movie tonight while you go chat withAdam. Either that or just crash at the hotel with room service and take another nap.”
Matthew waited until Shannon was settled and he had the car out of the mall parking lot before he mentioned, “One of the things Becky did that first year was watch every chick-flick movie she had missed seeing. Have you started your list yet—things you want to do to fill in the gaps from the missing years?”
“I’ve got a list, but not that kind. I may start one of those. Not that many movie holes will need filling in. I wasn’t isolated, Matthew. Captive, yes, but not as you would assume. I watched most of even the B-grade movies as they came out.”
She didn’t explain further, and Matthew just tucked the information away. The day-to-day of what her life had been like would be a string of land mines, and it was best to let her share comments when and where she chose. The details would fill in over time, and then he’d ask some careful questions to complete the picture.
“Do we continue with the audiobook?” Shannon asked.
“Sure. Start chapter four.” He smiled. “I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version of what you slept through.”
Shannon laughed, tugged around the pillow to get comfortable, ready to continue that nap should she drift off listening to the book again. Matthew reached the Interstate ramp and once more headed north.
5
A nn Falcon rang the doorbell at the Bishop home in Chicago shortly after four p.m. on Saturday, aware that security would have called the house to announce her arrival when she pulled into the driveway. Bryce Bishop opened the door with a smile before the chimes had finished. “Ann, welcome back from Atlanta. I’d ask how the trip went, but first tell me—did you get to see anything other than the airport and the inside of the hotel?”
She laughed. “Not much. Does Charlotte have a minute?”
“For you? You don’t have to even ask. She’s in the studio. Head on back.”
Ann set her bag on the kitchen table and walked through to the sunroom that Charlotte used as her art studio. She was sitting at the drawing board, her attention focused on a large piece, working in colored pencil.
“Am I interrupting?”
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, and a smile lit her face. “Never. Hi. Welcome back from the conference.”
Ann crossed the room to see the work in progress. Thekindergarten-classroom scene had added definition since she’d last seen the work. The teacher was now fully in place, as were most of the children. “I like it. A lot.”
“Not too cute?”
“That age, you want the innocence of childhood still showing through,” Ann replied, moving to the couch.
Charlotte began slotting pencils back to their places in the trays around her, which spanned all shades of the color spectrum. “What brings you by? I figured you would be curled up with a book with the phone shut off, trying to catch up on some rest.”
“The perfect description of where I’m headed after this. Paul needed a couple hours at the office to move some voicemails and paperwork, so we went our separate ways until dinner. Something came up that I need to talk with you about.”
“Sure thing. And a nice break for me.” Charlotte went to one of the comfortable chairs facing the couch.
Where to begin, how to approach this, wasn’t a simple matter. The weight of having worked homicide for years that Ann carried with her, the dark past Charlotte dealt with, were both deliberately left to the side so their friendship could be forward-looking. They made a point of keeping things lighthearted and positive, a safe zone where they could both flourish. This coming conversation would be pushing against that unspoken agreement.
Ann knew who Charlotte Bishop really was—Ruth Bazoni—and knew her history. They didn’t talk about it often because it didn’t need to be said. Charlotte had been at the center of the most famous kidnapping in Chicago
Matthew waited until Shannon was settled and he had the car out of the mall parking lot before he mentioned, “One of the things Becky did that first year was watch every chick-flick movie she had missed seeing. Have you started your list yet—things you want to do to fill in the gaps from the missing years?”
“I’ve got a list, but not that kind. I may start one of those. Not that many movie holes will need filling in. I wasn’t isolated, Matthew. Captive, yes, but not as you would assume. I watched most of even the B-grade movies as they came out.”
She didn’t explain further, and Matthew just tucked the information away. The day-to-day of what her life had been like would be a string of land mines, and it was best to let her share comments when and where she chose. The details would fill in over time, and then he’d ask some careful questions to complete the picture.
“Do we continue with the audiobook?” Shannon asked.
“Sure. Start chapter four.” He smiled. “I’ll give you the Cliff’s Notes version of what you slept through.”
Shannon laughed, tugged around the pillow to get comfortable, ready to continue that nap should she drift off listening to the book again. Matthew reached the Interstate ramp and once more headed north.
5
A nn Falcon rang the doorbell at the Bishop home in Chicago shortly after four p.m. on Saturday, aware that security would have called the house to announce her arrival when she pulled into the driveway. Bryce Bishop opened the door with a smile before the chimes had finished. “Ann, welcome back from Atlanta. I’d ask how the trip went, but first tell me—did you get to see anything other than the airport and the inside of the hotel?”
She laughed. “Not much. Does Charlotte have a minute?”
“For you? You don’t have to even ask. She’s in the studio. Head on back.”
Ann set her bag on the kitchen table and walked through to the sunroom that Charlotte used as her art studio. She was sitting at the drawing board, her attention focused on a large piece, working in colored pencil.
“Am I interrupting?”
Charlotte glanced over her shoulder, and a smile lit her face. “Never. Hi. Welcome back from the conference.”
Ann crossed the room to see the work in progress. Thekindergarten-classroom scene had added definition since she’d last seen the work. The teacher was now fully in place, as were most of the children. “I like it. A lot.”
“Not too cute?”
“That age, you want the innocence of childhood still showing through,” Ann replied, moving to the couch.
Charlotte began slotting pencils back to their places in the trays around her, which spanned all shades of the color spectrum. “What brings you by? I figured you would be curled up with a book with the phone shut off, trying to catch up on some rest.”
“The perfect description of where I’m headed after this. Paul needed a couple hours at the office to move some voicemails and paperwork, so we went our separate ways until dinner. Something came up that I need to talk with you about.”
“Sure thing. And a nice break for me.” Charlotte went to one of the comfortable chairs facing the couch.
Where to begin, how to approach this, wasn’t a simple matter. The weight of having worked homicide for years that Ann carried with her, the dark past Charlotte dealt with, were both deliberately left to the side so their friendship could be forward-looking. They made a point of keeping things lighthearted and positive, a safe zone where they could both flourish. This coming conversation would be pushing against that unspoken agreement.
Ann knew who Charlotte Bishop really was—Ruth Bazoni—and knew her history. They didn’t talk about it often because it didn’t need to be said. Charlotte had been at the center of the most famous kidnapping in Chicago
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