Gemini Rising (Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series, Book 1) Page 5

  The notes were consistent with the information Elijah had supplied the previous day regarding the arrangements made by the biological parents and the subsequent passing of the mother following childbirth. And then, the bombshell Elijah hadn’t shared.

  According to the notes, the father committed suicide shortly after his twin girls were born and the mother of his children had died. My heart ached as my eyes filled with tears. I dropped the papers, hugged my knees and rocked back and forth.

  Sufficiently subdued, I returned to my task. Mrs. Baumgardner had chosen not to share any more information regarding the suicide, though perhaps no one had asked. Would that have been considered tacky? If so, I would have flunked in the social etiquette arena, but then I didn’t feel so crummy because I knew Leah would have too.

  For now, I appreciated a reprieve from the details, but it was information we’d have to follow up on regardless. I made a mental note to add that to the list later, on Leah’s side. I understood why Elijah had hesitated yesterday and silently thanked him for his compassion.

  According to Mr. Winestone’s notes, Mrs. Baumgardner indicated the birth parents had made it abundantly clear that under no circumstances were the children to be adopted together. Though the Winestones were clearly disappointed, Mrs. Baumgardner refused to be pressed further on the topic. There wasn’t much merit in the rest of their conversation, though Mr. Winestone did make a note to follow up on the girl at a later date.

  Sure enough, immediately following Mr. Winestone’s handwritten notes were a slew of letters, both to and from Mrs. Baumgardner that continued to breach the subject. She remained unrelenting—under no circumstances would she violate the agreement the agency had made with the birth parents. In her final letter, however, she did assure the Winestones the other baby girl had found a loving home, though she shared no more than that. In my book, the whole thing felt off somehow.

  Finally, I reached the birth certificates—the documents I dreaded, and yet longed to see. I was glad Abe and Elijah had prepared me for this, but my stomach was still filled with butterflies.

  I carefully lifted Victoria’s most-recent birth certificate out and found mine directly beneath. Though both contained facts I already knew, I was shaking. Where the heck had the Winestones gotten this information? I shuddered, considering the possibilities. Next was a plain piece of typing paper, which contained nothing but my parent’s Phoenix address, now my home. Though I’d been told it was here, I had hoped for some note, some comment or indication of how it had made its way into the Winestone’s possession. If it had secrets to tell—which I was sure it did—it wasn’t sharing.

  I knew the final two pieces of paper contained the most important information—perhaps more important than anything I would read again. I took a deep breath and grasped a certificate in each hand. As I held them side-by-side, I read the names of the birth parents I would never know: Father—Martin Alexander Singer; Mother—Alison Marie Anders.

  I then proceeded to read the name of each child. Ella Marie Singer was born at 2:15:30 a.m. on June 19. Victoria had been my older sister by a minute and a half, I realized as I glanced at the other certificate. Arianna Elena Singer had been born at 2:17:00 a.m. on the same day. The butterflies turned to outright queasiness as I absorbed the fact my parents—Richard and Eileen Jackson—had kept all but the surname I’d been given at birth. How much more had they known, I wondered? And, had it played a role in their deaths? Victoria thought it had, and she’d only begun to unravel the secrets.

  Well, big sister, I thought as I gently placed our birth certificates back into the box. It’s high time we finished what you started.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was jacked-up and ready to roll. I decided to start my action items by contacting the individuals and organizations involved with the adoption. First on my list was Mavis Baumgardner of the Sterling Joy Agency. I used the phone number from the documentation in the Winestone’s safety deposit box and received a “number is no longer in service” recording, so I called directory assistance. There was no listing under the Sterling Joy Agency, Mavis Baumgardner or any Baumgardner, for that matter, in Chicago or any of the surrounding areas. Perhaps they moved out of the state? It wouldn’t be all that surprising, considering it had been almost thirty years.

