Shadows of Lancaster County (5 page)

“Just doing our job, ma’am,” he winked, but as he stepped outside, he gave it one more try. “
One Day at a Time
?
Family Ties
?
Gimme a Break
?”

“Yeah, give me a break,” I echoed, closing the door behind him before he could realize it was a request, not the answer to his question.

With the door locked and bolted, I headed upstairs to change into a shirt and slacks. I wasn’t sure how long the crew might be filming, but I thought I could seize the window of opportunity to slip out the front door and get away from here unseen. The paramedics had told me which hospital they were taking Kiki to.

I just hoped I would get there before it was too late.

November 14, 1828

My Dearest Son,

It is with the greatest of urgency that I write to you.

With the appearance of this package today, I can assume that your adoptive parents have now informed you of the identity of your true parentage. In my original agreement with them, this news was to be withheld until the date of your eighteenth birthday. However, circumstances have dictated that I act now, despite the fact that you are only sixteen. I apologize to you and the Jensens for not waiting until the established date, though given recent events in Nuremburg, I feel certain that they understand the need for expediency. Surely a young man of sixteen is old enough to digest and comprehend all of this information.

In any event, the shocking news your guardians have given you about your rightful parentage is true. Enclosed you will find proof, including your
geburtszeugnis
, as well as the listings from the
Adelsmatrikel
and from the
Almanach de Goth
. Please note that in both the
Adelsmatrikel
and the
Almanach de Goth
you are listed without name, as “son, stillborn.” This deception was necessary at the time, as I am sure you will come to understand. In addition, I have included the guardianship
agreement I conducted in secrecy with the Jensens three days before you were born.

Also enclosed is one perfect pair of ruby-and-diamond earrings. Until now these earrings have been kept in the royal vault along with the other six pieces that comprise the full set of the Beauharnais Rubies, a gift given to me by Napoleon upon the occasion of your birth. I send these earrings to you as proof of their provenance and yours, and as proof of my sincerity. Please keep them hidden in a safe place until such time as you can return to the palace and rejoin them with the full set. On that day, I shall put on these jewels for the first time since receiving them and wear them with pride, standing beside you, my son, as you assume your rightful place in a long line of nobility. Only then will the true heir be known and the evil plottings and actions of your stepgrandmother and her son will be brought to light.

Please be in readiness, as I will summon you at the appropriate time.

With deep and abiding love,
Your mother, SdB

My brain was so addled by my encounter with the intruder, the subsequent questioning by the police, and the appearance of the media that I was almost to the hospital before it dawned on me to contact Kiki’s mother, a spry little septuagenarian who lived nearby. I called her on my cell phone as I turned into the parking garage, and she arrived at the hospital so quickly that she almost beat me to the reception desk. Together we waited for news of Kiki, and we were finally told that she was conscious but resting and that they had given her twelve stitches to the scalp. They were still awaiting the results of her CAT scan, but the preliminary diagnosis was a grade 3 concussion. She had also lost a lot of blood. According to the nurse, they would probably keep her overnight for observation and to give her a transfusion, and then release her to go home tomorrow.

When we learned that only blood relatives would be allowed in to see her, I was actually relieved. Overwhelmed with guilt for what had happened, I wasn’t sure if I could face Kiki just yet. I kept thinking about how she had struggled for her life upstairs while I was right there, downstairs, talking on the phone. Why hadn’t I realized something was wrong? That man was there for me. Whatever he wanted, it was my fault he had come, my fault Kiki was now in the hospital.

Feeling sick at heart, I told Kiki’s mother to give her my love, and then I left and made my way to the car. My steps were heavy and slow, tears threatening behind my eyes. Could I ruin any more lives than I already had? Was I destined to be a danger to everyone who knew me? I took a deep, shaky breath and tried to calm down. Once I got in the car, I forced myself to sit there for a few minutes, soaking in the warmth and the silence until my emotions were under control. I could keep the tears at bay if I tried hard enough, but the guilt wasn’t going anywhere. Kiki had been nothing but a loyal friend to me, and in return I had never entrusted her with the truth about my past, had never told her who I really was. The only person out here who knew that was Norman, our supervisor at work, and only because he figured it out himself, not because I had told him.

Thinking of Norman, I knew he would be wondering where Kiki and I were, but I’d rather tell him what had happened to her in person than have him see it on television or hear it over the phone. I decided to go to the office. If I really did need to search for my brother the computers there were far better for that than my little laptop at home.

