Twin Genius

by Patricia Rice

  I needed to be researching those articles I’d discovered last night, but I’d promised EG a Christmas tree party, and I couldn’t renege on that. I’d spent a few hours early this morning looking for information on the girls in the articles, but without Graham’s access to police records, I was stymied on the crime details.

  I was almost desperate enough to start tracking Graham—almost, but not quite there yet. I was holding out hope that Juliana would respond to her twin’s pleas.

  Finally, the tipsy tree was dripping with festive glitter. We drew broken cookies to determine who got to turn on the lights. Everyone made certain EG got the smallest one. Proudly, she plugged the string into the extension plug we’d had to run under the sofa to one of the room’s few sockets.

  I waited for something to explode. Instead, the colorful strings lit up the evening shadows, casting a magical rainbow over the gloomy parlor. Smiles broke out around the room. I tried to store this moment in my heart, with my family all together, safe and happy—except for Juliana.

  Later, after we’d consumed our makeshift dinner of store-bought cider and sushi and sat admiring our blinking tree against the night sky, Zander’s burner phone finally beeped.

  Julie clung excitedly to her new, unbugged phone, her brand new lifeline to the outside world. Whoever she’d texted last night—she hoped and prayed it was Zander—couldn’t possibly have found the photo she’d hidden in the cache yet, but she was counting the minutes. Unless they really were magic, the genie who had provided this link to safety would have to wait until daylight to find the heavy burden she’d been carrying these last weeks.

  Following the directions in Zander’s code last night, she’d barely been able to make her way through the woods in the dark and cold. She’d almost given up several times, until she tried to think like Zander. He’d always been good at natural hiding places.

  Zander was here, she knew it. Her hopes would soar—except Maryam wasn’t home yet, and the sun was almost up.

  She tried to pray, but the knowledge that if anything happened to her friend, it would be her fault, blocked all else from her mind. She should have said something, reported something, taken the ticket herself. . . .

  She returned her gaze to the phone. She could still call for help. Maybe it wasn’t too late. But what would she say? I saw them bury a body and Esther has gone missing. . . . But she didn’t know that the body was Esther or that Esther hadn’t simply been too angry to let the school know she’d left.

  And if it turned out that gangs were using the park to bury their victims, the park might be shut down, the reverend’s good work could be ended. . . .

  At last, as dawn lit the clouds, she saw Maryam trudging down the muddy path to the trailers. Her lovely gown looked bedraggled, her gold slippers were tattered and mud-caked, and she had only her shawl to cover her shoulders.

  Juliana tried not to panic. She put on more coffee and ran outside carrying the cheap down coat she’d bought from a departing student.

  She wrapped the coat around a shivering Maryam and let her rest some of her weight on her as they trudged back to the trailer. Fretting, she wished she was strong enough to carry her friend.

  “Do I need to call a doctor?” Julie asked, not knowing what else to say.

  Maryam laughed hoarsely. “No, not unless they make bandages for stupidity.”

  Julie tried to feel relieved, but Maryam looked as if she’d been through hell. She sent her to the meager shower, turned their propane heater on high, poured coffee, and set the mug on the bathroom counter.

  Maryam looked a little more herself when she emerged from the shower wrapped in the thin cotton robe she’d brought from home, her hands hugging the hot mug. “Thank you. I thought I’d never be warm again. I’m not sure I’m made for this weather.”

  Julie dropped the coat over her shoulders again. “I have some battery-operated warming socks someone gave me. Let me fetch those.”

  Maryam didn’t argue, so Julie knew she was badly shaken. Maryam always argued. Finding the socks and watching her put them on, Julie finally demanded, “Now tell me what happened, all of it, even the stupid parts.”

  Maryam grimaced. “Simple, I became scared, I ran, and as you predicted, I knew nothing of where to go because I was too stupid to learn how to travel without a hired driver, and I forgot to charge my phone.”

