Page 54 of Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
But first... “Do you have a child?”
His body went rigid. “What did you ask?”
“Do you have a child? You and Isabelle?”
Anderson took a step toward her.
Effie backed away, hitting the door.
“Tell me what you know,” Anderson insisted.
Effie tilted her nose upward. He could interrogate her. Intimidate her. Show her kindness. Even smile at her—what would that be like?—but he could not hide from her. Not any longer. She deserved to know the whole truth. “Mr. Charlemagne told me that Mrs. Branson had seen a woman at Predicament Avenue the day before Polly and I were there. The woman had a child with her—no more than a year old, Mrs. Branson said.”
Anderson gripped Effie’s arms in the first sign of urgency she’d seen in him. He wasn’t hurting her, he was intent. Even hopeful. “Was the child all right?”
“I-I don’t know.” Effie shook her head. “Mrs. Branson said no one has seen the child since. But I—”
Anderson dropped his hands from Effie and turned his back to her, driving his fingers through his hair with force. He let out a long groan, and then in a rare show his arm swept out and sent a glass vase from the side table flying across the entryway. It shattered against the wall into a million little pieces.
Effie cried out, stunned.
Anderson gripped the sides of his head and dropped to his knees.
“Mr. Anderson!” Gus pushed into the room past Effie. He took in the sight of the broken vase, the concern on Effie’s face, and Anderson on his knees holding his head. Gus hurried to the man’s side. “Mr. Anderson, are you all right?”
Anderson’s response was low, pained. “The child was spotted, Gus.”
Gus gasped. “Are you for certain, sir?”
Anderson twisted to look at Effie. “Are you certain? This woman said she saw the child with Isabelle?”
Effie nodded and then bit her lip. “Well, she didn’t mention Isabelle’s name. She just said there was a woman and a child.”
“It’s her,” Anderson said to Gus. “Isabelle had her as recently as a few weeks ago.”
“Most likely, yes.” Gus’s expression was eager, yet his voice was shrouded in caution. “But where is the child now?”
“Whose child is it?” Effie already knew. But if indeed there was a child, it changedeverything. This was no longer a mystery of murder. This was about finding a child.
Anderson was in his bedroom, but Effie didn’t bother to question etiquette—that was of no consequence now. He paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, his hands clasped behind his back. “Leave.” His plea shattered the silence.
Effie remained in the doorway. The man was half doubled over. She tried to understand. “Please tell me. Let me help you.”
Anderson stopped and dropped his hands to his sides. The look he gave her was incredulous, lost, despairing. “What do you think you can do?” he groaned, accusation in his tone. “It has been tenmonths! Even if we find her—”
“The baby, she’s your daughter?”
Anderson stared at her, his chest heaving in agony.
Effie took a tentative step toward him. “Did Isabelle take your daughter? Did your wife—?”
“Isabelle Addington isnotmy wife!” Anderson spat the words with vehemence. The veins in his neck bulged, his face contorted with everything that he had hidden deep in his soul. “She’s not my wife!” he repeated. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he wildly swiped them away and reached for the bed’s footboard.
“I don’t understand, you told me...” Confused, Effie’s breath hitched.
Anderson strode to a trunk across the room beneath a window. He lifted the lid with a force that was far more than needed. Snatching a framed picture from within, he marched over to Effie and shoved the photograph into her hands.
She took it hesitantly.