I started up the car and headed out of the parking garage, remembering the day Norman and I first met, seven years ago, when I showed up at the office in answer to a want ad, one that had said “Experience preferred but not required.” Our interview had gone very well and Norman wanted to hire me, but being the skip tracer that he was, he couldn’t in good conscience do so without first figuring out why certain parts of my application didn’t add up. As an old pro up against a rank amateur, it hadn’t taken long for him to trace out my real identity. Now he was the only person out here who knew the truth, who understood that Anna Bailey was really Annalise Bailey Jensen, a member of the notorious group that the press had once dubbed the “Dreiheit Five.”

Eleven years ago, the media had made us out to be nothing less than monsters, when in fact what we were was a group of reckless teenagers who had made a stupid mistake, accidentally setting fire to an Amish farm-house. That fire ended up killing a mother and father and their newborn child—and leaving the couple’s other five children as orphans. Though we had been tormented by the press and convicted by the courts, at least the
Amish community had forgiven us. Still, all the forgiveness in the world didn’t change the fact that because we were careless and foolish, lives were lost. Norman knew that, and yet he had been willing to offer me the job anyway, saying everyone deserved another chance in life.

I got a hunch about you, kid,
he had told me at the end of our second interview.
Considering how hard you tried to hide your own paper trail, I bet you got a special gift for this kind of work. You’ll do fine.

And I had, I thought as I turned onto the main road. I had done just fine here. My job didn’t pay very well, but I loved it anyway, loved the folks I worked with, loved the challenge of being a skip tracer, of tracing down people who were missing.

Merging into traffic, I headed downtown. I tried dialing Lydia’s number several times as I drove, feeling bad that I’d had to cut her off so abruptly before. She didn’t answer, so when I reached the office I gave up for the time being, found an empty spot in the employee parking lot, and made my way into the building and through a familiar maze of corridors toward our department. In the metropolis that was Kepler-West Finance, the room where Kiki and Norman and I worked was definitely located on the wrong side of the tracks. Far from the shiny front entrance or the sleek administrative wing, our tiny section was tucked away on a lower level in an interior corridor with no windows or natural light. Still, what we lacked in ambiance we made up for in efficiency and effectiveness. Our trio functioned like a well-oiled machine, with Norman at the helm, me doing most of the computer work, and Kiki doing most of the footwork. In the seven years I had worked there, we had traced everything from criminal-level bail jumpers to absconding millionaires—but I never thought I’d be hunting down my own brother.

Norman was fighting with the coffee machine when I appeared in the doorway, but when he saw my face he seemed to forget all about it and focused on me instead. Obviously, he could tell something was wrong.

Fortunately, we were there by ourselves and could talk. I told him what had happened, glad at least that this time I was able to get through it without crying. He listened intently, asking questions when necessary, handing me a box of tissues when I was finished.

“I’m all right,” I said, giving the box back.

“I’m not,” he said, pulling out a tissue and blowing his nose. “Poor Kiki! She’s over in the hospital right now, when it just as easily could have been the morgue!”

I let him pace and moan for a bit, grateful he was the kind of person who deeply, truly cared. While he recovered, I fixed the coffeemaker and started a pot going, and then I made a cup just the way he liked it, with lots of cream and two packets of sweetener. I needed to tell him that beyond dealing with the morning’s break-in, there was also the matter of a family emergency I needed to handle. As I gave him his coffee, he offered me the day off, saying he felt sure I needed it after such a traumatic morning. I replied I would appreciate that a lot, especially if I could stay here in the office for a while first and use the computer to handle a personal matter.

“Whatever you need,” he said, taking a seat at his desk. “Just let me know if you want any help.”

“Thanks, boss. Actually, I’d like to pick your brain for a minute, if you don’t mind.”

Rolling a chair over to his desk, I told him the rest of the story, about my missing brother and everything Lydia had said. He listened intently, nodding once in a while and jotting down a few notes. He made me go through the attack again as well, but when I got to the part about what the intruder said, he stopped writing and looked up at me.

“What kind of rubies?” he asked.

“He pronounced it ‘bor-nays rubies.’ Does that mean anything to you? Have you ever heard that term before?”

Norman shook his head, contemplating. “If he brought up your family tree like that, though, it must be something that was passed down through the generations.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think he had the right family tree. He got my brother and father right, but then he named people I’ve never heard of. Peter? Jonas? Karl? I don’t know who these men are. He must have me confused with someone else.”

“How far back have you traced your roots?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ancestry, genealogy, all of that. Do you even know the names of your great-grandparents or your great-great-grandparents?”