obsessed fan playing a sick game with her, she was a child. She thought like one; she wrote like one. And she needed Anna’s help.
And help Anna would give her, NOPD or no NOPD.
Anna checked the time, then dried off and dressed. She didn’t have to be in to The Perfect Rose until noon. That gave her three full hours to do a little investigative work of her own.
She found her shoes, stepped into them and tied the laces. The night before, she had called the number Minnie had given in her first letter. A man had answered. That had been a disappointment. She had hoped to reach Minnie directly. Undaunted, she had taken a deep breath and asked for the girl.
The man had been silent for a full fifteen seconds, then had hung up on her without saying a word. It was then that Anna had known for certain that Minnie needed her.
In the hopes of the child answering, Anna had called back a half-dozen times, including twice this morning, but had gotten no answer. Today, she planned to drive across the lake to Mandeville—a bedroom community on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain—to check out where Minnie lived. Once there, she would decide what to do next.
An hour later she saw that there was little she would be able to do with this address. It belonged not to a residence, but a mail and copy store.
Anna double-checked the number, then went inside. She smiled at the man behind the counter and introduced herself. “I’m a writer and I’ve been corresponding with a fan. She claimed this as her return address.” Anna handed him an envelope. “I’ve responded so I know she’s received my letters, but now I wonder how that can be.”
The man, who turned out to be the store owner, handed the envelope back, smiling. “Actually, one of the advantages of renting a mailbox from us instead of the post office is that you get a street address instead of a P.O. box number.”
“You’re saying, this person rents a box from you?”
He smiled again. “That’s correct. You see, a street address suggests permanence. Permanence equals solvency. Commitment. Believe it or not, a street address helps when applying for a job or credit. There are other advantages to using our box service. For one, you can receive shipments from carriers who won’t deliver to a P.O. box, Federal Express for one. Also, we offer other features, like a forwarding service. For an additional charge, of course.”
Obviously, this guy believed in his business. She worked to hide her disappointment. “It sounds like a great service.”
“It is.” From the way he was looking at her, he was ready to sign her up. “Let me get you some information.”
Before she could refuse, he had retrieved a flyer from under the counter. “Just in case you should ever need one.”
She thanked him, slipped the flyer into her pocket and returned the conversation to the reason for her visit. “I really need to get in touch with the girl who wrote this letter. Is there any way I can get her actual address from you?”
“Sorry.” A customer entered the store and the man’s gaze drifted toward the door, then back to her. “I can’t give that out.”
“Not even if it’s an emergency?”
“We guarantee our clients full privacy. Short of a court order, that is.”
“Look—” she lowered her voice, pleading “—it’s really important that I find out who’s renting that box.”
“Can’t do it. Sorry.”
She lowered her voice more. “I know this sounds crazy, but a little girl’s in danger. Couldn’t you bend the rules just this once? Please?”
His expression went from helpful to annoyed. Obviously, he didn’t buy the kid-in-danger scenario. She tried again anyway. “Please? I promise, this is a matter of life and death. An eleven-year-old girl—”
“No,” he said sharply. “I will not make an exception. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a customer.”
Anna left the store, frustrated, fired by renewed annoyance with Detective Quentin Malone’s lackadaisical attitude. If Malone had been the one demanding the box owner’s address, he would have gotten it. No pleading necessary. She was certain of that.
What did she do now?
The name, she realized. Minnie went by the surname Swell, an unusual name for this part of the country.
Jo and Diane. At the Green Briar Shoppe.
Of course. Jo Burris and Diane Cimo knew almost everybody on the North Shore. If anyone by that name had passed through their boutique, they would remember.
Anna climbed into her car and drove across Highway 22 and onto the service road. Anna had met the two women when she had wandered into the boutique on her first visit to the North Shore. Warm, fun-loving and outgoing, Jo and Diane had made her feel as welcome as an old friend. An hour and a half later, Anna had exited the store with two outfits she couldn’t afford and two new friends worth more than any amount of money.
Jo’s shop was located in an aging strip mall on the service road just a couple of minutes from what had become the hub of Mandeville. Anna parked in front of the store, climbed out of her car and went inside. The bell above the door tinkled, and Jo, a gorgeous woman of an indeterminate age, looked up from the box she was unpacking.
She smiled warmly. “Anna, I was just thinking about you.” She spoke in a honeyed drawl that Anna didn’t doubt had sent many a man’s pulse racing. “We’ve gotten the prettiest things in.” She held up the rose-colored chenille sweater she was unpacking. “With your hair, honey, no man could resist.”
Anna laughed, took the sweater and held it against her while she stood in front of a mirror. She gazed at her reflection, then made a sound of regret and handed it back. “It would, Jo. If only I could afford it.”
“You could put it on layaway, pay just a little every week.” Jo’s bangle bracelets clicked together as she refolded the sweater. “It would look so good on you.”
Anna didn’t weaken, though she longed to try the sweater on. Instead, she turned the conversation to the reason for her visit.
“Swell,” Jo repeated, drawing her eyebrows together in thought. After a moment she shook her head. “Sorry, Anna honey, I just don’t recognize that name.”
It had been a long shot, Anna knew, but still she was disappointed. “How about the name Minnie?” she asked. “Hear anybody talk about a girl named Minnie?”
Again Jo shook her head. “But Diane might have. Or one of our customers. We can ask around, if it’s important?”
“It is, Jo. Really important.” They chatted a few minutes more, during which Anna avoided Jo’s not-so-subtle curiosity about the reason finding Minnie Swell was so important. After quickly flipping through the racks, oohing and aahing over several things and promising to come back and shop when she had more time, she left—no closer to helping Minnie than she had been first thing that morning.
When Anna arrived at work fifty minutes later, she found several messages waiting for her, two from her agent and one from Dr. Ben Walker. She returned her agent’s call right away.
