“No, no, no,” I said, shaking my head. “You know she’ll want to know every single detail.”
“No she won’t,” Jilly argued. “She couldn’t care less what we’re up to.”
“Yeah right. What planet are you on?”
“Okay, then.” She folded her arms. “We’ll go with your idea.”
I gave her a dirty look and sighed. “Fine.”
Back in my own bed, I fought to keep my eyes closed, determined to get some sleep. The thought of staring at the clock, waiting for the next five hours to pass, was starting to stress me out. It didn’t feel like it, but I must have dozed off at some point because the next time I looked at my clock it read 7:58.
I lay in bed, formulating a game plan. I’d have to wait until ten o’clock our time to call Phyllis, that would make it nine in Florida. Mom usually spent a couple hours in her office after breakfast. That would be a good time to make the call. Then there was Vivian. Maybe I’d just let Jilly handle her. Vivian was way too hard on my head.
First, I got Jilly to call Vivian to get her fax number.
“Didn’t she want to know why?” I asked.
“No. I told you, she couldn’t care less, she just said ‘Sure, whatever.’ She probably won’t even look at the fax. She was planning on highlighting her hair, you know, the one where you pull the hair through the cap? It’s very intense. It’ll keep her busy for the whole day.”
“She’ll let us know when it comes?”
“Yup. She’ll send me a text.”
Next I called Phyllis. She told me she’d dug out the yearbook stuff and that she’d fax it to the new number sometime today. I wanted to press her for an exact time but I didn’t want to push my luck.
The day felt excruciatingly long. Jilly and I stuck together, hanging out in the family room watching TV. Mom kept looking at us with her eyebrows scrunched together, but we just smiled back. Finally, at 4:12, the muffled melody of Hedley’s latest song could be heard—Jilly’s ring tone. She flipped open her phone and read the text. “She wants us to call,” she said, dialing Vivian’s number.
I pressed my head next to hers and she tilted the phone so I could hear too.
“So…I got your fax,” Vivian said. There was something in her tone I didn’t like. “There’s a picture here,” she continued. “And I’m pretty sure it’s your crazy neighbour, Mrs. Swicker.”
“Ummm…” Jilly stalled.
“You guys better get your butts over here,” Vivian bossed. “And I want Every. Single. Detail.”
I pinched a piece of flesh on Jilly’s arm and twisted as hard as I could.
Chapter 19
“Where are you guys off to?” Mom asked suspiciously. She found us practically tripping over each other to get out the door.
Jilly and I looked at each other. “Uhhhh…Vivian’s having a hair crisis. She’s highlighting her hair and she can’t reach the back. Mom, we gotta go. You know it’s all about the timing,” Jilly explained.
“And why are you going, Lydia? This doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”
“Uhhhh…I’m thinking about trying one of those kits out before school starts. Just wanna see how it turns out.” I was talking way too fast.
“Hmph.”
I could tell she didn’t believe us, but what could she say?
We were just about to make a break for it when everything went in the crapper. Who was strutting up our front walk? Mrs. Swicker, and she didn’t look happy.
“Lydia!” she snapped.
My feet froze to the spot.
“I’ve just been made aware of the fact that you are still in possession of Megan’s house key.” She pretty much spit the words at me.
“Oh right, ummm, let me get that for you, sorry about that.”
“I’ll wait for you outside, Lid, okay?” Jilly squeezed past Mrs. Swicker, who was blocking the front door as though she thought we were going to flee the country with her stupid key.
“It’s in my room, totally slipped my mind,” I lied. Tearing upstairs, I grabbed the key, desperate to get rid of her. Not that I thought she’d hang around for a friendly chat or anything like that, I was just dying to get to Vivian’s.
She snatched the key from my hand, spun around, and left without a word. Even Mom looked a little flabbergasted.
“Lid! Hair! Timing!” Jilly was jumping up and down on the front step.
Mom stopped me again. “That reminds me, take your key. Your father and I will probably be gone by the time you guys get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“Dinner, a show, then overnight at the Hilton. It’s our anniversary, remember?”
