Horns and hey watch its as Ash pulled off the main road, into a parking spot by the North Conway library.
“American roads are hell,” he said, waving an apology out of his window, turning off the engine.
“To be fair,” Bel said, “you’re a terrible driver.”
He glared at her, pulling his cap back on. “To be even more fair, you’re a terrible passenger. Could give a bit more warning before yelling at me to turn.”
“That wouldn’t be as fun.” Bel grabbed the backpack between her legs and opened the car door.
“You are something else,” Ash muttered under his breath, though he never specified what that something else was, climbing out the other side. He collected the camera from the backseat, running his fingers over the fluff of the microphone, checking the battery. Then he grabbed his bag, one of those mini leather backpacks. It looked stupid on him.
“Nice bag.”
“My mum’s,” he said. “Get the best hand-me-downs from her and my sisters.”
Bel nodded, eyes wide and unkind to contradict her smile. She’d never had or given hand-me-downs, only hand-me-sidewayses to Carter when they
were kids and Bel outgrew her jeans.
They crossed the road, Bel looking ahead at Baa-Baa Boutique. A quaint storefront: wooden slats painted seaside white and blue, though the sea was a very long way away. Next door to a store called World Magic Gifts, with window displays full of dream catchers and antlers, sculptures that stared as Bel and Ash approached.
Ash pressed record on the camera, centering the shot on Bel, panning up to show the name of the boutique and the little sheep logo.
“Don’t you need to say Action, or Rolling or something?” “Action, or rolling or something,” he said with a lopsided grin.
Bel pushed open the door, a small bell jangling above her head, not holding the door for Ash, letting him struggle with it. She walked past a rack of clothes, a cropped yellow T-shirt at the front reading Pugs Not Drugs with a sad, chubby pug in the middle. The kind of thing Ash would probably wear. She turned back and caught him eyeing it, reaching out.
“Focus,” she hissed, batting his fingers away. “We’re not here to shop.” “He just looks so sad, little guy.” Ash stuck out his bottom lip. “Needs a
loving home.”
Bel rolled her eyes at the camera lens, the two of them in cahoots, right under Ash’s nose. She led them up to the register, where a woman in her forties was writing out labels, wearing a white-and-blue-striped top that matched the front of the store.
“Welcome to Baa-Baa Boutique,” she said, bored, glazed behind the eyes, until she saw Ash. Then she straightened up and lengthened her neck, pushing her dark hair to one side. “How may I help you?” she asked him.
“We’re here to see the owner, Alice Moore,” Bel said, failing to get the woman’s full attention back from Ash.
“That’s me,” she said, lines forming around her mouth as she finally noticed the camera in his hands. “What’s—”
“We’re filming for a documentary,” Bel explained. “The Disappearance of Rachel Price.”
Ash coughed. “Actually, The Reappearance of Rachel Price now.”
“Oh, I, the news, it’s just amazing, really…,” Alice trailed off, finally looking at Bel, eyes circling. “But you look so much like…you must be h- her…”
Bel let Alice stutter, left her and her aborted sentences hanging there. “Yes, this is Bel,” Ash stepped in. “Rachel’s daughter.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Alice gave Bel her full attention now. “You must be so happy to finally have your mom back home with you.”
“Yeah, I must be,” Bel said, leaving another awkward gap for Ash. “Could I get you to sign one of these release forms?” he said, pulling one
out of his comically small backpack. “To consent to having your face and voice in the documentary.”
“Yes, of course.” Alice took the form, signing it after one quick glance, without reading it, handing it back. “Though I’m not sure why you’re filming me. I don’t even know anyone who knows Rachel.”
“Actually,” Bel said, taking charge, “we’re here to talk to you about something you posted on your Facebook in January. That you thought you saw Rachel Price here, in your store.”
“Oh yes.” Alice dropped her face, a breathy laugh, letting them in on the joke. “Obviously I was wrong, it couldn’t have been her, now we know where poor Rachel really was.”
“But could you tell us about the sighting, about the woman you saw?
Even though we now know it can’t have been Rachel,” Bel pushed.
The woman narrowed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“You know,” Bel pulled back, speaking behind her hand like they were old friends. That was how old friends spoke, right? “It’s just filler for the documentary, some background stuff to pad out the juicy bits, show how widely known Rachel’s case was before she came back.” Bel didn’t leave her any more room to not-understand, pushing again. This woman might have the answers that unlocked Rachel’s lies, and Bel was damn well going to get them. “So what can you tell us about this woman you saw?”
Alice paused to clear her throat. “I mean, I couldn’t see a lot of her, maybe that’s why I convinced myself it had been Rachel. She was wearing a mask, you know, a surgical mask, a Covid mask, so I could only see her
eyes, really. And she was wearing a beanie; it was freezing out. Her hair was long, though, almost down to her waist, a darkish blond, like Rachel’s when she disappeared. We didn’t interact much, just when she came up to the register, there was nothing remarkable about it. But I looked at her eyes, and I just had this thought, like ‘Oh my God, she looks like Rachel Price.’ I didn’t say anything, and I kicked myself later when I convinced myself it was her. I had to tell someone, just in case, so it didn’t feel like a secret. So I put it on Facebook. Although, now I would be kicking myself if I’d said anything to her, because it clearly couldn’t have been your mom.”
“Sure,” Bel said, but she didn’t mean it, because it was possible that that woman might just have been the real Rachel Price, and who was supposed to kick themselves then? But if it was Rachel, Bel needed proof. Evidence. “Do you have any cameras in the store? Would they have recorded this woman?”
“Yes,” Alice said. “I checked the footage the next day to see if I was going crazy.”
“Can we see the footage?” Bel pressed.
“I don’t have it anymore; it gets written over every week.” Bel deflated.
