The Good Twin(55)

I drew in a long breath. “You want me to keep pretending with Ben.”

“I know it’s asking a lot. I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

I could end it all right now. Let Detective Saldinger arrest both Ben and Mallory, and I could put to rest any lingering fear over what Ben might do to me.

“I don’t know if this will make a difference to you,” Saldinger continued, “but if we get the hit man, he might confirm that the murder was your husband’s idea, and your sister just went along with it. Then, it increases the chance that the prosecutor makes a favorable deal with her.”

“How would this work?”

“Ben will text the hit man with the day he wants it done. We know it won’t be until your father’s funeral is over. Mallory will make sure he tells her when it’s supposed to be. We’ll have someone staked out at your place, and as soon as he shows up, we’ll grab him.”

“And if he won’t tell Mallory in advance?”

“Then we’ll arrest him as soon as your father is buried.”

I felt so confused. I needed someone to help me sort through this mess, but there was no one I could go to.

“Can I think about it?” I asked.

“Take a day. Two at the most.”

As I walked back to the gallery, I realized there was only one person I could talk to. As soon as I got there, I went into my office, closed the door, and phoned my grandfather.

“Hi, Poppy.”

“Pips? We just spoke this morning. Is there a change?”

“No, Dad’s the same. I need advice from you.”

“Sure. Ask away.”

“When Mom and Dad adopted me, did you know anything about the birth mother?”

“Just the hospital where you were born. It was in Scranton. Are you trying to search for her?”

“No. It’s just . . . I have a sister. An identical twin sister.”

“What! Did she contact you? Is that how you know?” His voice was filled with excitement.

“She did. Two weeks ago.”

“That’s wonderful. Tell me about her.”

I started to speak and then burst out crying instead. He tried to ask me what was wrong a few times until he finally gave up and let me cry myself out. When I finally regained control of myself, I told him the whole story. He was silent for a bit, then said, “Your sister, what’s her name?”

“Mallory.”

There was silence for a few beats. “I think you should give your sister a chance. Let the detective lock down her story. She’s your family.”





CHAPTER 38

After speaking to my grandfather, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. I wasn’t in this situation alone now. Although he was far away from me, in his Florida home, I still was comforted by him. I decided to call Mallory. I bombarded her with questions about our mother, about her life. When I asked about our father, Mallory knew almost nothing, other than his death during the Gulf War. “What about his parents?” I asked.

“Mom never talked about them.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“I never thought about it. Mom was my whole world. There were no grandparents or aunts and uncles or cousins. It was just us.”

“Wouldn’t you like there to be more?”

“I learned from a very young age to not wish for things. It just led to disappointment.”

“Let’s try to find them,” I said. “It could be a project we do together.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“I do. With your birth certificate. It must say your father’s last name. And he probably grew up in Allentown, like our mother. Or at least nearby.”

“I have a box of Mom’s papers. It might be in there. I vaguely remember that when I applied for my learner’s permit, Mom brought my birth certificate with us.”

“Did you see our father’s name?”

“I didn’t even look at it. All I cared about then was being able to drive.”

“Good. It’ll be our project. I need something to keep my mind off my father—and Ben.”



When I arrived at work the next morning, there was a message from Mallory. I quickly called her back.

“I found my birth certificate,” she said. “Our father’s name is John Harris.”

“Ugh. I suspect that’s a pretty common name. But if his parents are still in Allentown or nearby, we might be able to track them down.”

“If they’re alive.”

“Right.”

I’d wondered last night why I’d fixated on finding my biological grandparents and realized it was because I needed to focus on something positive. Even if they rejected us, they could tell us what our father was like. What kind of person he was. What his passions were. They could help fill in the blanks of who we were. Who I am.

I said goodbye to Mallory, then turned to my computer and did a search for anyone in or near Allentown with the last name Harris. I came up with more than two hundred names and phone numbers. I forwarded the list to Mallory and suggested she start at the bottom, making phone calls, and I’d start at the top. It gave me something to do, and for that I was glad. Ever since meeting Mallory, since learning of Ben’s plans, I’d had difficulty concentrating. Fortunately, I didn’t have any new shows planned for another month. I did have two artists, Marc Horowitz, a painter, and Sergei Kinsky, a sculptor, who’d been accepted for the Whitney Biennial, beginning in March. The museum featured the work of the best emerging contemporary artists every two years, and it was a great career boost to be selected. I expected it would bring new collectors to the gallery seeking to buy their work. I picked up the phone and began dialing.