  I searched the Internet, and while there was no listing or website for the agency, I did find a tidbit in a twenty-five-year-old business journal-type article that read “…Maxwell Baumgardner and his wife, Mavis, founders of the Sterling Joy Agency, have decided to close their doors after years of service to the community. When interviewed, Mr. Baumgardner indicated the decision had been based upon the desire to spend more time with family and to pursue other opportunities.”

  I wondered what those “other opportunities” might have been, so I continued my search. Two hours later, I had nothing. Nada. It appeared as though the Baumgardners had fallen off the face of the earth. I said appeared, not had. I had one more trick up my sleeve—a crack-shot newspaper reporter and researcher extraordinaire—my BFF, Leah. I started a to-do list for her. Generous of me, I know. Seriously, the girl lives for the stuff.

  Next on my list was Jonathan Silverton, the Winestone’s former lawyer. This time, the number worked, however, I awkwardly learned he had passed a few years earlier after suffering a massive stroke. His widow, Jeannie, was remarkably pleasant, and though I was somewhat vague about my reason for calling, seemed happy to have a distraction from her shows.

  She had heard about the Winestone’s accident on the national news and apologized for my loss. Ok, I might have told her I was Victoria’s sister, but she drew her own conclusion about my relationship to the Winestones.

  According to Mrs. Silverton, her husband had been in private practice for the better part of his career, though she made no mention of the Sterling Joy Agency. I asked if she knew what had become of his case files, and she said no. I believed her. She was probably one of those wives who had no idea what their husbands did during the day and didn’t care to know, just as long as they came home for dinner. Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, it just wouldn’t work for me. Disclaimer: This is solely the opinion of a single woman in her late twenties—please feel free to draw your own conclusions.

  Anyway, as it was clearly a dead-end, I thanked the nice lady for her time, and we said our goodbyes. It wasn’t all for nothing. I did come up with some nice to-dos for Anna’s list. Yup, still spreading the generosity.

  Before contacting the University of Chicago Medical Center, I did some quick research. Cheryl Earley had been an administrator at the time Victoria and I were born. Turns out, she still was, but nowadays, she was a little higher up on the food chain.

  Unfortunately in my experience, the higher up you are, the more assistants there are between you and Jill Public, aka me. As expected, it took me quite a few transfers to get to the point where I was granted access to Ms. Earley’s voicemail.

  Imagine my surprise when Cheryl Earley picked up. Avoiding the crazy, sordid details, I stuck with the basics and told Ms. Earley I was trying to track down information surrounding my adoption—that my sister and I had been born at UCMC almost thirty years earlier and both of our parents had died a short time later, resulting in our adoptions with a local agency. I was about to go on, but she stopped me dead in my tracks.

  “Oh my goodness,” she whispered, “you’re one of the twins.”

  “You know about me?” I croaked. “About my family?”

  “I could hardly forget. I had recently been promoted to my first administrator position. You and your sister had been born prematurely—by a couple of weeks, if I remember correctly—but you were both healthy. And your mother, she was doing great. Then, all of a sudden, she wasn’t. She went so fast. They couldn’t save her…” she trailed off. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “No, no…please, it’s why I called.” I told her of my adoptive parent’s deaths, Victoria’s�
��then Ella—parent’s deaths and finally, about Victoria’s murder.

  I waited for her response. And waited. Then, I realized I’d made a colossal error in judgment. I was convinced she was going to hang up on me.

  Instead, she surprised me. “Arianna, I’m so sorry, for all the loss you’ve had to endure. If only things could have been different. It’s almost as though your mother’s death set off a chain reaction that would follow you for the rest of your life.” I would later reflect on the truth of that statement. “What can I do to help?”

  “I’m still trying to get my head around all of this. I’ve run into nothing but brick walls so far, but perhaps you can help me find out more information about my birth parents—any documents, records, etc. that might still exist. Anything, no matter how insignificant it seems, could lead to something.”

