Rattled (15 page)

“So Samara's his second wife…” Jilly said.

Vivian and I slowly nodded our heads.

“And they're big into this missing kids centre because…his kids from his
first
marriage are missing? Sam and Megan?” Jilly continued.

“I guess…” It made sense, but something didn't feel right. It just wasn't coming together in my head. I reached over for the wedding announcement from Phyllis to check the dates. “John Kennnedy and Mrs. Swicker, or
Baratto
, married in 1991.” I thought about that for a minute.

“And remember, he didn't stay married to Mrs. Swicker for very long,” Vivian said. “Less than a year.”

“Have you
met
her?” Jilly asked.

Vivian smiled. “Probably felt it was time for an upgrade.”

“Guys, listen, think about it.” I flipped over Phyllis's fax and began drawing a timeline on the back. “If Swicker and Kennedy married in '91, but divorced in less than a year…” I scribbled the events and dates on the line. “Megan's my age, born 1994, Sam's just over a year and a half older…” I made more marks on my line. “It's off. The dates don't fit.”

A look passed over Jilly's face. I knew she was experiencing a light bulb moment. She leaned in really close to the screen. “Lid, can you make that picture bigger? To get a better look at wife number two?”

“Think so.” I clicked a couple times.

We all sucked in our breath at the same time.

“What the…?” Vivian's voice sounded far away.

“She looks just like Megan,” Jilly whispered.

My eyes were popping out of my head. It was Megan, but it wasn't. It was Samara Nolan-Kennedy, but there was no doubt in my mind.
She
was Megan's mother.

Chapter 20

I
whipped the chair around. “Megan's not her kid!”

Jilly had figured it out, but Vivian wasn't there yet.

“Mrs. Swicker, she's not Megan's mom. It's totally obvious from the picture,” I explained to her.

“But Sam…he's older…could
he
be Mrs. Swicker's?” Jilly asked.

Frowning, I picked up my timeline and stared at it. “I suppose she could have been pregnant or something when they divorced. It
could
fit…maybe?”

“What about the twins, though?” Vivian cut in. “They're still floating around out there.”

“I know.” Things seemed to be getting more complicated by the minute. I turned back to the computer. “There's got to be a connection somewhere.” Jilly and Vivian huddled around me and we stared at the photo. “I can't believe how much she looks like Megan.” I made a circle around Samara Kennedy's face with the cursor.

“Wait! Stop!” Vivian's silver-blue fingernail tapped on the screen. “Right there! A link!”

Sweeping the cursor back over the photo, a blue bubble popped up.
Learn more about the Kennedys' story.

“Click it!” They both shrieked right into my ears. The page seemed to take forever to load. There was something happening in the room, a kind of electricity or excitement that kept growing every time I clicked the mouse.

A website popped up. “
The Kennedy Kidnappings
?!”

“Oh. My. God!” Jilly's mouth hung open. “Look at the website address—kennedytwins.com.”

“
Twins
,” I whispered

“Read it!” Jilly screamed.

I began to read at lightning speed.

“Out loud!” Vivian smacked the back of the chair.

“Sorry, sorry.” I cleared my throat, licked my lips, and began
. “Introduction. This site is dedicated to the disappearance
of Amy and Michael Kennedy. There are few residents of Long
Island who have not heard of the Kennedy Twins or have
forgotten the tragedy of that day in 1995.”
Jilly and Vivian were so close I could feel them breathing on my neck. It was stressing me out. I motioned with my hands for them to back off, then continued. “There's a couple baby pictures and a link to that missing kids centre. Okay, it goes on…
Case
in Brief—On August 29, 1995, Emily Bradford, the Kennedys'
nanny, placed the one-year-old twins in their playpen on the back
patio of their home on Long Island. She then went inside to do
some housekeeping while they slept. When Ms. Bradford went back
to check on the twins, the playpen was empty. She called the police
immediately.

During the investigation many tips poured in, but none that
led to an arrest. The Kennedys hired private investigator Romeo
Tucci, a retired FBI agent, to aid in the search. Mr. Tucci was
quoted as saying ‘It's a very unusual case, no ransom note, no paper
trail, no forensic evidence left at the crime scene. We seem to run
into one dead end after another.'

A psychic investigation suggested the twins were taken by a whitecollar
ring of businessmen who used infants in ritualistic sacrifices. This theory was dismissed by both the Kennedys and the police.

No trace of the infants has ever been found. Although the police
have named several suspects over the years, no one has ever been
charged with their abduction.

John and Samara Kennedy live a quiet life, still in the same
house where they lived with their children. They never give up
hope that someday they will be reunited.

This case remains unsolved to this day.”

The room was perfectly still. No sound, no movement, no air. My mouth felt completely dry, like I'd been walking for days in the desert.

“Megan is Amy,” I finally said.

Jilly stared at me intensely. “And Sam is…”

I nodded my head slowly. “Michael. He has to be.” That had to be the answer. In a bizarre way, it was the only thing that made sense.

“What?!” Vivian cried. “No way! Sam can't be her twin, they're not even the same age!” she added.

“Just think about it for a second.” I tried to keep my tone calm. “There's no reason why they
couldn't
be twins. They
could
be the same age.”

“Ewwww,” Jilly cried.

“What?”

Jilly began to frantically wipe her tongue on the sleeve of her T-shirt.

“What are you doing?!” I yelled.

“I kissed him!” She made a gagging sound like she was trying to cough something up.

