I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
“What did you say?”
The woman repeated it.
“My name is Margaret Ellis. Whoever you just met is not me.”
Across the street, state troopers were still moving through Reed’s surveillance house. Maya and Lily stood beside the police vehicle. Anna had gone completely still.
I looked toward the road where the ambulance had disappeared.
The wounded woman who had held Maya’s hand, called her Emily, described the switched bracelets, and directed police to Sarah Bennett’s buried evidence was being transported under the name Margaret Ellis.
“Prove it.”
The caller inhaled.
“I was a pediatric nurse at St. Matthew’s thirteen years ago. Employee number 4417. I worked nights on the third floor. Clara Hart recorded Reed threatening me in the service corridor.”
Harris heard enough to approach.
I put the call on speaker.
The woman continued.
“Jonathan Reed hit me beside the freight elevator because I tried to stop the transfer of a child listed as patient 3079.”
Anna stepped closer.
“What was Clara wearing?”
The caller paused.
“Who is this?”
“Anna Hart.”
Silence.
Then a broken whisper.
“Anna?”
“Answer.”
“A green scarf.”
Anna’s face changed.
“My mother hated green.”
“I know. I gave it to her that night because she'd spilled coffee down the front of her blouse.”
Anna closed her eyes.
The caller continued.
“She complained it made her look seasick.”
Anna whispered, “She used to say that.”
Harris took the phone.
“Ms. Ellis, Lieutenant Harris, state police. Where are you?”
“I’m safe for the moment.”
“That isn't an address.”
“No.”
“Someone is impersonating you and has been shot. We need to know whether you're in immediate danger.”
“I’ve been in danger for thirteen years.”
“Where are you?”
“I’ll tell Rebecca.”
Harris looked at me.
I took the phone.
“Why me?”
“Because Clara said you would eventually be the one person who couldn't be frightened into protecting the wrong secret.”
I almost laughed.
Clara had spent ten years hiding my daughter from me. Her confidence in my judgment felt late.
“Who is the woman pretending to be you?”
“I don't know her real name.”
“You know something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“She worked for Reed.”
Anna stepped forward.
“Doing what?”
“Cleaning up problems.”
Harris asked, “Meaning?”
“Records. Witnesses. People.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did she kill Sarah and Thomas Bennett?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Reed?”
“I don't know that either.”
The caller's refusal to guess made me trust her slightly more.
“What do you know?”
“That the woman you met has used my identity before. Reed kept several identities belonging to people who disappeared after the hospital investigation.”
Harris swore under his breath.
“Why would she lead us to Sarah’s evidence?”
“Because Reed doesn't control her anymore.”
“Then who does?”
“No one, as far as I know.”
That was worse.
I looked at Maya.
She had heard everything.
Her face had gone pale.
The false Margaret had held her hand.
Touched her.
Known intimate details about Sarah.
“What did she want from us?” I asked.
The caller answered immediately.
“The transfer file.”
My eyes moved toward the evidence bags.
Harris followed my gaze.
The original transfer documents had been taken into police custody.
“They’re secure.”
“Are you sure?”
Harris turned toward an evidence officer.
“Check everything recovered from beneath the roses.”
The officer hurried toward a state vehicle.
I asked the caller, “Why does she want the file?”
“Because one page was missing from every copy Clara ever found.”
“What page?”
“The intake photograph for patient 3079.”
Anna frowned.
“Why would that matter?”
“Because the girl photographed under 3079 wasn't you.”
Silence settled around us.
Anna stared at the phone.
“What?”
“The number was reassigned before the night Emily disappeared.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It wasn't supposed to.”
I looked at Maya and Lily.
The unknown eighteen-year-old photographed in Wilmington flashed through my mind.
“Who was 3079 originally?”
“I don't know her name.”
“But you saw her.”
“Yes.”
“What did she look like?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Like the Carter twins.”
My skin prickled.
Maya whispered, “How?”
The caller heard her.
“Emily?”
Maya flinched at the name.
“Call me Maya.”
A pause.
“Of course.”
Margaret continued.
“The first time I saw patient 3079 was two days before you came into the hospital. She was around five. Brown hair. Similar build. Similar face.”
I felt Lily move beside me.
“Was she related to us?”
“I never knew.”
“Why would Reed have a child who looked like my daughters?”
“I don't think he chose her because of that.”
“Then what?”
“She arrived under another identity. The number 3079 was assigned after her paperwork was altered.”
