This was a risk—a huge risk. If my father found out, I could be endangering us both. And yet . . . I wanted to hear from her. I needed to know what she knew, and I’d never get in touch with her if I didn’t tell her something. Carly Moore was no one to her, but she would want to talk to Caroline Blakely. It was worth the risk . . . right?
My heart was pounding, but I moved the cursor to the body of the email and started to type.
To whoever is reading this email:
My name is Caroline, and I am the daughter of Mary Caroline Henderson. I desperately need to get in contact with Tiffany. Please tell her this:
I know you have no way of knowing if it’s really me, especially since I’ve been missing for nearly a year, but I’m hoping my memories of you will convince you it’s me.
I remember you from when I was a little girl, but I don’t remember much, just bits and pieces. I know you always brought me a gift when you visited, and one time you came to my dance recital and brought me a stuffed bear in a pink tutu. I know Mom and I would visit you in Atlanta sometimes, and we always stayed in your house. You had a swing put in the back for me, and I loved it. I was fascinated with the cherub fountain back there and named it Valentine. I remember other things about our last trip—you holding my mother while she cried. She asked you what she should do, and you told her to tell the truth. You both thought I was in bed, asleep. You checked on me and I kept my eyes closed to trick you. I hated that my mother was upset, but I felt better knowing you were taking care of her.
I stopped typing, shocked by all the memories that had bubbled up as I wrote. Tiffany had known my mother was having marital issues, but had she known everything? Was that why she was encouraging my mother to tell the truth?
I don’t want to put you in any danger, but my father is not to be trusted. Please don’t let him know that I’ve contacted you. At the risk of sounding overly dramatic, it could be a matter of life and death.
I don’t want or expect anything from you other than a few answers to some holes in my memory from years ago. Maybe you’re still not convinced it’s me, but I hope you’ll email me anyway.
Thank you for your consideration,
Carly
I wasn’t sure signing it as Carly was smart, but hardly anyone knew my mother called me Carly, so it was another way of proving it was really me. However, it also tied me to Carly Moore, potentially helping my father unlock my alias if he somehow got ahold of this email. But part of me was sick of hiding. I’d take my chances.
I pressed send.
The email window closed, and I sat still for several seconds, realizing that what I’d just done could change everything. Or it could change nothing. One thing it certainly wouldn’t change—I had to find out if Louise really had stolen Hank’s fortune and what evidence she might have to link Bart to Jerry’s murder.
My phone vibrated in my lap and I checked the screen, not surprised to see Marco’s name pop up.
Just finished. If you’re still at the library, I’ll grab lunch and meet you at Louis Park.
Wrapping things up now, I sent. Thanks for taking care of lunch. See you soon.
I logged out of the computer. I still hadn’t looked to see if the Ewing branch had any books about the history of Drum, but I could come back later. I suspected they wouldn’t help me with any of my more pressing issues anyway.
Marco was sitting on the picnic table when I reached the park. There weren’t any kids on the playground equipment, not surprising since they didn’t have anything other than two swings, one of which was broken. A brown paper bag sat next to him, as well as a couple bottles of water.
Grabbing my purse, I got out of the car and headed toward him, enjoying the way his eyes were soaking me in. He grinned when I got closer and patted the spot next to him.
“What did you get?” I asked, my stomach growling at the thought of food. I hadn’t eaten since my English muffin hours earlier.
“Your favorite. Chicken salad from that new café.” He pulled a paper-wrapped sandwich from the bag and handed it to me.
“You’re the best,” I said, already unwrapping it and taking a bite. I released a satisfied groan. “This is heaven.”
His eyes turned seductive. “You’re making me jealous of a sandwich.”
“At least we’re not in danger of it twerking like Miss Roberta.”
He burst out laughing. “I suppose that’s true.” Turning serious, he said, “How did it go at the library?”
I told him what I’d learned about Louise, and Walter’s sister’s connection to the church. “I didn’t find out anything about Cassie Carpenter. I thought maybe I’d track down Georgia to see if she’ll talk about Walter and Louise. If it goes well, I can ask her to put me in touch with Cassie.”
“Sounds good,” he said, unwrapping his own sandwich. “But I think you buried the lede. Did you make contact with your mother’s friend?”
I took a breath and hesitated. “She’s going to be hard to contact. She’s CEO of a big cosmetics company. She’s not on social media. Even if she did have accounts, I suspect she wouldn’t run them. Many of those people hire assistants to post for them.”
“Not all.”
“True, but like I said, she’s not on social media. Still, the cosmetics website has a page about how the company started. There was an email address on it that’s supposedly hers. I suspect someone screens it, but I figured whoever checks the account would be more likely to pass along the message if I were honest.” I explained what I’d written, pausing every now and then for a bite, and ended with, “While I mentioned my mother’s name and called myself Caroline at the beginning of the email, I never used the name Blakely.”
I glanced up at him, hesitating. “I don’t think Tiffany would tell my father I contacted her…but what about the screener? How do we know they won’t go to him for the reward?”
“Did you give her your location or the name you’re using now? How did you tell her to contact you?”
“I told her to email me. I didn’t tell her where I’m hiding, but I did sign it Carly. I figured it was another way to prove I’m not an imposter, since my mother was the only one who called me by that name.” The sandwich in my stomach churned. “I think I screwed up.”
“No,” Marco said reassuringly as he wrapped an arm around my back and pulled me close. “Do you have any idea how many Carlys there are?”
“No.”
“Neither do I,” he said in a teasing tone, “but there must be enough that looking for you that way would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. You’re fine.”
I sucked in a breath. “Oh, God. I didn’t use my VPN.”
He was silent for a moment. “It’s okay. You trust her, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have reached out to her.”
“Yeah.” But I still hadn’t totally convinced myself I hadn’t screwed up. I definitely hadn’t been as careful as I should have been.
“It’s done, Care. No use worrying about it now.”
“But what if he finds out? What if he’s coming for me?”
“What’s he going to do? If he shows up, you just send him on his way. You’re a grown woman and can make your own decisions. It’s not like you’re a runaway teen.”