CHAPTER FOUR

C HAPTER F OUR

The minute Shannon returned home, she headed for the guest room, where she promptly tossed the manila envelope into the trash can next to her desk. She sat down and logged on to her computer. Her heart was beating fast, and her jaw hurt from gritting her teeth for more than an hour. There was no possible way she was going to work for the woman. If she wanted to be an investigative journalist, she would do it without Rosella Marlow’s help.

But first, before she could put it all behind her, she wanted to find out more about Rosella. Because not only did it bother Shannon that Rosella knew so much about her, it also annoyed her to realize she hadn’t done her homework. She’d thought she knew Rosella, but in reality, she was only familiar with what the media world put out there for all to see. Rosella’s words continuously poked and prodded, egging her on: Any true journalist worth a grain of salt would gratefully help me gather information and prove me wrong if they thought I was crazy.

Okay. I will. She clicked on the link to the site. Searchvio was a platform she sometimes used when helping with online investigations. Ones Rosella apparently knew about. Why the hell would she have bothered to dig so deep? The question boggled the mind.

Stop, Shannon told herself. You need to focus.

For a fee, Searchvio provided a variety of services and features that helped organize billions of records and paint a picture of the person behind a name. It was a remarkable service, but she didn’t use it often because it was ridiculously expensive.

As she typed in information about Rosella—her full name, address, details about her husband and son, her property, and even her eye and hair color—Shannon kept thinking about her meeting with Rosella and how unpleasant, conniving, and paranoid the woman had been.

Once she initiated the search, Shannon cradled her face with her hands, her fingers pressing against her skull as she stared at the computer screen. Five minutes passed before information regarding her inquiry popped up on the screen. References and links emerged, one after another, mostly for projects Rosella had been involved with over the years. Included were facts Shannon probably could have found on Wikipedia. But as she read through the list, one particular reference stood out from the rest.

Marlow, Rosella (1974), Rolling Greens Psychiatric Hospital

Shannon clicked on the link. Despite Rosella’s strange behavior this morning, she was surprised to see what turned out to be three pages of handwritten notes in hard-to-read cursive by a Dr. Lee Baker. Medical records, under the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPAA), were supposed to be private. Based on experience, though, Shannon knew that wasn’t always true. Most people would be surprised to learn that health care organizations attracted hackers due to the large amount of patient data they stored. Patient records were easy to monetize. All the hacker needed was to find an organization that used an older version of Windows, which allowed them to create a backdoor access to the system so they could walk right in and take any information they wanted.

Shannon read every word. Apparently, Rosella and her parents never got along. There were multiple stories about Rosella lashing out, kicking doors and walls whenever she didn’t get her way. After an incident with a shovel, the girl’s parents brought her to Rolling Greens Psychiatric Hospital because, they claimed, they were afraid of her. One year later, she was released. She ran away and met Lance Marlow, a wealthy banker, ten years her senior. On the last page was an update, along with a reference to an arrest. Rosella had been jailed for attacking a woman she claimed was flirting with Lance. Her life changed for the better, Dr. Baker wrote, after her husband convinced her to enroll in school. She got her master’s in journalism, and the rest was history.

Or was it?

Shannon took a few minutes to let what she’d read sink in. Apparently, Rosella hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d talked about having a darkness within. Her actions today, her mistrust of others, and her mood swings prompted Shannon to google the symptoms of paranoid personality disorder: People with the disorder tend to believe others are trying to demean, harm, or threaten them. They can be hostile and argumentative and cannot see their role in problems or conflicts.

Shannon knew about the tragic car accident that had occurred fifteen months earlier, in which Rosella had lost her husband and son. Had the event triggered something within? Made a borderline PPD disorder unmanageable?

Feeling restless, Shannon tapped the tips of her short nails on her desk. The tiny wheel on the upper right corner of her computer screen spun as content continued to download. She clicked on links referencing articles Rosella had written. There was the one titled “A Day in the Life of a Journalist,” another called “Femininity,” and a popular story about AIDS. Rosella had covered a diverse range of subjects, and Shannon was familiar with almost everything the woman had ever written. Just when it seemed her search had nothing more to reveal about Rosella, a new link appeared.

