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  “Annabelle! What happened to you?”

  Annabelle turned toward the wall, her back rigid with tension. “Don’t worry about it.”

  The girl was pricklier than a porcupine.

  “I’m your friend, remember? Please let me help.”

  Annabelle twisted back around to face her with narrowed eyes and pinched lips. “You said those exercises would work, but they didn’t. They didn’t do anything. It’s the same as it always was.”

  “It’s not magic, Annabelle. Things don’t change overnight. But some things are better, aren’t they? We had a good time at the—”

  “Leave me the fuck alone!”

  Enough is enough.

  Claudia got to her feet. “Call me if you change your mind.”

  Later, Claudia was in the kitchen of her friend Zebediah Gold, drinking tea and relating what she knew about Annabelle Giordano.

  “Sounds like a very troubled child,” Zebediah said. He squeezed a large dollop of honey into his cup, then wiped the lip of the honey bear bottle with a damp paper towel and set it back on the table. “Somebody had better do something fast, or life is going to rise up and give Miss Annabelle a smack in the chops.”

  “Jeez, Zeb, why don’t you have a little tea with your honey . . . I seriously doubt she’s had therapy, except what she got in the hospital after her suicide attempt. The graphotherapy she’s doing with me isn’t enough on its own.”

  “She needs long-term help after what she’s been through,” Zebediah said. He started ticking off items on his fingers. “Less-than-ideal home, she witnesses her mother’s death. Beloved nanny suddenly disappears. A child would perceive that as a rejection, even though she might understand from a logical point of view what happened. The father is neglectful. That’s a form of abuse with a capital A. So what have I forgotten?”

  “She’s been in trouble with the law for shoplifting and joyriding with some punks who stole a car.” Claudia shook her head, frustrated and disappointed. “We had one incident, on that weekend she stayed over, but overall, things seemed to go well. I thought—” She broke off and nibbled at an oatmeal cookie Zebediah pushed in front of her.

  “You thought what? That your magic touch would affect an overnight cure of a condition that’s taken eight years to develop?”

  “Okay, I know it was dumb.”

  Zebediah’s face creased into a smile that made him look a lot like Clint Eastwood. “Darling, you’re anything but dumb and you really do have a magic touch, but don’t set the bar so high. And don’t kid yourself. You have made a positive contribution. You put enough faith in the child to take her into your home and expose your niece to her. Unless she’s completely unredeemable—and you wouldn’t have done that if you thought she was—she’s made a connection with you. It takes time. You’ve let her know you’re there for her, even when she’s behaving badly. Don’t forget how she came to your defense when that Sorensen daughter attacked you.”

  “You just reminded me . . .” Claudia said. She proceeded to tell him about the letter Paige had received from her stepdaughter with its implicit threat. “Don’t you think Paige ought to tell the police, just in case Diana’s really the lunatic she appears to be?”

  He rubbed his beard the way he sometimes did when he wanted to buy time. After thinking about it he said, “The police tend not to take things like that seriously unless there’s a long history of violence.”

  “She pushed Paige down and injured her. And if Annabelle hadn’t jumped in, I might have gone right over that railing. That’s pretty violent.”

  “But it sounds like Paige has her mind made up,” Zebediah said. “There’s not a lot you can do about that, and she’s right about the bad publicity involving the police would bring. But you can continue to be supportive of the child.”

  Claudia thought of Annabelle sitting at the desk in the empty classroom. There had been such dejection in the way she’d hugged her sweater around her slight frame, her head turned to the wall, it had torn at Claudia’s heart.

  “I went back to talk to Paige, but she wasn’t in her office. Maybe I shouldn’t have left the kid alone.”

  “After the way she spoke to you, it was the only thing you could do. Walking out let her know that her behavior wasn’t okay. The way to teach someone not to treat you badly is by not putting up with it.”

  “I’m not so sure, Zeb.” Claudia got up and poured more hot water over her tea bag. She veered onto another unanswered question. “I’m thinking Paige and Neil Sorensen must have been getting it on. Don’t you think it was strange that she never told me he works at the school?”

