CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
C HAPTER T WENTY -T HREE
An hour later, guilt squeezed Bree’s heart as she faced Claire over the interview room table. Zucco sat next to Claire. Matt occupied a chair at the other end of the table.
Shillings had called back to say that Mrs. Sawyer was heading to Grey’s Hollow immediately. She wanted to see her daughter when she arrived. If the girl wasn’t at the sheriff’s station, she would call her lawyer. Bree understood her haste. She couldn’t imagine thinking her child was dead for twelve years. She wouldn’t want to wait a single extra minute before laying eyes on them.
But Claire had arrived at the station pale and teary eyed. Did she sense more news was coming? Was it residual stress and grief from the Masons’ murders—from discovering the violent and bloody scene? Or something else ...? Was this what the foster mother had meant when she’d said Claire was being difficult? On the other hand, maybe there was friction at the new home that caused Claire to react. If the family couldn’t empathize with a teenager in distress, they had no business being foster parents. Most of the kids who would come to them would be traumatized. Bree knew some great foster parents, but she also knew others were in it for the money. Some simply didn’t have any idea what they were getting into.
Normally, Bree didn’t procrastinate when delivering bad news. When you were standing on someone’s doorstep at two in the morning, they already knew you were there to tell them someone died. But this was different. There was no way Claire was ready for this news. No one would be. It was a blindside with a capital B .
Bree began with a single brace yourself statement. “There’s no good way to give you this news.”
Claire, already paper white, went paler. “How much worse can it get? My parents were murdered.”
Bree took a deep breath. “Your parents said they adopted you after your biological parents died in a car accident?”
Claire nodded, her eyes wary.
“That was only partially true. Your father died in an accident. You were in the car with him, and you disappeared from the scene.”
Claire’s brows dropped. “I don’t understand.”
“Your given name is Blaire Sawyer. You went missing twelve years ago. Your mother is still alive, and you have an older brother, Denver, who is twenty-two.”
Claire stared, her face frozen with disbelief.
Bree continued. “Your mother lives about an hour north of here.”
Claire shook her head slowly, her chin raised, unwilling to even consider the information as true. “No. That can’t be right. Both of my parents died in that crash, and the Masons adopted me.” But her words rang hollow, as if she already knew Bree was telling the truth but Claire wasn’t willing to accept it.
Bree continued in a gentle but firm tone. “We ran your DNA through our databases and hit a match. You were reported missing by your mother, Pamela Sawyer.” Bree slid a family photo, supplied by Shillings via email, across the table. The background in the picture—a generic-looking Christmas tree—looked like those offered at the mall during the holidays. The four Sawyers, dressed in matching red sweaters and jeans, smiled for the camera. The family looked average and completely normal. There was no sign their entire world would implode a few weeks after this picture had been taken. Dallas had the beginnings of a paunch and a slightly receding hairline. Pam’s blond hair was cut in a smooth, chin-length bob. Five-year-old Blaire grinned widely, but her older brother sported the awkward smile typical for a ten-year-old.
Kayla was constantly losing teeth and had recently become self-conscious about the gaps in photos.
Claire ignored the picture for a good five seconds, but curiosity drew her gaze like a mosquito to a porch light. She shook her head, her lips mashed flat, her chin jutted in defiance of what she couldn’t process. “I don’t know these people.”
Bree tapped the little girl in the photo. “That’s you.” In the few framed photos they’d found in the Masons’ home from Claire’s young childhood, her hair had been cut short. Despite the change in hairstyle, it was clearly the same child.
A single tear tracked down Claire’s cheek. She reached for the photo, picking it up by the edges with both hands. Lifting it, she studied it with an expression that twisted awe and terror. Recognition slowly dawned in her eyes. “Why? Why did they do this?”
“We don’t know,” Bree said.
“How did they even get me?” Claire asked the question with trepidation, as if afraid of the answer.
“We don’t know that either.” Bree took a breath. “There’s more, Claire.”
“More?” Claire’s voice rose in near panic. She looked to be one breath away from shattering.
Zucco moved closer, as if offering silent support.
Bree said what needed to be said. “The Masons weren’t lawyers. They made their money running a fake online charity.”
“They were scammers?” Claire asked, wide-eyed.
Bree nodded.
Claire’s gaze fell back to the family photo. “If they stole money from people, did they steal me ?”
Probably? Bree couldn’t think of a better explanation. The Masons could have stumbled upon Claire the night of the accident and simply kept her. Or they could have adopted her from a less-than-reputable agency that acquired the child through those means. Had Shelly Mason been so desperate to have a child that she hadn’t cared how she got one?