Anna shook her head.
“But you said I was supposed to be transferred as 3079.”
“You were. Later.”
The patient number had not belonged to one child.
It was a reusable identity.
A blank space into which different children could disappear.
Harris understood.
“3079 was a ghost record.”
“Yes.”
“How many children used it?”
“At least three.”
Maya.
Anna.
And the unknown girl.
My stomach turned.
The technician returned from the evidence vehicle.
“Lieutenant.”
Harris looked at him.
“What?”
“We have a problem.”
“Say it.”
“The transfer file is here.”
Relief barely started before the technician continued.
“But the envelope recovered with it is empty.”
“What envelope?”
“One labeled intake image.”
Harris's face hardened.
“Was it empty when recovered?”
“The scene photograph shows something inside.”
Everyone turned toward the road.
The false Margaret.
She had been close to the evidence before paramedics removed her.
“She took it,” Anna said.
Harris was already on his radio.
“Stop ambulance unit transporting female from Bennett residence. Do not approach casually. Suspect may be armed.”
Static answered.
Then another voice.
“Lieutenant, ambulance never reached St. Anne’s.”
My blood chilled.
“What?”
“Dispatch lost contact eight minutes ago.”
“Location?”
“Last ping near Route Nine.”
Harris issued orders.
The real Margaret spoke through my phone.
“She planned this.”
Anna leaned toward it.
“How could she plan to get shot?”
“She didn't.”
“She walked into a house where Reed was armed.”
“She expected police to arrive before he found her.”
That meant the false Margaret had deliberately led us to the evidence.
She needed police to uncover it because she couldn't search the property safely herself.
Then she stole the one item she wanted.
“Why the intake photograph?” I asked.
“Because Reed has been searching for the girl in it.”
“The eighteen-year-old in Wilmington?”
“I think so.”
“You've seen the recent photograph?”
“No.”
I described her.
Margaret went quiet.
“Margaret?”
“When was it taken?”
“Two days ago.”
“Where?”
“Wilmington.”
A shaky breath came through the speaker.
“Then Clara found her.”
Anna stared at the phone.
“My mother knows who she is?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don't know her current name.”
“Her original name.”
Another pause.
“Grace.”
The name meant nothing.
Then Margaret said:
“Grace Ellis.”
My heart stopped.
“Ellis?”
“Yes.”
“She was your daughter?”
“No.”
Margaret's voice changed.
“She was my sister's.”
Maya whispered, “So why does she look like us?”
“I never knew.”
The answer sounded truthful.
Anna asked, “Where is Clara now?”
“Not at the police station.”
Harris turned sharply.
“What?”
“She left.”
“She surrendered less than two hours ago.”
“She surrendered because she needed Reed to believe she was protected.”
“And then?”
“She used the station to send a message.”
“To whom?”
“To Grace.”
Anna looked furious.
“You're telling me my mother staged her death, hid for eleven years, reappeared at a police station, and disappeared again?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because she thinks Grace can prove something the ledger can't.”
“What?”
Margaret hesitated.
“That the hospital operation started before Reed.”
Evelyn stepped closer.
“Before Jonathan?”
“Yes.”
“Who started it?”
“I don't know.”
Evelyn's face told me she had a suspicion.
“Say it.”
She looked toward Maya.
“Jonathan Reed wasn't hospital counsel when the earliest irregular placements happened.”
“Who was?”
“His father.”
Anna whispered, “Arthur Reed.”
Kessler, who had been listening quietly, nodded.
“Arthur was hospital board chairman.”
The conspiracy suddenly stretched backward another generation.
I was tired of discovering larger rooms behind every locked door.
I asked Margaret, “Where are you?”
“I'll send you a location.”
“Why now?”
“Because Reed is in custody.”
“And the woman impersonating you?”
“That’s why you need to find me before she does.”
My phone vibrated.
A map pin appeared.
An old church thirty miles north.
Harris saw it.
“We go with state police.”
Margaret heard him.
“No uniforms.”
“Not negotiable.”
“Then I won't be there.”
Harris looked irritated.
I understood her fear.
“If we come with two unmarked vehicles?”
Silence.
“Rebecca and Anna come inside.”
Harris shook his head.
I ignored him.
“Agreed.”
Maya stepped forward.
“I’m coming.”
“No.”
Her face hardened.
I held her gaze.
“This isn't me deciding what truth you can handle. This is me refusing to bring you to meet a woman we haven't verified while someone is actively hunting people connected to you.”
