“Mr. Henley brought me,” Julie said. “From the Cliffside Home. You talked to him, signed some papers, and we had a nice day together. Don’t you remember? We took a ride on the Durango and Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad. You bought me a piece of aquamarine from an Indian man.”
Unable to recall any of this, Samantha sat down on the edge of the bed. She didn’t speak for a few moments as she finished her coffee.
“Julie,” she said at last, “how long have we been here?”
“In Durango?” Julie asked. “Just since last night. We met Mr. Henley at the home the day before that.”
“Where’s the home?”
“In Tacoma,” Julie said.
Tacoma. Samantha had never been there.
“Wait a second,” she said. She opened the night-stand and pulled out a phone book. “Cliffside . . . Cliffside . . .”
But there was no listing for a Cliffside Home.
“Did Mr. Henley leave a number?”
Julie shrugged.
“Well, I don’t understand any of this,” Samantha said. “We’ve got to call the police. Maybe they can help me find this Mr. Henley.”
There was a plastic tent-card next to the phone, listing local restaurants, movie theaters, and emergency numbers. No sooner had she dialed two numbers than her hand froze. She felt something like electricity running through her body, as if she were being shocked.
I’ll die if I call the police. I can’t talk to them.
The thought came through loud and clear, like a piece of rote learned to perfection. With a cry, she threw the phone away from herself and stared at the dangling receiver.
“What . . . what’s wrong?” Julie asked.
When Samantha looked up to answer, her face was pale and her voice husky.
“I don’t know,” she croaked. “I got some kind of shock from the line.”
But it was more than that. Samantha felt an overwhelming sense of dread at the thought of trying to call the police again.
“But I’m going to find out,” she went on. “Julie, pack your things. We’re going home. And when we get there, I’m going to find out who you belong to!”
“But I belong to you now!” Julie insisted. “To you!”
Samantha met the child’s gaze. Julie’s green eyes were filling. Samantha felt a sudden urge to run and put her arms around the child. She wanted to hold her close and comfort her and tell her everything was going to be all right.
But it wasn’t all right. And nothing would be all right until she figured out what the hell was going on.
3
WITH A SWEEP of her conductor’s baton, Rachel Freleng brought the William Tell Overture to a finish, thus ending the John Glenn High School Orchestra’s Spring Festival. She turned and bowed to the cheering audience. At last, when the clapping ceased, she gathered up her music and made her way to the dressing room backstage.
“Mommy!”
Rachel crouched down and opened her arms to greet her two daughters. When six-year-old Tatiana and eight-year-old Olivia ran up to her, she caught them both in a loving embrace.
“It was so pretty, Mommy,” Tatiana said. “And I didn’t fall asleep once!”
“Oh, I’m so glad you liked it, Tati,” Rachel said, kissing the child’s brown curls. “How about you, Olivia?”
Olivia smiled sweetly. “Yes, Mom. I liked the part where that boy was playing the flute. It really did sound like bees.”
“ ‘Flight of the Bumblebee,’ ” Rachel told her. She hugged the girls tightly. “It means so much to me to have you as fans.”
Tatiana and Olivia were actually her husband’s children. Eric had full custody of them, and had made it clear he’d never give them up when he asked Rachel to marry him. She’d assured him such a thing would never be acceptable to her either. In the years she and Eric had been married, she’d grown to love these two girls as if she’d given birth to them herself. Rachel had no relatives herself, and to come backstage tonight and find a family was like a dream come true.
She saw her husband now, holding a can of diet soda. She stood up as he moved through the crowd of students and parents. Eric handed her the soda at the same time he stopped to kiss her.
“It was wonderful,” he said. “These kids get better every year. The school board was smart to make you head of the music department.”
A young boy cradling a tuba sidled past them with a quick greeting to his music teacher. Rachel waved to him.
“I’m very proud of my students,” she said. She took a long sip of soda, then handed it down to Tatiana. “Eric, I have a few things to wrap up. Why don’t I meet you and the children in the lobby?”