by Marti Green
But a sister! I so wanted to despise her; yet, I wanted to know her, too. I wanted to know more about her life, about our mother, about the ways we were similar and the ways we diverged. I wanted her to be my confidante and me hers. I’d known since a young age I was adopted, and it hadn’t bothered me, but now, for the first time, I had a blood relative. I wanted desperately to be close to her; yet, at the same time, my thoughts kept reverting to her alliance with Ben. Still, blood had won out with her. In the end, she’d come to me. She’d walked away from his scheme and into my life. Now, I had to decide whether to let her in.
My father groaned, and I stood up to get his next dose of medicine. When I returned with it and a glass of water, he said, “You know, you don’t have to be here every night. Tatiana is perfectly capable of bringing me medicine. Stay home with Ben some nights.”
“When you’re better, I’ll stay home with Ben. In the meantime, I’d rather be with you.”
“Nonsense. You’ve always felt a sense of duty. I’m letting you off the hook. If you insist on seeing me every night, come for a half hour, then go home.”
“Daddy, I promise you,” I said, telling him the absolute truth, “this is exactly where I want to be.”
I walked in the door of my townhouse at my usual time—a little after 10:00 p.m. Ben was where he always was—sitting in the den watching television. Usually, it was some sporting event, but tonight it was a political show. From the time I’d met Ben, he’d told me he wanted to go into elective office. Law school was the path he’d seen for that. Part of the reason I had been able to convince him to work for Dad was because of the connections he’d make with wealthy individuals, people who could later back his candidacy when he was ready. Once he’d settled into his new life, the reality of a politician’s salary took hold, and he’d never expressed interest in that career again. Still, once in a while, when there were no sports to watch, he’d turn on a political talk show.
“Hi,” he called out to me when he heard the front door open, then shut. I managed a mangled “Hi” back, then hurried into the bedroom. I couldn’t face him—not yet. I undressed and stepped into the shower, making it as hot as I could stand. A few minutes later, Ben stepped into the bathroom. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I answered. “I just felt grimy.”
“Any change with your father?”
“He’s the same. Listen, I’m beat. I’m going straight to bed when I finish in here.”
“Well, nothing new there,” he muttered as he left the room.
“Fuck you, fuck you. Fuck you!” I wanted to scream. Instead, I said nothing.
CHAPTER 37
I didn’t hear from Mallory for ten days. During that time, Dad’s condition worsened. I’d called in hospice, and we all knew it was just a matter of weeks now. Thoughts of my father had filled my head during this period, enabling me to distance myself from ruminating about my sister and my murderous husband. Seeing Ezra had helped, also. I wanted to tell him about Mallory, about Ben, about their plot against me, but I didn’t.
Mallory called me at the gallery. “Are you okay?”
“Just super. I have a sister I didn’t know about, a husband who wants to kill me, and a father who’s dying. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
There was a beat of silence, and then, “I just got off the phone with Detective Saldinger. I’ve set it up for Ben to take me to meet the man he hired. To . . . you know.”
“To kill me, you mean?”
“Yeah, that. Saldinger and his partner are going to stake out the place. If the hit man leaves after us, he’ll grab him at the meet site, before he gets to his car. If not, then he’ll follow the guy home. And I’m going to wear a wire.”
I wished I could say that my chest lightened, but it was too filled with despair over my father for this news to make a dent. “When’s it happening?”
“In two nights.”
I couldn’t help myself. She was still my sister. Before hanging up, I said, “Be careful.”
Three days later, I got a call from Detective Saldinger. “Can you come into the station? I need to go over some things with you.”
“I’m working with a customer now. It’ll probably be an hour or two.”
“Come as soon as you can,” he said.
I hadn’t heard from Mallory since her meeting with the hired gun last night, and so I had no idea how it had gone. I’d hoped she would have called me right after it had finished, but I couldn’t blame her for keeping a distance. I’d certainly been chilly to her when we’d last spoken. I tried to give my customer my full attention—she was one of my regulars and important to the gallery—but I confess that I probably rushed her more than I normally would have. As soon as she left, I grabbed my coat and told Sandy I was leaving.
New York had been going through a cold spell that seemed unending at this point. It had snowed last night, and although the roads had been plowed and the sidewalks shoveled, brown slush was everywhere. I was glad I’d worn boots to work, although once again, I hadn’t planned to be walking anywhere today, and the thin heels and slippery walkways made for slow going. By the time I arrived at the police station, I was chilled through and through.
“Cup of coffee?” Saldinger asked once I was settled in the interview room.
“Love one, thanks. Just black.”
He left the room, and five minutes later returned with two steaming cups in hand. He placed one before me, then sat down at the table. “Did Mallory tell you where she was last night?”
“She told me a few days ago she would be meeting with the man Ben hired, but I haven’t heard from her since. Did you catch him?”
“Afraid not. We had the place staked out, but he never came back to the street. After a few hours, we searched the building, but there was no trace of him. The only thing we know is that he’s a former army sniper. We’re trying to work with the army to see if they can point us to someone in the New York area who might fit Mallory’s description of him.” He opened up a folder and pulled out a picture of a man. “Actually, Mallory drew this for us. I don’t suppose you recognize him?”
