“I was wondering where you kids had got off to,” Grandpa said, busy putting away the groceries he had carried in. “I hoped maybe you’d have supper ready, since I was so late. Just in case, though, I brought fried chicken with me. I know your mom doesn’t approve of fried foods, but once in a while . . .”
He turned then and saw Ben. “Oh, we got company?”
“Ben’s dad’s been gone all day,” Megan said. Her mouth was dry with dread at the coming ordeal of confessing how foolish she had been about writing to Annie. “He hasn’t come back yet. Is it okay if Ben stays?”
“Sure. Why not?” Grandpa said, but he wasn’t smiling. A moment later they knew why. He nodded toward the table, and Megan saw two letters lying there. “I picked up the mail on the way in. Surprised me, you hadn’t been out to get it. There’s a letter there from your friend Annie.”
Megan’s throat felt as if it were closing, as if she were suffocating. Now she was in for it, and seeing how troubled her grandfather looked, she was ashamed that she hadn’t trusted him in the first place and asked his advice about writing.
Ben and Sandy stood just inside the kitchen doorway, not speaking. It was up to Megan.
She reached for the letter, then recognized the handwriting on the other envelope. Her jaw dropped. “It’s from Mom!”
“Yes.” Grandpa’s voice was level, serious. “How did Annie know where you are, Megan?”
Her legs were suddenly wobbly. Megan sank onto a chair. “I wrote to her,” she admitted in a small voice. “I was going to tell you—I didn’t realize it might mean somebody would ask about us at home, and follow us here. . . .” She sounded as if she might cry, but a quick glance at Ben made her determined not to do that.
“Follow you?” Was there alarm in Grandpa’s voice?
It all came out then. The letter to Annie, Annie’s response, and then the man in the white car, and the other two men in the blue Ford.
Grandpa listened so quietly, with so few interrupting questions, that Megan felt worse than ever, worse than if he’d shouted at her.
“You’re sure none of them got into the house?” he asked when she finally fell silent.
“No, they didn’t. Grandpa, I’m afraid they’ll come back.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “They probably will. I guess you weren’t close enough to either of the cars to see the license plates?”
“The white car had Illinois plates—NC3-4289. The other one we thought had Minnesota plates. We only saw it through the binoculars, from the island, and we couldn’t read the numbers.”
“Illinois?” He said it sharply, as if that meant something to him, though he didn’t explain. “Well, I wish you’d talked to me about writing to your friend, Megan. Your mother should have made it clearer, I guess, that you shouldn’t contact anyone back home.”
Megan’s fingers crept across the table to touch the second letter. “There’s no return address, but it’s Mom’s writing.”
“Yes. I haven’t had time to read it yet. Maybe we’d better see what these letters say. Open them up.”
Megan read her mother’s note first. She had already noted that the postmark was Ironwood, Michigan, which meant nothing to her except that her mother had apparently driven east.
Her lips felt stiff as she read aloud.
Dear Dad and Kids:
I’m sorry to have left you so abruptly, and with no explanations. I’m feeling better about everything now; I just wanted you to be together while I looked for another job. Worrying about money doesn’t do anything for my disposition, I guess. I think I’ve lined up a job; I’ll know for sure in a couple of days. If it comes through, I’ll be back to Lakewood to explain. Yes, Dad, I can see you’re right. Megan and Sandy are old enough to understand, I hope. Anyway, I want them to have a fun vacation at the lake for a couple of weeks, and by then I’ll have a house or an apartment here to bring them to. In the meantime, kids, have fun.
Love, Me.
There was a postscript at the bottom of the page. It might be better not to mention to anyone around there where this was postmarked, though it’s not in the town where I’ll be working.
There was silence when she put the letter down on the table. Nobody asked why they weren’t to mention the postmark. In a town the size of Lakewood, it was possible that the postmaster or the mail carrier had already noticed where the letter came from. Which also made it possible that one of those people would mention it to anyone who was asking questions about the Colliers.
Ben cleared his throat. Sandy shuffled his feet uneasily. Grandpa cleared his throat, too. “Maybe you better see what your friend Annie has to say.”
Reluctantly, Megan tore open that envelope. She read the brief message to herself first, then out loud for the benefit of the others. The tears were there in her voice; she couldn’t help them.
“Dear Megan,” she read. “Mom said I’d better write to you again, in case any of this is important. Mrs. Morgan talked to Mrs. Salzman. . . .” She broke off to explain to Ben. “Mrs. Morgan was our next-door neighbor, and Mrs. Salzman lived next door to her.” She swallowed and continued.
“Mrs. Salzman said the night you left she saw a picture on TV, of two kids. The announcer said, ‘Have you seen these children?’ and there was a telephone number to call. Mrs. Salzman said they were just little kids, but she thought they looked remarkably like you and Sandy, though their name wasn’t Collier. Anyway, my mom told her it was probably just coincidence, but that man was back in the neighborhood again today, and we saw Mrs. Morgan talking to him. We don’t know what she said to him, but my dad was coming up the walk past them and heard the guy thank her for her help.
