And then I wondered whether I should tell the police. Get Tess to turn over the letter and the envelopes. Maybe, even after all these years, they still held some secrets that someone with the right kind of forensic equipment could unlock.

a.s.suming, of course, that there was anyone still in the police department who cared about this case. It had gone into the "cold" file a very long time ago.

When they were doing the TV show, they had a hard time even finding anyone still on the force who'd investigated the incident. Which was why they'd had to track down that guy in Arizona, sitting out front of his Airstream, so he could insinuate that Cynthia had had something to do with the disappearance of her brother and her parents, the p.r.i.c.k.

And so I lay awake, haunted by the information I had that Cynthia did not, and how it only served to remind me of how much we still didn't know.

[image]

I killed some time in the bookstore while Cynthia and Grace looked at shoes. I had an early Philip Roth, one that I'd never gotten around to reading, in my hand when Grace came running into the store. Cynthia trailed behind her, a shopping bag in hand.

"I'm starving," Grace said, throwing her arms around me.

"You got some shoes?"

She took a step back and modeled for me, sticking out one foot and then the other. White sneakers with a pink swoosh.

"What's in the bag?" I asked.

"Her old ones," Cynthia said. "She had to wear them right away. You hungry?"

I was. I put the Roth book back and we took the escalator up to the food court level. Grace wanted McDonald's, so I gave her enough money to buy herself something while Cynthia and I went to a different counter to get soup and a sandwich. Cynthia kept glancing back over to the McDonald's, making sure she could see Grace. The mall was busy on this Sunday afternoon, as was the food court. There were still a few tables free, but they were filling up fast.

Cynthia was so occupied watching Grace that I moved both our plastic trays along, gathered together cutlery and napkins, loaded the sandwiches and soup as they became ready.

"She's got us a table," Cynthia said. I scanned the court, spotted Grace at a table for four, waving her arm back and forth long after we'd caught sight of her. She already had her Big Mac out of the box when we joined her, her fries dumped into the other side of the container.

"Eww," she said when she saw my cream of broccoli soup. A kindly looking, fiftyish woman in a blue coat, sitting alone at the next table, glanced over, smiled, and then went back to her own lunch.

I sat across from Cynthia, Grace to my right. I noticed that Cynthia kept looking over my shoulder. I turned around once, looked where she was looking, turned back.

"What?" I said.

"Nothing," she said, and took a bite of her chicken salad sandwich.

"What were you looking at?"

"Nothing," she said again.

Grace pushed a fry into her mouth, biting it into quarter-inch segments at a furious rate.

Cynthia was looking over my shoulder again.

"Cyn," I said, "what the h.e.l.l are you looking at?"

She didn't immediately deny this time that something had caught her eye. "There's a man over there," she said. I started to turn around and she said, "No, don't look."

"What's so special about him?"

"Nothing," she said.

I sighed, and probably rolled my eyes, too. "For crying out loud, Cyn, you can't just stare at the guy for-"

"He looks like Todd," she said.

Okay, I thought. We've been here before. Just be cool. "Okay," I said. "What is it about him that makes him look like your brother?"

"I don't know. It's just something about him. He just looks like Todd would probably look today."

"What are you talking about?" Grace asked.

"Never mind," I said. To Cynthia, I said, "Tell me what he looks like, and I'll just casually turn around and get a look at him."

"He's got black hair, he's wearing a brown jacket. He's eating Chinese food. Right now, he's eating an egg roll. He looks like a younger version of my dad, an older version of Todd, I'm telling you."

I swiveled slowly on my backless chair, made like I was taking in the various food kiosks, thinking about going to get something to eat. I saw him, catching some sprouts with his tongue that were falling out of the half-eaten egg roll. I'd seen a few pictures of Todd from Cynthia's s...o...b..x of mementos, and I suppose it was possible that had he grown up to be in his late thirties, early forties, he might look a bit like this guy. Slightly overweight, a doughy face, black hair, maybe six foot, although it was hard to tell with him sitting down.

I turned back. "He looks like a million other people," I said.

"I'm going to get a closer look," Cynthia said.

She was on her feet before I could protest. "Honey," I said as she walked by me, making a halfhearted attempt to grab her by the arm and failing.

"Where's Mommy going?"

"To the washroom," I said.

"I'm going to have to go, too," Grace said, swinging her legs back and forth so she could catch glimpses of her new shoes.

"She can take you after," I said.

I watched as Cynthia took the long way around the food court, heading in the opposite direction from where the man sat. She walked past all the fast-food outlets, approaching him from behind and to the side. As she came up alongside him, she walked straight ahead, went to the McDonald's and joined the line, glancing occasionally, as casually as possible, at the man she felt bore an amazing resemblance to her brother Todd.

When she sat back down, she presented Grace with a small chocolate sundae in a clear plastic cup. Her hand was shaking as she put it on Grace's tray.

"Wow!" said Grace.

Cynthia showed no reaction to her daughter's expressions of grat.i.tude. She looked at me and said, "It's him."

"Cyn."

"It's my brother."

"Cyn, come on, it's not Todd."

