I heard a clunk, footsteps, then the sound of a closing door. The air thickened on the other end of the line.
A scrape, then Macken was back.
“I am going to speak with you further, even though I really should not without authorization form Harriet’s family. I will do it because Harriet has been deceased a good while and because you seem to know many facts already. Mostly, I am going to speak to you further to keep you from going off on a tangent not supported by the facts.
“Testing was less sophisticated in the sixties when Spider offered to donate his kidney. Thirty years later, it was a different world. Not only was Tom ruled out as a donor, DNA sequencing showed that he could not be Harriet’s son.”
I was lost for words.
“Plato and Harriet swore it was nonsense. But the conclusion was undeniable. I had no choice but to speak to the sheriff.”
“Beasley.”
“Yes. He tried to learn what he could. But Harriet and Plato totally shut down. And almost fifty years had passed. Records showed the twins were home-birthed. A midwife assisted, but the sheriff was never able to track her down.
“Though both boys were grown, and Spider was long dead, Sheriff Beasley had to consider the possibilities. After the boys’ birth, the Lowerys spent a long time on government support. Had they perpetrated some sort of welfare fraud? Had they kidnapped one son? Both? Had they been involved in some sort of illegal surrogacy or adoption scheme?
“In the end, Sheriff Beasley decided Spider and Tom had been loved and well cared for. They’d had decent childhoods. What was past was past. He let the matter drop.”
Macken went silent for so long I thought maybe we’d been cut off.
“Hello?”
“I’m here. Five years later Tom was dead. Two years after that it was Harriet. Plato never recovered. I find the whole thing very, very sad, don’t you, Dr. Brennan?”
I nodded, realized she couldn’t see me do it.
“Yes,” I said. And meant it.
While I’d been phoning and pacing and phoning, Ryan had also been busy. When I met him in the kitchen he’d already talked to Lo.
“Lo wants the text from Katy’s blog posting.”
“I’ll get it.”
I ran upstairs, slipped into Katy’s room, and retrieved the printout.
“Given the hostile nature of this”—Ryan flicked the paper I’d handed him—“the guy in the yard, and your little incident down by Waimanalo Bay, Lo thinks we should keep the girls close for a while.”
“He thinks Katy and Lily are in danger?”
“Probably not, but he prefers to play it safe. He’ll send a patrol car past here once every hour.”
“Danger from whom?”
“Obviously, he doesn’t know. Calm down. It’s a courtesy. I’d do the same for visiting law enforcement in Montreal. But you should have showed this to me.” Again, Ryan flicked the printout.
“Agreed.”
Ryan inhaled. Exhaled. Rubbed his hands up and down his face.
“I hope my lamebrain kid wasn’t planning to sneak out last night.”
“With the guy in the yard?”
Ryan nodded. It was clear his parental patience was stretched to the snapping point.
“Do you think Lily might be backsliding?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you searched her room? Questioned her?”
“If I do that and I’m wrong, I could be destroying what little trust I’ve built.”
“If you do that and you’re right you could be saving her life.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Ryan shook his head.
A beat passed.
“Heroin’s a mean bastard,” he said.
I reached out and stroked Ryan’s cheek, saddened by his obvious distress.
Danny called at ten.