“We’re going to work with the police in Chandler. That’s where you went missing.” Bree tapped on the boy’s face in the photo. “If there’s a bright side in all this, it’s that you have a mother and a brother. You aren’t alone.”
Claire lifted the photo closer to her face. She touched her brother’s face with a forefinger. “I think he used to push me on the swing in our backyard.” She looked away. “Am I making that up? How can I suddenly remember him after all these years of having no real memories at all?”
The mind suppresses memories it can’t handle. Bree knew this firsthand. She’d only recently begun having memories of her own mother. “Your mother can’t wait to see you.”
Claire dropped the photo like it burned her fingers. “When?” Panic edged her voice.
She’s been waiting for twelve years. But Bree didn’t say that. She didn’t want to create any more pressure for Claire than was necessary.
“She’s on her way here now.” And there wasn’t anything Bree could do about that, and it was killing her that she couldn’t protect Claire from being forced into the meeting before she was ready.
Claire’s fingers trembled. “Do I have to go with her? I don’t even know her.”
“No,” Bree said. “You do not have to go with her today. There is no right or wrong response to what you’re feeling. You have a lot to process, and you have every right to ask for some time to do that.” Technically, a seventeen-year-old could petition the court for the right to make her own legal decisions. But how would a judge respond? Would they rule that she was mature enough? Or that she’d suffered so many tragedies that she wasn’t in the right frame of mind? How could anyone make that call? If Claire wanted to make her own decisions, where would she go? The Masons’ illegally obtained money wouldn’t be available to her. Life insurance usually paid out within a couple of months, but how would that be affected by Claire’s change in identity or the Masons’ crimes? Without her biological mother and brother, Claire had no home and no support.
“Will they make me go with her in the end? Even if I don’t like her?” Claire whispered the question.
“I can’t say for sure. But you’re almost an adult. The judge will talk to you and consider your feelings.” But Bree made no promises.
A knock preceded Marge opening the door and sticking her head through the opening. “Detective Shillings is here with the Sawyers.”
Bree met Claire’s eyes. “Ready?”
Claire chewed on a cuticle but nodded. “Not really, but I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Marge withdrew.
Matt got up. “This room is too crowded. I think maybe only the sheriff should stay.”
Zucco took the hint. She gave Claire a supportive pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be in the squad room if you want to talk afterward.”
Matt and Zucco left the room. Through the open door, Bree spotted three people approaching. Though he’d grown up, Denver Sawyer was recognizable from the Christmas photo. But his mother didn’t look like the same person at all. She’d aged twenty-five years in twelve. Her hair was frizzy, unkempt, and streaked with gray. Her skin was sallow, and yellow tinged the whites of her eyes. She’d lost thirty pounds at least, and was almost skeletal. Loose skin hung on prominent bones.
Her son followed, his steps dragging with reluctance. The woman behind them was in her midforties, with no-fuss short brown hair. She was dressed like a cop, in a white shirt and black slacks with a badge on one hip and a firearm on the other. Detective Shillings, Bree assumed.
Mrs. Sawyer came through the door on shaky legs. Bree suspected this week hadn’t been a sober one. Her son stuck close, but he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. His face was locked in a sullen expression. Though his sister had been stolen, his life had also been ruined. Shillings introduced herself, Mrs. Sawyer, and Denver.
Before Bree could respond in kind, Mrs. Sawyer stopped a few feet shy of Claire and whispered, “Blaire?”
Denver’s gaze found his sister. He nudged Shillings. “You’re sure about that DNA, right? Because we’ve been through this before when those other girls said they were Blaire.”
How many times has this grieving family been victimized by fake Blaires? Anger surged through Bree that people would prey on the desperate relatives of missing children.
Shillings nodded. “We’re sure. The DNA matched, as do childhood photos and the general timeline.”
“Blaire.” Mrs. Sawyer spoke the name again, this time with reverence as she reached for Claire, her thin fingers bent like talons.
Claire shrank away.
Bree stepped in, offering her hand and diverting Mrs. Sawyer’s attention. “I’m Sheriff Taggert.”
Mrs. Sawyer reluctantly tore her gaze off her daughter. “Thank you for finding my girl.”
“Remember what I said, Pam?” Shillings asked in a gentle voice. “Blaire’s going to need some time.”
But Mrs. Sawyer only had eyes for her daughter. Bree’s heart broke for all of them. Claire, who barely had snatches of memories of her prior life, and for Mrs. Sawyer and Denver. But they had experienced every agonizing second of the past twelve years thinking Blaire was dead—or worse.