Megan, are you in trouble? I hope you can write and tell me everything’s okay. I’ll understand—well, sort of—if you can’t write back again.
Love, Annie.”
Megan’s worst fears were realized. She couldn’t bear to look directly at her grandfather when she said, “I did it, didn’t I? The man wouldn’t have known where to look for us, if I hadn’t sent the letter to Annie.”
His reply was gentle. “Yes. But if your mother had told you why all this secrecy was necessary, you’d have known better, so don’t take all the blame. I’m puzzled by the second car, the one with two men. I don’t know who they could be.”
Sandy spoke up, sounding croaky. “Was it our picture on TV? An old picture?”
“I didn’t see it,” Grandpa reminded. “It’s possible.”
“But those pictures asking ‘Have you seen these children’ are of kids who’ve been kidnapped, aren’t they?”
For a moment Megan thought Grandpa wasn’t going to answer that. Then he sighed. “Yes. This situation is leaving me in an intolerable position. Your mother wants to tell you what’s going on herself. But if this man from Illinois is here looking for you—and maybe someone else is looking, too—then I’m not sure I can safely wait until she shows up to do it.”
Safely. That was the key word. “Are we not safe?” Megan asked unsteadily.
Again Grandpa hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t know if safe is the right word. I’m sure he doesn’t intend to harm you. . . .”
“Who?” Megan demanded. “Who is the man from Illinois? You know who he is, don’t you?”
“Not his name, no. I’ve no doubt who he’s working for, though.”
“Who?” Sandy blurted, while Ben watched with eyes that swung from one face to the other, alive with interest.
Grandpa eased into the chair opposite Megan, waving a hand at the boys. “Let’s sit down. My foot’s aching from being on it too much today, and I’m tired. If you’re hungry, you might as well dig into that chicken and stuff.”
Nobody made a move toward the cartons in the middle of the table, though Ben and Sandy did take chairs. Certainly food was the last thing on Megan’s mind.
“What’s the man going to do if he finds us?” Megan asked, her voice ragged with emotion. “Who is he working for?”
Grandpa sat for a moment, thinking out what he was going to say. He looked tired, so tired that once more guilt washed over Megan.
“Did you ever wonder,” Grandpa asked at last, “about the other side of the family? Besides me and your mother?”
“You mean . . . Daddy’s family? I thought they were all dead.”
Grandpa shook his head. “No. You have one relative left on your dad’s side of the family. A grandfather. He lives in Chicago.”
It made Megan feel very strange. Another grandfather? Well, naturally she’d always known there had been another set of grandparents, but she’d assumed they had died before she was born. Her mother had never mentioned them.
In fact, Megan remembered distinctly that her mother had once stated that Grandpa Davis was their only living relative, aside from herself.
Sandy was looking confused. “A grandfather? But how come we never knew about him?”
“That I think you’ll have to let your mom explain. She had her reasons for the things she did, and she hopes if she tells you herself you’ll understand better. Megan, there’s potato salad in that big carton, and cole slaw in the smaller one. Why don’t you get us some napkins and paper plates, and we’ll eat while we figure out what we ought to do.”
Ben spoke for the first time, helping himself to a chicken thigh from the cardboard container. “Get out and go somewhere else,” he said with his customary assurance of being right.
Grandpa shook his head. “If we leave here, there’s no way for Karo to find us, and we don’t know how to contact her. Besides, what’s a crippled-up old man . . .” he thumped his cast on the floor, “. . . with no cash to speak of, going to do with two kids on the run? I have credit cards, but they’re easy for a detective to trace.”
“A detective?” Ben asked, pausing in his chewing. “Is that guy from Illinois a detective?” He seemed pleased with the idea.
“That’s my guess. Hired by Daniel . . .” Grandpa broke off abruptly.
“Is that our grandfather’s name? Daniel Collier?” Megan asked. She was extremely uncomfortable, as if she couldn’t breathe properly.
“If I’m not careful I’m going to usurp your mother’s right to explain things herself, the way she wants. Anyhow, I don’t think running away again is a viable option. Besides the lack of cash, two redheaded kids and an old man in a cast are going to be noticed wherever they go. We wouldn’t be hard to trace for a professional, only for my daughter.”
“What’ll he do if he finds us?” Sandy persisted. That question remained to be answered.
“I don’t know. I only know that your mother doesn’t want him to find you, doesn’t want your grandfather to know where you are. It’s her decision to make, not mine.”
“Is that why we’ve been running away for eight years, ever since Daddy died?” Megan asked. She was still totally bewildered. Why should they have to hide from a grandfather they didn’t know?
Grandpa took so long to reply that she almost gave up hope he was going to do it. “This is all very complicated, child. I don’t know how to explain part of it without explaining it all, and I can’t do that, not yet. When your mother comes, you can ask her anything you like.”
“You just going to sit here and wait for the man to come back, then?” Ben wanted to know. He had helped himself to salads and more chicken, and was buttering a biscuit, the only one eating with any real appetite.
“If I knew any place to send the kids, I’d do it,” Grandpa said, almost as if to himself.
