“Mommy! Mommy!”

“Get out of here, Gloria. Get out of here now!”

But that was about to change. Visions jolted her, stinging her nerves. All of a sudden, Gloria was a five-year-old child moving down that darkened hallway again, except this time she knew where she was heading: her parents’ bedroom. She was thirsty and wanted a drink of water. So she took Floppy Rabbit with her and began to trek down the hallway toward her mommy and daddy’s bedroom.

Gloria wanted to turn away from the diary, to close the book and never open it again. But her eyes were locked to the pages, moving over the words at a brisk, even pace. The words were opening a door that had been closed in her mind since childhood. Suddenly, little Gloria was in front of her parents’ bedroom door again. She stood up on her tiptoes and stretched for the doorknob. Floppy Rabbit was cocked under her elbow.

“Get out of here, Gloria. Get out of here now!”

The knob turned in her hands. Soon, Gloria would see what was behind that door. She had spent her whole life forgetting this moment, but now the image was being forced upon her. Even when she closed her eyes she could still see the door swinging open.

She looked inside the room. And remembered. And screamed.

Gloria put down the diary. She was shaking. The words Judy had written about May 30, 1960, revealed everything. It was all true. Every last word was true. Her father had killed Sinclair and Judy and Stan and . . . what about David?

The doorman’s intercom buzzed again. Gloria walked over to the squawk box. She noticed on the kitchen clock that it was nearly seven in the morning. Who would be visiting them now?

“Yes?”

“There is a Richard Corsel down here to see Laura,” the security guard said. “He says it’s urgent.”

Laura had just mentioned his name. He was the man at the Heritage of Boston Bank who had transferred David’s money. “Send him up.”

As Gloria sat and waited, the reality of what she had just read sank into her brain like a concrete brick in quicksand. Her heart hammered away in her chest. The truth became apparent and even more tragic than she could have ever dared imagine. She grabbed the diary off the couch, flipped forward in time, and read onward. Soon, her eyes found what she had already known to be true. The words on the page merely reconfirmed her darkest fear: her mother had been wrong. David and Laura were not brother and sister.

31

LAURA pulled into the driveway and leaped out of the car. There were still so many holes that needed to be plugged up: David’s ring under her pillow, his missing money, and maybe most of all, the reason Judy had waited so long to try to say something. Laura did not know why but she was sure that was the crux, that once that was answered the rest would fall into place.

She did not bother to ring the bell and warn her parents of her early-morning arrival. She simply unlocked the door and stepped into the front foyer.

“Laura?”

She turned toward the voice. Her mother was sitting on the couch, wearing a robe.

“Where is Dad?”

Mary’s face clouded over. “He’s not here.”

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know. He stayed in his study all night. Oh, Laura, you’re not going to tell him, are you? Please—”

“He already knows,” Laura said evenly. “He’s known for thirty years.”

Mary’s head fell to the side. “What?”

“Judy told him the day after you told her. I have Judy’s diary from nineteen sixty. It’s all in there.”

Mary’s face twisted in puzzlement. “But that’s not possible. He never said one word to me.”

Laura’s words spilled forward in wild gasps. “Judy was furious at you for stealing Sinclair from her. Telling Dad was her way of getting revenge. But she never expected him to lose control. He murdered Sinclair Baskin right after you left the office.”

Mary’s mouth dropped open. “It can’t be.”

“It’s true.”

“But James never said a word. He never threw me out. He loved you and raised you like his own. Why?”

“I don’t know, Mother. I suspect it has something to do with his love for you.”

Mary’s whole face emanated bleakness. She shook her head. “Not James,” she said weakly. “He’s a doctor. He would never hurt anyone.”

She knelt beside her mother. “We have to find him, Mother. We have to confront him and find out what really happened.”

The roar of a blasting engine made them both turn. Laura opened the front door and peered out. Gloria’s car raced up the road at what had to be a hundred miles an hour. As she turned into the driveway, one of the tires swung up onto the grass but Gloria did not pause or even hesitate until she came to a stop near the front door. She jumped out of the car.

“Gloria, what the hell—” Laura saw her sister’s face and stopped. Gloria’s eyes were wide and frenzied and out of control. Her right hand grasped the diary and a white envelope.

“Richard Corsel came to see you,” Gloria called back.

“What?”

“He told me to give you this envelope. He said it would answer all your questions.”

Laura’s heart got caught in her throat. The missing money. Richard had traced down the missing money.

“And May thirtieth,” Gloria shouted, holding up the diary. “Something terrible happened on May thirtieth.”

JAMES was back in his car and on the road in a matter of minutes. He had to give David credit. Creating Mark Seidman had been a stroke of genius. James realized that Judy was right, that David had not committed suicide. With the help of his cop friend (he could never have pulled it off by himself), David had faked his own death and taken on a new identity: Mark Seidman. Genius and yet so simple.

James imagined the scene in Australia six months earlier. After David had met up with Mary at the Pacific International Hotel, David realized that he would have to give up Laura, that he would have to leave her for her own good. At the same time, he could not tell her why—lest he hurt her further.

So what was the logical solution?

Disappear off the face of the Earth, of course.

And how do you do that without giving up everything you have?

You transfer your money around via Switzerland, fake an accidental drowning, go in for a little cosmetic surgery, take on a new identity.

Who would suspect such a thing from a wealthy, successful basketball star who had just married the world’s most beautiful woman? From a man who seemed to have everything?