Cordelia didn’t seem to have been injured—at least she’d looked spry enough when she fled inside as soon as someone untied her. And she’d given me no clue whether I was allowed to reveal her identity to anyone other than Dad. So I decided not to tell him until there were no other prying ears around.
I’d been waiting for several hours now.
But things were quieting down. The emu rescuers had taken the birds back to their pen and had gone to camp to celebrate over breakfast. Michael was packing up the boys and enough books and toys to ensure that we could turn our anticipated long wait in the Caerphilly Hospital ER into a nice stretch of quality time as a family. Stanley had already taken off for the ER under the care of a brigade member with EMT training. Sherry was headed to jail in the back of a patrol car. Chief Heedles was inside, interviewing Cordelia.
And only Clarence Rutledge stood in the way of my telling Dad Cordelia’s secret. It would be nice to get that done before Michael whisked me away. But Clarence was just sitting nearby, holding Spike in his lap, and stuffing the Small Evil One with bacon-flavored treats. Perhaps Dad had enlisted him to help keep watch over me. Clearly he wasn’t going to leave on his own.
“Why don’t you take the dogs back to camp?” I said to him. “And you can check on what’s keeping Michael.”
“Good idea.” Clarence stood up, still holding Spike. “Come on, Tink.”
He waved a bacon treat suggestively as he went down the steps. I held up my hands to show that they were empty of liver treats and Tink went loping after him.
“How many fingers?” Dad asked. He held up his right hand as if taking the Boy Scout oath.
“One hundred and forty-seven,” I said. “That’s the total number of fingers you’ve held up since you got here. I’ve been counting.”
“We need to make sure—”
“Never mind the fingers!” I snapped. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“What?” He looked worried. “Are you feeling queasy? That could be a sign of—”
“You know, there’s another patient you haven’t checked out yet.” I jerked my thumb toward the house behind us.
“I wasn’t sure Miss Annabel would want me to,” he said. “Given that she’s a hermit. I assumed someone would fetch her regular physician. Of course if you think she would want me to—”
“Yeah, I think she would,” I said. “Because she’s not Annabel. She’s Cordelia.”
His mouth fell open and he stared at me for a few moments.
“No,” he whispered. “It can’t be.”
“I only figured it out last night, a few minutes before Sherry attacked me,” I said. “And she and I had just agreed that we’d tell you first thing in the morning. And only you, which is why I’ve been waiting until everyone else finally cleared out. She’s Cordelia, not Annabel. Go in and talk to her.”
Dad just sat there, staring at me.
“Dad?” I was a little worried. Was he going into shock?
“You’re sure?”
“Well, we only have her word for it. We can do what Grandfather did when he first discovered us and get a DNA test. But her handwriting’s a dead ringer for yours and she has a notebook-that-tells-her-when-to-breathe. I’m betting she’s the real thing.”
“I hadn’t entirely given up hope.” He was blinking away tears. “And then we got the news she’d been murdered.”
“Annabel was murdered. But Cordelia knew she was the intended victim. And figured the killer would try again if she turned up alive. So she’s been pretending to be her cousin all this time.”
Dad just blinked and stared at me.
“Why don’t you go on in and meet her?”
What was wrong with him? He didn’t seem to be showing any signs of the anger I’d been feeling. But he also didn’t look all that happy to have one of his lifelong dreams coming true.
Of course, he hadn’t gotten to know Cordelia as I had. Maybe he was worried that he wouldn’t like her. Or more likely, that she wouldn’t like him.
“She’s with Chief Heedles,” he said finally.
“Who’s also in the know by now,” I said. “And I’m sure would understand the reason for your interruption.”
“Oh, my.” He scrambled up to his feet, looking first at the front door and then down at himself. He was wearing Crocs, a faded Blake’s Brigade T-shirt, and blue-and-white striped pajama bottoms that might have been quite snazzy in their prime but were now faded and stained with Sherry’s blood and quite a bit of red clay.