Todd nodded, then reached for a preprinted diagram of the cemetery. He circled a tiny square near the lower corner of the map. “Um, just go along the main drive, veer to your right. You’ll see a big oak tree and, down the hill from there, a statue of a soldier from World War I. At least, I think it’s the First World War. He’s wearing one of those weird pith helmets, almost like a hubcap.”
George just nodded.
“Anyway, after the soldier, take a left, and E-22 is there.” He handed George the diagram.
“Thank you,” he muttered. “Listen, I’m sorry to be short with you, because it’s not your fault. But I’m just very frustrated and furious right now.”
“I understand,” Todd whispered meekly.
George stomped out of the office, then crossed the street, almost hoping some driver would honk at him at the pedestrian crosswalk so he’d have an excuse to scream at someone. But there were no cars around. He passed through the cemetery gates, and checked the diagram as he followed the main, two-lane road. It was a cool, overcast morning. The sky was the same light gray color as some of the tombstones. George noticed a few of the markers had photographs of the deceased on them. Printed on laminated oval metal discs, they looked like large, faded campaign buttons. He found the oak tree, then spotted a weathered old statue of the WWI infantryman, which stood out among the other headstones. Walking on the grass, he tried to avoid tramping over the graves. His shoes became wet with the morning dew. He finally found the headstone, a simple, squat slab of dark gray marble: Duane Lee Savitt, 1960–1993.
Beside it was the exact same type of headstone. But this one had a crucifix engraved above the inscription: Joy Savitt Schlessinger, 1963–1993, Beloved Wife amp; Mother.
“Yes, there are other Schlessingers buried here,” Todd told him, ten minutes later. His fingers poised over the keyboard, he studied his computer screen. “Two more, Lon Rudyard and Annabelle Faye Schlessinger.” He grabbed another diagram of the cemetery and circled two tiny squares right beside each other. “They’re in the same general neighborhood, only you take a right when you get to the soldier statue,” he explained.
“Thank you very much,” George said.
George retraced his steps from before. He didn’t know exactly what he expected to find-perhaps the graves of Joy Savitt’s in-laws, or maybe her husband and a second wife. These Schlessingers might not have been at all related to Duane’s sister. He turned right at the statue of the infantryman, then started checking the headstones lined up in front of a long, neatly manicured shrub.
George found them, two rose-colored headstones.
LON RUDYARD SCHLESSINGER
And beside him:
ANNABELLE FAYE SCHLESSINGER
“They died the same day,” George murmured to himself. He wondered if they’d been killed together in an accident. The girl was only sixteen years old. Were Lon and Annabelle Schlessinger the husband and child of Joy Savitt?
Biting his lip, George took another look at Annabelle’s date of birth. She was born on the exact same day as Amelia.
“My God,” George whispered. “Amelia and Annabelle, they were twins.”
“She took the car. I had about sixty dollars in my purse. She took that, too.”
With the cell phone to her ear, Karen held Rufus on a leash in the backyard. He hadn’t been out yet this morning and needed to go. She kept the kitchen door open so she could hear the home phone if it rang.
“My dog started barking at around a quarter to six this morning,” Karen explained. “I’m guessing that’s when Amelia snuck out of the house. I called Jessie at your place, and she hasn’t seen her. But she’ll keep a lookout for my car. Amelia’s roommate, Rachel, hasn’t seen or heard from Amelia this morning either. Neither has Shane. I also called the rest home where my dad is, and they didn’t see Amelia over there, either. I’m grateful for that. I didn’t want to bother you, George. I know you’re in Salem. But has Amelia called you?”
“No, she hasn’t.” He let out a long sigh. “This isn’t like Amelia at all. I mean, she’s disappeared for a day or two before, like she did this weekend. But she’s never stolen a car, or money. This is nuts.”
“Do you think she might have driven up to the house in Bellingham?” Karen asked.
“Well, I have the phone number for Mark and Jenna’s neighbors up there,” George said. “Nice couple, Jim and Barb Church. I’ll give them a call, and find out if there’s any activity next door. You drive a black Jetta, right?”
“That’s right.” She heard a beep on the line.
“I’ll ask the Churches to keep their eyes peeled for your car,” he was saying.
“Just a second, George. I have another call.” She checked the caller ID, and then quickly got back on the line with George. “Oh, God, it’s this policewoman phoning, the third time. I’ve been dodging her all morning. They’ve been looking for Amelia since yesterday.”
“Listen, I think you better come clean and tell them what’s happening, Karen. You don’t want to get yourself into any more hot water with the police. Plus, at this stage, you aren’t doing Amelia any favors by not reporting this. I hate to even think it, but she could hurt somebody else.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said, feeling a pang in her already knotted-up stomach. Rufus tugged at the leash, and Karen let him drag her toward the edge of the garden. She wondered who would walk her dog if she ended up in jail for aiding and abetting a fugitive.
“I may try Shane one more time,” she said into the phone. “I had to call him three times before he finally picked up. And when I talked to him, I had a feeling he might have been holding back on something. Once you hear back from Amelia’s neighbors up in Bellingham, will you give me a call?”
“Will do,” he said. “By the way, I’ve been to the cemetery, and now I’m parked down the block from the public library in Salem. I need to look up some information. Has Amelia ever mentioned someone named Annabelle to you?”
“
“Because I’m pretty sure that’s her twin sister.”
“Amelia has a twin?” Karen murmured.
“
“She never mentioned a twin,” Karen muttered, almost to herself. Amelia had recalled sometimes talking to herself in the mirror as a child. Was that as close as she could come to remembering her twin sister?
While George explained about Joy Savitt and the Schlessinger graves, it suddenly seemed to make sense why Amelia had all these issues-the guilt, the low self-esteem, and the nightmares. At age four, her parents had discarded her, and kept her twin. But why?
“Listen, George, call me as soon as you find out anything,” she said, pulling Rufus on his leash as she headed toward the house. “I’ll see what I can dig up on the Internet. What was that date the father and daughter died again?”
July 13, 2004…
Lon Schlessinger…
Annabelle Schlessinger…
Joy Savitt Schlessinger
None of those keywords yielded a result on the search engines Karen had tried. There wasn’t anything in the
