“ASK ME IF I’M surprised. No, I’m not.” Heather was practically dancing on her carpet. “I’ve been telling you all along—your dad’s in the station, and he’s looking for you.”
“Heather, I think it might have all been a lie—Dad’s sickness, his behavior…” I showed her his final journal, which I’d brought with me. “I’ve been reading these diaries. I think he was leading a double life. Like, another wife and kids.”
Heather gave me a wary look. “That’s crazy.”
“Any crazier than what you believe? Think about it. No doctor could diagnose the disease. He’d wander off for days at a time—”
“Your dad didn’t lie—”
“He was a case solver. He specialized in mysteries. He knew how people kept secrets and got away with them. And he was full of his own secrets. Like his past.”
“He was an orphan. He didn’t like to talk about it. You always told me that.”
“And I never questioned it. Doesn’t it seem weird that he wrote in these journals every day but not before he met my mom?”
Heather took the journal and began leafing through it. “This doesn’t make sense …‘D’ this, ‘T’ that…”
I looked over her shoulder. As she flipped through, my eyes caught something familiar.
I pressed my palm to the page, holding the journal open. And I read:
“ ‘Home,’ ” I said. “There it is again.”
“Who’s this AP?” Heather asked. “And what’s ‘shuffle off mortal coil’ mean?”
“Don’t you know? You’re the genius.”
Heather shrugged. “Sounds like language from some other century. Your dad never said stuff like that.”
“True. I guess AP did, though.”
AP.
It hit me.
I picked up Heather’s voicephone. “Heather, you are a genius.”
“Who are you calling?” Heather asked.
I tapped out my home number.
“Hello?” came Mom’s voice.
“Mom, what’s Anders’s last name?”
“Pearson,” I heard her say. “Why?”
Heather was right next to me now. I turned to face her. “Did you say Pearson, Mom? Anders Pearson?”
Heather looked blank for a moment, then beamed.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Why?”
“Ask her how he spells it!” Heather hissed.
I covered the receiver. “Why?”
“David, what’s going on?” Mom’s voice asked.
“Um, Mom, how do you spell that? P-E-A-R—?”
Heather grabbed the receiver and put her own ear close to mine.
“No, David,” Mom said. “It’s P-E-R-S-S-O-N.”
I thought Heather was going to faint.
A. PERSSON.