When Blake Ives was introduced to her, Carrie smiled uncertainly and said hello. When she saw Graydon, she ran to him, shouting, “Grandfather!” and burst into tears as she hugged him.
I had to admire Blake Ives. He was overjoyed to see her, weeping, in fact, but he didn’t push or make a scene. He patiently waited while Graydon comforted Carrie.
Graydon soothed her, and when she had calmed down again, he said, “Carrie, do you know who Mr. Ives is?”
She nodded.
“I’m so happy that he’s found you,” he said. “We all have lots of questions about how you were separated, and I know you’ve had an upsetting day. But he’s a good man who has been hoping to see you for so many years, and I wanted to come to let you know that no matter what else has happened today, this part of your life will be just fine. Meeting your father is a reason to rejoice.”
She looked back and forth between them, then said to Blake, “I read Ms. Kelly’s story about you in the paper. It’s…nice to meet you.” She held out her hand.
He took it and, although I could see it was killing him, refrained from doing more than gently shaking it for a moment.
He came down to eye level with her. “Carla-I mean, Carrie-do you want me to call you Carrie?”
She thought about it and said, “Does it hurt your feelings?”
“No,” he said softly.
“Okay, well, if you don’t mind, Carrie’s what I’m used to hearing. I like the name Carla, but I might not remember you’re talking to me when you say it.”
“Carrie it is, then. I look forward to getting to know you again. Mr. Fletcher has been telling me about you on the way here. He’s right-we’re both so glad you’re all right and weren’t hurt too badly, and we both want to make sure you’re happy and safe-that’s what matters most to both of us, okay?”
“Thank you,” she said. She looked to Graydon. “Where’s Dad?” She blushed and said, “I mean…”
“It’s okay,” Blake said.
“I don’t know where he is, Carrie,” Graydon said. “I’m worried about him and your brothers and sister. I have a lot of questions to ask him, but mostly I’m worried.”
“Mom…”
“I’m sorry.”
That brought on the tears again. Somehow, in that upset, she let Blake comfort her, too.
A pair of Fletcher’s sons who were lawyers arrived, apparently on their own initiative. Graydon refused to follow their advice about not saying anything, and simply told them to be quiet or wait for him in the lobby. I guess he still held some power as the patriarch, because they shut up.
Graydon couldn’t explain-for her benefit, or to the various law enforcement officials who wanted to know-why Giles Fletcher had taken his niece and a newspaper reporter hostage. He couldn’t imagine any reason for Giles to harm Bonnie-whom he referred to as Victoria-or anyone else. He had been shocked, he said, when reading the morning paper to see the story about Blake lves. “I didn’t see the paper until late this morning, but I immediately recognized Victoria’s photo, and while I wasn’t quite so sure about Carrie, of course, I could see the resemblance. I-I wanted to talk to Roy. I’ve been leaving messages for him.”
“He didn’t go to your house?” Carrie asked.
“No, honey, he didn’t. Is that what he said he would be doing?”
“Yes.” Her forehead wrinkled in worry.
Carrie told the story of her morning, including some parts I hadn’t known. Except for her fear and a quality of innocence, one could easily forget she was a child-her vocabulary was beyond that of a number of adults I know, and so was her intelligence.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” she said. “I think Dad put a sedative or something like that in Mom’s drink.”
“Tell us more about this,” Graydon said, looking grim.
SO we heard about the Bloody Mary, the mortar and pestle, the pills. Joe Travers, the detective from Huntington Beach, was madly taking notes. Travers either had kids of his own or had questioned children before, because his manner with Carrie quickly won her over. I suppose the fact that no one was trying to stop her from being honest with him helped.
With Zeke Brennan’s able advice, I was able to be honest, too-I just didn’t tell anyone how much I’d wanted to kill Cleo. I was glad for Zeke’s guidance. People who make lawyer jokes should think about how well they’d do with trial by ordeal.
Graydon Fletcher said the name Cleo was familiar to him, although he had not seen her since she was a teenager. “I don’t know if it’s the same person,” he said. Then he pretty much described her exactly, in a younger form.
“Where could we find her?” the detective asked.
“I have no earthly idea. But I will ask my family members to cooperate completely with you.”
An urgent bulletin was issued regarding Roy Fletcher and the children who were with him. The Huntington Beach police were searching for photos. None were on the walls of Roy Fletcher’s home, but Carrie mentioned a digital camera. “Dad kept a few of our pictures on his computer,” she said, although she couldn’t provide a password. That frustrated her, but then she said, “Wait! My camera. Remember, Grandfather? You gave it to me the last time you came to see us. I took our pictures.” She described where it could be found in their room. “Genie might have taken it with her, though,” she cautioned, “when she put my things in the car.”
I marveled as she told us about Genie’s Plan B, thought up on the spur of the moment when she found my voice mail was full. None of these kids were dull-witted.
“Do your brothers and sister look like you?” Detective Travers asked.
“No, we were all-” She broke off and gave me a questioning look. She was already wondering if anything she knew of her family history was true.
“Mr. Fletcher,” I said to Graydon, “Carrie was raised to believe that she was legally adopted at birth. She’s since realized that Bonnie-Victoria-was her birth mother. Do you know any of the details of the adoptions? Did you ever see adoption papers?”
“Why, no. So many of my children have gone on to become adoptive or foster parents…oh.” He looked stricken and fell silent.
Priorities were agreed upon, and the first was to find Roy Fletcher and the children-their legal status was less important than finding them alive.
The next was to locate Cleo Fletcher. When I mentioned that she was dressed as a Las Piernas cop, I was told that Officer Dennis Fletcher’s uniform (reported stolen weeks ago from Fletcher’s Dry Cleaning) had been left behind in the car, and presumably she was wearing something else now. So far, no one knew where she had gone since I saw her dive away from the BMW.
When we were all talked out, a question arose regarding Carrie. Blake had all the papers to prove he had the right to legal custody, but apparently he had studied up on reunions like these and was taking it slowly. As a result, Carrie had gone from being wary of him to being openly curious. She sat next to him and talked to him while I was being questioned separately.
By the time we were calling it quits for the day, a social worker was on the scene as well. When she asked Carrie what she would like to do, Carrie looked at Graydon, and even at me, then turned to Blake and said, “I’m not three anymore.”
“No,” he said, “you’ve grown up.”
“It might be fun to see Squeegee again. And there’s this song I want to ask you about…”
WHEN she left, Graydon Fletcher seemed to age before my eyes.
“Dad,” one of his attorney offspring said, “we’d better get you home.”
“Yes,” he said, “yes.” But before he left, he took hold of my arm with a gnarled hand and reassured me that he was going to do all he could to discover what Giles and Cleo and Roy had been up to. He repeated this reassurance to the Las Piernas detectives.
“Please, please don’t judge the rest of us by their actions,” he said, and released my arm.
I wanted to trust him. I wanted to believe him.
