Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Okay, I’m listening,” Sam says.
“Okay, remember in the report and in some of the news articles it said that there weren’t any signs that she was running or that there was a struggle. But that there was evidence that she was in that area for a little while? Or at least that she was walking through it on purpose?” I ask.
“Yeah, I remember that,” he nods. “It means she probably wasn’t snagged from the Christmas tree farm and dragged out there.”
“Right,” I say. “But I couldn’t really understand what it was talking about. It seemed so vague. They didn’t just come right out and say what they found, or what told them that everything was alright. Just that there were some indications. Then I got to thinking that maybe there was a detail they were purposely leaving out.”
“Keeping it concealed from the public so if somebody did know about it, it could be a suggestion that they were involved,” Sam says.
“Exactly. Only, I think I found it. Right here in the pictures,” I say.
“What were you talking about seeing it as a little child?” Sam asks.
“I’m getting there. When I was younger, I very briefly had a neighbor named Hannah. Her mother had called her Hannah Banana from the time she was born, and that was a major thing for her. Rather than it just being a nickname or even something that she thought was annoying, it became like a part of her identity. She ate bananas all the time. She had little tiny banana earrings. Pins, patches, shirts, everything you could think of that had to do with bananas. She had it.”
“But did she have a banana bedroom?” Sam asks.
“No, but she also didn’t have a Xavier. Hannah’s mother told me she started to want to collect things with bananas when she was really small. It wasn’t just something she got into when she was older, and it could seem trendy. She had a stuffed banana when she was two. Now, thinking about it that way, think about a girl named Angeline. What do you think her mother probably called her?”
“If she had a nickname? Probably Angel. We already established that,” Sam says.
“And what would a girl named Angel do if she was playing in the snow?”
He looks at the screen to where I’ve rested my fingertip on one of the images of the snow where they found the pieces of the coat and the receipt with Angeline’s name on it.
“You make a snow angel,” he says.
“It’s what I would do,” I say.
“So, this is her,” Sam says.
“Everything fits. The only thing that is missing is the snowplow. But it says a truck driver was the one who spotted the pieces of coat. I bet if we do a little bit of poking, we’ll find out that truck driver was probably a private snowplow owner.”
“That’s amazing,” Sam says. “But what do you do now? You figured out who the letter is about, but what are you supposed to do to help them?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” My eyes widen slightly. “Yes, I have.”
“What?” he asks.
“The email. The one we got when we were in Feathered Nest. That asked if I was still up for lunch. I email back.” I go to the email box and open up a reply email to the message from ’Third Floor’. Before I can type anything in, I stop. “Wait. it’s not enough.”
“What do you mean it’s not enough?” Sam asks.
“Remember, this is supposed to be a Christmas list. A letter to Santa. She didn’t just want us to know who she is. The end of the letter was her request. We have to find out where she is,” I say.
“Which means we have to find out who took her,” Sam says.
“That would be a good start,” I nod.
“I’ll get in touch with the department that investigated it. See what information I can get,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’ll keep researching. See if I can figure anything else out.”
I go back to the house and finish the present that is still sitting on the dining room table. Once it’s tucked under the tree, I call Dean back.
“I figured out who the letter was about,” I say and explain the same thing I told Sam.
“That’s great. Did you let the person know?” he asks. “You still don’t know who sent it, do you?”
“No, I don’t. But the letter said it wanted me to figure out where she is. That’s her Christmas request, so I have to find that out,” I say.
“You should tell them. Let him know you’re on their trail,” he says. “Even if you don’t know who it is, let him know you’re smart enough to play their game,” he says. “It might make them slip and you’ll find something else out.”
“Do you think there’s any chance she’s still alive?” I ask. “Some of the reports do say that members of her family thought she might have just run away. Apparently, she was in a relationship her parents didn’t approve of and had gotten into a few fights with them over it. She wanted to bring him home for Christmas and they said no, so she said she wasn’t going to come home at all. Do you think there’s any chance that’s actually what happened?”
“How long ago did she go missing?” he asks.
“Fourteen years ago. Tomorrow is actually the anniversary.”
“And there hasn’t been any sign of her?” he asks.
“No,” I admit, even though I don’t want to.
“Do you want the real answer or the Christmas season answer?” he asks.
“The real one,” I say.
“No. It’s been fourteen years, Emma. It’s not impossible. People have come back after longer. But you know the statistics. The chances Angeline is still alive are slim at best,” he says.
I draw in a breath and nod. “What was the Christmas answer?”
“No. But you’ll find her. Incidentally, that’s the real answer, too.
