by Cate Beauman
“I know enough.” She grabbed a pen and paper and wrote down two sets of numbers. “The top number is the code for the gate. This number is for the side door along the property. Noah and Alyson’s birthdates.”
Julie studied the two dates, realizing for the first time neither matched her birthdate. For the last few days, she’d been so caught up in proving that she wasn’t Alyson; she never paid any attention to such a minor detail that was actually pretty major. “Which one’s which?”
“Ally was my April baby. She and I share our birthday. She was the best present I ever received.”
Julie stared at 4-29-87. Chase’s birthday as well. But her birthday was May fifth. She swallowed as her breakfast roiled dangerously in her belly, understanding that even her birthday was potentially a lie. “I—I should go.”
“Grab your coat and I’ll speak to Thomas right away.”
She nodded.
“You’ll be back for dinner?”
She didn’t even want to think about food but nodded again. “I promise.”
“Have a good day. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.” Neve started off, stopped and turned. “Oh. Thanks for the frittata. It was lovely.”
She sent Neve a small smile, even though she was certain she was about to cry. “Thanks.”
~~~~
Julie pulled up to the curb by Becky Maglio’s house in the Jaguar Neve was letting her borrow. The car was a beauty—sleek and really expensive, and it made her nervous. She much preferred driving her cute little Prius over a vehicle that cost more than a year of her salary. She shut off the engine and studied the large two-story home, pretty with wreaths hanging on the double oak doors. The Christmas lights, currently turned off, would make the house appear festive at night.
Taking a deep breath, she got out, careful to lock up behind her, and walked to the door, tucking her gray shawl closer around her in the frigid air. The thirty-minute drive from Newton had given her an opportunity to steady out after her conversation with Neve, but her jitters were back—big time.
She raised her hand to knock, but the door opened before her knuckles connected with the wood. The woman she recognized from the pictures taken long ago stood in front of her, and Julie gave her a small smile. “Becky?”
Becky opened the door farther. “Yes. Come in. Please.”
“Thank you.” She stepped into the cozy entryway. “I’m Julie Keller.”
“Yes. Nice to meet you.” Becky crossed her arms, clearly as uncomfortable as Julie was herself. “Uh, would you like to sit in the living room?”
“Sure.” Julie followed Becky down a short hall, studying the woman from behind. Her hair was shorter and her waistline a little thicker on her once-trim figure.
“Please. Take a seat.”
“Thank you.” Julie sat on the couch across from Becky, who sat on the loveseat.
“Can I get you anything to drink—coffee, tea, water?”
“No. Thank you.” She just wanted answers, and then she wanted to go. She crossed her legs and laced her fingers in her lap as Becky stared at her with the wide-eyed look she was quickly starting to recognize as shock. She licked her lips.
“I’m sorry.” Becky shook her head. “I’m staring. You just—you look so much like Neve. You looked like her when you were little, but now that you’re grown…”
She barely suppressed a sigh as she heard the familiar sentiments yet again. “I came here because I’m hoping you can help me. I need to know what happened that night.”
“I remember that night like it was yesterday.” Becky sat back, playing with the fringe on an afghan. “Your parents were downstairs hosting the ball, and you and Noah were in the nursery watching How The Grinch Stole Christmas. After the movie ended, you fought a little because Noah said you couldn’t play with the toys Santa was going to bring him.”
“Did Noah and Alyson fight a lot?” She had Neve’s take on the siblings’ relationship, but after her introduction to Noah last night, she wanted another impression.
“No. You played well together most of the time, but Noah was excited that night. On Saturday, you were supposed to go with Neve to the children’s hospital to see Santa and help hand out presents to the kids. I helped settle your disagreement, which ended with a hug, then I scrubbed your teeth and tucked you into bed.”
She ignored the fact that Becky kept referring to her as Alyson. “When did you notice that Alyson was gone?”
“I read with Noah—four or five books because I couldn’t get him to settle. Then I came in to check on you after I finally got him to sleep. You were gone.” Becky crossed her arms again, her movements rigid and jerky. “I didn’t realize it at first. I peeked my head in the room and almost stepped back out, but something seemed wrong. You had long hair.” Becky touched her own. “It usually spilled off the pillow. I walked in and realized there were bears under your covers. I thought you were being mischievous. I called your name a couple of times and looked under the bed but you weren’t there. I was getting up to look in the closet, but when I moved my knee, it got wet in a small puddle of slush that was mostly melted.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, growing more agitated. “That’s when I saw the note on the comforter. I reached out to grab it as I read the words, but I stopped when I realized what was going on. I went in and grabbed Noah. He was heavy, but I ran with him downstairs into the crowds, screaming for Jay and Neve. After that, it was a blur of police officers and questions.”
Julie fisted her hands in her lap, imagining how horrid that must have been for Becky and the Porter family, seeing how shaken Alyson’s babysitter was even twenty-five years later.
“The FBI came and took the ransom note and tapped the phones,” Becky continued. “They waited for days—weeks. For a long time, they thought I had something to do with it, that I might have lost my temper and killed you and taken you somewhere while Noah slept, but I didn’t.” Her eyes watered as her lips trembled. “I loved you and Noah. I would never have done anything to hurt either of you.”
