The Tulip Eaters. Antoinette van Heugten

right. I have to keep it together, for Rose.”

      The front doorbell clanged. “They’re here!” Nora dropped the phone and sprang to her feet, forgetting about her ankle. With a sharp cry, she ran to the door. Three officers stood there with grim faces. One stepped forward. He was fortyish, tall and square-jawed, with intense brown eyes and short-cropped hair. No wedding band, but the pale ring of flesh on his left hand showed it had not been long since it had been removed. With his blue suit, white shirt and polished black shoes, Nora thought he looked more like a politician than a policeman.

      “Ms. de Jong?” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Richards.”

      Nora flung the door wide-open. “Please...please help me!”

      Richards nodded at the other two men and walked in. They followed.

      “There!” She pointed at the living room. “My mother, that...man on the floor...the gun.” She tried to walk with them into the room, but Richards held her back with one of his large hands.

      “I’m going to have to ask you to step aside, ma’am,” he said. “We have to keep the crime scene undisturbed.” He nodded to the two officers. “Gloves and footwear. No moving anything, no touching the bodies.”

      Nora wrung her hands and sobbed. “My baby! Someone took her. She’s only six months old!”

      Richards took Nora by the shoulders and focused his dark eyes upon hers. “Ms. de Jong, I have to ask you to calm down. I need to get as much information as I can, especially since your daughter appears to have been taken.”

      Nora took a deep breath and forced herself to be still.

      “That’s better,” he said softly. Nora noticed that he had a tic in his right eye. It distracted her. Was he nervous now or was it something he did all the time?

      One of the officers walked over to them. “I radioed the station,” he said. “CSI and the M.E. are on their way.”

      Richards nodded and turned back to Nora. “First, is there anyone I can call for you? Your husband? A friend or relative?”

      Nora shook her head, her eyes tearing again. “No,” she whispered. “I’ve called my friend who’s visiting from Holland. She’ll be here soon.”

      “What about your father?”

      “Dead. Three years ago. Cancer.”

      “No one else you’d like here with you?”

      “No.” There was no one. Since she’d returned to Houston, she’d been swamped with her job and then Rose’s birth. The friends she’d had here had scattered to the winds during the two years she’d been in Amsterdam. Anneke had been her only friend—her best friend.

      Richards put on latex gloves and pulled paper booties over his shoes. As he stepped into the living room, Nora saw Marijke walk into the foyer. She stopped and clapped her hands to her mouth as she took in Anneke’s mutilated body and the dead man on the floor. Nora rushed to her and Marijke threw her arms around her. Nora sobbed uncontrollably as she felt Marijke’s comforting grasp tighten. “Nee, nee,” she whispered, “het komt goed—echt waar.” No, thought Nora, it will never be all right! The lilt and accent of her voice sounded so much like Anneke’s that it made Nora cry even harder.

      Nora saw Richards cross the room and nod a silent greeting to Marijke. His tic had stopped. “Ladies, I’m afraid you can’t come in here. We have to let the crime investigators do their work—search for evidence while the scene is still fresh.”

      Marijke nodded at Richards and took Nora’s arm. “Come with me.”

      “No, I have to know if they find anything!”

      Richards shook his head at Marijke, who then tugged gently on Nora’s arm and led her through the kitchen to the nursery. Sweet baby smells assaulted Nora as she stepped into the room—the silken scent of baby powder, freshly laundered clothing, one yellow wall covered with photos of Rose.

      Nora clutched the empty crib and fell into the rocking chair beside it, shaking. “Who is that monster?” she asked. “And why would he do such a thing?” She looked up at her friend, tears still streaming. “Oh, Marijke, none of this makes any sense! Who took Rose? What has he done with her?”

      Marijke knelt in front of her and put her strong hands over Nora’s trembling ones. She looked steadily into her eyes. “Start from the beginning.”

      When she finally managed to speak, Nora could hear the frenzy in her voice. “I came home from work and called for Mom— Oh, God...” Marijke squeezed Nora’s hands. “I went into the living room and there she was.” Nora stopped. Telling the story made it too real, but she had no choice. She forced herself to continue, making Marijke’s warm eyes her focal point. “There was blood everywhere. The back of her head, her brains. I...I tried to put them back....”

      “Enough,” said Marijke softly. She stood and pulled Nora out of the chair, wrapped her in a warm embrace and let her cry.

      When Nora had exhausted herself, she lifted her eyes. Gratitude filled her. “I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

      Marijke gave her a small smile. With a firm arm around Nora’s waist, she walked her to the bed. Nora stopped and put her hand in her pocket.

      “What is it?” asked Marijke.

      Nora handed her the bright yellow headband and its pitifully crumpled flower. Nora felt her stomach turn, rushed to the bathroom and vomited. Using the tiled counter for support, she watched Marijke grab a washcloth and run water over it. Nora closed her eyes and let Marijke gently wipe away her tears. The washcloth felt cold. Nora never wanted to move, never wanted to see what she had seen, never wanted to believe that Rose was gone. She walked back into the nursery, pacing. She spoke in Dutch. “Marijke, they’ve got to find her! I can’t bear it!”

      Nora watched Marijke go to the couch and pat a place next to her. “Kom.”

      Nora sat down and let Marijke still her trembling hands again. Nora felt some of her strength return. “I have to stop this,” she said firmly. “I can’t help my mother. All I can do is work with the police to find Rose.” She met Marijke’s brown eyes and felt fire in her own. “I just have to believe that Richards and his men will find her.”

      Nora stood and stared at the corner of the room. The painting she had begun of Rose rested on an easel, half-finished. Her heart lurched. Would she ever see her again? She felt haunted by Rose’s luminous blue eyes, staring at her from the canvas—so happy, so trusting. She felt as if a limb had been ripped from her body. She smelled Rose’s baby smell, felt the delicious weight of Rose in her arms and the pull of her womb as Rose latched on to her breast. Would she ever feel those things again?

      3

      After what felt like hours, Richards came into the nursery. “Ms. de Jong? Could you come with me?”

      She stood but felt dizzy and stumbled. He caught her. She felt his strong arms around her. When she steadied and he let her go, she yearned for someone she loved to hold her, to shelter her from this torment.

      “You all right?” She nodded. He grasped her elbow and led her into the kitchen, avoiding the living room.

      Marijke followed and patted Nora’s shoulder. “I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” she whispered.

      Richards pulled out a chair from the table. Wearily, she sat. Her eyes felt as if they were swollen shut from her tears. How long had it been? How long since she’d walked through the front door and her life had stopped?

      Richards took a chair opposite and pulled a worn notebook and a stubby pencil out of his shirt pocket. She watched as he rubbed his right eye. When he lowered his hand, the tic started again. Nora couldn’t stop staring. She tried to focus on his good eye as he nodded at her. “Tell me everything you know. Let’s start with Rose.