Look Again - Lisa Scottoline [38]
“Feel free to take the call.” Ralston checked his watch, the moment having passed. “I should get back to work.”
Ellen found the phone and switched it off, but not before she saw the area code. 302. Delaware.
Cheryl Martin.
Chapter Thirty
Ellen tore south toward Wilmington, racing the rush hour. The sky had turned black, and snow flurries had begun to fall, flecks of white lace frozen in her headlights. The radio news was predicting a storm, and she felt as if she were outrunning that, too. She was in an uneasy state, hyperexcited, even after the long, sad afternoon. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, but it didn’t matter. She found herself accelerating, going to seventy miles an hour, then eighty. She wondered if she was speeding toward something. Or away.
Ellen found the house, parked at the curb, and looked out her car window. Cheryl’s home was a lovely Tudor with a white stucco façade and dark brown trim, set among plenty of open space. A white sedan sat in a circular driveway, and the evergreens and hedges landscaping the property were dusted by new flurries, so that the scene looked like a suburban snow globe. She grabbed her bag and her file and got out of the car.
They were sitting in a beautiful living room, on an L-shaped sectional couch in an oatmeal fabric that coordinated perfectly with a nubby sisal rug. The lighting was recessed and the walls were eggshell white, adorned with horsy landscapes that would undoubtedly echo the view from the picture window.
Cheryl was saying, “I have to admit, part of the reason I wanted to meet you is because I read your articles.”
“Thank you.” Ellen remembered the photos of Cheryl Villiers, née Martin, from her mother Gerry’s house. Cheryl had been the pretty sister with large blue eyes and the sprinkling of freckles on a perfect nose, and in person, she resembled Will, despite the crow’s-feet and the laugh lines bracketing her wide mouth.
“I even remembered the articles you wrote about adopting your baby, or Amy’s baby. I reread them online after my mom called. I thought they were really good.”
“Thanks.”
“They had a photo of the baby in the paper. It’s so strange to think that that little baby is Amy’s. My new nephew. I just can’t deal.” Cheryl smiled uncomfortably, showing lightened teeth. “My mother said you showed her some court documents. Could I see them?”
“Yes, of course.” Ellen dug in her purse and produced the adoption papers. “I really need to find Amy. I guess your mom told you, it’s just to get some medical history. If you remember from the article, Will had a serious heart problem when I adopted him.”
Cheryl read the papers, her head inclined at an inquisitive angle, so that her dark blond hair fell into her face. She had on a tan V-neck knit sweater, tight-fitting beige pants, and black leather flats.
“Do you think that’s Amy’s signature?”
“Yes, I do. It’s absolutely her signature.”
“How about on the consent form. Is that your signature?”
“No, I never signed this.” Cheryl looked up, her eyes frank in light makeup. “She forged it.”
“So what do you think’s going on here?”
“Amy didn’t want us to know about the baby, obviously.”
Bingo. “What about this twisted ovary business?”
“Look, my mom thinks that Amy couldn’t have had a baby, but I don’t agree. All the doctor said was that she probably couldn’t have a baby, and Amy made a big deal of that. Even my husband said she could conceive.” Cheryl’s tone resonated with resentment. “She’s a major drama queen. She just used the twisted ovary to get attention.”
“So do you think she had a baby?”
“Of course, it’s certainly possible. We all stopped seeing her about the same time. If she had a baby three years ago, I have no way of knowing it for sure. I was married by then, and we don’t see as much of my family.” Something flickered behind Cheryl’s eyes, but she guarded that emotion. “They all smoke, for one thing. We don’t tolerate smoking around