Mrs. Sawyer stepped closer.
Shillings blocked her with an arm. “Let’s not crowd Blaire, OK? She just found out who she really is. Having all this sprung on her must be overwhelming.”
“I want to hug my own fucking daughter!” Red-faced, Mrs. Sawyer shoved Shillings’s arm away.
Claire leaped to her feet, sending her chair backward. It toppled, hitting the ground with a metallic rattle. Shaking, the girl sidled along the wall, keeping the table between her and Mrs. Sawyer.
“Blaire!” Mrs. Sawyer begged. “Don’t you remember me?”
“My name is Claire.” She took another step sideways.
“Your name is Blaire,” Mrs. Sawyer corrected, her words sloppy and edged with temper. “And you’re my daughter.”
Booze or pills?
Claire seemed to shrink.
The mother’s slurring speech brought Bree’s father to mind. She placed herself between mother and daughter. “I think Claire has had enough for today.”
“I’ll decide what’s best for my daughter.” Mrs. Sawyer tried to reach around her.
But Bree didn’t budge. Claire’s eyes were wide, her face paper white.
Shillings caught Mrs. Sawyer by the arm. “That’s enough.”
All the anger seemed to bleed out of Mrs. Sawyer. Her eyes brimmed, then tears streamed down her face. “I want my baby back.”
“I know,” Shillings soothed, then spoke in a soft voice. “But Blaire isn’t a baby anymore.”
“Maybe we should take a break,” Bree suggested. She felt pity for Mrs. Sawyer, but Claire was Bree’s primary concern. “Everyone has had shocking news today. Good news, but still shocking.”
Denver shouldered his way into the mix. “Come on, Mom. You’re scaring Blaire. Remember, she was always afraid of new stuff when she was little. Give her a break. Let’s get some food. You were too anxious to eat before.”
Mrs. Sawyer’s eyes softened when she looked at her son. “What would I do without you? You’re the only one who cares about me. You’re the only one who understands.”
“Let’s get some air.” He tugged her toward the door, and she relented. As he herded her out of the room, he glanced back at Claire. “She wasn’t always like this. Just since ... you know. I’ll work on her. Maybe you and I could talk?”
Claire’s gaze skittered away from his. She stared at the carpet. Her head bowed in one small nod.
“I’ll get her your number,” Shillings said, as if anxious for Mrs. Sawyer to keep moving.
Matt appeared as soon as the Sawyers stepped through the doorway. He must have been waiting in the hall. “I’ll walk you out.” He led Mrs. Sawyer and Denver away.
Shillings blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Sorry about that. Never know where her mood’s going to go. She’s at the point where she needs a couple of shots to function, you know? Maybe finding Blaire will be the motivation she needs to detox.” She gave Claire a sympathetic look. “Are you OK, Claire?”
Claire didn’t respond.
Shillings said, “I’ll talk to her, and Denver will help. She needs to see things from your perspective. But I’d also like you to think about what she’s experienced. Losing her husband was awful, but having her child disappear—having no answers—not having any idea what happened to you, not knowing if you were hungry or cold, alive or dead—that broke her.” Shillings moved toward the door. “I’m not saying you have to be all huggy. All I’m asking is that you be kind to each other. Give each other the time needed to absorb all that’s happened. It’s a lot. Neither one of you should be expected to roll with this kind of chaos.”
Bree bristled. “Claire is the child here, and time is exactly what she’s asked for.”
“Yeah.” Shillings’s shoulders slumped. “I know. It’s funny. This is the best this situation could possibly turn out, and it’s still shit. I mean, Claire is healthy and whole. Usually, that’s not how long-term missing persons cases resolve.” She stopped short of saying the rest out loud.
It’s more common for DNA to be matched with remains, not a living person.
But Bree understood the irony. She escorted Shillings out the door. In the hallway, she spotted Zucco lingering and motioned for the deputy to go in with Claire. Then Bree fell into step beside Shillings. “I have a press con this evening. I’ll do what I can to protect the family’s anonymity, but we both know it won’t be long before the media uncovers that Claire is Blaire.”
“I know,” Shillings said. “There were reporters in the parking lot when we came in. But I have more information for you on Dallas Sawyer. Let me escort the Sawyers to their vehicle and grab the file from my trunk. I’ll be back in a few.”
Bree gestured toward the conference room. “We’ll be in there when you’re done.”
The Masons’ case was so spectacularly twisted, Bree wouldn’t even guess what information Shillings could have about Sawyer.