I shook my head. “So, does this mean you’ll just arrest Ben?”
The detective gazed at me kindly. I hadn’t really looked at him closely when I was here last, but now I saw his strong jawline, his aquiline nose, but most of all, his eyes. They seemed to say that everything would work out.
“We could. But we really want to get everyone who’s involved.” The detective leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Have you spoken much to your sister since you were here last?”
“No, just once, when she told me about the meeting.”
“Mallory was wired, and we have a recording of the meeting. It’s clear Ben paid someone to kill you and that Mallory was part of the plan. The hit man is supposed to provide Ben with a picture of your dead body when it’s done. We have enough to arrest Ben and Mallory right now, but then we don’t get the hit man. You’re a one-off for Ben. Maybe not so with the guy he hired. If he’s someone who does this for a living, we want to lock him away. Maybe Ben will give him up. Maybe not. We’d prefer not to leave it to chance.”
I drew in a long breath. “You want me to keep pretending with Ben.”
“I know it’s asking a lot. I’ll understand if you don’t want to.”
I could end it all right now. Let Detective Saldinger arrest both Ben and Mallory, and I could put to rest any lingering fear over what Ben might do to me.
“I don’t know if this will make a difference to you,” Saldinger continued, “but if we get the hit man, he might confirm that the murder was your husband’s idea, and your sister just went along with it. Then, it increases the chance that the prosecutor makes a favorable deal with her.”
“How would this work?”
“Ben will text the hit man with the day he wants it done. We know it won’t be until your father’s funeral is over. Mallory will make sure he tells her when it’s supposed to be. We’ll hav
e someone staked out at your place, and as soon as he shows up, we’ll grab him.”
“And if he won’t tell Mallory in advance?”
“Then we’ll arrest him as soon as your father is buried.”
I felt so confused. I needed someone to help me sort through this mess, but there was no one I could go to.
“Can I think about it?” I asked.
“Take a day. Two at the most.”
As I walked back to the gallery, I realized there was only one person I could talk to. As soon as I got there, I went into my office, closed the door, and phoned my grandfather.
“Hi, Poppy.”
“Pips? We just spoke this morning. Is there a change?”
“No, Dad’s the same. I need advice from you.”
“Sure. Ask away.”
“When Mom and Dad adopted me, did you know anything about the birth mother?”
“Just the hospital where you were born. It was in Scranton. Are you trying to search for her?”
“No. It’s just . . . I have a sister. An identical twin sister.”
“What! Did she contact you? Is that how you know?” His voice was filled with excitement.
“She did. Two weeks ago.”
“That’s wonderful. Tell me about her.”
I started to speak and then burst out crying instead. He tried to ask me what was wrong a few times until he finally gave up and let me cry myself out. When I finally regained control of myself, I told him the whole story. He was silent for a bit, then said, “Your sister, what’s her name?”
“Mallory.”
There was silence for a few beats. “I think you should give your sister a chance. Let the detective lock down her story. She’s your family.”
CHAPTER 38
After speaking to my grandfather, I felt like a weight had been lifted from my chest. I wasn’t in this situation alone now. Although he was far away from me, in his Florida home, I still was comforted by him. I decided to call Mallory. I bombarded her with questions about our mother, about her life. When I asked about our father, Mallory knew almost nothing, other than his death during the Gulf War. “What about his parents?” I asked.
“Mom never talked about them.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“I never thought about it. Mom was my whole world. There were no grandparents or aunts and uncles or cousins. It was just us.”
“Wouldn’t you like there to be more?”
“I learned from a very young age to not wish for things. It just led to disappointment.”
“Let’s try to find them,” I said. “It could be a project we do together.”
“I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
“I do. With your birth certificate. It must say your father’s last name. And he probably grew up in Allentown, like our mother. Or at least nearby.”
“I have a box of Mom’s papers. It might be in there. I vaguely remember that when I applied for my learner’s permit, Mom brought my birth certificate with us.”
“Did you see our father’s name?”
“I didn’t even look at it. All I cared about then was being able to drive.”
“Good. It’ll be our project. I need something to keep my mind off my father—and Ben.”
When I arrived at work the next morning, there was a message from Mallory. I quickly called her back.
“I found my birth certificate,” she said. “Our father’s name is John Harris.”
“Ugh. I suspect that’s a pretty common name. But if his parents are still in Allentown or nearby, we might be able to track them down.”
“If they’re alive.”
“Right.”
I’d wondered last night why I’d fixated on finding my biological grandparents and realized it was because I needed to focus on something positive. Even if they rejected us, they could tell us what our father was like. What kind of person he was. What his passions were. They could help fill in the blanks of who we were. Who I am.