Maya considered that.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
It mattered that she had chosen to accept the reason rather than simply being ordered.
Lily touched her shoulder.
“We'll stay together.”
Harris arranged protection for both girls.
Dad remained with Carl.
Evelyn stayed with them too.
Anna and I left with Harris and two plainclothes state officers.
Halfway to the church, Harris received an update.
The ambulance had been found.
Empty.
The paramedic and driver were alive, handcuffed inside an abandoned maintenance shed.
The false Margaret was gone.
So was the intake photograph.
We reached the church near dusk.
It stood alone beside a field, white paint peeling from the clapboards.
No cars.
Harris remained outside with the officers.
Anna and I entered.
The sanctuary smelled of dust and old wood.
A woman sat in the front pew.
She rose.
Sixties.
Thin.
Silver hair pulled back.
A scar crossed the left side of her forehead.
Anna stopped.
The woman looked at her.
“You have Clara's eyes.”
Anna's voice shook.
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“How do I know?”
Margaret reached into her coat slowly.
She removed an old photograph.
Clara, Margaret, and Evelyn stood outside St. Matthew’s.
Much younger.
Anna took it.
On the back, Clara had written:
Three women who should know better.
Anna laughed despite herself.
“Mom wrote that.”
Margaret nodded.
“She wrote it after we drank an entire bottle of terrible wine following a compliance hearing.”
I stepped closer.
“Tell me about Grace.”
Margaret sat.
“My sister Elaine gave birth to Grace eighteen years ago.”
The timing struck immediately.
Same age as Lily and Maya.
“Where?”
“St. Matthew’s.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What date?”
Margaret looked at me.
“March fourteenth.”
The same birthday.
Anna whispered, “No.”
Margaret continued.
“Elaine died during delivery.”
“What happened to Grace?”
“She disappeared.”
I stared.
“A newborn disappeared from the same hospital the day my twins were born?”
“Yes.”
My skin went cold.
“Why wasn't there an investigation?”
“There was. Quietly.”
“Who was blamed?”
“My sister was listed as having delivered a stillborn child.”
“But Grace lived.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“I held her.”
I couldn't breathe.
“Did she look like my daughters?”
“As a newborn? I couldn't tell.”
“Then why does she now?”
Margaret's eyes filled with uncertainty.
“That is what Clara has spent years trying to understand.”
Anna sat beside her.
“Did my mother find Grace?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
“Where?”
“Delaware.”
“Under what name?”
Margaret hesitated.
Then:
“Claire Morgan.”
I thought of Reed's surveillance photograph.
The young woman outside the grocery store.
“What does Claire know?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Does she know Clara?”
“She knows her as someone investigating her birth records.”
“And Reed?”
“No.”
“Why is Reed trying to identify her?”
“Because Clara believes Claire has something he wants.”
“What?”
“DNA.”
I stared at her.
“That makes no sense.”
Margaret looked directly at me.
“Rebecca, Clara ran a comparison.”
“With whom?”
“Lily.”
My chest tightened.
“How did she get Lily's DNA?”
“Discarded cup. Years ago.”
Anger flared.
“Of course she did.”
Margaret did not defend her.
“What did it show?”
“Claire and Lily are related.”
Anna whispered, “How closely?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Half-sisters.”
The church seemed to go silent.
“No.”
“I saw the report.”
“My daughters don't have a half-sister.”
“Then either the report is wrong—”
“Or?”
Margaret swallowed.
“Or Carl isn't Lily's biological father.”
I stood so quickly the pew scraped.
“No.”
“Rebecca—”
“Carl is their father.”
“I’m telling you what the test indicated.”
“You said Claire is related to Lily. What about Maya?”
“We don't have a direct comparison.”
My thoughts collided.
Identical twins should share essentially the same biological parentage.
If Lily and Maya were identical, a half-sister relationship to Claire should apply to both.
Unless the conclusion was being misunderstood.
“Did Clara compare Claire to Carl?”
Margaret nodded.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“No biological relationship.”
My mouth went dry.
“So if Claire is Lily's half-sister, the shared parent would be me.”
Margaret nodded slowly.
“But I have never had another child.”
“I know.”
“How could she be my daughter?”
“I didn't say she was.”
“You said half-sisters.”
“That's what the software classified the relationship as.”
Anna leaned forward.
“Could it be something else? Aunt? Cousin?”