I momentarily forgot everything that was going on around me. “What?” I whispered. I could practically hear my heart breaking in two.

“Oh, it was quick, thank
God
. Outside the van.”

“So what's the big deal?” I asked, devastated.

Jilly looked at me as though I was covered in open sores. “It means he's…” She stopped to sniff. “Your age!”

My mouth dropped open. “That's what you're freaking about? Get a grip, would ya?!”

Vivian swooped to the rescue. “It's okay, Jilly, your secret's safe with me,” she soothed, rubbing Jilly's back. “I'll take it to my grave, I swear.”

“Could we get back to what's important here?” I tried not to sound too sarcastic. “Do we all agree Sam and Megan
could
be twins…
could
be the mystery twins?”

Jilly sniffed again, smoothed her hair, and pulled herself together. “I suppose,” she answered reluctantly.

Vivian thought about it for a minute, twisting a piece of platinum hair around her finger. “Yeah…yeah, I guess so.”

“I suppose Mrs. Swicker could have just
told
everybody that Sam's older. People would believe her.
We
did,” Jilly said, a pained expression flashing across her face. “I bet she thought it would be easier to keep them hidden if she passed them off as regular brother and sister. Everyone was looking for twins.” “Exactly.” I was sort of impressed by Jilly's reasoning. “And she'd changed her own name, of course she would change theirs too.”

We fell quiet again, thinking, organizing our thoughts.

Vivian broke the silence. “So, just so I've got this straight, Mrs. Swicker gets the boot from famous husband. Famous husband remarries, has twins. Mrs. Swicker kidnaps twins for what? Revenge? Is that what you guys think?”

“Kind of sounds like something she'd do,” I said. “There might be more to it, but yeah, that's pretty much what I'm thinking.” Then something occurred to me. “You know, Sam and Megan don't even know they're twins.”

“Whoa, now that just totally blows my mind.” Vivian had now wound that piece of hair so tightly around her finger I could see the tip starting to turn blue. “This is like
way
too intense. Are you sure you're right about all this?” She looked like she was about to hyperventilate.

“Just
relax,
Vivian.” I wanted to slap her, like they do in the movies when someone gets hysterical. The situation probably wasn't that extreme, but I still wanted to try it. I didn't, though. Turning to Jilly, I said, “I think we should print off all of the information we found.”

“Yeah. That way we have proof in our hands when we go to…the police?” She sounded unsure.

I nodded my head.“I think maybe we should tell Mom and Dad first.”

“You're probably right.”

Jilly and I retraced our steps on the computer and printed off all the information we thought was important. Except for the sound of the printer, and Vivian doing some kind of deep breathing exercise to calm her nerves, it was eerily quiet. It was as though the excitement had evaporated when we realized the seriousness of the situation. When we were done, I put Phyllis's faxes on top, straightened the pile, and paper-clipped the corner. I stared at Mrs. Swicker's, a.k.a. Noreen Baratto's, yearbook picture. “Fourteen years, and she's never been caught,” I whispered.

“You don't think we're wrong, do you?” Jilly asked, like maybe she was having second thoughts.

“No. Do you?”

She paused for a second. “No.”

We left Vivian lying on the couch, a damp facecloth draped over her eyes and forehead.

The Swickers' house came into view as we turned the corner. My steps slowed.

“Come on.” Jilly pulled me firmly by the arm. “We can't do anything about it this minute.”

“I know, I know, I just want so badly to tell them…now.” My voice caught in my throat. For some reason I felt like breaking down and crying right in the middle of the street.

“It's going to be okay,” Jilly said. She put her arm around my shoulder. It was so out of character it made me flinch. It dawned on me that she was trying to be comforting.

“But they have no idea they have real parents out there, parents who love them, parents who probably think they're
dead
or something.” I could feel my lip tremble.

“I know,” she said quietly. “But we're not the ones to tell them.”

I turned and took a long look at Jilly. It was kind of freaking me out how calm and logical Jilly was being about everything. I'd always thought of myself as the adult in our relationship, the fixer of things, the level-headed one. It was as though we'd had a total role reversal.

I rattled our front doorknob in frustration. “Locked!” Then I remembered. “Mom and Dad aren't here!” I cried. “It's their anniversary.” I leaned my forehead against the door.

“Damn. That's right.” Jilly glanced at her watch. “And I'm supposed to babysit in like two minutes.”

I dug the key out of my pocket and unlocked the front door. “I really wish Mom and Dad were here.”

“We'll call them right now and tell them what's going on,” Jilly said.

My eyes kept darting out the window, across the street. “Call Mom first.”

Jilly dialed. My heart fell as my ears picked up a faint ringing from upstairs. Without a word I walked past Jilly, upstairs to our parents' room, and picked up Mom's cellphone off the bureau. I flipped it open. “It's me.”

“Put Mom on,” Jilly demanded.

I shook my head and snapped the phone closed. Jilly was still shouting “Hello? Hello?” as I walked back into the kitchen. She looked at me and said, “Oh,” as I waved Mom's phone in front of her face.

“Try Dad,” I suggested.

She punched in the numbers, then screwed up her face. “It went right to voicemail. I'll leave a message.”

“Mom mentioned a show, they're probably at Neptune. I bet he's got it turned off.” I slumped onto the kitchen chair. “The number for the hotel should be beside the phone. Leave a message at the front desk too.”

Jilly found Mom's note and called the hotel. She left a message for them to call home when they got in.

“Maybe we should just call the police now, or that missing kids place,” I said.