Marlow, Rosella (2023), article, Sierra Adoption Agency

Shannon’s heart accelerated. She clicked on the link. Rosella had written an article about biological parents and adoptees trying to connect. It just so happened Sierra Adoption Agency was the same place Shannon had been left as an infant. The same place she’d reached out to at the age of twenty, asking if they would contact her biological mother to let her know she would like to meet. The reply from the agency came weeks later—her mother had declined her request.

For a few seconds, Shannon simply sat there and breathed. Not once had Rosella mentioned the agency or Shannon’s connection to it. That in itself would not have been strange, had she not mentioned all the other random and obscure snippets she knew about Shannon’s life.

Shannon printed the article and read it twice. Rosella had written it six months ago, and it wasn’t her best work: wordy, confusing sentence constructions, overuse of figures of speech, and so on. There was no emotion. The reason Rosella’s work stood out among all the other journalists, at least in Shannon’s opinion, was because of her ability to focus on details. She was observant and possessed the analytical skills needed to clearly assess a situation. She not only relied on facts and evidence but also knew how to put emotion into a story.

But this story about the adoption agency was flawed. Boring. Emotionless. No focus. Rosella Marlow didn’t appear to truly care about the agency or any of the people involved, so why had she taken the time to do a write-up about the agency?

Shannon stared at the article, the words blurring. Her fingers drummed against the top of the desk for another five seconds before she broke out of her trance and began searching for the agency’s number. She gave them a call. Maybe someone there would know why or what had prompted Rosella to do a story about them. Nobody answered. She left a message asking someone to call her.

After she hung up, she noticed the manila envelope Rosella had handed to her sticking out of the garbage. Curiosity got the better of her, and she pulled it out and dumped its contents onto her desk. Notes and unorganized lists spilled out. Some had been typed on a computer and printed out; others were handwritten. As she skimmed through the pages, she noticed that most of Rosella’s scribbles were about the neighbors:

Dianne Abbott

Nurse at Sutter Hospital (part-time). Works in the ICU.

Graduated from nursing school in 1995.

Strong-minded. Athletic. Independent.

Parents live in Florida.

Son, Finn, five and a half years old.

A lot of pages had been torn from a yellow-lined notepad. She squinted as she read scribbles written in the margins: Kaylynn Alcozar and her husband can’t afford to live here. So why did they purchase a home in one of the most exclusive areas in East Sacramento? The observations about Jason Abbott filled at least three pages, every margin crammed with hard-to-read writing. There were notes about Becky and Holly Bateman, including how they both identified as straight when they first met at UC Davis. Why in the world did Rosella care about any of this? Another scribble caught her attention. It had been lined through, but she could still make out the word Trey . And beneath his name was Tori Hudson with a question mark. And also a one-word question: Affair?

Shannon felt a tightening in her chest. This was insane. There was no other word for it. Why would Rosella have bothered researching Shannon’s husband? And even crazier, why would Rosella give Shannon these papers, knowing she’d made these disturbing observations? Tori Hudson had been their neighbor in Elk Grove. Trey used to golf with her husband, Josh. And Mac had been friends with her daughter, Amelia.

Annoyed with herself for looking inside the envelope to begin with, Shannon scooped up the papers and shoved them back inside. She had a good mind to take it all straight back to Rosella’s house right now and ask her point blank what she hoped to prove with all her silly remarks and annotations. She also wanted to ask Rosella about the story she’d written concerning the Sierra Adoption Agency. Did Rosella know of Shannon’s connection to the place? No way. She would have said something.

All Rosella’s erratic behavior made her think about the professor at California State University, Sacramento. Michael Barilla had been passionate and dedicated to helping students develop their skills. That’s why she remembered him. But something niggled, prompting her to look up the primary number for CSU. Once she connected with someone at the front desk, she told them it was important she talk to the professor about Rosella Marlow. She hung up. All she could do now, she figured, was hope that he called her back.