Page 147 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Chapter Twenty-Five

Monday afternoon Nate crossed his arms in the cold, listening as Detective Sanchez muttered something to himself while he studied the old stone church and sidewalk space where Callie and her biological mother had sat over two decades ago.

“The parade kicked off at ten thirty?” Sanchez asked.

Nate nodded. “Give or take a couple of minutes, but we try to start on time every year. I confirmed with my dad that the parade ran on the same schedule back then. He said it did.”

“So, we’ll assume mother and daughter stayed put until the last of the participants moved through.”

Nate confirmed his agreement with another nod. “The video picked them up again two blocks this way.” He started walking down the sidewalk in the path Callie and her mother had most likely taken. For the last three hours, he and Sanchez had been reviewing notes and watching the Fourth of July footage, and now they were visiting the areas where Little Girl Lost and her biological mother had been spotted on the old VHS tape. “The Main Street Diner sets up their ice cream stand right about here.” He stopped on the corner of Main Street and Sea Shore Drive with its view of the gloomy water on the overcast day, beaches, and docks to the ferry a few hundred yards away.

“They set up in the same spot back in 1995?”

“Yeah. Nothing much changes around here—small-town traditions.”

Sanchez huffed out a laugh. “Nothing stays the same in the city. Something new surprises me almost every day.”

Nate remembered that type of action clearly enough. “I’m good with this.”

“You don’t miss the chase? Boston and DC are no joke.”

Nate sharpened his gaze on Sanchez. “You checked me out.”

Sanchez shrugged. “Like you didn’t do the same.”

Nate grinned, trying his best to ignore the frigid breeze blowing in off the water. Sanchez wasn’t half-bad—a solid detective. If there were answers for Callie, he had every confidence he and Sanchez were going to find them. “As soon as I tracked down your name in the newspapers.”

Chuckling, Sanchez tucked his face farther into his coat. “Goddamn, it’s cold out here.”

“So we’ll speed this up. Biological mother grabbed the ice cream cone from Kay. Biological mother sampled the treat before she handed it off to Callie. Not long after, we lose sight of them when the camera pans out to focus on the juggler.”

Sanchez glanced down at his watch, frowning and muttering something again, clearly thinking. “What do we figure, the parade lasted a solid forty-five minutes? That puts us at about eleven fifteen. Biological mother fights her way through the crowds. They wait in line and grab an ice cream right around noon. Next thing we know, Callie’s found in Hartford at three o’clock in the morning.” Sanchez winced. “Thirteen hours. That’s a big hole in our timeline.”

Add twenty-two years to that and they had a big problem. Nate sighed, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah.”

“How did someone get off the island in 1995?”

“Pretty much the same way they do now—plane or ferry.” Nate pulled his hat lower over his ears in defense against the next gust of wind. “I checked with the airport and ferry services for times when flights and boats left that day. Captain Bob’s certain they were running on the normal four-hour summer loop—two, six, and ten thirty p.m. The last boat runs a half-hour later on the Fourth. It’s a damn mess down here after the fireworks.”

Sanchez nodded. “I bet.”

“I’m still waiting to hear back from Charlotte over at Carter Island Air. During the summer months, they fly in from New York and Boston five or six times a day, but Buzz was still growing the business back in the nineties. Charlotte’s pretty sure he was only offering a morning and night flight from Barnstable Municipal Airport at the time.”

“Okay. So what about a private boat or plane?”

Nate shrugged. “Planes fly in and out as long as the weather’s decent. The boat’s highly unlikely though. The rocks around here are a bitch, and we’re in Nantucket Shoals territory.”

“Which means?”

“Which means you better know what the hell you’re doing when you’re out on the water. The current’s tricky—the bottom constantly shifting. It’s not uncommon to be in a hundred feet of water one minute then find yourself in three.”

“Sounds like a graveyard.”

Nate nodded. “We have some islanders who’ve fished most of their lives and a couple more who offer whale watching and sea cruises, but not too many folks own pleasure boats—not when it’s easier and safer to hop on the ferry.”

“So, it’s reasonable for us to believe that mother and daughter stuck with the ferry—could have left as early as two o’clock that day.”

Nate nodded. “Could have eaten their ice cream, packed up, and shipped out.”