Celtic Sister (32 page)

“Maybe we can look for him,” Sam said.

Emma looked at her brother as if he had a few screws loose. “I don’t know where to look. A guy like that doesn’t want to be found.”

“Good point.”

“But he was my angel, so there’s a place in heaven for him. That is for certain.”

The possibility of Igor’s demise silenced them for a moment, but Amy’s curiosity prevailed.

“How did it play out?” she asked. “Did you slip Charlotte’s passport in your pocket when you left?”

“Oh, no. The passport process was far more complicated. I didn’t get to take them with me during that meeting. We spent another thirty minutes going over details. The thugs knocked one more time. Igor went out into the hallway and gave them a chewing down. When he returned he apologized to me, explaining he had appeased the thugs by telling them I was not very bright, so I needed a thorough training before they took me home.”

“Why didn’t they just keep you?”

“I couldn’t disappear yet,” Emma explained. “They wanted me out of the country before anyone could start looking for me.”

“That makes sense,” Amy said. “Sorry. Please continue.”

“Anyway, Igor had to quiz me about the identities, so he gave me a full story to memorize on each character.”

“Ugh. That must have been nerve-racking.”

“Yes, but he made me a cheat sheet with some very cryptic notes that included a couple of crude sketches. Jennifer was from New York, so he drew an apple. Charlotte was from Arizona, so he drew a mesa. That’s how I got the idea for picture clues actually. He told me to spend most of my time practicing to be Charlotte Young. Then I should do a brief review of Jennifer Johnson before leaving in case whoever was assigned to be my handler quizzed me on the way to the airport.”

“Fascinating.”

“Everything you ever wanted to know about creating a false identity, right?”

“Right.”

“But it was the airport switch that made me the most nervous. Igor knew they planned to pull me on Saturday, probably in the wee hours of the morning. Three a.m., to be exact, I found out later. A guy made me climb out the window. Threatened to break my neck if I made a sound.” She shuddered. “Igor made arrangements with a woman he knew named Sonya. Said it would be absolutely a slam dunk that Sonya would help me, given my situation. I was to meet Sonya in a specific bathroom in the main concourse. Ditch my handler with a complaint of anxiety and a diarrhea attack. Sonya would join me in the bathroom and help me put on the wig and makeup.”

“Right under the handler’s nose?”

“It worked. She was fast. She also wore a black wig, and she made a big deal out of being seen by the handler when she entered the restroom. She was taller and bustier than me, but she gave me her oversized sweater and black stretchy pants. We moved the stuff from my carry-on into her huge shoulder bag. I even had the Richardsons’ money. Only about a third of what Brent originally promised me, but it was something. When I first got into the car, the Richardson thug gave me a carry-on. The money was in a side zip pocket. I didn’t check the amount until later.” She looked around the room, trying to regain the thread of the story. “So Sonya and I put everything in her shoulder bag, left the carry-on behind, and I walked out right past the handler. I’ve never been so scared in my life. It was as if my heart was right inside my head, pounding like a bass drum.”

“So Sonya dressed you up in the restroom, gave you the passport, and let you go on by yourself?”

“No. She got me boarded. After I slipped past the handler, Sonya ditched her wig and caught up with me at our second meeting point outside security. Probably was only five minutes but it seemed like an eternity. She had a cheap domestic ticket, so she could get through security. When we were on the underground train to terminal B, I felt better. My flight, the one to New York, was leaving fifteen minutes earlier than the Richardson-purchased flight to Chicago from a different terminal. In Chicago, I was supposed to change planes and continue on to Morocco. I was a little nervous in New York. I mean, now I was all by myself, and they’d been looking for me for more than four hours. They could’ve been waiting for me when I got off the plane.”

“I’m surprised they weren’t,” Amy said.

Emma shrugged. “I think they assumed I’d given them the slip and left the airport on foot, maybe caught a taxi. The idea that I could have a dual identity and be leaving the country may not have come up as a possibility until it was clear I hadn’t gone home.”

“Good point,” Sam said. “It would seem like too complicated a plan for a seventeen-year-old runaway.”