“The island,” Megan murmured. “We were on the island all day. There’s no reason anyone would look for us on the island.”
Grandpa’s eyes were very blue under his thick gray eyebrows. “It might be for four or five days. . . .”
“We built a house,” Sandy offered eagerly. “It’s big enough for three sleeping bags, and we’ve got food out there. Well, it’s Ben’s food, but we could take some of our own. Nobody’d know where we were. You could come out there too, Grandpa!”
“No. I have to stay here. I can deal with this detective, or whoever he is. But if you think you want to try it, there’s no danger out there that I can see.”
“You could rig up some signals,” Ben said. “Fly a red flag from the tree where you hang the life preservers if you wanted them to stay away. Fly a blue one if you wanted them to come in.”
“If you fly flags somebody will figure out they’re for signals,” Megan pointed out.
“Hang up laundry in those colors,” Ben said promptly. “A red shirt for a warning, a blue one meaning come ashore. String a clothesline between two trees right on the water, so we can see it from the tree house.”
Grandpa thought it over. “All right,” he said. “Maybe that would be a good idea. Just for tomorrow, to begin with. If the man comes back, I’ll have a better idea of what to do after that, depending on what he says.”
They ate then, though neither Megan nor her grandfather displayed a normal appetite. Grandpa found a box and began to put bread and peanut butter and strawberry jam and fruit into it. “You kids better pack up what you’ll need to stay until at least tomorrow afternoon,” he said over his shoulder. “How about you, Ben? You going to go home, or stay on the island, too?”
“I’ll run home and leave a note for Dad, telling him I’m sleeping in the tree house,” Ben said, without having to think it over.
It must be nice, Megan thought, to be able to decide so quickly and be sure you’re right. She was confused, and just as apprehensive as she’d been before, because Grandpa Davis was obviously taking this matter very seriously. Somehow she had assumed that once she’d confessed to him, he would have everything under control.
“I’m going to take something to read,” Sandy said, “and my pajamas.”
“Take a clean set of underwear, too,” Megan suggested. “And a clean shirt. You spilled catsup on that one.”
She turned on the light in the small bedroom. It wasn’t dark yet beyond the window that faced the lake, and she could see the island. She stood for a moment, studying it, trying to make out any telltale sign of the tree house, but it was too well hidden in the branches.
She sighed and picked up the tote bag Mom had used to carry various odds and ends. She couldn’t imagine being relaxed enough to enjoy reading, but it might be a very long day if they couldn’t come back to shore. She dropped the book she had been reading last night into the bag.
The packet with the writing materials was lying on the edge of the dresser, and as Megan opened the top drawer to find a clean set of clothes, she brushed against the packet. It slid to the floor, its contents scattering on the linoleum.
She muttered under her breath, packing clean jeans in case she got this pair wet again, a knitted shirt, and underwear. Maybe she’d better take a sweatshirt, too, she thought, in case it got cooler.
Finally, the small bag packed, she knelt to pick up the stuff that had spilled. Should she take some stationery so she could write to Annie? She had to thank her for the warning, even if it did come too late, even if she had to wait to mail her letter from some other place. This time she’d get permission to do it from Mom or Grandpa.
Some of the papers in the folder had slid under the edge of the bed. Megan, on hands and knees, scraped together everything she saw and began to put it all back together. Car registration papers, insurance papers, an official looking document. . . .
Megan paused, sitting back on her heels. She’d never seen this before; it made her curious enough to look more closely, because it seemed to have been caught in something and damaged, so that only part of the original remained.
Certificate of Birth, she read. The name was Margaret Anne Kauffman. Nobody she knew, she thought, and was already putting it into the folder when her eye caught the date—May sixteenth—and the year. . . .
Something constricted in Megan’s chest. The birthdate was her own.
What did it mean? Why was her mother saving a birth certificate for someone named Margaret Kauffman, who had been born the same day and year as Megan?
She made a hasty search through the materials in the folder, looking for anything to shed more light on the matter, but there was nothing. Not her own birth certificate, nor Sandy’s.
Megan’s own middle name was Ann. She sat staring at the paper, then held it closer to read the rest of the information it contained, and felt a chill born of uncertainty and fear creeping over her.
Megan Ann and Margaret Anne. The same initials, though the last name was different. Collier and Kauffman.
Born of Caroline and Daniel Kauffman, read the smaller print.
Daniel . . . Grandpa Davis had said Daniel was their other grandfather’s first name; he’d stopped before speaking the last name.
On the rare occasions when she’d spoken of him at all, her mom had called Daddy “Dan.” But his last name hadn’t been Kauffman, had it? Wasn’t it Collier?
Megan whispered the names aloud, then sat in a frozen lump until Sandy shouted, “Come on, Megan, let’s go! We can leave as soon as Ben gets back! We want to get settled on the island before it gets dark!”
“I’m coming,” she said, then folded the mysterious birth certificate and put it into the bag with the book and her clothes to study later, wondering if the wild suspicions that coursed through her mind could possibly be true.