Page 71 of Long Time Gone

“Yeah, here, too. I’m at my rental and two news vans just pulled up. Some lunatic is pounding on my front door as we speak.”

“I’m coming over,” Nora said.

“To do what?”

“Rescue you. Stay put. I’ll be there in a few minutes. And pack your stuff, you’re not staying there.”

The call ended and Sloan went back to the front window. A third van had pulled to the curb. As the reporter continued to pound on the front door, Sloan heard more knocking at the back door off the kitchen.

“Relentless,” she said to herself.

She briefly considered opening the door and giving them the sound bite they were all so desperate for, and the video footage and first live images they wanted so badly. But Sloan knew it wouldn’t end with a simple statement. They’d want answers that Sloan did not have.

She ran upstairs and packed her suitcase, emptying the drawers she had filled just a few days before. She cleared out the bathroom and lugged her suitcase down the stairs just as her phone buzzed with a text message from Nora.

“I’m pulling up now.”

Sloan watched through the front window as Nora tore into the driveway and screeched to a stop at an odd angle, the front wheels on the grass. She opened the driver’s side door and stormed past the reporters who thrust microphones in her face and shouted questions as cameras rolled and recorded everything. Nora kept them at bay with an opened palm and a shake of her head until she was on the front porch, when Sloan opened the door and pulled her inside.

“This is insane,” Sloan said.

The weight of the situation was beginning to dawn on her. Baby Charlotte Margolis had dominated the news and tabloids for nearly a year after she and her parents disappeared, and even this many decades later the American public was obsessed with her story. And now they were desperate for the sequel—the return of baby Charlotte Margolis.

“You’re like a famous movie star dodging the paparazzi.” Nora looked down and saw Sloan’s bag. “Good, you’re packed.”

Nora grabbed Sloan’s suitcase.

“Follow me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re getting the hell out of here.”

“They’ll just follow us.”

“Unlikely,” Nora said. “Just trust me. Ready?”

Sloan nodded. Nora opened the front door and ran down the steps with Sloan’s suitcase in tow and Sloan close behind.

“Sloan Hastings!” one of the reporters yelled. “Are you baby Charlotte Margolis?”

“Where are Preston and Annabelle Margolis?” another reporter yelled.

Sloan ignored the questions as she raced to Nora’s car, ripped open the passenger’s side door, and quickly climbed in. Nora threw the suitcase into the backseat, sat behind the wheel, and slammed her door closed. The engine was still running, and she dropped the car into reverse, screeching her tires as she backed into the street and scattering the cameramen who had encroached on the vehicle. When she was clear, she put the car into drive and sped off. It took just a moment for the news crews to throw their equipment into the backs of the vans and start their pursuit. But by then it was too late.

As the vans spun around the cul-de-sac, a Ford F150 skidded to a stop at the end of the street, blocking the crews from exiting the neighborhood. The drivers of each of the three vans laid on their horns. When the F150 stayed put, one of the drivers got out and approached the pickup truck.

“Get the hell out of the way!”

The window of the F150 rolled down to reveal Lester Strange, the Margolis family’s longtime handyman.

“No can do,” Lester said.

CHAPTER 49

Cedar Creek, Nevada Thursday, August 1, 2024

NORA PULLED DOWN THE ALLEY BEHIND HER STUDIO AND PARKED next to the Dumpster.

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