About a half hour later, we were parked on her street, looking at a very cute and cozy brick house. We watched the house for a few minutes. There was no obvious activity going on, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t home. She was an older lady, after all.

  “Well?” Collette said. “Did we drive all the way up here just to look at her house or what?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m going. Come on.”

  We stepped onto the porch. I knocked and looked around the neighborhood. A spider had made a huge web in the bush next to the porch. I studied the spider as he worked, waiting for Lucy Castlereagh to answer the door. Just as I was about to give up, the latch on the door quietly turned.

  A very small blue-haired woman answered the door. “Mrs. Castlereagh?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “You’re not Jehovah’s Witnesses, are you?”

  “No,” I said, smiling.

  “Good, ’cause I ran them off not three days ago.”

  “No,” I said. “I’m not from any church. I’m actually from a small town south of here. I wanted to ask you some questions about your son.”

  “You reporters?”

  “I am,” Collette said, “but this isn’t for a piece. This is personal.”

  “Personal?” she asked. “Which son is this about?”

  “Bill,” I said.

  “Bill’s dead,” she said.

  I glanced at Collette. Had they found the mayor’s body overnight? I hadn’t even thought to turn on the news, and I felt fairly certain that Colin would not have called me to tell me. “Ma’am,” I said, “can we please come in and talk to you about him? This is my friend Collette. My name is Torie.”

  “Well, all right. Not sure what good it’ll do. Been through all this already. Seems every few years somebody finds out and they all come around and ask me a bunch of questions again.” I had no idea what she was talking about, but I let her talk. She opened the door and let us into a spotless and sparsely decorated home, with hardwood floors and a dozen or so gorgeous plants. They were the healthiest houseplants I’d ever seen. That was one more domestic mystery that I had never cracked. I killed everything. If it was green, it’d be brown within a week in my house.

  “Would you like something to drink?” she asked.

  “No, thank you. We’ll make this quick,” I said.

  She sat down, cautiously at first. Then she stared out the window.

  “Mrs. Castlereagh, we’re very sorry for your loss,” I said.

  She shrugged her shoulders together and suddenly looked about sixteen. With wrinkles, of course, but the motion was so childlike, it instantly made me think of youth. “It’s not like I really knew him.”

  I sighed. “Well, first of all, I want to know if you’ve ever lived in New Kassel, Missouri, or Granite County.”

  “Heavens, no,” she said. “So what is all of this about?”

  “Well, your son went missing about a week back, and there’s been a lot of unusual activity in our town, and I was wondering if you could maybe help us shed some light on the situation …” Lucy Castlereagh’s face had grown white with horror. She stood abruptly and headed toward the door.

  “You can leave now,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I …”

  “Did we say something wrong?” Collette asked.

  “I don’t know what game you’re playing at,” she said, “but my son has been dead for fifty-six years.”

  I shivered. “The baby that died,” I whispered. “Mrs. Castlereagh, I am so sorry. I think there’s been a terrible mistake. Your son Bill—William Jarvis Castlereagh—is the mayor of New Kassel, where I live.”

  “My son William Jarvis Castlereagh died when he wasn’t but two days old,” she said. “I don’t understand.”

  Collette looked at me, confused, then said to Lucy, “Please, come back and sit down.”

  Lucy did, but she sat with such trepidation that I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “I had Bill at home. No trouble. I was up walking around after a few hours. I was in the kitchen,” she said. “Looking at a picture that my other son had drawn for me. I’d left Bill lying on the bed, with pillows propped around him. The doorbell rang, and I went and answered it. It was my mother-in-law. She came in and talked for a while and then asked if she could see Bill. I told her he was back in the bedroom. When she went back there …” Her voice trailed off, and for a moment I wasn’t sure she was going to finish the story.

  “Somehow he’d gotten one of the pillows over his face. He’d stopped breathing.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “When my mother-in-law gave her statement to the police, they thought I had done it. They arrested me, but they couldn’t prove anything.”

  Collette and I were deathly quiet.

  “I did not kill my son,” she said.

  I reached into my purse and pulled out the two photographs that I had printed from Bill’s Web site. I handed her the one of Bill as a baby, sitting in his front yard, with the Mississippi in the distance. “Are you trying to tell me that this isn’t your son?” I asked.

  “No, I already told you. He lived just under two days.”

  “Do you recognize this man?” I asked, and handed her the picture of Bill and his family.

  She shook her head in the negative.

  I leaned back on the couch and sighed.

  “I don’t get it,” Collette said. “What’s going on?”

  “I knew I was going to feel stupid once I figured this out. It’s identity theft. You find an infant that died at birth, or close to it, and you take his birth certificate and get a Social Security number, and you take on his identity. It’s a lot harder nowadays, but back in the fifties or sixties it was a lot easier. I’m assuming Bill did this in the sixties, since he showed up in New Kassel in 1969 as Bill Castlereagh.” I ran my fingers through my hair and let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lucy said.