“At that amount of shared DNA, several relationships can overlap.”
A possibility surfaced.
One so old I had not thought of it in years.
“My sister.”
Margaret looked at me.
“Rachel?”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“My mother.”
Anna frowned.
“What about her?”
“She had a sister.”
I hadn't said the name in decades.
“My aunt Caroline.”
Margaret went very still.
“What was her full name?”
“Caroline Mercer.”
Her face changed.
“You know it.”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
Margaret reached into her bag.
She removed a photocopied hospital document.
At the bottom was a signature.
CAROLINE MERCER, RN.
My aunt had worked at St. Matthew’s.
I had known she was a nurse.
I had never known she worked there.
“She died when I was sixteen.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No.”
The word seemed to echo.
“What?”
“Caroline Mercer didn't die when you were sixteen.”
I stared at her.
“She disappeared.”
“My family buried her.”
“A body was buried.”
I suddenly understood why every revelation in this story seemed to repeat the same shape.
A death certificate.
A coffin.
A family taught to stop asking.
Margaret continued.
“Caroline was one of the first people who discovered children were being moved through falsified records.”
Anna whispered, “Before Clara.”
“Years before.”
“And Claire?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Clara believes Claire is Caroline's granddaughter.”
I sat slowly.
That would make Claire my first cousin once removed, not a half-sister. Depending on the DNA amount and the database, a relationship prediction could be misleading.
“So she isn't another Carter daughter.”
“No evidence says she is.”
Relief mixed with another kind of dread.
“Then why does she resemble Lily and Maya?”
“Family resemblance. Perhaps stronger than usual.”
I thought of my mother.
Of Aunt Caroline in the few photographs I remembered.
Dark hair.
Narrow chin.
Maybe the resemblance had always been there.
“What happened to Caroline?”
“We don't know.”
“Reed's father?”
“Almost certainly knew.”
“And Claire can connect him to the original operation.”
“Yes.”
A sound came from outside.
Car door.
Harris had instructed us that nobody would approach without calling.
Anna stood.
Margaret's face drained.
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“No.”
The church door opened.
Harris entered quickly.
“We have to move.”
“What happened?”
“Someone found the location.”
“Who?”
“We don't know.”
Margaret grabbed her bag.
Then a gunshot shattered one of the stained-glass windows.
We dropped.
Harris drew his weapon.
Another shot punched into the pew.
“Back exit!”
We ran.
Anna pulled Margaret toward the vestry.
I followed.
Outside, state officers returned fire toward the tree line.
We reached an unmarked SUV.
Harris pushed us inside.
The vehicle accelerated before the doors fully closed.
I looked back.
A figure moved between the trees.
Too far to identify.
Then Margaret grabbed my wrist.
“Rebecca.”
“What?”
“The photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The one the false Margaret stole.”
My stomach tightened.
“What about it?”
“It wasn't only an intake photograph.”
“What was on it?”
Margaret looked terrified.
“Caroline.”
The meaning arrived slowly.
“My aunt?”
“She was holding the child assigned to 3079.”
“And?”
“Arthur Reed was standing beside her.”
I stared at her.
“So the photograph proves he knew.”
“Yes.”
“Then why would the false Margaret want it?”
Margaret looked toward the disappearing church.
“Because the woman pretending to be me isn't working for Jonathan Reed.”
“Then who?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
My phone rang.
Maya.
I answered immediately.
“Are you okay?”
Her voice was breathless.
“Mom—”
It was the first time she had called me that.
I almost missed everything after it.
“Someone came to the hospital.”
“What?”
“They tried to get into Dad's room.”
“Carl?”
“He's okay. Police stopped them.”
“Who was it?”
“I don't know.”
Then Lily's voice came through in the background.
“Maya, show her.”
“Show me what?”
Maya breathed hard.
“The woman dropped an envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“It has Claire Morgan's name on it.”
My stomach tightened.
“Don't open it.”
“Too late.”
I closed my eyes.
“What was inside?”
“A photograph.”
“Of Claire?”
“No.”
Maya's next words erased the relief I had felt minutes earlier.
“It's a picture of you in the hospital on the day we were born.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: The Photograph Taken After the Twins’ Birth Showed Aunt Caroline Beside My Bed, Though I Had Been Told She Was Dead for Nineteen Years
Thirteen Years After We Buried Emily, My Father Put a Photograph on the Table That Should Not Have Existed
Part 13 of 44
