CHAPTER 31

I GOT HOME THAT evening feeling like we were being stalled by the Office of the President-Elect staffers.

Ned Mahoney and I had been told we had an appointment with Matthew Shearson, the personnel director for the incoming administration. But when we arrived, we were informed that Shearson had gone to Arizona with the president-elect and would not be available for two days.

Mahoney demanded to see someone higher up the food chain but was told that the entire senior staff had gone to Tucson with Shearson and President-Elect Sue Winter for an intensive work retreat before the inauguration preparations. Ned called the acting FBI director after we left, and she told us she would put pressure on Shearson to call us at his earliest opportunity.

We hadn’t heard a thing since.

The frustration must have shown on my face when I entered the kitchen because Bree immediately came over and hugged me.

“Rough day?”

“If you call a state of inertia rough, yeah.”

“Sit down. Ali and I are making tacos.”

I noticed my youngest child stirring shredded chicken in a pan. “Smells good,” I said.

Ali grinned. “I put the spices in. Well, Nana told me which ones.”

“Where is Nana?”

“Right here,” she said, coming in and yawning. “Sorry, I just did another one of those AP English lectures online and they wipe me out.”

“But they do those kids a lot of good,” I said.

“And they still wipe me out,” she said, taking a seat at the table. “You have to have a lot of energy to keep their attention, and I have only so much these days.”

“What did you teach?”

“ Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison,” she said.

John Sampson came in with Willow, which surprised me because they’d moved back into their home after the gas leak was fixed.

“I invited them for tacos,” Bree explained. “I want to show you and John something later.”

We spent dinner discussing Invisible Man, the story of an educated Black man in the 1950s struggling in a racially divided country that refused to see him as a full human being.

Nana Mama pushed away her plate and yawned. “Unfortunately, the story is as pertinent today as it was when it was published more than seventy years ago. This old lady is going to watch a little television and then it’s lights out and toes up!”

“Willow and I will come with you, Nana,” Ali said, grinning. “I don’t have to do dishes because I cooked.”

“Well, lucky you!” she said and got up. “Do you both want Nana’s brownies?”

Willow nodded excitedly. “Yes, please, Nana.”

“With vanilla ice cream,” Ali said.

“After all those tacos?” I asked.

“Always,” Ali said.

Sampson and I cleaned up while my grandmother got Willow and Ali brownies with vanilla ice cream, then led them off to the front room. As soon as they were gone, Bree went and grabbed a manila folder.

“I found something today that reminded me to expect the unexpected at every turn.”

She opened the folder and showed us printouts of various documents from Idaho court records and Ancestry.com.

“I thought you were taking a break from Ryan Malcomb,” I said.

“I was. I did,” she said. “More than a week. You were right. It gave me a new perspective. Just look.”

Sampson was turning the pages. “Malcomb was adopted. Tried to find his real parents.”

“And then he had the adoption files resealed?” I said, reading over his shoulder. “How did he get that done?”

“Money under the table,” Bree said. “Had to be.”

Sampson turned another page. “The birth certificate for Ryan Felix Malcomb. No doubt about where he came from now.”

“Salmon, Idaho?” I asked.

“Yes,” Bree said, grinning like Willow had in anticipation of dessert. “Now look at the next one.”

John turned another page in the file.

We both stared at it.

Sampson whistled.

“Right?” Bree said.

“Sean Malcomb Wallace,” I said. “Is that the brother?”

“Different name, but definitely the twin. Took the last name of the mom’s family, I guess. But look closely at the page that follows. The DNA tests.”

We did. I didn’t quite understand it until I saw a notice below each one: You have an identical twin in the database .

At that point I got confused. I looked up at Bree. “But you’ve known about Ryan’s twin for quite a while now.”

“Alex,” she said impatiently, “think of it another way. They are, or were, genetic copies of each other. All the evidence says Ryan Malcomb died in that crash outside Elko—the ID, the vehicle, even the DNA. But now there’s doubt.”

Sampson nodded, starting to smile. “You think Sean Malcomb was in that vehicle and not Ryan.”

“If they were identical twins, sharing the exact same DNA, then I think it’s possible, especially with someone as nefarious as M.”

“So, what? Did Ryan take on Sean’s persona?” I asked. “If so, where is he?”

“I’m still looking under every name he might have used.”

Sampson said, “What about the parents of the twins? Ryan might have contacted them after getting the papers unsealed. Or Sean might’ve.”

Bree brightened. “That’s an angle I didn’t consider. I mean, you’re right—if they’re alive, they just might know what became of Sean Malcomb Wallace.”