you’re right.”
“I am?” Roman sounded surprised.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re not just saying that to blow me off?” she asked suspiciously.
“No, it’s just so frustrating,” I said, pretending I wasn’t completely eager to get off the phone. “You know how it feels when you want to do something and there’s nothing you can do.”
Roman assured me that things would work out sooner or later, then asked what my plans were for the rest of the day.
“Catch up on schoolwork,” I lied. “It’s really been hard to focus, and I’m way behind.”
As soon as I got off with Roman, I called Whit.
“Hey.” He sounded surprised to hear from me.
“I have an idea,” I said. “An angle we should pursue.”
“We?”
“Look, if you really want to get to the truth, you’re going to need me. I know these people. I—”
“Stop,” he said. “Not on the phone. I’m not saying it’s tapped or anything. I just don’t like taking chances.”
“But we’re not talking about anything people don’t already know about.”
There was a pause, then Whit said, “Maybe you’re not.”
Was I imagining it, or was there something about the way he said that that meant he did know something he didn’t want anyone else to know about?
“When can you meet?” I asked.
“It’ll have to be soon. I have to get together with a friend later.”
We agreed to meet at a McDonald’s halfway between Sarah Lawrence and Soundview. As I threw on some clothes, I found myself wondering who Whit’s friend was. Not that I really cared. It was just curiosity. Like, what kind of friends did he have?
Downstairs, Mom was still in the kitchen, having coffee.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Starbucks with Roman,” I said without stopping.
At McDonald’s I told Whit about Gabriel and his strange attitude toward the missing girls. Whit listened quietly, but I sensed he had something else on his mind.
“That’s interesting,” he said when I’d finished.
“You only half listened,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows, as if surprised that I’d noticed, then leaned forward and pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Can you swear to keep a secret?”
“Absolutely.”
He spoke barely above a whisper. “The woman who works for your father and calls herself Janet Fontana is not Janet Fontana.”
I stared at him, not sure I understood.
“Janet Fontana was a bookkeeper for a plumbing supply company in Salem, Oregon. She died in a car accident about two years ago, just a month or two after her twin sister, Jane, was released from a California prison where she’d served eighteen months for an Internet scam involving credit card fraud. It appears that when Janet’s death certificate was issued, Jane doctored it to remove the t so it looked like Jane, not Janet, died.”
“You’re saying that Jane took over her sister Janet’s identity?” I guessed.
“Exactly. The two sisters looked similar enough, and Jane could easily use Janet’s driver’s license. She moved across the country to Soundview and used her sister’s IDs and the money in her Salem bank account to open a new account here, get credit cards, rent an apartment, the whole works.”
It took a moment to absorb the news. Then I said, “What about the police?”
“Unlike her sister, Janet Fontana was a law-abiding citizen. I assume the police here asked the police in Salem to run a records check and it came up clean. No criminal record. Nothing that would cause the police to want to investigate any further.”
“So when Jane applied for the job as Dad’s office manager, she used her sister Janet’s résumé,” I concluded.
“Uh-huh.” Whit nodded.
That explained how someone so disorganized could be hired to be an office manager.
“How … did you find this out?” I asked.
“The Internet,” Whit said. “I was digging around and came up with an obit from the Salem Statesman Journal for Janet Fontana. I made a few phone calls, and
“I am?” Roman sounded surprised.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re not just saying that to blow me off?” she asked suspiciously.
“No, it’s just so frustrating,” I said, pretending I wasn’t completely eager to get off the phone. “You know how it feels when you want to do something and there’s nothing you can do.”
Roman assured me that things would work out sooner or later, then asked what my plans were for the rest of the day.
“Catch up on schoolwork,” I lied. “It’s really been hard to focus, and I’m way behind.”
As soon as I got off with Roman, I called Whit.
“Hey.” He sounded surprised to hear from me.
“I have an idea,” I said. “An angle we should pursue.”
“We?”
“Look, if you really want to get to the truth, you’re going to need me. I know these people. I—”
“Stop,” he said. “Not on the phone. I’m not saying it’s tapped or anything. I just don’t like taking chances.”
“But we’re not talking about anything people don’t already know about.”
There was a pause, then Whit said, “Maybe you’re not.”
Was I imagining it, or was there something about the way he said that that meant he did know something he didn’t want anyone else to know about?
“When can you meet?” I asked.
“It’ll have to be soon. I have to get together with a friend later.”
We agreed to meet at a McDonald’s halfway between Sarah Lawrence and Soundview. As I threw on some clothes, I found myself wondering who Whit’s friend was. Not that I really cared. It was just curiosity. Like, what kind of friends did he have?
Downstairs, Mom was still in the kitchen, having coffee.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Starbucks with Roman,” I said without stopping.
At McDonald’s I told Whit about Gabriel and his strange attitude toward the missing girls. Whit listened quietly, but I sensed he had something else on his mind.
“That’s interesting,” he said when I’d finished.
“You only half listened,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows, as if surprised that I’d noticed, then leaned forward and pressed the tips of his fingers together. “Can you swear to keep a secret?”
“Absolutely.”
He spoke barely above a whisper. “The woman who works for your father and calls herself Janet Fontana is not Janet Fontana.”
I stared at him, not sure I understood.
“Janet Fontana was a bookkeeper for a plumbing supply company in Salem, Oregon. She died in a car accident about two years ago, just a month or two after her twin sister, Jane, was released from a California prison where she’d served eighteen months for an Internet scam involving credit card fraud. It appears that when Janet’s death certificate was issued, Jane doctored it to remove the t so it looked like Jane, not Janet, died.”
“You’re saying that Jane took over her sister Janet’s identity?” I guessed.
“Exactly. The two sisters looked similar enough, and Jane could easily use Janet’s driver’s license. She moved across the country to Soundview and used her sister’s IDs and the money in her Salem bank account to open a new account here, get credit cards, rent an apartment, the whole works.”
It took a moment to absorb the news. Then I said, “What about the police?”
“Unlike her sister, Janet Fontana was a law-abiding citizen. I assume the police here asked the police in Salem to run a records check and it came up clean. No criminal record. Nothing that would cause the police to want to investigate any further.”
“So when Jane applied for the job as Dad’s office manager, she used her sister Janet’s résumé,” I concluded.
“Uh-huh.” Whit nodded.
That explained how someone so disorganized could be hired to be an office manager.
“How … did you find this out?” I asked.
“The Internet,” Whit said. “I was digging around and came up with an obit from the Salem Statesman Journal for Janet Fontana. I made a few phone calls, and
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