The Third Twin. Dani Sinclair

to let the air conditioner run, wiping at her tears until her vision became less blurred.

      It wasn’t entirely his fault. She should have tried harder to get him to seek help. If she’d been a better daughter…but she wasn’t really his daughter. The enormity of that was still hard to accept.

      Alexis stared at the money. Once again, fear gripped her. Had her father done something awful in an attempt to make things up to her? She gripped the note, fearing the answer it must contain.

      I just learned that the doctor who forged your birth certificate was murdered recently. I did some snooping and learned the awful truth. Your real mother never gave you up for adoption, Alexis. I don’t think she even knew you existed.

      How was that possible? This made no sense. She didn’t want to read any more. Her father’s words were tearing her world to shreds. How could he not have told her this?

      The doctor had been murdered. Now her father had been murdered. If she wasn’t careful, was she the next in line to be killed?

      When I realized what that man had done, I was sick. I think if he hadn’t already been dead I’d have been tempted to murder him myself. How could any man, especially a doctor, have no soul? He pulled you from her body and gave you away with no remorse. It still sickens me to think about it. I’ll carry this horror to my grave. I wonder if God will forgive me for my part in this. I guess I’ll know soon enough. I’ve been lying to you, Alexis, about more than just your birth. I know you thought my drinking was simply grief over Lois’s death. And it did start out that way, but the truth is, I’ve been ill for some time now. I’m dying, Alexis. The cancer is inoperable. I didn’t want you to know. The alcohol helps dull the pain.

      Shock blurred the words on the page. She pictured how thin he had grown…and knew the words were true. Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he lied and lied and lied to her?

      Grief mingled with anger and guilt. He hadn’t been the best father since her mother…since Lois had died, but what sort of daughter had she been? So angry over his drinking and his refusal to get help, she’d stopped paying much attention to him. For a second her eyes closed in grief and self-recriminations. But she had to finish, to know it all. There’d be time for castigation later.

      I’ve been trying to make things right as much as I can, but the truth of your real parentage, well, I can’t give you back those years. Not you or your real family. But I’ve gathered together all the proof you should need to convince them of the truth. The only thing is, the more I learn, the more the situation makes me nervous.

      Her real family. She had a real family. Why hadn’t he told her this? How could he have let her go on living every day without telling her?

      The nurse who brought you to us was there at the cemetery that day.

      What cemetery?

      I’m pretty sure she saw me. She isn’t going to want you to come forward, Alexis. It’s the last thing she’ll want. What she and that doctor did wasn’t just horrible, it was illegal. She could go to prison. She should go to prison. She’s as guilty as he is. So you’re going to have to be real careful, Alexis. I figure you’ll need help before you go to see your family. The truth is, I’m not sure what sort of a reception you’ll get from any of them. You’re one of the rightful heirs, you see.

      No, she didn’t see. She didn’t understand any of this. It was like a bad movie script. How could this be happening?

      This envelope contains all the proof you need to claim your birthright. Take it to Ira Rosencroft. He’s an attorney in upstate New York.

      This couldn’t be real. Her father had made some horrible mistake. Horrible enough to get him killed.

      The town is small. It’s horse country. Stony Ridge, the town is called. I checked around and from what I could learn, Rosencroft has a reputation for being honest. He’s the trustee for Heartskeep, he’ll help you. He has no choice. Just be careful, Alexis. Don’t trust anyone. I wish there had been time for me to do this the right way, but I think my time is running out. I think someone was watching the house today. Maybe I’m getting paranoid, but I’m scared. Not for me. For you. Show Mr. Rosencroft the contents of this packet, but don’t show him this letter and don’t tell him about the money. Don’t tell anyone about the money until you talk to this Kathy. I think you can trust her, Alexis. If she hadn’t found me, I would never have known this much. You’re the best daughter any man could ever want. I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad you were ours. I only wish you had been ours in every way.

      The tears she’d thought were used up fell despite her best effort to keep them at bay. She could barely finish the last two lines.

      Please don’t think too badly of me. You will always be the daughter of my heart.

      Your loving father,

       Brian Fitzpatrick Ryder.

      For what seemed like a very long time she simply sat there and cried. She tried to make sense of all this, but nothing made sense. Not this rambling note, not the money in the briefcase, and certainly not her father’s death.

      He wasn’t her father.

      The world she had known had just dissolved.

      A car pulled into the lot, alongside hers. She stuffed the letter back inside the briefcase and snapped it shut. The parking lot had filled with cars and people. A young couple sat arguing in the car parked beside her. They didn’t even glance her way, but she couldn’t afford to sit here in plain sight with a briefcase full of money.

      Her engine suddenly sputtered and died. The car had finally run out of gas.

      With the care reserved for handling fragile items, she lifted the heavy briefcase and got out of her car. She’d never heard of Stony Ridge, and she had only a New York City map in the glove compartment. She’d have to go inside the restaurant to see if she could buy a map. Then she’d have to get the gas can out of her trunk and go to the gas pump to get enough gas to drive her car over to fill it up. And as she trudged through the busy parking lot, one thought kept running through her mind.

      How could a woman not know her child existed?

      Chapter Two

      Wyatt Crossley didn’t like having time on his hands. He understood why his uncle, as chief of police, had no option other than to place him on leave while the shooting of Nolan Ducort was investigated, but Wyatt didn’t have to like it. Stony Ridge had a major murder investigation under way. His investigation.

      Unfortunately the Ducort family was politically well-connected and they were demanding answers. He and the two state police officers who’d fired their weapons two nights ago were being forced to wait until ballistics determined which gun had fired the shot that had struck Ducort and the investigators were satisfied that the shooting had been justified.

      The outcome wasn’t in question, really, but the three of them had been relieved of their duties until the panel cleared them of any wrongdoing. Wyatt was determined not to let that keep him from conducting some unofficial investigative work.

      The bones discovered on the grounds of Heartskeep almost certainly belonged to Amy Hart Thomas. Everyone believed she’d disappeared in New York City seven years ago—everyone except her identical twin daughters. Now it looked as though the twins had been right all along and sloppy police work—specifically, his uncle’s sloppy police work—had let the murderer go undetected for more than seven years.

      Leigh and Hayley Thomas had always insisted that their father, Marcus, had killed their mother. Now that Marcus Thomas was dead, there was only one person left who might have the answers to what had really happened seven years ago.

      Wyatt frowned as he thought about Eden Voxx Thomas. The R.N. had worked with Dr. Thomas since before his daughters had been born. The obvious scenario for Amy Thomas’s demise would be a love triangle that had ended in murder. But where the Hart family was involved, Wyatt had learned to keep an open mind. Events were seldom as simple as they appeared on the surface.