown hair.
Annie remembered the face in the window. This must be Theo’s child.
The idea of Theo as a father horrified her. The poor little girl. She wasn’t dressed warmly enough, and she didn’t seem to be supervised. Considering what Annie knew of Theo’s past, those might be the least of his parenting sins.
The child realized Annie had seen her and backed into the branches. Annie crouched down. “Hey there. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was making some phone calls.”
The child simply stared at her, but Annie had encountered more than her share of shy little ones. “I’m Annie. Antoinette, really, but no one calls me that. Who are you?”
The child didn’t answer.
“Are you a snow fairy? Or maybe a snow bunny?”
Still no response.
“I’ll bet you’re a squirrel. But I don’t see any nuts around. Maybe you’re a squirrel who eats cookies?”
Usually even the shyest child responded to this kind of silliness, but the little girl didn’t react. She wasn’t deaf—she’d turned her head at a birdcall—but as Annie studied those big, watchful eyes, she knew something wasn’t right.
“Livia . . .” It was a woman’s voice, muffled, as if she didn’t want anyone inside the house to hear. “Livia, where are you? Come here right now.”
Annie’s curiosity got the better of her, and she edged around to the front of the gazebo.
The woman was pretty, with a long swish of blond hair parted at one side and a curvy build that even jeans and a baggy sweatshirt couldn’t hide. She leaned awkwardly into a pair of crutches. “Livia!”
There was something familiar about the woman. Annie stepped out of the shadows. “Jaycie?”
The woman wobbled against her crutches. “Annie?”
Jaycie Mills and her father had lived in Moonraker Cottage before Elliott had bought it. Annie hadn’t seen her in years, but you didn’t forget the person who’d once saved your life.
A flash of pink shot past as the little girl—Livia—ran toward the kitchen door, her snow-caked red sneakers flying. Jaycie wobbled on her crutches. “Livia, I didn’t give you permission to go outside.” Again, she spoke in that odd hiss-whisper. “We’ve talked about this before.”