  “Start at the beginning,” Julie warned. “What scared you?”

  “It is silly,” she insisted. “The symphony was wonderful. The Kennedy Center. . . awesome. And the people! So many people, so many cultures, it made me feel as if I was at the center of the universe.”

  Julie longed to see such a place, to be part of such a scene. Her few brief forays since her arrival in the States had only been around suburban Alexandria and a school bus tour to the Smithsonian, with a glimpse of the Capitol. “So you arrived safely enough,” she said, hoping to urge her on.

  “A lovely black sedan, a smooth ride, I am just stupid,” Maryam repeated mournfully.

  “You are not stupid. You saw a beautiful place, heard beautiful music, but you were alone, were you not?”

  Maryam sipped her coffee and hesitated. “I arrived alone. The usher took me to my seat. The people around me. . . They wore diamonds and expensive suits. I did not belong.”

  “Now that’s stupid,” Julie rudely pointed out. “Your gown is woven with gold thread and cost as much as an Italian suit. You could have worn gold had you not chosen to leave it at home. You belong in that place as much as anyone. Were there not people there in jeans and sweaters who looked much more out of place than you?”

  “Possibly.” She sighed. “But I couldn’t tell it from where I was seated. All around me were wealthy people. The women wore furs. I did not even bring a coat.”

  “Because you don’t own one and won’t wear mine,” Julie said, hoping the only problem was Maryam’s class consciousness. “The lack of fur did not scare you.”

  “No,” she said sadly. “It was the gentleman sitting beside me. I finally realized that everyone around me was part of a couple, and the gentleman on my right was treating me as his date, even though he did not know my name.”

  “Okay, that’s creepy,” Julie agreed. “He must be one of the sponsors who donated the tickets, though. He could have just been being friendly, knowing you were from the project.”

  Maryam wrinkled her nose. “He did not ask about the park. He asked if women wore diamonds and furs in my country. He made one of the women show me her ring. I was very uncomfortable. And then when the lights went down and the music started, he tried to hold my hand.”

  She visibly pulled herself together while Julie tried to imagine how this could be so terrible.

  “I shook him off and put my hands in my lap. But when I was caught up in the music again, he put his arm around my shoulder and groped me. That’s when I got up and left. The driver was waiting at the door, as if he’d been summoned.” She took a deep drink of her coffee and finished wanly, “I feared they meant to kidnap me, so I ran for another exit.”

  Chapter 8

  I thought I’d have to put a leash on Zander and tie him to the bedpost after he read the anonymous text from the burner phone we’d left for Juliana. He wanted to head straight to that copse of saplings in the middle of the night, and I’d been the one to stupidly show him how to do it. He’d reluctantly agreed that we couldn’t do much at midnight, but I could hear him in the hall already this morning.

  “It’s not even dawn,” I yawned, opening my bedroom door. “It’s Sunday. The Metro won’t open until seven. If Juliana wanted you on her doorstep, she would have texted you her address.”

  “She’s alive,” he said stubbornly. “She’s out there and alive and frightened.”

  The text from the burner phone had merely said I’m good. Check the cache.

  “She’s alive and paranoid or playing reindeer games,” I corrected with impatience. I really hate games. “Go start the coffee. By the time
I’m dressed and we grab a bite to eat, the Metro will be open.”

  “I can call this Uber thing and be there faster,” he argued.

  “And you will pay him with what? That’s a long, very expensive ride.” Teaching moment. Mostly, I had no intention of traipsing through fields at dawn when his sister had just told him she was fine, but he had to forget this instant gratification business. “And before you suggest it, the limo driver deserves his Sunday off.”

  His face fell. He checked his watch. “Coffee, then,” he said with a huge sigh.

  So very young. I was only ten years older and felt as if every one of those years was a decade.

