Page 154 of After Anna

“Right. And then Spring Break comes up, and there’s no therapist and no classes, so Anna’s not seen by anybody. She doesn’t officially exist for a week. Most of the Parkers are away, and it’s the perfect time for PG to strike.”

“So what do you think PG did?”

“I don’t know, but it scares the crap out of me.” Maggie felt her gut twist. “Worst-case scenario, PG kidnaps or hurts Anna, then gets ahold of me, and like a fool, I come running, taking her in while my own daughter is God-knows-where.”

“You weren’t a fool. Anna was planning to reconnect with you or it wouldn’t have worked so well.”

“Do you think Anna’s alive?” Maggie almost couldn’t bear to give it voice, but she had to. It was the only question in her heart. “She has to be alive, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, I believe that.”

“I don’t think PG killed her, do you? Not a seventeen-year-old girl.” Maggie thought aloud, reassuring herself. “It doesn’t sound like PG. PG is a girl who brings her tip money home to her grandmother. Who bakes cakes for people. She’s a girl with dreams. She’s not a murderer.”

“Right, and maybe she even got Anna’s approval. Anything could have happened.” Kathy shrugged. “Maybe Anna wanted to take a break, figure things out after her father died. My Aunt Michelle traveled for six months after my uncle died. Partly it was an escape and partly it was clarifying.”

“Really.”

“Yep.” Kathy shifted up in her seat. “Anna could’ve done that. She had the money. Maybe she and PG planned it together. She could have had it squirreled away. The lawyer and the therapist thought Anna was coming home with you. They wouldn’t have questioned anything. And PG was smart enough to tell the housemates that she was cleaning out Anna’s room on the lawyer’s instruction. It’s really the perfect escape. Like the prince and the pauper, they switch identities.”

“But why?” Maggie didn’t think it made sense.

“Maybe Anna just wanted to live on her own for a while, to see who she was. To get away from Congreve, which she hated anyway.”

“What about Jamie? What does this have to do with Jamie?”

Kathy shrugged. “Possibly, nothing. You heard the FBI. They said Jamie was a runaway. Everyone is telling us she’s a runaway.”

“And what about Samantha, from Lower Merion?”

“Same thing. Her mother said she runs away. These are troubled kids. Borderline, lonely, vulnerable. It’s sad. I feel for them.” Kathy sighed heavily. “We live in a complex time, and kids keep secrets. Boys, too. I’m close to mine, but I know they keep things from me. I know they sneak a drink. Probably experiment with pot, or worse. I want to be all over it but you can’t get in their face or they’ll back away forever. Then they’re lost for good.”

“Lost for good,” Maggie repeated, turning to the house. “I hope I haven’t lost Anna for good.”

“Let me put it this way, honey. We’re not giving up without a fight.”

“Agree,” Maggie said, setting her jaw. “Do we tell the grandmother that PG is dead?”

“No, it’s not our place. If she’s alone, she might want her family around.”

Maggie flashed on going to the morgue, seeing Anna. Rather, PG. She didn’t wish that pain on anybody. “If I told her PG was dead, I’d have to tell her that Noah was convicted of her murder, whether he did it or not.”

“Honey, hedidit,” Kathy said, keeping her voice low.

Maggie didn’t reply. “Let’s go. Caleb?”

Chapter Seventy-seven

Noah, After

Noah sat on the floor in the isolation cell, trying to figure out how long he had been here. He was in the ACU, or Administrative Custody Unit, for inmates that were in danger from other inmates. They had given him lunch through a slot in the door and then dinner, a while ago. The twelve-by-six cell was a white, windowless box that had a cot, urinal, toilet, and sink.

Noah rose. Sooner or later, Deputy Warden McLaughlin would have to see him. They couldn’t keep him in the ACU forever, and even in the RHU, he’d have been entitled to a release hearing in seventy-two hours. There was no practical difference between the ACU and the RHU. Solitary confinement was the same, no matter what you called it.

He went to the heavy metal door and pounded hard. It was painted white but scuffed in places, and dented along the bottom, from being kicked. “Mr. Stanislavsky!”

There was no answer, so he pounded again. “Mr. Stanislavsky!”

There was still no answer, so he kept pounding. Suddenly he heard heavy footsteps in the hallway coming to his door, and in the next moment, the eye-level slot was slid open.