“I’m sorry they accused you.”
Becky shrugged. “I was the last person to see you, so I understand why they did—now. But at eighteen, it was pretty tough to deal with. It was even worse knowing I lost you.”
“You didn’t lose Ally. Someone took her.” But who? “What do you think happened to her?”
Becky stared at her for several seconds. “You don’t think you’re her?”
“I don’t want to be her,” she admitted.
Becky picked up an envelope off the coffee table. “I dug out a few pictures I have of Ally and Noah. I watched them a lot the fall Ally was taken. Neve was busy with several charity events, and it was a great way to make some money on the weekends and over Thanksgiving break. I was going to school about an hour away, so it wasn’t much of an inconvenience to drive home to help Neve out.”
Julie pulled the short stack from the envelope. “Did you show these to the others?”
Becky frowned. “The others?”
“The women Neve thought were Alyson.”
Becky shook her head. “They never contacted me, but Noah gives me a heads up every time someone comes to stay with Neve.”
“There have been a lot?”
“Two or three, I think.”
Julie nodded, not sure what else to say, and began flipping through the photos of Alyson and Noah on the swings and slide at some park.
“You two were so photogenic.” Becky joined Julie on the couch. “You had finally learned to swing yourself. Neve had worked so hard with you on that.” Becky pointed to the picture of Ally grinning and pumping her legs. “I knew Neve would want to see, so I snapped these, but I never remembered to give them to her. I found them a few months ago when I was going through some stuff, but I decided not to mention them. I didn’t know if having them would make her happy or sad.”
Julie flipped to the next picture, then the next, and went back to the previous photo when something caught her
eye. She studied the blurry image of the woman with black hair, smiling in the background, and she lost her breath. “Who—do you know her?” She pointed to the woman with an unsteady finger.
“That was my friend, Dawn Summerman.”
“Dawn Summerman,” Julie whispered.
“We met earlier that summer. She stayed with the Dubois family down the street from my house—part-time nanny and cleaning. She had some falling out with her family and got the job with the Dubois.”
Her heart raced as she stared into the woman’s blue eyes. “She was from Massachusetts?”
Becky frowned. “No. I think Texas.”
“What about Washington?” Her gaze darted to Becky’s before she looked back at the picture.
“I’m pretty sure she said Texas, but it was so long ago…”
“What, um, what happened to her?” She shrugged off her shawl, growing too warm.
“She met some guy—a loser. My dad didn’t like him, so Dawn and I didn’t hang around as often after that. He’s in prison now, but she met him a couple months before I left for school. They were pretty serious.”
Sweat began to trickle down her back as she fought the urge to tremble. “Did they—did they get married?”
“No. Right after I came home for Christmas break, she said she and her family worked things out and she went home.”
Julie looked at Becky again. “Dawn went home to Texas?”
“She said she was going to. She moved out of the Dubois’, and I never saw her again.”
How could this be happening? Why was this happening? “What was his name?”
“Who?”
“The man she dated,” she clarified, struggling to be patient.
“Donnie Dorman. He killed someone last year. Total creep.”
Julie flipped through the rest of the pictures, searching for the black-haired woman again, and stopped when she came to one where the woman was hugging Alyson Porter. Her pulse beat quickly in her throat, throbbing in her head. “She—she seemed to like Alyson.”
“She liked kids in general, but she definitely had a soft spot for Ally. Ally was so friendly and sweet. Dawn liked to play with her and do her hair. Dawn was a good nanny. I’m sure she ended up doing something with kids.”
“I’m sure she did.” Julie rushed to her feet, afraid she was going to vomit. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
Becky blinked at her. “I—okay.”
“Can I take these with me?”
“Yes. Sure.”
“Thank you.” She grabbed her shawl and rushed out the door, hurrying to the car, gulping in several breaths of cold air. She wanted to press her head to the steering wheel but instead managed to start the car. She drove off with a screech of tires.
For days, she’d wondered who took poor little Alyson Porter. For years, Alyson’s family had wondered the same thing. She choked out a sob, shaking her head in disbelief. Miranda Keller had dyed her strawberry-blond hair black and changed her name during her time in Newton, Massachusetts. “God.” She pulled into a gas station, cutting off a car, and dialed Chase.
“Hey.”
“I need you to help me.”
“What’s wrong?”
She pressed her hand to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. “You can find people. You found Dale Abbot.”
“Jules—”
“Find Donnie Dorman for me.”
“Who?”
“Donnie Dorman. He’s in prison. I need to see him.”
“Jules, what the hell’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, sucking in several unsteady breaths. “I don’t know. Just find him. I need to know where he is. I need to see him today.”
“Are you sure he’s locked up?”
“Yes. I think so. He killed someone.”
“He’s probably in maximum security. Where was he convicted?”
“I don’t know.”
“He might not be in Massachusetts.”
“I don’t care. I need to know where he is.”
“Jules, even if I find him, you won’t be able to see him today.”
