Here We Come (Aggie's Inheritance) (144 page)

She
shook
her
head.
“He
doesn’t
know
me.
I
doubt
it’d
help.
”

“Consistency
helps
more
than
anything.
He
can
still
make
friends,
and
at
times
when
his
memory
is
clear,
he’ll
appreciate
knowing
you’ve
been
there.”

Though
tempted,
she
shook
her
head
again.
“
I
have
a
restraining
order
against
his
wife.
I
don’t
know
if
that
allows
me
to
see
him
or
not.
If
he
ever
needs
anything
though…”
Aggie
dug
into
her
purse
for
her
ever-present
stack
of
sticky
notes
and
a
pen.
Scribbling
her
name
and
phone
number
on
the
top
note,
she
peeled
it
off
and
handed
it
to
him.
“Just
call.
We’ll
find
a
way
to
help.
Meanwhile,
I’ll
ask
my
lawyer
about
visits.”

The
man
folded
the
note
and
tucked
it
in
his
shirt
pocket.
“I
hope
you
find
the
child,
M
s
.
Milliken.”

She
nodded.
“We
will.
Now
that
we
know
Geraldine
has
her,
we’ll
find
them.
At
least
Ellie
is
safe—reasonably
anyway.”

“If
they
do
show
up,
everyone
knows
to
call
immediately.
We’ll
lock
the
gates
behind
them.”

She
eased
herself
into
the
car,
inserted
the
key,
and
rolled
down
the
window
before
pulling
the
door
shut.
“Thank
you.”
Her
eyes
took
in
the
house
and
grounds
once
more.
“Mr.
Stuart
always
seemed
like
a
kind
man.
I’m
very
glad
he
is
in
such
a
nice
place.”

The
car
turned
over,
and
for
once,
with the windows lowered,
Aggie
heard
it.
She
gave
the
man
a
slight
wave
and
put
the
car
in
gear,
pulling
through
the
rest
of
the
wide
circular
drive
and
back
onto
the
street.
A
glance
in
her
rearview
mirror
caused
her
to
shudder
when
she
realized
that
such
a
beautiful
place
was
the
ultimate
in
grandiose
prisons
for
Douglas
Stuart—a
place
to
be
locked
away
and
out
of
the
way
until
he
died.

The
streets
were
familiar
enough
—likely
the
result
of
her
getting
lost
so
often
in
her
first
days
at
Allie’s
house
as
ad-hock
mother—that
Aggie
found
herself
following
them
back
to
the
street
where
her
sister
had
lived.
She
passed
the
house
where
Cari
and
Lorna
picked
the
tulips
and
tried
to
rip
the
“rocks”
off
the
bottoms
and
wondered
if
the
woman
had
replaced
them
yet.

As
she
neared
the
house,
her
throat
constricted
to
see
the
driveway,
the
garage
with
its
door
halfway
down—the
opener
must
still
be
sticking—and
the
car
that
sat
parked
inside.
The
temptation
to
park
and
stare
at
it
for
a
few
minutes
was
strong,
but
the
gates
were
shut
and
it
would
look
suspicious
for
a
car
to
be
idling
in
the
entrance
to
the
drive.