Freeing the Magician. Dawn Leger

about this transplant business,” he said.

      “Right,” I said. “I did see a lot of medical records, but I just chucked them. Maybe we should save them somehow?

      “That’s a good idea…” he sat up. “What am I saying? I’m saying that there is a possibility that this might be true. Oh my God. Do I believe that? Do you?”

      I looked at him, frowning. “I do, Michael. I’m not sure why, or how, or what the circumstances might have been, but I feel that the basic facts of this story are true. We just need to flesh out the details a little bit. And then we can see if your sister is still alive.”

      “I think I’m going to be sick,” he said.

      “No, you’re not,” I said. “It’s a lot to take in, sure. Just breathe, you can do it. Think about your pretend friend, close your eyes. What did she look like? Can you see her?” He smiled. “That’s good. Keep her in your mind that way, and let’s try to find her.”

      He opened his eyes, and they were brimming with tears. “Cassie, I always wanted her to be real, but this, now, it’s too…late.”

      “Michael, how can it be too late? It’s never too late to make peace with your family,” I said. “Remember, we’ll just do this one step at a time. It’ll be all right.”

      “Okay, I guess,” he said. “I have the feeling this is opening Pandora’s box. I think I’m going to regret that I ever started looking into this.”

      “Now that you know about the possibility, how can you say we shouldn’t find out what we can about this?” I asked. “Even if all we learn is that the person who wrote the letters was trying to extort your father for some reason, don’t you want to know that?”

      “Yes, sure, but how do we get to the bottom of it without telling Peggy? I don’t see a way, and that’s my concern. I don’t want to open the matter if it’s going to drag up all those bad old memories for her, and I really don’t want to have that conversation where I say, ‘Hey, Mom, did you have another child that you gave away without telling me?’” he said.

      “Got it,” I said. “Let me go and get the box with the medical records. I think I can put it in the car, and then I can look at it when we get back to New York. If I don’t find anything in there, or from the other letters, then we’ll just drop the entire matter. Okay?”

      “All right,” he said. “Just make sure you are extra sweet when you ask Detective Friday to run down these names in his little ol’ computer, okay?”

      “Yes,” I said. “Now, why don’t you go and check on Peggy and distract her while I go upstairs and poke around for those records? Can you tell her a nice story about your latest conquest, something romantic that will not make her want to wash your mouth out with soap?”

      “Let me see…Nope,” he said. Grinning, he pulled me to my feet and we carried the detritus of our breakfast back to the kitchen. “Let me regale her with the story of your escapades with Paxton and Javi. She’ll love knowing that she’s got a killer in her kitchen.”

      “Really?” I smacked his arm as we walked up the stairs. “I had to shoot poor Paxton, he had a gun at my head. And anyway, I did him a favor. He was going to die of terminal cancer soon. Geez, now you made me feel bad.”

      “Sorry,” he said. “Try to keep quiet up there.”

      I pulled the stairs down from the attic and climbed up while Michael knocked on his mother’s bedroom door. “May I come in?” he asked.

      As I climbed the stairs, I heard him say, “Oh, are you watching ‘Home Alone?’ I love that movie! Skootch over, I’m getting in.”

      I turned on the overhead light, pulled up a stool, and took the cover off a box. Back to the drawing board.