“Oh, I totally forgot.” I felt bad. I didn’t even get them a card. “Have a great time. I’ll make it up to you, promise.” I stood on my tiptoes and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll hold you to that. Now don’t forget, Jilly’s babysitting tonight around the corner. You could go with her if you don’t want to be alone, and I’ll leave the number of the hotel by the phone.”
“Mom, don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Jilly and I were out of breath by the time Vivian’s house came into view. Vivian stood on her front step, her brilliantly platinum hair beckoning to us like a lighthouse.
“Wow, nice hair.” I couldn’t help myself.
She shoved me into the door frame, hard.
“Ouch!”
“Yeah, well I got a little distracted by your junk, and I left the stuff in too long. I want the scoop,” she demanded, waving a finger back and forth between me and Jilly. “You guys so owe me.”
I started to break out in a nervous rash just thinking about how long it was going to take to tell Vivian the whole story, let alone make her actually understand it.
Jilly must have picked up on my body language. “I’ll fill in Vivian, you start going through the stuff from Phyllis.” She turned to Vivian. “Is it in your dad’s study?”
Vivian nodded. “Down the hall on the left.”
“Wait. Are your parents here?” I asked.
“Nope. Golfing.”
Surprisingly, the study was down the hall on the left. For some reason I expected her directions to be wrong. There were a few sheets of paper sitting beside the fax machine. The copy of the yearbook photo was on top. I let out a little yelp. There was no mistake, it was Mrs. Swicker. Plunking myself into the leather office chair, I hungrily devoured the information in my hands. The name under Mrs. Swicker’s photo read Noreen Baratto. No wonder we couldn’t find anything, we were looking for Reenie Barretto—not even close. I quickly read the yearbook write-up: Noreen, aka Reenie, can usually be found snapping pictures for the yearbook committee. She’s off to the big apple next year to attend Tisch School of Arts for a degree in Photography. Reenie leaves Coral High with these words, “Get away from me!” We wish her well.
My mouth dropped open. I had to laugh. Now that was funny. Had she known they would put that quote in the yearbook? She probably didn’t care one way or the other.
Vivian and Jilly tumbled into the study.
“What’s so funny?” Jilly asked.
“Here, read this.” I handed her the piece of paper. Vivian read over Jilly’s shoulder.
“Well, if the picture didn’t convince me that this is Mrs. Swicker, the write-up definitely did,” Jilly smirked.
Vivian sat on the corner of the desk. “It’s just so out there, you know? Like, do you really think she’s on the run? That she did something to Sam and Megan’s father?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. It’s just a theory. I don’t have any proof.”
“And these other kids, the twins, are they her kids? Where do they fit in?” Vivian asked.
“At this point, we’re hoping whatever we find out about Mrs. Swicker will help us figure out who they are,” Jilly said.
“Well, she changed her name. She must be hiding from something,” Vivian pointed out. “Seems to me the something has to be the father. He’s the bad
guy, and she’s protecting the kids from him. Did you ever think of that?” Vivian asked.
Megan had suggested that, but, “No.” I shook my head. “No, I never did.”
“Trust me,” Jilly said. “There’s no way that Mrs. Swicker’s gonna turn out to be the good guy, no way.”
“You never know…” Vivian sang.
“Well, we do.” Jilly dragged a footstool over next to my chair. “What else you got there, Lid?”
I pulled out another piece of paper from under the yearbook page. “She wrote down some stuff and there’s a photocopy of a newspaper clipping.”
“Read it!” They demanded in stereo.
“Okay, um…her note says…Forgot I cut out this wedding announcement, found it stuck in my yearbook. It might help. I do know I read in some newspaper column, they were divorced in less than a year. Here’s the article,” I continued. “Kennedy-Baratto. Announcing the upcoming nuptials of John Kennedy of Phoenix, Arizona, and Noreen Baratto of Miami, Florida. The couple will marry in a civil service on September 23, 1991. The bride elect is the daughter of Gladys and Murray Baratto of Miami, Florida. The future bridegroom is the son of Eleanor and Carson Kennedy of Phoenix, Arizona. The bride elect has just obtained her degree from the Tisch School of Arts. The future bridegroom is a recent graduate of Juilliard School of Music, and has accepted the prestigious position as conductor of the New York Symphony Orchestra.”