"I got a good look at him. It's him. I'm as sure that's my brother as I am that that's Grace sitting there."

Grace looked up from her ice cream. "Your brother's here?" She was genuinely curious. "Todd?"

"Just eat your ice cream," Cynthia said.

"I know what his name is," Grace said. "And your dad was Clayton, and your mother was Patricia." She rattled off the names like it was a cla.s.sroom exercise.

"Grace!" Cynthia snapped.

I felt my heart begin to pound. This could only get worse.

"I'm going to talk to him," she said.

Bingo.

"You can't," I said. "Look, it doesn't make any sense that it's Todd. For Christ's sake, if your brother was just out and about, going to the mall, eating Chinese food in public, you think he wouldn't have gotten in touch with you? And he'd have spotted you, too. You were practically Inspector Clouseau there, wandering around him as obvious as all h.e.l.l. It's just some guy, he's got some pa.s.sing resemblance to your brother. You go over to him, start talking to him like he's Todd, he's going to freak-"

"He's leaving," Cynthia said, a hint of panic in her voice.

I whirled around. The man was on his feet, wiping his mouth one last time with a paper napkin, crumpling it in his hand and dropping it onto the paper plate. He left the tray sitting there, didn't take it over to the wastebasket, and started walking in the direction of the washrooms.

"Who's Inspector Cloozoo?" Grace asked.

"You can't follow him into the can," I cautioned Cynthia.

She sat there, frozen, watching the man as he wandered down the hall that led to the men's and ladies' rooms. He'd have to come back, and she could wait.

"Are you going into the men's room?" Grace asked her mother.

"Eat your ice cream," Cynthia said.

The woman in the blue coat at the table next to us was picking at her salad, trying to pretend she wasn't listening to us.

I felt I only had a few seconds to talk Cynthia out of doing something we'd all regret. "Remember what you said to me, when I first met you, that you were always seeing people you thought might be your family?"

"He's got to show up again soon. Unless there's another way out. Is there another way out back there?"

"I don't think so," I said. "It's perfectly normal to feel this way. You've spent your whole life looking. I remember, years ago, I was watching Larry King, and they had that guy on, the one whose son was killed by O. J., Goldman I think it was, and he told Larry that he'd be out driving, and he'd see someone driving a car like his son used to drive, and he'd chase the car, check the driver, just to be sure it wasn't his son, even though he knew he was dead, knew it didn't make any sense-"

"You don't know that Todd is dead," Cynthia said.

"I know. I didn't mean it to come out that way. All I'm saying is-"

"There he is. He's heading for the escalator." She was on her feet and moving.

"For f.u.c.k's sake," I said.

"Daddy!" Grace said.

I turned to her. "You stay right here and do not move, you understand?" She nodded, a spoonful of ice cream stopped frozen en route to her mouth. The woman at the next table glanced over again and I caught her eye. "Excuse me," I said, "but would you mind keeping an eye on my daughter, just for a moment?"

She stared at me, unsure what to say.

"Just a couple of minutes," I said, trying to rea.s.sure her, then got up, not giving her a chance to say no.

I went after Cynthia. I managed to spot the head of the man she was after disappearing, descending the escalator. The food court was so crowded it had slowed Cynthia down, and there were half a dozen people between her, as she got onto the top step of the escalator, and the man, and another half dozen between Cynthia and me.

When the man got off at the bottom, he started walking briskly in the direction of the exit. Cynthia was straining to get around a couple ahead of her, but they were balancing a stroller on the precarious steps, and she couldn't get past them.

When she hit the bottom, she broke into a run after the man, who was nearly to the doors.

"Todd!" she shouted.

The man was oblivious. He shoved open the first door, let it swing shut behind him, threw open the second, proceeded on to the parking lot. I'd nearly caught up to Cynthia as she went through the first door.

"Cynthia!" I said.

But she was giving me no more attention than the man was giving her. Once she was out the door, she called "Todd!" again to no effect, then caught up to the man, grabbing him by the elbow.

He turned around, startled by this out-of-breath, wild-eyed woman.

"Yes?" he said.

"Excuse me," Cynthia said, taking a second to catch her breath. "But I think I know you."

I was at her side now, and the man looked at me, as if to ask, "What the h.e.l.l's going on?"

"I don't think so," the man said slowly.

"You're Todd," Cynthia said.

"Todd?" He shook his head. "Lady, I'm sorry, but I don't know-"

"I know who you are," Cynthia said. "I can see my father in you. In your eyes."

"I'm sorry," I said to the man. "My wife thinks you look like her brother. She hasn't seen him in a very long time."

Cynthia turned angrily on me. "I'm not losing my mind," she said. To the man, she said, "Okay, who are you then? Tell me who you are."

"Lady, I don't know what the f.u.c.k your problem is, but keep me out of it, okay?"

I tried to position myself between the two of them, and using as calm a voice as possible, said to the man, "This is a lot to ask, believe me, I understand, but maybe, if you could tell us who you are, it would help put my wife's mind at ease."

"This is crazy," he said. "I don't have to do that."