  “Mrs. Castlereagh, I am so sorry to have bothered you today. I think the man who is the mayor of our town has stolen your son’s identity,” I said.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I said, “but I think he might have gotten into some trouble. At any rate, I am so sorry.”

  “Well,” she said, “I guess your mayor must have needed it. And since my boy never got to use it, guess it doesn’t hurt none.”

  Her attitude surprised me. Some people would have been really upset if somebody had stolen their child’s identity. I thought about Bill’s wife and her cement shoes. I wouldn’t say nobody was hurt by his actions. Collette and I said good-bye to Lucy Castlereagh. I must have apologized another ten times for bothering her before I made it out the front door.

  As we stepped out into the late October sun, I glanced over at Collette, who was speechless. I shook my head as we made our way down the stairs to the car. We got in and drove away, and it must have been a good two or three minutes before I finally exploded.

  “It was all a lie!” I said.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “All of it. The whole damn family tree was a lie.”

  “After all of that, you’re upset because Bill faked his family tree?” she asked.

  “No, Collette,” I said. “I’m just saying that his whole life was a lie. Not only is he not Bill Castlereagh, but he couldn’t just stop the lie with Bill Castlereagh’s family tree. No, he had to go in and connect the real William Jarvis Castlereagh’s family tree to a bunch of prestigious family trees. He wasn’t satisfied with the identity he’d stolen. He had to make it better,” I said. “I can’t believe this. Do his children know? Did his wife know?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But you know what I’m wondering?”

  “What?”

  “Not who he isn’t. Who he really is,” she said.

  “I betcha I can tell you within the hour,” I said.

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yup. But you’re going to have to do some breaking and entering with me,” I said. I had a feeling if I could just get to that metal cabinet in Bill’s garage, we would get answers.

  “I’ve got my nail set,” she said and laughed.

  Twenty-three

  I felt vaguely like Collette and I were Thelma and Louise as we stooped on the mayor’s front porch with a flashlight and her nail file set. Of course, I realized with some trepidation that things didn’t end well for Thelma and Louise. At any rate, we had decided to wait until dark to break into the mayor’s house, basically because we didn’t want to get caught. The fact that we didn’t want to get caught was a sure-fire giveaway that we knew that what we were doing was wrong. I’d deal with that later. I should probably make an extra-long appointment with Father Bingham.

  Right now, I was just grateful that only one neighbor could see the front of Bill’s house, and that was me. On one side of Bill’s house were the woods, across the street was the river, and behind his house was a neighbor whose house faced the other direction. So I figured we were pretty safe. Still, we waited until dark.

  Collette said a few cuss words, and finally the lock gave a chunk sound and the door opened. “I don’t want to know how you knew how to do that,” I said.

  “Oh, please,” she said. “Are you trying to tell me you’ve never broken into anything?”

  I was silent. Not only had I entered premises I shouldn’t have in the past, but even Mary had done so on a few occasions. I thought about that for a second, and the implications were too scary for me to confront on the mayor’s doorstep.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Try being Saint Torie with somebody else. Won’t fly with me, sugar.”

  “All right, all right,” I said. “You don’t have to be snotty.”

  She opened the door and held her hand out, gesturing for me to enter. “Oh, I get to go first, eh?” I asked.

  “This is your case,” she said.

  I stepped inside the dark house and stopped—sooner than Collette expected me to, I guess. She crashed into me, which pitched me forward. I landed spread-eagle on the floor, the wind gushing out of me. “God,” I said. “Will you watch where you’re going?”

  “I’d be happy to watch, if I could see,” she whispered.

  We both managed to get to our feet. I headed straight for the garage door with the help of a flashlight. Dark smudges all over the doorknob showed where the CSU had taken fingerprints. Mine were among them, I reminded myself. Collette flashed the light on, and we stepped into the garage. We glanced around to make sure nobody was going to jump out at us.

  The coast was clear, so I went over to the metal cabinet. I yanked on the door and knelt at the same time, and when I did a stray cat jumped out of a corner and squealed. Collette nearly died right then and there. “Oh, Jesus Christ!” she called out.

  “Take it easy,” I said, heart hammering in my throat.

  “Take it easy? I think I peed in my pants,” she said. “Does urine stain?”

  “Not if you wash it out,” I said. I yanked on the shelf in the bottom of the cabinet and it came up easier than the first time I’d discovered it. “Give me the flashlight.”

  I grabbed the light from Collette and flashed it into the hiding space of the cabinet. I reached in and pulled the papers out and sat down on the floor of the garage. “Get up off the floor,” she said to me.

  “Shh!” I said. I held the flashlight in my mouth and gazed at the papers I held in my hand. There was what I assumed to be the mayor’s real birth certificate. “Carmine Antonio de Luca.”

  “All this time the mayor was a wop?” she asked.

  “Collette, that’s not nice.”

  “Hey, my grandmother was from Sicily. I’m allowed to say that. What else did you find?”