  “Sweetie, from what you’ve said, the entire Sorensen clan is pretty strange. How many times have you heard me advise against getting personally involved with clients?”

  She made a goofy face but didn’t answer. Truth was, she’d lost count.

  The telephone was ringing as she unlocked the door. Dropping the grocery bags she was carrying onto the kitchen counter, Claudia snatched up the receiver. The caller ID display read Sorensen Academy.

  “Hi, Claudia.” Paige. “Brenda said you left early. What’s going on?”

  “Annabelle wasn’t in the mood to work. I looked for you, but you weren’t around.”

  Paige gave a little laugh that almost qualified as a giggle. “Neil was showing me some, er, artwork; then Cruz came along and—those two guys can’t stand each other. Neil’s jealous for obvious reasons, and Cruz, well, that’s another story. They’re so funny to watch.”

  Claudia couldn’t see the humor, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

  “So what happened that you left early?” Paige asked when she didn’t respond.

  “What happened to Annabelle? How did she get beaten up? I couldn’t get her to talk.”

  There was a long silence and Claudia could almost feel Paige waffling on how to respond. “Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?” she pressed. “You talked me into bringing her into my home, introducing her to my niece. If there’s a problem—”

  “Okay, okay.” Paige interrupted. “It’s not that kind of problem.” She lowered her voice. “Hang on. Let me close the door.” The phone clattered to the desk and moments later Claudia heard the click of the office door; then Paige was back.

  “This is another one of those potential PR nightmares, so don’t repeat what I’m going to tell you, okay?”

  “Fine. What is it?”

  “Annabelle tried to beat down her roommate, Britney Levine. She went for the girl’s throat!”

  Claudia groaned inwardly. She wasn’t shocked, or even surprised, by Paige’s revelation. Her work made her all too familiar with the many sides of human nature and she was more than a little jaded. But she liked Annabelle, prickles and all, and she cared what happened to her. What Paige had just told her didn’t bode well for the girl’s future.

  “Why would she do that?” she asked.

  Paige said, “Bert and I went out to dinner last night. Here we are, in the middle of the best prime rib in town, when I get a call from the night monitor. It seems Britney and a couple of the other residential girls had been making fun of Annabelle for the way she’s always mooning after Cruz.

  “According to one of the girls, quote: Britney tapped Annabelle on the back andAnnabelle lost it, unquote. She grabbed Britney by the throat and wouldn’t let go. Britney’s got the bruises to prove it. Then the other girls jumped in and started pounding Annabelle. That’s when the night monitor heard the commotion and broke it up.”

  So Annabelle hadn’t started the trouble, Claudia realized with some relief, even though it made little difference to the end result that she had been defending herself. Tucking the phone under her chin, she began unpacking the groceries and putting them away. “Throttling your roommate is serious. What’s going to happen to Annabelle?”

  “I had to call all the parents, of course,” Paige said. “As you can guess, the Levines were furious, threatened to withdraw Britney from the scho
ol. That really made my day. Not. Annabelle’s lucky I didn’t expel her.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “When I spoke with Dominic—Mr. Giordano—he said that if I would give her one more chance, he’d handle the Levines. I think they know each other. Ted Levine is in the industry, too.”

  “Annabelle’s father intervened?”

  “Yeah. And whatever he said worked. The Levines called back apologizing! They said it was just a misunderstanding between the girls; they’d make sure Britney behaved better.” Paige gave a small huff. “I’d like to know what Dominic promised them to make them change their attitude that way.”

  “Maybe he made them an offer they couldn’t refuse,” Claudia said.

  “Oh, that’s funny, Claudia,” Paige said, but she sounded less than amused. “Christmas recess started today, thank God. When the residential girls come back, Britney will have been moved to another room. Annabelle can have their old room to herself.”

  “Solitary confinement?”

  “That’s what she wants. That’s what she’s going to get.”

  “So Annabelle’s gone home for Christmas?”

