The Courage Tree - Diane Chamberlain [48]
From his desk chair in the tree house study, he stared out at the woods, laced now with shadow. He had worked far too hard today; the skin on his face was tender to the touch from too much sun. Nausea teased him, and his hand trembled as he bit into the apple. He wanted to call Janine, but thought he’d better wait for her to call him.
Turning on his computer, he tried to focus on his e-mail, but it was impossible. Memories he didn’t want bubbled to the surface of his mind. Why fight them? he thought. The present was beginning to feel just as disturbing as the past.
Would the cop show up again or were they through with him? He prayed that was the case. Did Joe and the Snyders still think he might be involved in this whole mess somehow? He wished they would ask him outright. He could honestly tell them that he had nothing to do with Sophie’s disappearance.
But that would be the only honest thing about him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The inside of the mansion was sticky with heat. In the interest of historical accuracy, air-conditioning had never been installed, and the June humidity was back with a vengeance. Janine, who did not share her parents’ passion for all that was historical, especially considering that most rooms in the mansion were never open to the public, felt as though she were being smothered by the air in the parlor. Or maybe it was the atmosphere of discouragement and blame that was sucking the breath from her.
Her mother sat on one of the upholstered chairs, staring out the window. Every so often, she spoke out loud, although in barely more than a whisper. “Where’s my baby?” It was as though she had been the one who’d given birth to Sophie, the one to sit by her hospital bed when she lay so ill and the one to read to her at night in the little cottage when she was sick and scared. It made Janine feel even guiltier for her role in Sophie’s disappearance, as though she’d stolen something from her mother as well as from herself.
Her father played the awkward host, setting out a platter of tortilla chips and salsa for her and Joe, as if they were guests in the house. He was a nice man, her father. A good man who, over the years, often found himself caught in the middle between his rebellious daughter and his cool and angry wife.
“I thought both of you did well at the press conference,” he said now, sitting down on the Chippendale sofa.
“What time did you say the police were coming?” Her mother looked at Joe. She hadn’t said a word directly to Janine since their arrival, but that was no surprise to any of them.
Joe looked at his watch. “Any minute,” he said.
Sergeant Loomis had told them he’d be stopping by tonight to meet the Snyders and catch everyone up on police activity.
“Here comes a car up the driveway,” her mother said. “That must be him now.” She got to her feet and smoothed the legs of her plaid slacks.
A moment later, Janine opened the door for the sergeant.
“Hello, Mrs. Donohue,” the big man said to Janine, as he walked into the parlor. Quickly, he took in the details of the room, and Janine saw the appraisal in his eyes. These folks have money, he was thinking. She doubted he knew that her parents were merely the caretakers here, the poor relations of the Campbell clan. They’d had nothing to do with the purchase of the enormous oriental carpet lying on the cherry-and-beech parquet floor or the selection of the veritable gallery of nineteenth-century art on the parlor walls.
Janine introduced him to her parents, then sat on the sofa near her father. “Is there any news?” she asked, knowing very well there was no news and tired of asking the question. If the search had borne fruit, surely the police would have called them.
“No, I’m afraid not.” Loomis sat down on the Queen Anne chair, gently, as though afraid he might damage something in this elegant, handsomely aged parlor. “I didn’t get a chance to talk with you and Mr. Donohue much after the press conference,