49
The search. May 1976.
When the bell tower chimed seven individual hours, Emilee jumped to her feet and paced the apartment. It was impossible to sit any longer. She returned to Caitlynn’s bedroom for the hundredth time, pulled the inner curtain aside and studied the gravel path behind their building: no sign of Mary Gabriella.
Odd. The bakery couldn’t have kept them more than fifteen minutes.
Could Connor?
She brushed the possibility of another meltdown from her mind and started for the front door—she’d polish the floor. Perhaps Connor would notice, appreciate it even. She willed herself not the think and waxed harder.
She grasped her chest when eight hours chimed across the silent town. She bolted to the window in Caitie’s room. The road was still empty, the single lamppost now c