Emma frowned. “That’s why my heart breaks when I think of Igor. Surely they figured out he helped me.”

Sam touched her on the arm. “Igor wanted to help you. It was probably one of his more defining moments in life.”

Emma nodded. “He saved me.”

“I know.”

“So what about the clues, Emma?” Amy asked. Now that the story was falling into place, she envisioned the soon-to-be-runaway plotting her next move after she met with Igor, before they took her to the airport.

“Right. Well, as I said, Igor’s pictures gave me the idea for cryptic clues. The thought of disappearing forever terrified me. How was I to raise a baby by myself in a foreign country? And how could I do that to my family? Cause them such heartache?” She smiled sadly. “But I also wrestled with the idea that I had agreed to keep my mouth shut. I was ashamed about the money. At that point, I fully well intended to take it. I didn’t think I stood a chance if I went into hiding without it. And I was worried about Dad’s business. Basically, I was a wreck.” She pantomimed holding a piece of paper. “So I was looking at Igor’s cheat sheet and the idea came to me. I’d make a little notebook and fill it with clues. If I was clever enough, I could drop it right under Brent’s nose. And if
he
handed you the clues, it absolved me somehow.”

“Why did you even care at that point?” Sam asked. It was clear that part of him felt resentment for the years lost because of the disastrous outcome of the notebook fiasco.

She grimaced. “Because I was taking the money. Hush money. You can’t take hush money if you don’t keep your mouth shut.”

“So your integrity told you to make the clues as absolutely difficult to find as possible? Hide them in a birdhouse?”

“No. By the time I got to the birdhouse, that was sheer desperation. I met Brent Friday morning to go over the plan. That’s when he told me I needed to be ready to leave at three in the morning on Saturday and I was not allowed to bring a suitcase. Just a plastic bag with clothing. I showed Brent the notebook and asked him to give it to you. I thought I was perfectly innocent and convincing, but it didn’t work. When he said
no
, I figured
to hell with it
, and I planned to just leave it on my desk.”

“That would have been perfect.”

“But he called me later that afternoon asking questions about the notebook. He was very angry. Said it violated our agreement and that the guy who was coming to pick me up would search my house.”

“He certainly wouldn’t have gone into our parents’ bedroom while they were sleeping. You could have left it in their room. Under their bed even.”

“Good point. He must have thought of that because he started rambling off a bunch of other nonsense. Said they had someone on the police force already lined up to be part of the investigation into the
Disappearance of Emma Foster.
Then he started up with the threats against Dad’s business again. Said I would have to live with the consequences of our family’s ruin if the police ever uncovered anything that looked like a secret message. Of course he alternated with the smooth, slick talk about my promise to keep my mouth shut and take the money. By the time I got off the phone, my brain was like scrambled eggs. At that point, I was more determined than ever to give you the notebook, but now I had to make sure some dirty cop didn’t get his hands on it first. So now the top of the desk wasn’t an option. Neither were the drawers or any other place in my room.”

“That’s why,” Sam said.

“What?”

“One of the police officers spent a lot of time rummaging through drawers and looking in cupboards. Someone, it might have been the same guy, tore apart my dorm room and gave my roommate the third degree. It really pissed me off. We all knew we were on the top of the suspect list for a while, so Mom asked me to be polite and patient.” He frowned. Huge creases formed on his forehead. “But now I realize the cop must have been looking for your notebook. Bastard.”

Emma shrugged. “So the birdhouse was a good idea after all, huh?”

Sam sighed and leaned back. “I guess so.”

“At the time, I was imagining just what you said, that a guy would be looking in every nook and cranny in the house. I wandered around trying to think like I was that man, you know? Where would I look? When I was in the basement, I saw my birdhouse, all finished except for the roof. I had carved an elaborate clover design on it. It was the perfect place. So I took a scrap of plywood to make the extra wall, and the notebook fit like a glove. I was empowered by that, like it was meant to be. Then I brought the finished birdhouse upstairs. You were home, having dinner with us that night.”

Sam nodded. “I remember. You made a huge deal about how special the birdhouse was. How it really deserved to have a lot of baby birds in it.”

“That was the first clue.”

