“I’m surprised I hadn’t heard this before. It seems the name Harlow Grail alone would have made her a bestseller.”
“She’s taken a pseudonym. After what she lived through, she prefers to avoid the spotlight. I’m sure you understand.”
The interviewer made a sound of sympathy. To Anna’s ears it sounded false. “Oh, I do. Completely. But surely you can tell us a little more? After all, the story of Harlow’s nightmare ordeal and daring escape held all of America captivated for seventy-two hours. We feared for her, then cheered for her. She was, and still is, one of our heroes. Could you at least share a title with us?”
“I wish I could, but—”
“What about her publisher? Is it Doubleday? Cheshire House?” He saw by her expression that the last had been correct. “Cheshire House publishes some big names in suspense. Would Harlow be one of those?”
Anna hit the pause button, struggling to catch her breath. She felt as if she had been struck in the chest by a baseball, one speeding off a professional’s bat.
Blood pounding in her ears, she stared at the television, at the frozen image of her mother. Her mother had revealed everything about Anna but her new name and phone number: her city of residence, occupation and the kind of books she wrote. She supposed she should be grateful her mother hadn’t mentioned The Perfect Rose or announced her street address.
Calm down. Don’t panic. Assess the damage.
Anna breathed through her nose, ticking off the facts in her head. New Orleans was a big city, one with a large community of writers. Nothing in her publisher’s materials revealed the city in which she lived, including her author bio. Cheshire House published quite a number of mysteries and suspense novels; her mother hadn’t mentioned the exact month her book was scheduled to appear.
Or had she? Anna glanced down at the remote control, still clutched in her hand. Without giving herself time to reconsider and chicken out, she hit the play button.
The video advanced. Her mother looked distressed, near tears. The interviewer wrapped the segment; a moment later the television screen went to black.
Black save for the crudely executed white words that flashed onto the screen:
Surprise, princess.
E! Today at three.
8
Saturday, January 13 3:10 p.m.
Saturday at three sneaked up on Ben, so much so that he missed the first ten minutes of the E! program, one about unsolved Hollywood mysteries. He sank back against the sofa cushions, exhausted. He’d fallen asleep at his research last night and, although he only had a vague recollection of doing so, he’d stumbled to his bed sometime during the night. He had awakened just before dawn, lying horizontally across the bed, completely dressed and feeling as if he had spent hours out howling at the moon instead of slumped over a desk.
The show cut to commercial break. As it did, the narrator urged viewers to stay tuned. Up next: Fairy Tale Turned Nightmare: The Harlow Anastasia Grail Kidnapping.
Ben leaned forward in his seat, instantly alert. The Grail kidnapping was one of those cases that resurfaced in the media every few years. It possessed all the elements to make its appeal timeless: beautiful people with Hollywood connections, wealth, children in danger, both a tragic and triumphant ending, an unsolved mystery.
The narrator returned, briefly recounting the tale of the little Hollywood princess and the day she and her friend had disappeared from the stable on the Grail’s Beverly Hills estate. The show recounted the story in news clips from the time and in dramatic reenactments—including one of Harlow Grail’s daring escape.
Ben hung on every word. He realized he was holding his breath and released it slowly. Whatever happened to her? he wondered. After enduring such an ordeal, what had she become? How had the horror of those three days affected the person she was today? The choices she’d made and the relationships she’d forged?
Even as the questions filtered through his brain, the show switched to a recent interview with Savannah Grail. Minutes later, the show’s focus shifted to another mystery.
Ben flipped off the TV and sat back, intrigued. Harlow Grail’s story would be an incredible addition to his book. She had survived an experience few did; that experience had no doubt shaped the rest of her life. Inclusion of her story would not only enrich his book, it would make it newsworthy.
He drew his eyebrows together, reviewing what he had learned from the program. Savannah Grail had indicated that her daughter lived in New Orleans, that she was a suspense novelist, published in hardcover by Cheshire House. She had revealed that her daughter wrote under a pseudonym and fiercely guarded her privacy.
Ben stood and crossed to his desk. There he found the book that had been left for him the day before. The spine listed the publisher as Cheshire House, the author as Anna North.
Of course. North had been Savannah Grail’s maiden name, a fact he hadn’t remembered until it had been mentioned on the show just now. Anna was a diminutive of both Anastasia and Savannah. Obviously then, Anna North the novelist was little Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess.
Ben frowned down at the novel in his hands, puzzled. Which of his patients had left the book for him? Why had they left it?
He would simply ask, he decided. Starting with the six patients he had seen the day before.
9
Saturday, January 13 4:00 p.m.
The sun finally made its promised appearance and cold, harsh light spilled across Anna’s kitchen table. She sat, staring blindly across the room as the phone screamed to be answered.
She didn’t make a move toward it and the machine finally picked up. She had turned the recorder’s volume all the way down so she wouldn’t know who was calling. She couldn’t face another person’s surprised disbelief.
She had already talked to her mother. And father. She had talked to a half-dozen friends. Her agent and editor. They had all been sent a copy of her latest book and a note urging them to tune into E! today at three. One after another they had expressed their disbelief over learning that she was Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess. Again and again she had been asked to explain why she hadn’t told them.
Some, like her editor, had been delighted by the news. Now, the woman had gushed, they had the perfect promotional hook to send her upcoming book straight onto the bestseller lists. Her agent, on the other hand, had been furious at her for having kept something so important from him. How could he adequately represent her when he didn’t even know who she was?
Anna brought a hand to her mouth. Who had done this to her? Why had they done it?
A knock sounded on her front door, followed by Dalton’s voice. “It’s us,” he called out. “Dalton and Bill.”
Anna dragged herself to her feet, went to the door and opened it. Her friends stood on the other side, both grinning from ear to ear.
“We tried to call—”
“First