  I closed the door and hunted warm clothes. I was nearly walking on air, knowing that my sister was alive. I couldn’t convince myself all was well yet. If Juliana had simply lost her phone, she could have called one of the numbers we’d left her, instead of texting. She’d chosen not to, and that irritated the dickens out of me—probably because it was so very like Magda. Our secretiveness must be genetic—born of centuries of royal hanky-panky, if our mother’s fairy tales were to be believed.

  Nick and Patra had gone to their respective homes last night. Mallard still wasn’t back. If we went out now, we would be leaving EG and Tudor alone. I didn’t like it one bit. I texted both Patra and Nick that we were heading out, hoping they’d check in on the kids later. Then I left detailed instructions for the sixteen-year old and the nine-year old, telling each of them to make sure the other didn’t get into trouble until we got back. I set out boxes of cereal on the kitchen table. They knew how to find milk.

  Without Mallard, I would have to go grocery shopping soon. I shuddered.

  Zander ripped viciously at a bagel. I took the coffee he handed me and thought with regret of the magnificent Sunday brunches Mallard prepared. I might miss him even more than Graham.

  Probably not, but I was feeling particularly murderous as we trudged out into the cold dawn. I suspected the limo driver was with Graham, but I simply couldn’t make myself disturb anyone at this hour on a Sunday morning. I wasn’t raised in a privileged status and while I was learning to adapt, I doubted I’d ever make a very good arrogant snot.

  I could probably work myself up to grouchy curmudgeon pretty fast, though. I liked the image of sitting in a magnificent library with a roaring fireplace, tea and newspaper in hand, snarling at anyone who disturbed me. If I sat on the relatively-empty train, deciding what books I’d allow on my library shelves, I wouldn’t have to worry about Graham and Juliana and the state of the world for oh, more than a minute or thirty.

  We repeated most of the routine from Friday, taking the Metro and hiring an Uber driver. If nothing else, the platforms weren’t crowded, and we could sink into our thoughts without disturbance.

  The car let us out on the road near the construction gate. I noted an armed guard there now. I wanted to go in and pound on trailer doors and look for Julie, but the guard didn’t look friendly. And a couple of burly, officious guys stood arguing inside the gate—not a good time to intrude. They didn’t even look up as we sauntered down the highway as if out for a morning walk.

  But I had time to read the names on the construction company’s signage. William Gregory was listed as the general manager of Gregory Construction. JACAD was listed as the development company—nothing unusual there, but I saved the manager’s name and number in my phone.

  Zander was looking as murderous as I felt. He hadn’t shaved, and I saw him more as the man his influential father had once been. One of these days, he’d be a formidable foe.

  We tramped out of sight of the gate and entered the copse through a field. Limited light filtered through overhead branches and vines. I was wary enough to expect graves as I stumbled through wet leaves.

  Using our phones, we located the tree again. Pulse pounding, I watched Zander reach in and pull out the same envelope we’d left there. Had Juliana left the phone? What kind of crazy was that?

  The envelope had been opened, of course, since we knew that she’d used the phone. Out of the envelope, Zander produced an 8x10 black and white photo of a dozen square blocks of dark and light. I turned it around in my hands, trying to figure it out, while Zander checked to see if there was any note of explanation. Nothing.

  “This is Julie’s work,” he said gloomily, taking another look at the photo. “At least we know she has a phone and can call us.”

  “Is she into drugs?” I had to ask. Before we’d left the house, I’d scribbled a Christmas card with a message to call Ana. I had nothing better to put back in the envelope. I pulled out a pen and added Call or we’re coming after you. But I didn’t expect her to return here unless we told her to.

  Zander snorted in disbelief. “Holy Julie? Hardly. This is her art. Her photographs always have messages. Usually, the ones like this will evolve into how she feels about black and white and shades of gray. But this isn’t complete. She usually has several shots that she fits together seamlessly into a completely new image.”

  “Sepia works better if she’s making a statement about race,” I said with a little more acerbity than he deserved. “People really aren’t black or white.”