I rested the papers on my lap and leaned back in the chair, digesting the information.
“Okay,” Jilly said. “This John Kennedy must be Sam and Megan’s father.”
“Well, we have to find out if he’s still alive,” Vivian said. “Like to rule out if Mrs. Swicker did him in, right?”
She was right, which kind of threw me. I spun the chair around to face the computer. Clicking onto Google, I typed in John Kennedy. We waited. The screen popped up with lists of websites, a bijillion to be exact. “Duh…” I sighed. “John Kennedy, as in John F. Kennedy, the president. Same name! We’ll be here for hours!”
We sat there staring at the screen. John F. Kennedy biography, John F. Kennedy memoirs, John F. Kennedy assassination, it went on forever.
“It’ll probably be the same on Facebook,” Vivian said.
“Stay on Google. Type in New York Symphony,” Jilly suggested.
I perked up and typed it in.
“Oooh…pictures!” Vivian clapped her hands together.
“Look! There he is, John Kennedy, conductor. He’s alive!” Jilly exclaimed.
“And look what else. There’s a slideshow of news and upcoming events. Maybe we can get a better picture of him, even some info,” I said, clicking the mouse. “Here we go…says he’s the youngest conductor blah, blah, blah…casts a spell with his baton blah, blah, blah…and here’s a good picture…looks about the right age to be Sam and Megan’s father.”
“Doesn’t look half bad in a tux either,” Vivian pointed out.
“Yeah, tuxes really are the most amazing things. They can make even the most loserly guys look hot. Not that this guy’s a loser,” Jilly added.
I rolled my eyes. “Can we focus, please?”
Jilly flicked the back of my head with her finger. “Just put up some more pictures.”
We scanned through the photos, the different performances, guest musicians, mumbling to ourselves as we frantically read the blurbs, waiting for something to jump out at us.
“Stop!” Jilly shouted. “Click on that one. He’s got his arm around a woman.”
“Okay…um…seems pretty recent…the date says April 30, 2009…looks like some kind of party, let’s see what it says…”
Jilly cut me off. “National Center for Missing and Exploited Children?”
“Hey! Stop reading ahead!” I snapped. Taking a deep breath, I read out loud from the column under the picture. “John Kennedy and wife of sixteen years, Samara Nolan-Kennedy, mingle with guests after performance benefiting the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. This is the thirteenth performance of its kind organized by the Kennedys. All proceeds are donated to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children.”
“So Samara’s his second wife…” Jilly said.
Vivian and I slowly nodded our heads.
“And they’re big into this missing kids centre because…his kids from his first marriage are missing? Sam and Megan?” Jilly continued.
“I guess…” It made sense, but something didn’t feel right. It just wasn’t coming together in my head. I reached over for the wedding announcement from Phyllis to check the dates. “John Kennnedy and Mrs. Swicker, or Baratto, married in 1991.” I thought about that for a minute.
“And remember, he didn’t stay married to Mrs. Swicker for very long,” Vivian said. “Less than a year.”
“Have you met her?” Jilly asked.
Vivian smiled. “Probably felt it was time for an upgrade.”
“Guys, listen, think about it.” I flipped over Phyllis’s fax and began drawing a timeline on the back. “If Swicker and Kennedy married in ’91, but divorced in less than a year…” I scribbled the events and dates on the line. “Megan’s my age, born 1994, Sam’s just over a year and a half older…” I made more marks on my line. “It’s off. The dates don’t fit.”
A look passed over Jilly’s face. I knew she was experiencing a light bulb moment. She leaned in really close to the screen. “Lid, can you make that picture bigger? To get a better look at wife number two?”
“Think so.” I clicked a couple times.
We all sucked in our breath at the same time.
“What the…?” Vivian’s voice sounded far away.