“Becky had pictures of my mother,” she choked out. “I’m asking you to help me, Chase. Help me,” she whispered as tears trailed down her cheeks. “Please help me.”
“Okay. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll see what I can do.”
“All right.” She hung up and looked at the black-haired woman again. “What did you do? What did you do?” She gave in and rested her head against the steering wheel and shook, her teeth chattering. She peeked at the picture in her lap again and shook her head. “I’ve gotta go.” If she sat idle, she might go crazy. She pulled back into traffic, concentrating on the cars moving quickly around her instead of her conversation with Becky.
Ten minutes turned into twenty, and finally her phone rang. She grabbed it from the passenger’s seat. “Hello?”
“Jules, he’s in Cedar Junction in Western Walpole, Mass.”
“Good. I need to call—”
“I already did. I pulled some strings and got you in, but I’d rather you wait for me.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“I’ll get out of my meetings and come home right now. Worse comes to worst, we go tomorrow morning.”
“No. No. I can do this.” She had to.
“This guy’s got a sheet, Jules.”
“He dated my mother. He might know what happened to Alyson.” Her mother did, but she certainly couldn’t tell her anything.
“Which is all the more reason to wait for me. Interrogations were a huge part of my job.”
She shook her head again. “I should go myself. He might say something to me he wouldn’t say in front of you.”
Chase sighed. “I’ll call them back and tell them you’ll be there at two. That should give you plenty of time to get there.”
“Thank you.” Another tear slid down her cheek. “I’ll pull over and put the address in the GPS now.”
“I’m laying down the ground rules, Jules. I’m making sure this is a no-contact visit. You two will talk on the phone through glass. Don’t tell him anything about yourself—your age, what you do for a living, where you live—absolutely nothing.”
“I won’t.”
“You be careful.”
“I will.”
“My last meeting should be over by three. I’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.”
She needed him to be back. As much as she wanted to handle all of this on her own, she needed him. “Okay.”
“Damn, Jules. I want you to wait,” he said again.
“No,” she whispered.
“Then I’ll see you tonight.”
“Bye.” She hung up and pulled over, more than ready to head to Walpole.
~~~~
Julie walked into the sterile white room, flinching when something fell, echoing somewhere in the distance. She moved toward the man with a bic’d head and long scruff of dark brown beard, dressed in a red jumpsuit. He sat behind the glass and metal wiring, the only prisoner at a booth. On jellied legs, she took her seat in front of him.
He wiggled his eyebrows at her and picked up his phone, gesturing for her to do the same.
Her hand shook as she reached for the receiver and put it to her ear.
“Mmm. Mmm. Mmm. I don’t know who you are, but I’m glad I didn’t turn down an opportunity to talk to you. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
She cleared her throat. “I wanted to ask you some questions.”
He grinned, his brown eyes twinkling. “Sweetie, they don’t allow conjugal visits, but if they did, I’d be all for it.”
Julie tightened her shawl around her as her skin crawled. “What do you know about Dawn?”
“Who the hell’s Dawn?”
“Dawn Summerman.”
He frowned, then his eyes grew intense as they stared into hers. “Dawn Summerman. Can’t say I recognize that name.”
She pressed the picture
with the fuzzy image of her mother to the glass. “Does this refresh your memory?”
He stared at it, tilting his head from side to side as he rubbed at his chin. “I might’ve known Dawn.”
“You two dated.”
He laughed. “I don’t know if I’d call it dating. I can tell you she didn’t come by her black hair naturally, if you get my drift.” He grinned again.
God, this man was disgusting. “What about Alyson?”
He narrowed his eyes as he moved closer to the barrier separating them. “Who’s Alyson?”
“Alyson Porter.”
“Never heard that name before.”
“The child who was kidnapped in Newton, Massachusetts in nineteen ninety.”
He shook his head as his eyes smirked into hers. “Not ringing any bells.” He sat back, running his palm over the top of his head and sat up again. “Actually, now that I think of it, I might’ve seen something about that in the news. That was a long time ago.”
“Twenty-five years.”
“Why she’d be all grown up now.”
“She would,” Julie agreed, refusing to look away, knowing full well Donnie Dorman was playing with her.
“I think I remember that girl’s mother was quite a looker.” His eyes trailed up and down what he could see of Julie above the counter. “Probably runs in the family.”
“What did Dawn Summerman have to do with Alyson Porter’s kidnapping?”
He laughed. “What makes you think I know?”
He knew. As she stared into his evil eyes, she knew deep down he knew exactly how and why Alyson disappeared from her bedroom in 1990. She hung up, turned away, and walked out as her world continued to fall apart around her.
Chapter Twenty-three
Chase kept his speed steady as he drove south on Interstate 95 It was tempting to give the gas an extra punch, but it was snowing and traffic was picking up as he approached rush hour and the Massachusetts border. He glanced at the dashboard clock and clenched his jaw. “Damn,” he muttered as his frustration mounted. It was five, and he still had a good hour and twenty, maybe an hour and a half to go. His meeting with Jacobson and Company had run way over on a day when he needed to get on the road.