  Since he was more familiar with her work, I let him study the photo as we trudged back toward the main highway. I’d seen a bus stop down the road.

  Zander complained about waiting for the bus, but I pointed out that we couldn’t find Julie if she didn’t want to be found, so we weren’t in a hurry. He probably had chilblains, but I’d checked the schedule and figured we wouldn’t turn into popsicles in a few minutes, and the bus would arrive sooner than a car. The bus came soon after, and he shut up.

  Once we had a seat, I took the photo from him. “This looks like a jigsaw puzzle. If we cut out these squares, could we piece together the original image?”

  “With Julie’s work, it’s hard to tell. She started out that way, but now she has a vast collection of images she can draw on.” Zander leaned over to study it again. “Although if I had to say, this looks like one photo, taken at night.”

  “That looks like the blade of a dozer.” I pointed to one silvered square. Remembering the article about a dead body buried on the park’s grounds, I fought a shiver.

  “One of those cement foundations in the park?” He pointed at a corner of gray.

  If so. . . an awful feeling of dread crawled over me. Zander hadn’t read the articles influencing my imagination. I pointed at a limp gray blob with whiter spots in strategic places tumbling in a fall of what appeared to be dirt. “And this?”

  He sat silent as he studied the small image. He took it from my hand and held it up to the window’s light. He gave it back to me and looked away.

  “A torso. I cannot tell if it’s a man or woman.”

  Tudor and EG were in the front parlor with the tree lights blinking when we returned. I urgently needed to dig deeper into CAD and maybe even Graham’s disappearance, but it was Sunday. EG was dressed for going out. Even Tudor had on boots. Sunday was family day, the day I didn’t work.

  “We need to go Christmas shopping,” EG informed us the minute we walked in the door. “The tree needs presents under it.”

  Zander sent me a despairing look.

  “I don’t suppose either of you started the laundry?” I asked, stalling.

  From their guilty expressions, I gathered not. “And we need groceries, unless you want to eat your cereal dry all week.”

  “Mallard’s coming back sometime, isn’t he?” EG asked in suspicion.

  “You think he’d abandon his elegant wardrobe?” That was sarcasm. Mallard only wore black suits and boiled shirts. “Give me time to check a few things first. Get the laundry started. Maybe start on a grocery list. Zander, come into the library and let me show you what we need to do next.”

  After years of bossing the kids around, then living alone, I would have to adjust once more. I was still bossy, apparently, but I couldn’t do everything myself with this much family around.

&n
bsp; Zander didn’t exactly look relieved, but he followed me out of the hearing of the younger two. “I will call her,” he said as soon as the library door shut.

  “That’s an option,” I said cautiously. “But think it through first. She must have a reason for not talking to us. She may just be saving phone minutes for emergencies. Or. . . consider this seriously. . . someone may be watching her. If she’s photographing bodies, then she’s in some deep manure.”

  “All the more reason to pull her out of there!” he said in frustration.

  “Agreed, but just imagine yourself in her place,” I said, placatingly, knowing how my over-intelligent family worked. “If you saw something bad happen, even photographed it, but feared it would reflect on a community you respected, what would you do? What if terrorists buried a body in your village and you couldn’t trust the authorities?”

  “I would find out who did it so I knew which authority to trust,” he said gloomily. “Our father taught us that one year when bad things were happening. Everything is not as it seems, he told us. Evidence is required.”

  He dropped into a faded wing chair as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “I have a job I must return to. I need to know she is safe!”

  “We are none of us safe ever. A bus could run over us tomorrow. You have to believe your sister is as capable as you are. You have given her what she needs to communicate, when she’s ready to do so.” I settled behind the library table and booted up my old laptop. “I downloaded financial statements for JACAD. In my experience, following the money will give us an idea where the problem lies. Do you want to dig around and see if the organization is as above-board as it seems?”

  His eyes didn’t quite light, but he was listening. “Financial statements are what the board makes of them. Even audited ones can hide things unless we have the books.”