“Not the same Lewis Wilhoite?”
Jane watched her sister’s face change as she realized what Jane had discovered, saw Melissa’s expression morph from questioning to suspicious to accusatory to frightened. Jane was holding up the laptop like a tiny electronic billboard. Melissa and Robyn examined the thumbnail-size snapshot, then the photos on the wall, comparing.
The three of them stayed silent for a beat, each processing what Jane revealed. If the Lewis Wilhoite in the photo was not the Lewis Wilhoite who married Robyn, then who was the man who had Gracie? Who had Robyn actually married?
“That’s terrifying,” Melissa said.
“That’s ridiculous.” Robyn waved at the computer screen dismissively, turned her back for an instant, then whirled to face them. “My husband might be a bit”—she looked at the ceiling, as if searching for exactly the right word—“quirky. But he is who he is. I mean, I married him four years ago. I know him. He’s got a passport, a birth certificate, I’ve seen them. I’m not a compete fool.”
She stopped, put her hands over her face, then wiped underneath each eye with one finger. She straightened her shoulders, almost challenging them. “You think I’m a complete fool?”
Melissa and Jane exchanged worried glances. Jane felt silly, standing there holding the computer, and placed it on the desk, still open to the archived photo.
“You want to call the police now?” Melissa said.
Jane winced at the venom in her sister’s voice, though she understood it. If Robyn had been duped by this guy from the start, the situation was far more dire than it had seemed at first. Her mind raced, playing out the scenarios. A grieving father making a misguided play to keep his stepdaughter was one thing. A masquerading con artist with a phony background who’d stolen someone else’s resume and lured Robyn into marrying him was a whole other story.
“Did you never look at the Wharton photos, Robyn?” Jane asked. “Was there anything about his past that seemed off or out of whack? Did his history ever seem to change?”
“I don’t know.” Robyn paused, tilted her head as if reflecting. “I mean, I accepted what he told me, there was no reason to check on anything, you know? We never looked up my college photos, either, come to think of it.” She peered at the computer screen and reached forward to click the mouse, zooming in on the photo. Clicked it even closer.
“Huh,” she said. “And now I’m going over everything he ever said, everything he ever told me.” She stared at the screen again, the photo now blown up to an extreme tight shot. “And now, looking closer? At everything? In a different way? I have to wonder. I do. What if none of it is true?”
“The only explanation is that Lewis Wilhoite lied about his own background,” Melissa interrupted, shaking her head. “And that means—and I’m sorry to say this, Robyn, but there’s a little girl involved—it means we have no idea who we’re dealing with.”
“My little girl,” Robyn’s voice twisted into a wail.
“And Daniel’s,” Melissa said. “And mine.” She pointed to the computer. “Jane, did you look him up anywhere else?”
“Not yet. But that’s a job for the police now, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Melissa said.
Jane eyed the landline on the desk. “I’ll call—”
“No. No police.” Robyn crossed her arms over her chest, her Rapunzel hair curling over them. Jane saw Melissa meet her gaze, then take a step toward her.
“Robyn—” she said.
“No!” Robyn faced Melissa as if there were no one else in the room. “Lewis specifically said no police!”
She grabbed the phone from the desk, waved the handset at them in one all-encompassing accusatory arc.
“And who knows what he’ll do now. Right? Right? Or even where they are! Oh, my God. It was all made up. All that flat tire and garage and Twizzlers and I just believed it, it was so Lewis, but I never thought—but I see it now. I do! He’ll hide her forever. He’d never hurt her, ever, but he’ll, he’ll, change her hair, and change her name, just like he must have changed his name!”
“Robyn,” Jane began, wondering how to stop her from spiraling into hysteria. “I think we’ll be better off if we contact the police.”
But Robyn was crying now, ignoring Jane, full-on sobs racking her body, her shoulders shaking with the effort. Her breath came in gulps. “Because I am a fool, I’m so incredibly gullible, and I was so unhappy after Danny and I split up.” She looked at Melissa, then touched the phone pad, tracing the numbers with one finger, caressing, as if remembering something, a long-ago call, or a lost connection. “I never should have married him.”
Jane heard the anguish in the woman’s voice, felt her escalating grief, and knew she was powerless to help her. Crusading Jane, big-shot reporter, investigator extraordinaire. Well, she’d investigated, all right. And discovered the lie that made this family fall apart. It was better to know, she supposed. But the question was: What did they do now?
“It’s ten forty-five.” Robyn’s quavering voice was now barely a whisper. “Gracie’s gone.”
* * *
The greenroom was supposed to be private. And it was. Mostly. If you sat on the couch or in the big chair, like most people did, you only heard murmurs from the adjacent Chief of Staff’s office. But Tenley stood, her ear pressed to the door. If you got into the spot she and Lanna discovered through a series of increasingly successful experiments, you could hear just about every word that was said. Usually, it was pretty boring stuff, political arguments or street cleaning. She’d heard her mother swear, which she used to think was pretty funny. And she learned her mom was always in charge, even telling the mayor what to do. No wonder she and Dad had fought sometimes, now she thought about it. Dad was the dad, but Mom had the power. Or thought she did.
Tenley’s eyes welled. Guess Mom didn’t have enough power to stop what happened to Dad. Or to Lanna.
Maybe that’s why she seemed mad all the time.
Tenley tuned out, thinking about Dad, and Mom, and Lanna, and herself, and her life, and how a lot of things sucked. A man’s voice, kind of yelling, brought her back. Her mother’s voice was still unintelligible.
Who was her mom talking to, anyway? She listened as hard as she could.
“You have a subpoena for the video,” the man’s voice said, kind of angry. Video? “Don’t leave town,” she heard him say.
Tenley leaned against the dark green wall and stared up at the checkerboard of white acoustical tiles on the ceiling. That’s what the cops on TV told people when they were in trouble. Like if they were a suspect.
Like in a crime.
So that was weird.