“But I took a screenshot of the clearest image, when she was standing right where you are now. Not the best quality, but it might still be on my phone, hold on.”
Bel and Ash held on, exchanging looks while Alice pawed at her screen. “Sorry, lots of my puppy,” she said, swiping up. “Here it is.”
She held out the phone to show them the photo, Ash zooming in on it, then out to catch Bel’s reaction. She crouched closer, screwed her eyes. A woman in a dark puffer jacket and a mask, hair a similar color to Rachel’s, long enough to catch in the crook of her elbow as she readjusted her mask, frozen that way. You couldn’t see much of her face, the beanie covering where the birthmark might be. It could have been Rachel, there was nothing that counted that out, using the mask and hat as a disguise, blending in in plain sight. Or it could just be another pale woman with the same color hair. They weren’t in short supply around here.
“Can you AirDrop that photo to me?” Bel said. “Please,” Ash added for her.
Alice stared blankly. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Here,” Bel said, impatiently, taking the phone out of Alice’s hands. She pressed the blue spiral button, waiting for it to find her, then clicked to accept the photo on her device. Handing Alice’s phone back without looking.
“Thank you,” Ash filled in again, but Bel was only half listening, zooming in on the pixelated face, barely a third uncovered. It was impossible to tell for sure, her gut swaying between yes and no. There was one way she wanted to push it. But if this was Rachel, what was she doing here?
“She came up to the register?” Bel asked, but that wasn’t her real question. “Did she buy something?”
Alice nodded, like that was answer enough.
“And?” Bel said, annoyed that she had to. “What did this woman buy?” “Just two things, if I remember right.” Alice rubbed her face like Bel’s
gaze had burned her. Oh, if only. “She paid in cash, even though we have a sign saying we prefer card.” She paused to point at said printed sign. “I think she bought a pair of jeans and a top, that was all.”
Bel’s ears pricked, so did the ball of tension in her gut, listening in. “What kind of top?”
“A plain long-sleeved top. Red, I believe. I don’t do boring colors.”
Bel’s heart picked up. “A red long-sleeved top,” she said, repeating it to make sure she’d heard right.
“Yes.”
“And were the jeans black?”
“I think so. Bit more versatile than blue, isn’t it? Can wear them in the evening too.”
Bel stalled, thinking it through. Alice didn’t realize what she’d just said. Maybe she only recognized Rachel Price from that one photo, the one they used on the missing posters and the news: Rachel wearing a white shirt. She couldn’t see the significance of a red long-sleeved top and a pair of black
jeans. The clothes Rachel was wearing when she disappeared. The same clothes she had on when she reappeared, falling apart; tattered and stained.
“Bel?” Ash said, not understanding her pause, or understanding it and checking she was OK.
Bel ignored him. “Do your items have labels in them?”
“Of course.” Alice beamed. “Baa-Baa Boutique, too good a name to not put it in all the clothes. Can I help you look for something, sweetie? Is it for your mom?”
Bel didn’t speak, so Ash did again, awkward and shuffling. “I like that pug shir—”
“Actually, we need to go,” Bel said, holding on to Ash’s overalls to spin him around, camera getting an undershot of her chin. “Bye, thank you, bye,” she called behind her, falling into the door, the bell clattering above them, frenzied and shrill.
Silence enveloped them until they reached the car, Bel only then realizing she’d been clinging to him throughout. She released her grip as they entered the vehicle. Ash continued recording, the camera aimed at her from his lap.
“What?” he sniffled. “Did you think it was her? The photo seemed too blurry to be certain, and she’s heavily obscured.”
“Yes… no… I’m not sure,” Bel stammered. “The photo’s unclear, it could be her, or not. She must have cut her hair since. But the items she purchased…”
“A red top and black jeans?” Ash queried, uncertain.
Bel turned to him, exasperated. “Ash—no offense, well, maybe some—have you been paying attention to this documentary you’re making? Those are identical to Rachel’s clothes when she vanished. The same outfit she wore when I found her walking home Saturday. Filthy, torn, riddled with holes, as if she’d worn them for sixteen years straight. But what if she hadn’t? What if that’s just the impression she wanted to create?”
Ash’s expression shifted. “You mean…”
“I’m suggesting that if she no longer had her original disappearance outfit, she’d need to buy something as similar as possible for her planned reappearance. If so, that could’ve been her here in January, nearby but disguised. A Covid mask would explain how she’s been moving around—at least for the past four years—concealing her identity. Is it possible to distress clothes that much—reduce them to tatters in just a few months?”
“Probably,” Ash said. “If you were motivated enough. But it’s not, you know, solid evidence, what that lady remembers that unknown woman buying.”
Bel knew that, she knew she’d need more, something more concrete if she was going to expose Rachel as a liar. Convince Dad and the police. But this was stronger than a coincidence, she was sure. She could allow one fluke: the timing of the documentary and Rachel’s return. But she couldn’t allow another. The clothes meant something; a match lit under her, burning in her belly, proof enough that her gut feeling had been right all along.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Ash said.
“I think you sound like Ramsey,” she replied, a surge of new energy climbing up her spine. She rolled her head to let it out, cracking her neck. “I don’t know about her disappearance yet, but it’s starting to look like Rachel planned her own reappearance, that she’s been back for more than just a few days. Which means the basement can’t be real. The man can’t be real. And for some reason, she wants the world to think they are.” She hesitated. “Does that sound crazy?”
Ash shook his head. “No. I mean, you are definitely crazy. But not for that.”
She smiled at him, a real one that she didn’t think twice on.
“Mate, I reckon we did an all-right job back there, you and me,” he said, scratching his nose. “The old good cop, bad cop routine.”
“Which one’s the bad cop?” Bel asked, still smiling, on purpose this time.
Ash gaped at her. “Come on. Seriously?”
