“I hear what you’re saying, Deborah. She’s acting completely out of character.”
“No,” she says impatiently. “I don’t think you understand. The woman who showed up here isn’t Sibley; she’s just pretending to be her. Her name is Soren.” Deborah exhales a breath. “Soren came back after all this time.”
“Soren?” Holden scrunches his nose. “Who’s Soren?”
“Sibley’s sister.”
Holden’s eyebrows shoot up in confusion. “Sibley has a sister?”
“Had.”
Alarm registers on Holden’s face.
“Hand me the tissues, will you?” Deborah points at a box on the counter next to him. Fisting a bunch in her hand, Deborah coughs a few times, her voice husky. “She had a baby sister. A twin, as a matter of fact.”
“Whoa!” Holden twists the mug in his hand. “I had no idea.”
Thinking back to that afternoon, Deborah sobs into the tissue. “They were born seven minutes apart, and Soren supposedly only lived for a little over twenty-four hours before the doctor told me she was gone. Then, about six months ago, I started getting letters from a woman who claimed to be Soren. She said she lived in Florida but wanted to get to know me.”
“What made you think Soren was still alive if she died as an infant?”
“Jonathan, my husband,” she says simply. “I figured he had someone kidnap her or sold her to a baby snatcher.”
Midsip, Holden spits out his tea. “Are you serious?”
“I wouldn’t have put it past Jonathan’s twisted mind to sell off one of our babies, pretending she was dead.”
“That’s . . . wow.” Holden looks baffled. “That’s insane.”
“I wish I could say it was far fetched, but people would walk into hospitals and take babies, especially back then. When I got the recent letters, I figured this was the case.” She stammers, “And the woman mentioned facts no one else knew. She sent letters from a PO box in Florida. I wondered if it was a hoax, but again, she knew so many tiny details.”
“Did she ever send you anything to confirm her identity?” Holden asks. “With the internet and Photoshop, you can fake so much these days.”
“Yes. She sent a recent picture, and though I haven’t seen her in thirty-four years, there was one identifying mark distinguishing the two twins at childbirth.”
Holden tilts his head with curiosity. “What was it?”
“The nurse called it a congenital mole, and it was on Sibley’s back, her left shoulder.” She drops her head in her hands. “The woman in my house doesn’t have a birthmark on her left shoulder.”
“Oh, that?” Holden’s jaw drops. “Sib had it removed, Mrs. Sawyer. Shortly after I met her. Then she got the tattoo of her butterfly. I’m not a fan of tattoos, but it had personal significance for her.”
Deborah is astounded at this news, and she lets her hands drift with uncertainty to her neck.
“It’s more than that,” she insists. “I’ve noticed my pills have gone missing. I’ve counted them, and they aren’t all there. I used to keep them in my medicine cabinet, but they keep disappearing. It took me a moment to catch on. First, I excused it as a break-in, but now . . .”
“Jesus.” Holden runs a hand through his hair. “This is serious. What types of pills?”
“Strong pain pills and sedatives.”
“She did get in a car accident before she got here. She might be having some residual pain.” He removes his glasses to rub his eyes.
“I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s because she’s sick and not because she wants to hurt me.” Deborah sniffs. “I’m worried the combination is making her violent. Holden . . .” Deborah closes her eyes as she says the awful words. “She attacked me. With a kitchen knife.”
His jaw drops. “Seriously? I’ve never known her to be violent.”
“She had me pinned on the ground, and I don’t know, it was like I was staring up at the devil.” Deborah shudders. “Her eyes were soulless and black, as if her body had been taken over. I’ve never been so scared in my life, and well . . .” Deborah bites her lip. “I’ve had some pretty terrifying moments.”
Stunned, Holden looks ready to burst into tears. “What happened?”
“I had to talk to her. In a soothing voice, I tried to calm her down until she released me.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“Just scratches.” Deborah shows him her arm. “But nothing serious, thank God.”
Holden shakes his head in amazement. “This is unbelievable. I’m . . . I’m in shock.”
Deborah toys with the used tea bag next to Holden’s empty mug. “She has a lot to work through right now.”
Holden taps his fingers on the table. “I need to go find her.”
“I’m sorry these are the circumstances we had to meet under.” Deborah plays with her cross pendant. “But you got to finally meet your mother-in-law.”
“Yes.” Holden nods.
“And now it’s too late.”
“Why would it be too late?”
“Because she’s never coming back.”
“Why do you say that?” Holden frowns. “Is she . . . do you think she’s going to hurt herself?”
Deborah’s eyes widen, then start to droop.
“You look tired. I better continue my search and let you sleep. Do you mind if I use the restroom before I go?”
“Not at all,” she murmurs, pointing in the direction of the bathroom. “It’s that way.”
Holden disappears, and when he returns, he hurriedly collects his damp jacket. “Thanks for the hospitality, Mrs. Sawyer,” he says politely. “And for the tea. I’m going to take a drive and see if I can locate Sib.”
“But I told you, she’s gone,” Deborah says sullenly. “And what about the rain?”
“The rain’s not a biggie.” Holden shrugs. “I can handle the weather. I just hope something hasn’t happened to her. By the way”—Holden slips his jacket back on—“what kind of vehicle is she driving?”
“It’s an old Toyota, white.”
His jaw tenses. “You mean the white one outside that looks like it’s seen better days?”
Deborah grips the table as she rises. She’s unclear what he means. Why would her car be outside if she’s left?
Confused, she stares at him like he’s mad. “It’s not here.”
Holden flicks on the light switch he probably assumes will be a porch light,
