the Third Twin (1996)

“What happened?”

“The police found her. Fortunately she had a check from me in her purse, and they were able to track me down.”

“How do you feel about it?”

That was a female question. The men—Jack Budgen, Berrington Jones—had asked what she was going to do. It took a woman to ask how she felt. “Bad,” she said. “If I have to take care of my mother, who’s going to take care of me? You know?”

“What kind of place is she in?”

“Cheap. It’s all her insurance will cover. I have to get her out of there, as soon as I can find the money to pay for something better.” She heard a pregnant silence at the other end of the line and realized that Ghita thought she was being asked for money. “I’m going to do some private tutoring on the weekends,” she added hastily. “Did you talk to your boss about my proposal yet?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

Jeannie held her breath.

“Everyone here is real interested in your software,” Ghita said.

That was neither a yes nor a no. “You don’t have computer scanning systems?”

“We do, but your search engine is faster by far than anything we’ve got. They’re talking about licensing the program from you.”

“Wow. Maybe I won’t need to do private tuition on the weekends after all.”

Ghita laughed. “Before you open the champagne, let’s make sure the program actually works.”

“How soon can we do that?”

“We’ll run it at night, for minimal interference with normal use of the database. I’ll have to wait for a quiet night. It should happen within a week, two at most.”

“No faster?”

“Is there a rush?”

There was, but Jeannie was reluctant to tell Ghita of her worries. “I’m just impatient,” she said.

“I’ll get it done as soon as possible, don’t worry. Can you upload the program to me by modem?”

“Sure. But don’t you think I need to be there when you run it?”

“No, I don’t, Jeannie,” Ghita said with a smile in her voice.

“Of course, you know more about this kind of stuff than I do.”

“Here’s where to send it.” Ghita read out an E-mail address and Jeannie wrote it down. “I’ll send you the results the same way.”

“Thanks. Hey, Ghita?”

“What?”

“Am I going to need a tax shelter?”

“Get out of here.” Ghita laughed and hung up.

Jeannie clicked her mouse on America Online and accessed the Internet. As her search program was uploading to the FBI, there was a knock at her door and Steven Logan came in.

She looked at him appraisingly. He had been given disturbing news, and it showed in his face; but he was young and resilient, and the shock had not brought him down. He was psychologically very stable. If he had been a criminal type—as his brother, Dennis, presumably was—he would have picked a fight with someone by now. “How are you doing?” she asked him.

He closed the door behind him with his heel. “All finished,” he said. “I’ve undergone all the tests and completed each examination and filled out every questionnaire that can be devised by the ingenuity of humankind.”

“Then you’re free to go home.”

“I was thinking of staying in Baltimore for the evening. As a matter of fact, I wondered if you’d care to have dinner with me.”

She was taken by surprise. “What for?” she said ungraciously.

The question threw him. “Well, uh … for one thing, I’d sure like to know more about your research.”

“Oh. Well, unfortunately I have a dinner engagement already.”

He looked very disappointed. “Do you think I’m too young?”

“For what?”

“To take you out”

Then it struck her. “I didn’t know you were asking me for a date,” she said.

He was embarrassed. “You’re kind of slow to catch on.”

“I’m sorry.” She was being slow. He had come on to her yesterday, on the tennis court. But she had spent all day thinking of him as a subject for study. However, now that she thought about it, he was too young to take her out. He was twenty-two, a student; she was seven years older; it was a big gap.

He said: “How old is your date?”

“Fifty-nine or sixty, something like that.”

“Wow. You like old men.”

Jeannie felt bad about turning him down. She owed him something, she thought, after what she had put him through. Her computer made a doorbell sound to tell her that the program had finished uploading. “I’m through here for the day,” she said. “Would you like to have a drink in the Faculty Club?”

He brightened immediately. “Sure, I’d love to. Am I dressed okay?”

He was wearing khakis and a blue linen shirt. “You’ll be better dressed than most of the professors there,” she said, smiling. She exited and turned her computer off.

“I called my mom,” Steven said. “Told her about your theory.”

“Was she mad?”

“She laughed. Said I wasn’t adopted, nor did I have a twin brother who was put up for adoption.”

“Strange.” It was a relief to Jeannie that the Logan family was taking all this so calmly. On the other hand, their laid-back skepticism made her worry that perhaps Steven and Dennis were not twins after all.

“You know …” She hesitated. She had said enough shocking things to him today. But she plunged on. “There is another possible way you and Dennis could be twins.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “Babies switched at the hospital.”

He was very quick. This morning she had noticed more than once how fast he worked things out. “That’s right,” she said. “Mother number one has identical twin boys, mothers two and three each have a boy. The twins are given to mothers two and three, and their babies are given to mother number one. As the children grow up, mother number one concludes that she has fraternal twins who bear one another remarkably little resemblance.”

“And if mothers two and three don’t happen to be acquainted, no one ever observes the startling resemblance between babies two and three.”

“It’s the old staple of the romance writers,” she admitted. “But it’s not impossible.”

“Is there a book on this twin stuff?” he said. “I’d like to know more about it.”

“Yeah, I have one.…” She looked along her bookshelf. “No, it’s at home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Close by.”

“You could take me home for that drink.”

She hesitated. This one is the normal twin, she reminded herself, not the psychopath.

He said: “You know so much about me, after today. I’m curious about you. I’d like to see where you live.”

Jeannie shrugged. “Sure, why not? Let’s go.”

It was five o’clock, and the day was at last beginning to cool as they left Nut House. Steve whistled when he saw the red Mercedes. “What a neat car!”

“I’ve had it for eight years,” she said. “I love it.”

“My car’s in the parking lot. I’ll come up behind you and flash my lights.”

He left. Jeannie got into her car and started it. A few minutes later she saw headlights in her rearview mirror.