  “Please dear, call me Cheryl. I think I can help. Records dating back that far are archived at an understaffed, off-site facility. It’s going to take some time, but I might have a way to cut through some of the bureaucratic red tape. Here’s what we’ll do—give me your e-mail address.”

  After I rattled off my email, she continued, “I’m going to e-mail you the standard medical record request form. Just fill out the basic parts and e-mail it back to me, along with a copy of your current birth certificate and driver’s license. Once I’ve got it, I’ll fill in all the nitty-gritty details—with the appropriate codes—so you get anything and everything related to your parents. Believe me, when I’m done, if one of your birth parents broke a foot and had it casted here when they were twelve-years-old, you’ll know about it.” I chuckled.

  “Anyway, I know the director over there. He owes me a favor. I’ll call and give him a heads-up, then send a messenger to place the request and your documents right into his hands. When his people are done, I’ll have him do the same back to me, and I’ll ship it to you overnight. Will that work, Arianna?”

  “Heck, yes. Th-thank you,” I stammered, before attempting to collect my wits. “A couple of questions, though?”

  Cheryl laughed. “Shoot.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Cheryl, but why are you helping me? Aren’t you risking a lot?”

  Again, she laughed, but perhaps a bit more tersely. “Call me jaded. Or perhaps I’ve become too complacent over the years, but it’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to the right thing for the right reasons. And this feels right. Plus, you caught me on a good day.” It was my turn to chuckle.

  “Whatever the reasons, thank you, again. This means a lot to me.”

  “I know it does. You said a ‘couple’ of questions?”

  “Oh yeah, please call me AJ? All of my friends do.”

  “Certainly, AJ. I’d like to hear how this turns out.”

  As promised, I had an e-mail from Cheryl waiting in my Inbox shortly after the call ended. I quickly filled out the section she’d highlighted, scanned my birth certificate and driver’s license and e-mailed them back with another quick thank you.

  I know I should have been ecstatic following the call with Cheryl—a part of me was—but I also worried it would lead to more questions. What is it they say about not looking a gift horse in the mouth? Perhaps said horse should just kick my butt now and be done with it.

  While I’d been talking to Cheryl, Anna had emailed Sir Edward Harrington’s home and cell phone numbers and indicated she’d given him a head’s up—he would be expecting my call—so I kept it to the basics, leaving him enough of a message on his cell to elicit a return call.

  After that, I took a couple of minutes to jot down a few to-do items I’d conjured up for Anna, Leah and myself throughout the day. I decided to wait until I heard back from Sir Edward before touching base with them regarding these items, just in case I needed to add a few more.

  LEAH

  Maxwell & Mavis Baumgardner / Sterling Joy Agency

  Question: What happened to the Sterling Joy Agency?

  Question: What “other opportunities” did the Baumgardners have in mind?

  Question: What became of the couple?

  Martin Singer / Bio dad

  Question: Are there other details surrounding his suicide?

  ANNA

  Jonathan Silverton / Winestone’s lawyer

  Question: What happened to Silverton’s files once he retired?

  Question: Who are the Winestone’s other lawyers?

  Question: Did the other lawyers know about Silverton?

  Question: Did Silverton procure the birth certificates and/or my parent’s address at the Winestone’s request (provided they did not come from the Baumgardners)?

  AJ

  Sir Edward Harrington / Winestone family friend

  Question: Did he know Jonathan Silverton?

  Question: Did the Winestones know my parents?

  Cheryl Earley / UCMC Administrator

  Awaiting records on Martin Singer and Alison Anders / bio parents

  Other

  Question: Did the birth certificates and/or my parent’s address come from the Baumgardners, despite Mrs. Baumgardner’s resolve to the contrary (provided they did not come from Silverton)?

  Once completed, I reviewed my to-do items and chuckled as I flashed on a quote from Nero Wolfe to Archie Goodwin, “…I didn’t say this [exercise] would be useful, only that it could be useful…”

  At this point, I could only hope Abe, Elijah and Anna were faring better.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Meanwhile, Abe and Elijah were wondering the same thing about AJ.

