Lies That Bind. Barbara McMahon

      “Tell me all the facts you know about yourself,” he said.

      “Maddie told me I was abandoned and she stepped in to act as foster mother. I was born twenty-seven years ago on May seventeenth. At least I always thought I was, until you put that doubt in my head.”

      “You have a birth certificate, you said.”

      She nodded. “A delayed registration they called it. I can dig it up if you need to see it. It doesn’t give much information beyond my date of birth. No parents listed.”

      “Born where?”

      “The certificate says Maraville.”

      He tossed his pencil down. “Too easy. If you were born here in town, we’d be able to locate your parents in no time. Even if the day is wrong, the month has to be close. We could check all live births from April through June of that year and see who’s unaccounted for. Are you sure you were born here?”

      “No. I told you it was a delayed birth certificate. Filled out when I was nineteen. Social Services filed it when I needed one for a passport.”

      “First stop, then, Social Services.”

      “I tried to get them to help me when I was a teenager here,” she said. She took another sip of her coffee. “Dead end.”

      For a moment he saw that vulnerability again. It bothered him, since it didn’t fit the mold he’d assigned her. Maybe he needed to do some more digging around to find out exactly who April Jeffries was.

      “First of all, I doubt they’d talk to a minor.”

      “They acted like they never gave out any information. I was totally stonewalled.”

      “I have a different technique,” he said smugly.

      “I can hardly wait to see the mighty reporter in action.” She fiddled with her cup, turning it around on the saucer. “How long are you staying in Maraville?”

      He shrugged. “Depends on how fast my foot heals.”

      “What happened?”

      “Land mine.”

      “Ouch. You’re lucky it wasn’t blown off.”

      He saw the sympathy in her expression and frowned. He didn’t want pity.

      “I didn’t step on it, I was just a bystander. But it did enough damage.”

      “You’ll be fine again, right?”

      “Yeah, as soon as it heals.” He hoped to God that was true.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      “WHAT ARE THE CHANCES the people we’ll talk to at Social Services will just give me my file?” April asked. “They refused before. Maybe if Maddie had pushed, they might have done more, but she wasn’t willing to.”

      He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked her about the decision to remove the girls from Maddie’s care. She explained the matter had been handled quickly, with no input from the three of them. One day they were living with Maddie, the next they were in different homes.

      “Odd,” he said.

      “Why?”

      “You girls had been together for years, raised as sisters essentially. I’d think the court would initially try to place you together. Or if not, at least make sure you were able to maintain contact. It was cruel to make you sever all ties. Sam said the investigation was handled poorly. Now I’m wondering if there was more involved.”

      “Like a conspiracy?” She half smiled. “I doubt it. We were three foster kids. There aren’t a lot of foster families in Maraville, or there weren’t back then, and not many people are willing to take on three teenagers. Probably the easiest thing to do was send us to the first homes available, which just happened to be in different towns.”

      “Maybe. Maybe not. But why not tell you where the other girls were sent? Eliza said you couldn’t contact each other. There was nothing in the file about that, according to Sam. Maybe Social Services will give us some information.”

      “If there was some hidden agenda, do you think they’ll tell us at this late date?”

      “Good point.” He was quiet for a moment. April could almost see his mind turning over all possibilities.

      “Anyone there know you personally?” he asked.

      “I haven’t had any contact since my case was transferred to Jackson years ago. Maybe they have new staff.”

      “Unlikely in this town. Seems to me the only chance for advancement comes when someone dies.”

      “So maybe Mrs. Savalak died. She looked a hundred and three when she was my caseworker. Even older than Maddie.”

      “What do you mean?”

      April explained that she and the others had thought Maddie’s ideas old-fashioned and considered her ancient. “In retrospect, I think she just had high standards and tried to instill them in all of us,” she said slowly.

      “Would Maddie be any help to us?”

      “I doubt it. If she could talk, she might tell us how she came to get me, but unless you can word all your questions to take yes or no answers, we’re out of luck. Besides, I tried to find out more when I was a child, and she wasn’t any help then.”

      “Asking yes/no questions is easy enough to do. But let’s see what else we can find out first. You finished?”

      “Just about.” She drained her coffee cup. “What about Jo?”

      “I’ll see if there’s anything else I can come up with, but if people don’t want to be found, they usually aren’t.”

      “Why wouldn’t she want to be found? I’ll bet she’d like to know Eliza and I are looking for her.”

      “If she ran away, she might have thought the law was after her. Which it should have been. From what Sam said, that was something else that wasn’t handled according to policy. If she changed her name to avoid detection, she could still be living under that name. Did she have any other family?”

      April shook her head. “Her mother died when we were all about thirteen. Jo’s father was in prison. Still is for all I know. Or maybe he died, but she sure wouldn’t have gone to him.”

      “Why not? What was he in prison for?”

      “Trying to kill her mother.”

      Jack whistled. “Okay, let’s go check out Social Services.”

      AS THEY WERE USHERED into the office of the director of Social Services a short time later, April held back, letting Jack run the interview. She’d smiled when he’d flashed his reporter’s card at the receptionist and asked for an appointment. The woman had recognized him immediately. Apparently lots of people watched CNN.

      “Jack Palmer, I’m Roberta Nelson,” the director greeted him when they entered her utilitarian office.

      “Thank you for seeing us without a prior appointment, Ms. Nelson,” he said smoothly, shaking hands and introducing April.

      “How do you do?” she said to April, then gestured to the visitor chairs. “Please, sit down, both of you. I can’t imagine what I can do for you. I’ve seen you so many times reporting from Iraq, Mr. Palmer. You will be going back, won’t you?” She eyed Jack’s cast and cane. Roberta Nelson was an older woman with graying brown hair. Her dress was more functional than stylish, and a pair of glasses rested on the desk in front of her.

      “That’s still up in the air,” he replied as the three of them were seated. “Until then, I’m keeping my hand in. I’m doing a proposal for a story idea to my boss about foster care, how it works, and the benefits it affords children who would otherwise