CHAPTER NINETEEN

For the third time, Haddie picked up her empty glass of tea, sighed, and put it down.

Josh sang, mumbling out a lyric from the copy room. He’d come back with two more banker boxes of files and had begun scanning after a few minutes of annoying Grace. Their back office had acquired stacks of the boxes. Andrea had requested everything she could get from the prosecution, and Mel still sat in jail.

Haddie read through the short statement for the second time. Her focus kept drifting among Dad and his photos, Detective Cooper’s odd statements, and checking to see if Terry had responded. She had requested the business records of the California vineyard, but those names would be difficult to get. Her co-workers had noticed; least Josh had claimed she acted ‘itchy,’ whatever that meant.

The witness, a Malorie Sanchez, reported that when she delivered mail to the victim’s address, she’d seen a blonde woman sitting in Mel’s white Optima across the street, supposedly watching the residence. Haddie had pulled up the street satellite photos and found the curving road in Cal Young. Detective Cooper’s questions had not been leading, and the interview thorough. With no mailbox on the street, Malorie had gotten out of the mail truck and Mel had just been sitting there. In the quiet neighborhood with tight streets, it would have been very obvious, but the mail worker hadn’t noticed Mel on the way in, just when she got out across the street.

It would be interesting to see the woman on her route by the victim’s house.

Terry texted. “Whoa.”

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Haddie’s chest tightened. She picked up the phone and leaned back into the chair. “What?” she typed.

“Was that your dad’s dad?” He followed with an image. “This is your dad. Right?” Dad riding on a bike toward a camera. A closer helmet in the foreground covered his shoulder and part of the bike. Color photography, something recent.

Perhaps involving Terry had been a bad idea. Still, she couldn’t help herself. “When is that?” she texted.

“1981, Daytona.” Terry had to think something was odd, even if he believed the war images and the bike images were separate people.

Haddie scrolled back to the picture and froze there. "Nothing that has happened to me is possible.’ He’d said it when they started talking. She couldn’t have just let the questions sit there. If this was him in 1981, then according to him, he hadn’t been born yet. Each answer made it worse.

The image shifted as Terry texted again. “Was this what you expected? You found his birth father?”

That would answer Terry’s questions, hopefully.

“Yes,” she answered. “Thanks!”

“Your dad doesn’t look like what. . . Sixty?”

What was she supposed to say? “Yeah.” She took in a deep breath. “Thanks. Boss here. Later.”

Putting her phone down, she held her hands toward it as if to will it to stay silent. She couldn’t absorb any more without breaking down. Nothing had ever made her feel this way. The world felt wrong and broken. She had to focus on something else. Anything else. The only thing she had in front of her was the testimony from the mail worker. What was she going to do, prove it wrong? The way the day had gone, she’d only make it worse.

Automatically, without thinking, she scooped up her satchel and stood.

Grace looked up, and then back at her computer. “3:15. You done for the day?”

“I’m going to see if I can watch the mail lady make her rounds.”

Grace shrugged lightly. “Okay. What’ll that prove?”

Haddie felt like she visibly trembled. “Not much. Just curious.” She ached to be on the road and focused there. No email, no text. Maybe she could clear her mind for just a moment. Malorie’s statement sounded weird, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe seeing the scene would help.

“You okay?” Grace tilted her head.

Her words came out too fast. “I’m fine. Great. Everything’s good.” Haddie tried to smile, but it didn’t work. I need to get out of here.