story about my sister’s disappearance, how the boy she loved went crazy with jealousy and killed her?”
“No. That’s not what happened.” Ana shook her head.
Beverly snorted. “How would you know? How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one? My sister’s been missing since 1974—there’s no way you can know what happened to a woman that disappeared before you were born.”
Forcing a smile, Ana said, “I know. It’s just . . . ” She licked her lips and took a breath. She was doing this all wrong. Completely, totally, all wrong. “Look, I’ve met Paul Beasley. I know he used to date your sister, but I don’t think . . . ”
Beverly’s angry glare faded. She studied Ana’s face and then slowly, a sad smile came. “You don’t think Paul had anything to do with it, do you? That what you want to say?”
“Yes.” Ana swallowed the knot in her throat.
Sighing, Beverly stepped back and gestured for Ana to come inside. “I can talk for a few minutes. I watch my granddaughter during the day and she’s down for a nap. Once she wakes up, you’ll have to leave.” She met Ana’s eyes squarely. “My daughter was four when Marie disappeared but she still remembers her aunt. She hurt for a very long time over losing her—gave Marie’s name to her daughter. I won’t have them upset over this.”
“I don’t want to upset anybody.” Following Beverly into a large, open living room, Ana tucked her hands into her pockets and said, “I just wanted to ask a few questions, that’s all.”
“To what purpose?” Beverly asked sadly. “It’s been more than thirty years. She’s not still alive . . . I know that. She won’t ever come back and I doubt I’ll ever know what happened, at least not in this life. What good will it do to ask questions?”
“I don’t really know. I just feel like I need to ask them,” Ana replied honestly.
Beverly settled down at a breakfast bar and gestured to the seat next to her. “I don’t really know how much I can tell you, but if it’s something I can answer, I will.” She waited a beat and then said, “I won’t be offering you a drink. I’m sorry, but I’d rather you just ask your questions and leave.”
Ana opened her mouth, but she still wasn’t sure what exactly she should ask. What she should say. What she needed to know. Before she had any luck figuring that little puzzle out, she heard footsteps. Automatically, she looked up as a tall man, balding and whip-thin, entered the room.
He came to an abrupt stop when he saw her, a puzzled smile on his face. “Hello.” He glanced at Beverly and said, “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know we were expecting company.”
Beverly smiled at him, but it was strained. “Kyle, I’m sorry . . . we didn’t interrupt you, did we?”
“No.” He smiled at Beverly and then looked back at Ana, curiosity in his gaze.
Ana didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Beverly did. She gave Ana another smile, this one a little more relaxed. “This is . . . oh, dear, I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“It’s Ana.”
Beverly looked back at her husband. “This is Ana. She’s a tourist and she’d taken a break outside, admiring the view. I saw her while I was checking the mail and we got to chatting. She mentioned some of the beadwork she’d seen down at the museum and I ended up inviting her inside to see some of Mom’s beadwork.” She gestured toward the living room as she did so.
Ana glanced that way and saw a beaded belt in a display case on the wall. A baby belt—she knew what it was called because she’d been to the Alaska Native Heritage Center and she’d seen some of the work down there. She’d enjoyed looking at the different types of art enough to do a little bit of research.
Thank God.
Without missing a beat, she smiled and said, “It’s lovely work. I can’t imagine how much time goes into crafting the belts. I think I read somewhere that women here used to work on them for months—it was almost like a
“No. That’s not what happened.” Ana shook her head.
Beverly snorted. “How would you know? How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one? My sister’s been missing since 1974—there’s no way you can know what happened to a woman that disappeared before you were born.”
Forcing a smile, Ana said, “I know. It’s just . . . ” She licked her lips and took a breath. She was doing this all wrong. Completely, totally, all wrong. “Look, I’ve met Paul Beasley. I know he used to date your sister, but I don’t think . . . ”
Beverly’s angry glare faded. She studied Ana’s face and then slowly, a sad smile came. “You don’t think Paul had anything to do with it, do you? That what you want to say?”
“Yes.” Ana swallowed the knot in her throat.
Sighing, Beverly stepped back and gestured for Ana to come inside. “I can talk for a few minutes. I watch my granddaughter during the day and she’s down for a nap. Once she wakes up, you’ll have to leave.” She met Ana’s eyes squarely. “My daughter was four when Marie disappeared but she still remembers her aunt. She hurt for a very long time over losing her—gave Marie’s name to her daughter. I won’t have them upset over this.”
“I don’t want to upset anybody.” Following Beverly into a large, open living room, Ana tucked her hands into her pockets and said, “I just wanted to ask a few questions, that’s all.”
“To what purpose?” Beverly asked sadly. “It’s been more than thirty years. She’s not still alive . . . I know that. She won’t ever come back and I doubt I’ll ever know what happened, at least not in this life. What good will it do to ask questions?”
“I don’t really know. I just feel like I need to ask them,” Ana replied honestly.
Beverly settled down at a breakfast bar and gestured to the seat next to her. “I don’t really know how much I can tell you, but if it’s something I can answer, I will.” She waited a beat and then said, “I won’t be offering you a drink. I’m sorry, but I’d rather you just ask your questions and leave.”
Ana opened her mouth, but she still wasn’t sure what exactly she should ask. What she should say. What she needed to know. Before she had any luck figuring that little puzzle out, she heard footsteps. Automatically, she looked up as a tall man, balding and whip-thin, entered the room.
He came to an abrupt stop when he saw her, a puzzled smile on his face. “Hello.” He glanced at Beverly and said, “I’m sorry . . . I didn’t know we were expecting company.”
Beverly smiled at him, but it was strained. “Kyle, I’m sorry . . . we didn’t interrupt you, did we?”
“No.” He smiled at Beverly and then looked back at Ana, curiosity in his gaze.
Ana didn’t know what to say. Fortunately, Beverly did. She gave Ana another smile, this one a little more relaxed. “This is . . . oh, dear, I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“It’s Ana.”
Beverly looked back at her husband. “This is Ana. She’s a tourist and she’d taken a break outside, admiring the view. I saw her while I was checking the mail and we got to chatting. She mentioned some of the beadwork she’d seen down at the museum and I ended up inviting her inside to see some of Mom’s beadwork.” She gestured toward the living room as she did so.
Ana glanced that way and saw a beaded belt in a display case on the wall. A baby belt—she knew what it was called because she’d been to the Alaska Native Heritage Center and she’d seen some of the work down there. She’d enjoyed looking at the different types of art enough to do a little bit of research.
Thank God.
Without missing a beat, she smiled and said, “It’s lovely work. I can’t imagine how much time goes into crafting the belts. I think I read somewhere that women here used to work on them for months—it was almost like a
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