The Good Twin(65)

I smiled. “It won’t. I promise.”

He handed me what looked like an ordinary pen. “This is a transmitter. It’ll allow us to hear what’s going on, and we’ll record it on our end. Just press down the top to turn it on and again to turn it off. It’ll work inside your pocket.”

I placed the pen in the pocket of my slacks. “Got it.”

“What time do you expect him tonight?”

“I’m going to call him from the townhouse, pretend I’m Mallory, and give him some reason to come home. Figure around six-thirty, seven.”

“I’ll have an unmarked car outside starting at six. Call me once you speak to your husband.”

I said goodbye, then left the station. I decided to walk uptown to my townhouse. Manhattan was my home. The crowded streets, the loud noises, the smell of food from the myriad restaurants all gave me a feeling of comfort. Lounging by the pool at Poppy’s, or jogging along his stretch of beach, was a nice diversion, but I’d go crazy living there year-round. Manhattan was good to those with money, delivering a plethora of restaurants and culture—theater, ballet, opera, symphony, and, of course, museums galore. It was where I belonged. I couldn’t imagine what it would have been like growing up in Allentown, Pennsylvania. I was glad I hadn’t.





CHAPTER 46

On my walk uptown, I stopped at one of my favorite boutiques and picked out two pairs of identical black woolen slacks and two of the same black-and-white silk tunics that fell just below my hips.

I let myself into the empty townhouse. Ben was at Jensen Capital, and Mallory was at the gallery. I looked through the rooms to see if anything was amiss. Although I knew Ben was a neat freak, I had no idea whether Mallory was a slob—but everything was in place. I brought the new clothes up to the guest bedroom and hung one set of the slacks and blouse in the closet. I stopped quickly in the master bedroom, picked up some items I needed, then headed back downstairs and called Ben.

“What are you still doing at home?” he asked.

“I’m leaving for the gallery soon. Were you planning on coming home after work?”

“Nope. Heading out to Lisa’s.”

I seethed anew on hearing her name. “There’s a problem here that I need you to handle.”

“What?”

“Your friend dropped by the house. The guy you hired for—you know.”

“What the hell? I made the final installment, left it in a postal box at Mail Connections, just as he instructed me. What’s the guy trying to do now? Shake me down for more?”

“I have no idea, but he’s coming back at eight o’clock. He said you’d better be home.”

I heard muttering on the other end of the phone. “Ben?”

“I’ll be there.”



I left the townhouse and walked through Central Park, which was bursting with people on this day that seemed like a promise of an early spring. Carlos, the doorman, nodded to me when I arrived.

Once in the apartment, I started going through Dad’s papers. Ben had asked Mallory to do that, and although she’d pretended she had been, I had instructed her to leave that to me. She wouldn’t know what I might want to keep. She had, however, purchased boxes for me. I started in Dad’s office. Most of the documents in his file cabinet were office-related. I put those together in three boxes, figuring I’d have them delivered to Ted Manning. They were probably duplicates, but he could decide what to do with them.

I pulled out the bottom drawer, and it contained only two folders. The first, marked Personal Records, contained the birth certificates and baptismal certificates of my parents, my mother’s death certificate, and her Social Security card. The second folder was marked Charlotte. Inside was my birth certificate, with my adopted mother’s and father’s names. Next, my adoption papers. I had been three days old when my adoption took place.

Clipped to those papers was a small envelope. I opened it up and pulled out two handwritten pages.

To my beautiful daughter Amelia,

Today is the hardest day of my life. Today, I signed papers for you to be adopted. As soon as you were born, I knew I had to do this, but I’ve cried for two days straight. You were a surprise. I didn’t know I would give birth to twin girls. I want so much to keep you both, but I’m only seventeen years old, and my mother has disowned me, and your father died fighting for his country.

They told me the man and woman who are adopting you have a lot of money. I’m glad. That means they can take care of you better than I can. I hope they love you, but it will never be as much as I love you.

If you’re reading this letter, it means your parents have told you about your sister and me. We live in Scranton, Pennsylvania, now, but I don’t know where we’ll be when—or if—you get this. I hope one day you find us.

Your loving mother, Sasha (Susan) Holcolm

I sat on the chair, stunned. My parents knew my mother’s name, where she lived. They knew I had a twin. They kept me from both of them. They must not have told Poppy, because he’d seemed surprised when I’d told him about Mallory. All these years, I could have had a relationship with my sister. I could have known my mother. Now it was too late.



At a little after 7:00 p.m., I started to make my way to the townhouse. Just before I reached my home, I texted Mallory to make sure Ben had arrived. He had. Detective Saldinger was parked a few houses away from mine. I don’t know how he managed to get a spot so close—finding a parking spot on the street in Manhattan was akin to finding the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Maybe the pot of gold was easier. I stopped at his car to say hello, and he introduced me to his partner, Frank Sidoriak.