“We hung it on a tree in a memorial ceremony,” Sam said. “It has seen many baby birds, Emma.”

Emma tipped her head. “Well, I guess that was definitely the literal translation.”

“If I thought about reading between the lines, I might have gotten there. I saw the birdhouse book on your desk—”

“See?”

“We all thought something had happened to you. That you were abducted. The idea that you were lining up clues didn’t really fit the expectation.”

“It all made so much sense at the time. I couldn’t really see past my own version of reality. I was scared.”

Sam pulled his chair closer and took her into an embrace. “I know you were, Em.”

“And then once I settled, I didn’t dare call or write. Igor’s comment about the Richardsons not liking to lose… his words hung over me like an anvil. I didn’t want to risk it. I just prayed you’d figure out the clues one day. This – Ireland, the Murphy’s, and all my new friends – became my life. This
is
my life.”

“I know. But you’ll come visit Mom and Dad?”

She burst into tears. Eventually, after drying her eyes and blowing her nose, she was able to speak. “Of course I will. Samantha and I will be delighted to come to America.”

The brother and sister embraced for several minutes. Emma sniffled on occasion.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for what I’ve put you through.”

Sam held her at arm’s length and forced her to look him in the eyes. “You are not the villain here. You realize that, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“You were seventeen,” he said, reemphasizing his point.

“I know.”

“So we’re going to expose the real villains now.” He looked at Amy and caught her eyes. “The kind of people who push pregnant women down flights of stairs.”

Amy shook her head. “I don’t know that it’ll do any good.”

They were all quiet for a moment.

“It’s time,” Emma said, and she smiled. Something about the joy of serenity had transformed her face, all the strange, old memories having woven themselves into a tapestry of wisdom and endurance. The running was over, and a new chapter of life would begin.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Amy walked to the beach while Sam and Emma talked and made plans. She passed the pub and knew in a heartbeat she would find herself within its protective walls before nightfall. Only a half bottle of whiskey remained in her purse, and the emotions from Emma’s story still coursed through her body. Tranquility wasn’t even a speck on Amy’s horizon.

She made a spot for herself on the beach and retrieved her bottle. The half emptiness of it taunted her. It wasn’t nearly enough to quiet the outlying edges of her anxiety.

Amy couldn’t decide why she felt paralyzed. Nothing Emma had said truly shocked her – the rape, the incident with the stairs, all the cloak-and-daggery involved in running a young girl out of town – the story rolled off Emma’s tongue and ordered itself in Amy’s mind with little effort.

Perhaps that’s it,
Amy realized an hour later when she stood to brush the sand off her pants, now fully cognizant of the fact she was heading for the pub. Her brain had easily digested Emma’s story, as if it were wisps of cotton candy melting on her tongue. Amy had made the Richarson insanity a normalcy in her life. And now she was expected to stand on her own two feet.
Confront them
even, if she were to take Sam’s words to heart. That was not easy to digest, not like cotton candy. It seemed more like uncooked corn on the cob in a frozen field by comparison.

As she ascended the stairs, Amy checked her purse for cash. Satisfied she had plenty, she entered the pub in the late afternoon. Only one other customer sat at the bar. He was drinking a beer, eating a light dinner, and flirting with the waitress. Amy ordered a whiskey and retreated to a table by the window. As the evening wore on, more customers filed in. Amy ordered snacks and more drinks. Checking in with Sam and Emma didn’t even enter her mind.

Before six o’clock, Amy joined a bachelor party made up of men aged sixty-something. She bought a round and settled herself between a tall, lanky, white-haired man and a chunky bald guy. The groom-to-be was a distinguished-looking gentleman with blue eyes and dimples. He seemed delightfully entertained by Amy’s appearance at their table.

“Did the boys bribe you to tempt me?”

Amy laughed hysterically in response.

“Because I’m very much in love, young lady,” the man continued.

“I have no doubt,” Amy slurred. “And she’s a lucky lady.”

“Hear, hear,” someone shouted.

“He’s the lucky one,” another chimed in. “Luckier than he rightly deserves, I’d say.” Laughter resounded, followed by a few more unsavory comments about the groom and his less-than-appealing qualities.