  “No, she’s the only one who’s staying here. Her father’s in Switzerland for the holiday. He asked me to keep her until next Tuesday, when he gets back.”

  With Christmas only two days away, Dominic Giordano couldn’t be bothered to make it home in time to spend the holiday with his daughter? Maybe Annabelle was better off at school.

  Jovanic would be working over the long weekend and Claudia was flying to her parents’ home in Seattle tonight, along with Pete and Monica. She toyed with the idea of asking to take Annabelle with them, but if Pete saw that black eye . . .

  “What will she do for the holiday?” she asked Paige.

  “She’ll be with me. Her father sent money and I had Brenda pick her up a nice gift. Believe it or not, I’m cooking Christmas dinner. Cruz will be here, too, and you know that’s all she cares about—Cruz.”

  Claudia unloaded cartons of yogurt and salad greens into the refrigerator, listening to Paige complain about Annabelle and how she wasn’t sure it was worth the tuition money to put up with all the crap that came with it. But she had a feeling Paige was just saying what she thought was expected. Dominic Giordano’s influence would buy a whole lot of crap.

  Without Jovanic, and with her mind on Annabelle’s situation, Claudia did her best to fake some Christmas spirit, but her mother picked up on her mood and needled her about it the entire weekend. As usual, her father tried to defend her, and as usual it only made things worse. Even Monica was relieved when they left for Sea-Tac Airport. Arriving home late Monday evening felt wonderful.

  Claudia lay in bed, listening to the soft rumble of Jovanic’s snores in the predawn chill of Tuesday morning, the day Annabelle was due to go home and finish out the winter recess.

  She thought back on her own fourteenth Christmas. Memories as bitter as bile, not worth revisiting. But that didn’t stop them from pouring back: her parents fighting, her mother threatening divorce, not caring that Claudia and Pete could hear. That year, Claudia had rebelled: flunked her favorite subjects, fought with her best friends. Wished she were dead.

  She wondered how Annabelle had weathered the holidays.

  Jovanic stirred, turned, and spooned against her, mumbling something into her hair. She didn’t know what he said, but she murmured an assent and scooted closer.

  Annabelle and her problems ebbed to the far recesses of her mind.

  But not for long.

  Chapter 15

  “Claudia!” Jovanic yelled from downstairs, where he had been making coffee. “Come down here. Hurry.”

  Claudia came out of the bathroom and onto the landing wearing only a long T-shirt, a mascara brush in her hand. “What did you say?”

  “Sorensen Academy—something’s happened. It’s on the news.”

  Something in his voice sent her running downstairs without asking for details. He stood in front of the television dressed in dark slacks, a light blue dress shirt, and darker blue tie, ready to leave for his shift.

  She planted herself beside him and stared at the words Breaking News on the television screen. The crawl across the bottom of the screen identified the reporter who was speaking as Michelle Gillette. Claudia struggled to pick up the thread of the report.

  Gillette was saying, “. . . this year’s Laci Peterson case?”

  The camera pulled back and the shot widened to include the Sorensen Academy’s front lawn. The life-size Santa in his reindeer-drawn sleigh looked slightly ludicrous in the California sunshine.

  Claudia’s hand crept to her face, covered her mouth as the impossible words continued to pour from Gillette’s lips. “. . . apparently missing since Christmas Day.”

  Gillette turned to her right and the camera panned to include Bert Falkenberg, whose name and title were superimposed over his black Lacoste polo shirt. His normally ruddy face was pale and drawn.

  “I’m here with a representative from the school,” Gillette said, pushing the microphone at him. “Mr. Norbert Falkenberg. Sir, what can you tell us about the situation?”

  Claudia glanced wordlessly at Joel, then back at the television.

  Omigod, what happened?

  Bert’s grim expression sent a shiver of premonition through her. The muscles in his face were tight, but his voice shook when he spoke. “Our headmistress, Mrs. Paige Sorensen, has not been seen since Christmas Eve. The school is closed for the holidays, of course, so no one realized she was missing until today.”