  They had returned to L.A. the previous day, ready to hit the ground running. Unfortunately, the only things they managed to hit in the past several hours were a series of brick walls.

  Victoria had been convinced the Jackson’s plane crash was not accidental. They learned from working long, hard hours with her she didn’t jump to conclusions easily—quite the opposite, in fact—and oh, so stubborn, that one. She routinely drove them crazy with her don’t-tell-me-prove-it-to-me attitude. And yet, the day before she was killed, she’d been so certain, despite the fact they had previously gone over and over the official report, talked to the crash investigator, looked at the crash site and found nothing. What had changed her mind?

  While she had likely memorized the contents of the report, Abe and Elijah agreed it couldn’t have been the source of her new evidence. Anna had locked their only copy in the safe weeks ago, and Victoria hadn’t asked her to retrieve it or make copies. They all agreed she would have done so, had it contained the linchpin they’d spent months searching for. As simple of an explanation as that seemed, it was her nature. She simply wouldn’t have made the comment without having evidence to support it. They’d already searched her condo and had come up empty.

  That left Winslow Clark, the crash investigator. Surely, she must have contacted him and asked him to confirm some nugget of information? Their disappointment mounted when he said no, not only had he not talked to Victoria, he hadn’t seen her since the three of them had met him at the crash site several months earlier. He didn’t ask about her, and they didn’t offer—no need to voluntarily put her death out there—so once they had their answer, they thanked Clark for his time and hung up.

  Too frustrated to think straight, they headed back to the office to touch base with Anna. She was not only an amazing admin, she got them back on track when they went off the rails. Yup, right now they needed a strong dose of Anna.

  Anna was delighted to see them again, too. She knew the Phoenix trip had taken its toll—especially after learning of Victoria’s death—but she had also seen grief and anger turn into something else—a mission. It had become personal. For all of them. She smiled warmly as they bounded through the door, like two school boys fresh off the playground. They scooped her up into a big bear hug and spun her around, laughing as they ignored her feigned pleas about wrinkling her outfit. Finally, Abe put her back on her feet, but not before Elijah mock-mussed her hair.

 
; “Touch the locks and you’re done, buster,” she growled, though there was a gleam of mischief in her eyes. She made a display of smoothing the wrinkles out of the black long sleeve cotton blouse she’d paired with rolled-up boyfriend jeans and ballet flats, but a grin peeked out from under the long raven hair that had fallen over her face during their horseplay.

  Abe and Elijah laughed heartily. Though she was drop-dead gorgeous—easily passing as a sibling of Angie Everhart’s—and as sweet as they come, she could definitely throw-down when she needed to. Growing up with five older brothers would do that to a girl. Plus, they’d seen her in action at a couple of her martial arts classes. Anna wasn’t a gal you’d want to mess with in a dark alley, much less a well-lit one. Of course, she’d lay you out flat, then apologize by baking you fudge brownies later. Still, they were glad Anna was on their side.

  “Any word from AJ?” Elijah asked her.

  “Yeah, in fact, we’ve spoken on the phone, as well as e-mailed back and forth a few times. She’s busy tracking down leads at the hospital and adoption agency and is also hoping to speak personally with Jonathan Silverton and Sir Edward,” Anna replied. “Oh, and she fessed-up about her friend Leah.” They all laughed, before she added, “Anyway, I like her. She’s got spunk and isn’t afraid to speak her mind.”

  “Kind of like you, huh? Like two beans on a stalk,” Abe chuckled as he went into the kitchenette to fill his water bottle.

  “That’s two peas in a pod, smart guy!” Anna shouted at him.

  “Thanks for proving my point,” he shouted back, laughing.

  Elijah took his brother’s absence to lean in and whisper, “I think Abe has a little crush on AJ.”

  “Really?” Anna replied, crooking her eyebrow. Elijah nodded and put a finger to his lips as Abe returned.