  “He was born in Chicago. Uh, here are his graduation papers. Some banking records. A few deeds to property,” I said.

  “What? Like his house?” she asked.

  “I’m assuming, since these were hidden, that no, these aren’t to this house.” I looked at them closer. One was for a piece of land in Nevada. A house in Boston. A house in St. Louis.

  “What’s he doing with all that real estate?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wait,” she said. “Did you say de Luca was his name?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Why?”

  “I can’t remember exactly, but I know the de Luca family had something to do with the Baiettos. They were allies,” she said.

  “Okay, that’s making more sense,” I said.

  “All right, can we get out of here now? Our life of crime is creeping me out,” she said.

  Suddenly a voice came from the door leading into the living room. “Freeze! Put your hands on your head!”

  I looked up just as Lou Counts flipped on the garage light.

  “Oh, great,” I said, standing slowly. I shoved the papers behind me onto a shelf, and raised my hands.

  “Who is that?” Collette said.

  “New deputy.”

  “She needs a manicure something fierce. God, and who does her hair?”

  “I knew you couldn’t stay away,” Lou said to me. She was so proud of herself. “You think you’re such hot stuff. I knew if I just waited around here, you’d be back.”

  “Congratulations,” I said. “You’re smarter than the sheriff.”

  “That’s not saying much,” Collette said out of the corner of her mouth. “Can we put our hands down now?”

  “Your prints were all over that cabinet,” Lou said. “How stupid do you think we are?”

  “Did you bother to look in the bottom of the cabinet?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, gripping her gun tighter.

  “Then you’re pretty stupid.”

  “Torie, the woman is holding a gun on us, could you not insult her?” Collette asked.

  “Right,” I said. Forgot about that.

  “Come on,” Lou waved. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Fine, Lou, but first you need to call Colin and tell him that I’ve figured out the whole thing with Bill. They haven’t found him dead yet, right? So he could still be out there alive. And I might know where he is.” Nevada, maybe. Or Boston. Or St. Louis.

  Lou never got a chance to spout whatever sassy thing she wanted to say to me, because at that point she was hit over the head with something heavy. She slumped to the floor. Standing behind her was Tito de Rosa.

  “Now what were you saying about knowing where to find Carmine?” Tito asked.

  Twenty-four

  I take it back, Torie,” Collette said. “How I ever could have thought that New Kassel was boring is beyond me. How do you get yourself into so much trouble?”

  “I think it’s safe to say that it’s an art form,” I said.

  “Shut up!” Tito said. He motioned a gun at us. “Out to the car. Put your hands down, though. I don’t want any attention.”

  Collette and I walked out to his car through the mayor’s living room with our hands down. I glanced over at my house. Come on, Rudy, just once be nosy and look out the window! Of course, I knew that wouldn’t happen. Tito made Collette get in the backseat and me in the front. He held a gun up to my head and glanced back at Collette. I’ve never in my life felt anything colder than the barrel of that gun.

  “One false move and your friend will have a new hat size, okay?”

  Collette gulped. “Okay,” she said.

  We drove away. I looked out the window as my house faded from sight. I was overwhelmed with the fact that I might never see it again. Or the people inside. Tears welled in my eyes, and for one second I thought I was going to be one of those crazed women in the movies who start begging for their lives and promising things that they don’t have. I took a deep breath and fought back the tears. Think, dammit!

  I was fairly certain Collette had her cell phone in her jacket pocket. She could probably get to it without Tito noticing. If only I could let her know what I was thinking. God, being without super powers really sucked.

  Tito took the Outer Road, and we drove right by the very place where the motorcycle assassins had struck the night of the hayride. “So, were the motorcycle guys yours?” I asked.

  “Shut up,” he said.

  “You’re going to kill us anyway,” I said. “Why not tell me?”

  “Torie, could you please not use sentences with words like ‘kill’ in them?” Collette asked.

  “What? You think he won’t think of killing us unless I remind him?” I said.

  “You’re always so negative,” she said. “Think positive. Think like he’s a generous, God-fearing man and then maybe he will be.”

  Right, that’s why I keep thinking about having you use your damn cell phone and you don’t!

  “Both of you shut up,” Tito said.

  Within a few minutes I understood where we were going. The construction site of my new home. He pulled the car into the makeshift gravel driveway and cut the engine. “Get out,” he said.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Collette said. “Torie, I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” I said.

  “Oh, please shut up,” Tito said. “Now get out of the car.”

  “Look,” I said, “I’m not dying until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Tito laughed. It was a genuine laugh, and for just a split second I understood how he functioned in the real world. If I hadn’t known that he was a Mafia man, a hit man, the son of the Godfather, I would have thought him to be a very charming Italian guy with expensive taste in shoes.

  “All right, Torie,” he said. “Here’s a little bedtime story for you.”

  I loved this part. Because while the bad guy was busy telling me what he did or didn’t do, it bought me time either to think of a way out of this mess or to have somebody show up on a white horse and rescue us.

 

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