  But Annabelle didn’t go home. What about Annabelle?

  “When Mrs. Sorensen failed to show up for a scheduled meeting this morning and we were unable to reach her by phone, her rooms were searched, and when it became clear that she hadn’t been around for several days, the police were called.”

  “How do you know that Mrs. Sorensen didn’t just go away for the holiday?” Gillette asked.

  “The housekeeper found Mrs. Sorensen’s dog alone in her apartment at the school. He had no food or water, and well, frankly, he’d made quite a mess. Mrs. Sorensen would never have willingly left him in that condition.” Bert fixed his gaze on the camera. “Her purse was in her apartment, but her car is missing. If anyone has any information on her whereabouts, please call the Beverly Hills Police Department immediately.”

  “Has Mrs. Sorensen ever gone missing before, sir?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Isn’t it true that her husband recently passed away?”

  Bert looked taken aback. “Why, yes, just a few months ago.”

  “Was Mrs. Sorensen depressed, or . . .”

  “She was in good spirits when I last saw her.”

  Gillette paused for a moment, holding up a finger while she listened to her earpiece. She nodded, then plowed on. “Is it true that a student at the school is also missing?”

  Oh my God.

  Bert gave Gillette a phony smile. “I’m not at liberty to reveal any further information.”

  “Will an Amber Alert be activated?”

  The earlier hint of fear now came at Claudia with wrecking ball force. An Amber Alert would be issued only in the event of the kidnapping of a minor.

  She thought of the newspaper stories she had read a few months back about Dominic Giordano, Annabelle’s father, and his reputed ties to organized crime, and she wondered . . .

  On-screen, Falkenberg shook his head. “I’m sure there’s no reason for such an action.”

  “Mr. Falkenberg, sir, I’ve just been told that there were rumors of bad blood between Mrs. Sorensen and the missing student? Can you confirm that?”

  “That’s ridiculous. You said there was a missing student, I didn’t. In any case, Mrs. Sorensen gets along fine with all the students.”

  “Our sources tell us there was a disagreement between them just a few days ago.”

  “I’m not going to comment any further.”

  Gillette leaned o
n him like a prosecuting attorney grilling a witness. “Is it true the student has a juvenile record?”

  He threw up his hands, waved her away. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve been out of town and I don’t have any additional information for you at this time.”

  “But do you believe there’s a connection between the two disappearances? Mr. Falkenberg?— Mr. Falkenberg?”

  Falkenberg made an abrupt about-face and headed for the front door of the school, trailed by a pack of question-shouting reporters and their cameramen.

  Arranging her face into an appropriately serious expression, Michelle Gillette turned back to the camera and spoke to her anchorman in the studio.

  “Well, Paul, as you just heard, Mr. Falkenberg has refused to confirm it, but we do have a report from a reliable source that there is indeed a missing student and that she is the daughter of Sunmark Studios head Dominic Giordano. As you know, Mr. Giordano has been—”

  Jovanic muted the volume on the TV, cutting the reporter off.

  Claudia dropped onto the sofa and stared up at him. “Annabelle,” she whispered, feeling sick. “She’s the only student who didn’t go home for the holiday. Dominic Giordano is her father. What if the Mob took her as a way of getting at him? Joel, you have to find out what’s going on. What if—”

  “Hold on, babe,” Jovanic interrupted. “Is it true about the bad feelings between Mrs. Sorensen and the girl?”

  “When I last talked to Paige she was planning on Annabelle spending Christmas with her. I don’t think she was thrilled, but she didn’t make a big thing about it.” Claudia rubbed her face with her hands, smearing the mascara she’d just applied, leaving black smudges under her eyes. “I can’t believe this. Where could they be? Bert’s right, Paige would never leave her dog. Poor little Mikki, he must have been starving.”

  Jovanic grabbed his coat from the rack by the front door. “I’ll see what I can find out,” he said, and came back to kiss her. “Just hold tight until we get the facts. They’ll probably show up with a good story.”