Free Tell Anna She's Safe by Brenda Missen Page A

“They’re going to bring them back this afternoon.” His eyes never stopped moving. They looked everywhere except at me. But I had the feeling he was memorizing everything about me, including my vital statistics and my car make and plate number.
    â€œHave you seen Tim Brennan today?” I asked. “I was supposed to meet him and Lucy’s family in Hull but they weren’t there. He said the family was coming up from Toronto last night. They wanted to see where we found Lucy’s car. I thought I must have missed them.”
    They had not seen Tim. “We’ll drop by later this afternoon to take your statement,” said Roach. “I’ve got the directions you gave us yesterday. Will you be at work or home?”
    â€œHome,” I said. I wondered where Lucy’s family was. And Tim.
    When I got home, I automatically pushed against the front door, expecting it to give. It didn’t. The car keys were still in my hand. I found the little-used house key and jammed it into the lock.
    I was changing into jeans and a sweatshirt when the phone rang. It was CBC Television, wanting an interview. I arranged for them to come at four.
    I had not been off the phone two minutes when it rang again. “I’ve been trying to get you,” said Tim. “We’re here at the Tulip Valley restaurant—me an’ Anna and Doug.”
    â€œ Anna?” The hair on the back of my neck prickled.
    â€œYeah, Lucy’s sister and her husband Doug. That Quebec cop Godbout is supposed to come an’ talk to us. D’you wanna meet us here?”
    Lucy’s sister. Lucy must have mentioned her sister’s name to me and it had lodged somewhere in my memory. I could not have pulled it out of thin air.
    I glanced at the clock on the stove. One o’clock. Roach and Lundy wouldn’t show up for awhile. I had time to go. Maybe they would show up there, too.
    The Tulip Valley restaurant sat at the intersection of Highway 105 and River Road, a ten-minute drive north of my place. It was here that Tim had gone in to ask directions the other night. I checked the road sign at the corner and smiled wryly. It said Chemin de la Rivière . I doubted he was bilingual. He’d probably had good reason to stop after all.
    The restaurant did double duty as a coffee shop and sports bar.
    Tim was sitting at a table on the restaurant side with a man and a woman. Anna thanked me for coming. Her voice had the same low timbre as Lucy’s, but her colouring and features were fairer. And she emanated a milder temperament. Her eyes were big and brown, filled with gentleness and worry. “Dad wanted to come too. But he’s not well. And this—” Her voice broke.
    Beside her Doug put a hand over hers. He was a tall lanky man with a full beard that hid most of his face. He wanted to order me a coffee and hear every detail of my finding the car.
    I described the events of Monday evening.
    In the back of my head, Lucy’s voice was whispering, insistent.
    I tried to ignore it. I was going to sound like some kind of flaky visionary if I passed on her “message.” And why give false hope? But Lucy’s voice compelled me. Lucy’s voice and her sister’s eyes across the table.
    I made my voice apologetic. I didn’t tell her who had given me the dream message—just “a friend.” I felt Tim listening. I wished I had waited until we were alone to speak.
    Anna’s eyes gleamed with tears. And gratitude. Suddenly Doug was handing over a sheaf of paper. I glanced down and was startled to see Lucy smiling at me from a photocopied photograph. I hadn’t thought of posters. I promised to put them up.
    Detective Godbout arrived with his kindly, now tired, physician’s eyes and no reassuring news. The dogs had picked up no scent. That, said Detective Godbout in his careful English, meant it was now in the hands of the Ottawa police; that was the last