Ben stood and crossed to his desk. There he found the book that had been left for him the day before. The spine listed the publisher as Cheshire House, the author as Anna North.
Of course. North had been Savannah Grail’s maiden name, a fact he hadn’t remembered until it had been mentioned on the show just now. Anna was a diminutive of both Anastasia and Savannah. Obviously then, Anna North the novelist was little Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess.
Ben frowned down at the novel in his hands, puzzled. Which of his patients had left the book for him? Why had they left it?
He would simply ask, he decided. Starting with the six patients he had seen the day before.
9
Saturday, January 13 4:00 p.m.
The sun finally made its promised appearance and cold, harsh light spilled across Anna’s kitchen table. She sat, staring blindly across the room as the phone screamed to be answered.
She didn’t make a move toward it and the machine finally picked up. She had turned the recorder’s volume all the way down so she wouldn’t know who was calling. She couldn’t face another person’s surprised disbelief.
She had already talked to her mother. And father. She had talked to a half-dozen friends. Her agent and editor. They had all been sent a copy of her latest book and a note urging them to tune into E! today at three. One after another they had expressed their disbelief over learning that she was Harlow Grail, the kidnapped Hollywood princess. Again and again she had been asked to explain why she hadn’t told them.
Some, like her editor, had been delighted by the news. Now, the woman had gushed, they had the perfect promotional hook to send her upcoming book straight onto the bestseller lists. Her agent, on the other hand, had been furious at her for having kept something so important from him. How could he adequately represent her when he didn’t even know who she was?
Anna brought a hand to her mouth. Who had done this to her? Why had they done it?
A knock sounded on her front door, followed by Dalton’s voice. “It’s us,” he called out. “Dalton and Bill.”
Anna dragged herself to her feet, went to the door and opened it. Her friends stood on the other side, both grinning from ear to ear.
“We tried to call—”
“First the line was busy, busy, busy—”
“Then you didn’t answer.”
“You saw,” she said. “The show on E!”
“Of course we did, you naughty, naughty girl.” Dalton wagged a finger at her. “And here Bill and I thought we knew you.”
“She’s an open book,” Bill murmured, moving across the threshold. “That’s what we thought. Then we got your note about the show today.”
Dalton closed the door behind them. “Cute, Anna. But you could have just told us.”
Anna couldn’t speak. She couldn’t form the words for the fear choking her. The despair.
She turned her back to her friends and brought her shaking hands to her mouth. Whoever had done this not only knew where she lived but who all the important people in her life were. Dear God, who could know so much about her?
“Anna?” Dalton murmured. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t send you that note,” she managed to say, voice choked with tears. “I wish I had.”
“I don’t understand. If not you, who?”
“I don’t know.” She turned to face her friends once more. “But I think…I’m afraid—”
Kurt. He’d found her.
“I think I’d better sit down.”
She turned and crossed to the couch, then sank onto it. They followed her, each taking a seat beside her, Dalton on her right, Bill on her left. Neither pressed her to speak, which she appreciated. She hated losing control in front of others and struggled to regain it.
When she had, she told them about her past—her parents and her idyllic, star-kissed childhood, then about the kidnapping, the horror of Timmy’s murder and her last-minute escape.
She rubbed her arms, at the gooseflesh that raced up them. “After the kidnapping my life changed,” she murmured, looking back, aching at the memories. “I changed. I didn’t feel safe anymore. I wasn’t so…open as I had been. I didn’t trust. I was…afraid.”
Her friends were silent, no doubt digesting all that she had told them. After a moment, Dalton cleared his throat. “You mean he killed that little boy…in front of you?”
Her eyes filled with tears even as her head flooded with images—of Timmy struggling while Kurt held the pillow over his face, his arms flailing and body jerking. Then of him going deathly still.
A sound rose in her throat, and she choked it back. One of remembered horror. And pain. It still hurt, almost more than she could bear.
She found her voice. “And then he came after me.”
“Your finger.”
She nodded and Bill curled his hand around hers. “No wonder you’re frightened, Anna. How awful.”
“You two weren’t the only ones who received a note about the E! program.” She drew in a deep, fortifying breath, acknowledging that she was afraid. “Nearly everyone in my life got one, my mother and father, friends, agent and editor.” She explained about coming home to find the package containing the tape of her mother’s interview, the same one that had been incorporated into the story about the Hollywood mysteries. “The tape ended with a message urging me to watch the E! program.”
“You don’t think your mother—”
“No.” Anna shook her head, acknowledging hurt at her mother’s part in this. Acknowledging a feeling of betrayal. The truth was, neither her mother nor father fully understood her fear of exposure.
“About a year ago, my mother was contacted by an independent videographer. He was putting together a series he called Screen Goddesses of the Fifties. He wanted to include her. She gave the interview and never heard from him again. Until indirectly, today.”
Dalton bristled. “That doesn’t explain how she could have revealed so much about you during that interview. Really!”
Anna glanced down at her hands, then back at her friends. “It’s done now. And she’s not the enemy. She’s not the one who wishes me—”
She bit the word back, but it hung in the air between them.
Harm. Someone wished her harm.
For several moments they were silent, then Dalton hugged her. “My poor sweet Anna. You’re being forced out.”
Bill drew his eyebrows together. “By any chance, does your mother remember the videographer’s name?”
Anna shook her head. “But she took his card. She’s going to look for it.”
“I tell you what,” Bill murmured. “I have a couple of friends in television production. How about I give them a call, see if one of them can find out who E! acquired the piece from. With a little luck, I can track down where they got the footage of your mother.”
“Thank you,” she said, reaching a hand across to his. “That would be so…it would really help.”
“Do you have any idea who could be behind this?”
“No,