I said goodbye to Mallory, then turned to my computer and did a search for anyone in or near Allentown with the last name Harris. I came up with more than two hundred names and phone numbers. I forwarded the list to Mallory and suggested she start at the bottom, making phone calls, and I’d start at the top. It gave me something to do, and for that I was glad. Ever since meeting Mallory, since learning of Ben’s plans, I’d had difficulty concentrating. Fortunately, I didn’t have any new shows planned for another month. I did have two artists, Marc Horowitz, a painter, and Sergei Kinsky, a sculptor, who’d been accepted for the Whitney Biennial, beginning in March. The museum featured the work of the best emerging contemporary artists every two years, and it was a great career boost to be selected. I expected it would bring new collectors to the gallery seeking to buy their work. I picked up the phone and began dialing.
Two hours later, with no success, I took a break and called Detective Saldinger. “Mallory told me that Ben’s plan, after I’m dead, is to go with her to the attorney who drew up our prenuptial agreement and have it voided. When that’s done, they’ll wait for Dad’s estate to be settled, divvy up the proceeds, and then she’ll split. At least, that’s Ben’s timeline, according to Mallory.”
“It won’t get that far. We’ll arrest him as soon as we grab the hit man.”
Much as I wanted this to be over as quickly as possible, I also wanted to ensure that Ben would have no possibility of squirming out of a long prison sentence. I had friends who worked as criminal defense attorneys, and I’d seen them spin straw into gold. “Would it be a stronger case, or a longer sentence, if you could prove he was doing this to rob me of billions?”
“Are you serious—billions?”
“My father is very wealthy.”
“We have a solid case against your husband right now. However, being able to demonstrate that the reason he didn’t just ask for a divorce, that his goal was to get his hands on a massive amount of money, can certainly make our case bulletproof. But, Charly, that’s going to stretch this out for you a long time. You’d need to disappear until your father’s estate is settled. Probating a will in New York can take six months. Even longer when there are a lot of assets.”
“No. All his assets are in a trust. Other than some charitable bequests, I’m pretty sure it goes to me immediately upon his death. I just need to make sure Ben knows that.”
“If you’re certain you can deal with this taking longer, then that’s what we’ll do. But anytime it becomes too much for you, call me. We can always go back to the original plan.”
“Thank you, Detective Saldinger. I think I’ll be okay. Having a sister, being able to talk to her, has made me stronger.”
“Just be careful,” the detective said, his voice low. “The odds are that your sister is telling the truth. But it’s also possible this was her plan all along, and after Ben’s out of the picture, she’ll bump you off herself, and keep everything. Then go on living as Charlotte Gordon.”
My body slumped down in the chair. The warmth I’d begun to feel toward Mallory was now tied up in a Gordian knot. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to think. I hung up with the detective, and began, once again, making rote phone calls to every Harris in Allentown, Pennsylvania. If I was going to lose my father, then lose my sister, I wanted as much family with me as I could find.
CHAPTER 39
The temperature was below freezing, but that didn’t stop me from jogging outside. I belonged to a gym, and often went there when the weather was this cold, but I needed the brisk air to clear my head. I dressed in my running tights, then layered up, ending with a fleece jacket. I grabbed a wool hat, put on my gloves, and headed outside. Although it was cold, I knew once I began to jog, my body would warm up. I headed toward Central Park, then entered it at East Sixtieth Street. There was a five-and-a-half-mile route I followed, always in the company of myriad other joggers, bicyclists, and in-line skaters, all taking advantage of a respite from the city’s fumes. By the time I appr
oached the park, I was in a steady rhythm. When I reached that state, my body was on autopilot, and I usually could then work out any problems that worried me. Today it was my sister.
I didn’t know what to make of Detective Saldinger’s warning. I wanted so much to trust Mallory, to believe she’d come forward to stop Ben, but was I fooling myself? Forty minutes later, when I entered my townhouse at the end of my run, I still didn’t know the answer.
I showered and changed for work, and arrived there an hour later. I’d barely taken my coat off when Mallory called.
“I found them,” she said. “I found our grandparents.”
“What did they say?” I could hear the lack of warmth in my voice. After Detective Saldinger’s speculation about my sister’s motives, I didn’t know what to think. She was my identical twin, I kept telling myself. We shared the same DNA. Then, I reasoned, how could she even consider killing me now that we’d reconnected, now that she knew me? Before, I was just an abstract concept to her. But after spending months studying me, she had to know how much alike we were. Since I couldn’t conceive of such a betrayal myself, then certainly she couldn’t. Then, I would remind myself that by her own admission, she’d agreed to participate in a murder, in my murder. If she could do that, wasn’t she capable of anything? I didn’t know the answer. I only knew I had to protect myself.
“They didn’t say anything. I panicked.”
“What do you mean?
“It was a woman who answered. I asked if she had a son named John who was killed in the Gulf War, and when she said, ‘Yes,’ I hung up.”
I burst out laughing. “Those poor people. What must they be thinking?”
“I thought maybe you could call them, explain who we are?”
“Give me their number.”
I wrote it down, then quickly got off the phone. There was another call I needed to make that had more urgency. I dialed the number for my attorney, Steve Goldfarb, and made an appointment to see him that afternoon. Then I called Gertrude Harris, the woman Mallory had hung up on. She answered on the third ring.