“She looks just like Megan,” Jilly whispered.
My eyes were popping out of my head. It was Megan, but it wasn’t. It was Samara Nolan-Kennedy, but there was no doubt in my mind. She was Megan’s mother.
Chapter 20
I whipped the chair around. “Megan’s not her kid!”
Jilly had figured it out, but Vivian wasn’t there yet.
“Mrs. Swicker, she’s not Megan’s mom. It’s totally obvious from the picture,” I explained to her.
“But Sam…he’s older…could he be Mrs. Swicker’s?” Jilly asked.
Frowning, I picked up my timeline and stared at it. “I suppose she could have been pregnant or something when they divorced. It could fit…maybe?”
“What about the twins, though?” Vivian cut in. “They’re still floating around out there.”
“I know.” Things seemed to be getting more complicated by the minute. I turned back to the computer. “There’s got to be a connection somewhere.” Jilly and Vivian huddled around me and we stared at the photo. “I can’t believe how much she looks like Megan.” I made a circle around Samara Kennedy’s face with the cursor.
“Wait! Stop!” Vivian’s silver-blue fingernail tapped on the screen. “Right there! A link!”
Sweeping the cursor back over the photo, a blue bubble popped up. Learn more about the Kennedys’ story.
“Click it!” They both shrieked right into my ears. The page seemed to take forever to load. There was something happening in the room, a kind of electricity or excitement that kept growing every time I clicked the mouse.
A website popped up. “The Kennedy Kidnappings?!”
“Oh. My. God!” Jilly’s mouth hung open. “Look at the website address—kennedytwins.com.”
“Twins,” I whispered
“Read it!” Jilly screamed.
I began to read at lightning speed.
“Out loud!” Vivian smacked the back of the chair.
“Sorry, sorry.” I cleared my throat, licked my lips, and began. “Introduction. This site is dedicated to the disappearance of Amy and Michael Kennedy. There are few residents of Long Island who have not heard of the Kennedy Twins or have forgotten the tragedy of that day in 1995.” Jilly and Vivian were so close I could feel them breathing on my neck. It was stressing me out. I motioned with my hands
for them to back off, then continued. “There’s a couple baby pictures and a link to that missing kids centre. Okay, it goes on…Case in Brief—On August 29, 1995, Emily Bradford, the Kennedys’ nanny, placed the one-year-old twins in their playpen on the back patio of their home on Long Island. She then went inside to do some housekeeping while they slept. When Ms. Bradford went back to check on the twins, the playpen was empty. She called the police immediately.
During the investigation many tips poured in, but none that led to an arrest. The Kennedys hired private investigator Romeo Tucci, a retired FBI agent, to aid in the search. Mr. Tucci was quoted as saying ‘It’s a very unusual case, no ransom note, no paper trail, no forensic evidence left at the crime scene. We seem to run into one dead end after another.’
A psychic investigation suggested the twins were taken by a whitecollar ring of businessmen who used infants in ritualistic sacrifices. This theory was dismissed by both the Kennedys and the police.
No trace of the infants has ever been found. Although the police have named several suspects over the years, no one has ever been charged with their abduction.
John and Samara Kennedy live a quiet life, still in the same house where they lived with their children. They never give up hope that someday they will be reunited.
This case remains unsolved to this day.”
The room was perfectly still. No sound, no movement, no air. My mouth felt completely dry, like I’d been walking for days in the desert.
“Megan is Amy,” I finally said.
Jilly stared at me intensely. “And Sam is…”
I nodded my head slowly. “Michael. He has to be.” That had to be the answer. In a bizarre way, it was the only thing that made sense.
“What?!” Vivian cried. “No way! Sam can’t be her twin, they’re not even the same age!” she added.
“Just think about it for a second.” I tried to keep my tone calm. “There’s no reason why they couldn’t be twins. They could be the same age.”
“Ewwww,” Jilly cried.
“What?”
Jilly began to frantically wipe her tongue on the sleeve of her T-shirt.
“What are you doing?!” I yelled.
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