“Mr. Porter never said anything to lead you to suspect that things were not as they seemed?”
“Not until he became ill, nearing death. I guess the morphine loosened him up. He began to speak of his first wife in the present tense. He said she had a great deal of money and could assist his grandchildren with college expenses when the time came. Just before he died, he grabbed my wrist and made me promise to find Dani’s mother. He was very weak, and I could barely understand his words. He was highly medicated and I thought he was hallucinating.
“A few months later, I was going through his papers and found a thirty-year-old, yellowed clipping about a child’s abduction. When I saw an article in the paper about Mrs. Farley and it mentioned her daughter’s abduction, I began to wonder. I know it’s a long shot, but what if Dani is Gladys Farley’s missing child?”
“You did the right thing by telling Dani what you suspected,” Christie assured her.
“I struggled with that decision. If it is true, Dani’s memory of her father will be ruined. George was a good man. If he was Gladys Farley’s ex-husband, he must have been a very angry man at the time of their divorce. If he later had second thoughts about what he’d done, he would have faced prison if he turned himself in. I don’t think he could have endured being separated from his child.”
“For thirty years Mrs. Farley has been separated from her child,” Christie said.
“Yes,” Jane Porter said softly. “If Dani is Gladys Farley’s daughter, my husband caused irreparable harm.”
When Christie put the phone on its cradle, her hand rested there a moment. The conversation had been unsettling. Jane Porter’s suspicions were speculation, nothing more. You could begin to build a case on speculation, but eventually proof would be needed to reach a verdict. A verdict of gigantic proportions. A verdict that was in her hands.
She thought about Drew’s remark: every time Gladys Farley’s name appeared in the paper, a dozen “Danielles” crawled out of the woodwork. Maybe this time was different, though; perhaps Dani was the missing piece in a lifelong puzzle. Christie had to find the answer.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It is next to impossible to compare printing with script. Christie sat on the couch, feet on the coffee table, contemplating the problem.
What would Danielle and Dani have had in common during the first couple of years of schooling? Mrs. Farley had saved her daughter’s kindergarten and first-grade artwork, but what else? What item from the past could provide or dispute a connection?
Didn’t primary-grade teachers have their students make Mother’s and Father’s Day cards? Dani’s father had been a single parent; perhaps he had treasured the childhood masterpieces.
It was worth a call to find out. She reached for the phone and dialed Dani’s number. Christie apologized for calling so late, but Dani brushed the words aside and said that she was a night owl.
“Dani, the journals don’t go back far enough to help with a determination on your identity.”
“My identity. Somehow that sounds like a line out of an old movie script. I always knew who I was…until now. When my stepmother showed me the clipping, I brushed it off. My father often clipped articles from newspapers and magazines. That didn’t make him a kidnapper. Nothing indicates that I’m Gladys Farley’s daughter. I contacted her because Jane hounded me about it.”
“It’s only fair to Mrs. Farley, and yourself, to investigate the possibility. When you were in first or second grade, did you make cards for your father? You know, Father’s Day, Christmas, Valentine’s Day?”
“That’s an odd question, but yes, I did. I wasn’t much of an artist, but I could rhyme, so I wrote silly poems.”
“Did your father keep any of them?”
“Jane would know. She had a box of odds and ends that she said we should go through after a while. We weren’t up to it when Dad died. She may have gone through it herself by now, and I imagine that whatever she didn’t want, she threw out.”
Christie’s heart dropped.
“I could call her and see,” she offered.
“Would you call her now?”
“It’s late, she’s probably in bed.”
“It’s important. Very important.”
“All right.”
Christie asked Dani to call back after she talked to Jane. Ten minutes later, the phone rang. Christie felt as though she hadn’t taken a breath while she waited for the call.
“Jane went through the box a few weeks ago,” Dani said. “My father kept every one of my drawings, every card. Nothing was thrown out. Does that sound like a callous person, a criminal?”
“Of course not.” Christie kept the excitement out of her voice. This could be it! The missing link, offering proof one way or another. “Dani, please call Jane back and ask her to mail the cards to me first thing tomorrow, overnight mail. I’ll reimburse her for the charges.”
“Why don’t I pick up the cards in the morning and drive down to San Francisco with them? I could be in the city late afternoon. The sooner the mystery is solved, the sooner I can get on with my life.”
Sleep was hard to come by; the weight of the Farley case bogged Christie down. When she woke in the morning, she felt as though she hadn’t slept in a week. A cup of strongly brewed tea was her only defense. Maybe she’d give herself a break and go into the office late. The only crucial case right now was the Farleys’, and Dani wouldn’t arrive until the afternoon.
She placed her teacup on an end table and settled onto the couch. She picked up one of the journals, disappointed that it hadn’t pointed her in a direction toward or away from Dani. Her thoughts were interrupted by Tosha complaining from the kitchen. Groggy from lack of sleep, she had forgotten to give the cat breakfast. She padded into the kitchen and opened a can of turkey giblets and gravy and ladled out a generous portion, then returned to the living room.
She opened the journal and reread the first few pages. Tosha soon edged her way onto Christie’s lap and promptly fell asleep. Christie rested her hand on the cat’s back and every so often stroked the soft fur. In response Tosha lifted her head and gazed at Christie, purred for a few seconds, and then resumed napping. Christie rested her head on the back of the couch, and let her thoughts drift.
The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie. It was Cash.
“Christie, I called your office and the secretary said you would be in late. Is something wrong?”
“I didn’t sleep well. My mind ran a marathon all night.”
“About the Farleys?”
“Yes.”
“Would have been better if you had been thinking about me. That would have put you to sleep,” he teased.
“Thinking about you would definitely have given me sweet dreams,” she replied.
“That’s what I like to hear. Have you unearthed anything new on the case?”
“Dani is driving down with some cards she made for her dad when she was a second-grader. The cards should hold the answer, whatever it is. And I have to admit that makes me nervous. I’m afraid Mrs. Farley will be devastated if this is another dead end.”
“Why don’t I take you out to dinner tonight, cheer you up?”
“I’m not sure I’d be good company. So many thoughts are whirling through my mind. Anticipation and anxiety have me tied into knots. I’m not up for a night on the town.”
“You have to eat. I’ll pick up some deli food and bring it to your place. Seven sound okay?”
She did want to see him, longed to see him, in fact. “Seven works. And thanks, Cash.”
“Hey, I’m trying to be your knight in shining armor.” He chuckled, and she could visualize laugh lines around his eyes. “See you later.”