Page 171 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

“And how did you know Ms. Fletcher?”

“She was my roommate. She and Callie lived with me and my two kids.”

He rushed to his feet with the revelation. They’d received nothing but bogus shit over the last few days, but something about this felt like it might be legit. “How long were you roommates?”

“Um, almost three years.”

He frowned and paced away from his desk, growing more restless. “Is this the first you’re hearing about the story? About Little Girl Lost?”

“No.”

He wanted to know why in the hell she was just now calling law enforcement after twenty-two years, but being a dick about it wouldn’t get him very far. “Can I ask why you’ve waited to get in contact?”

“Because I saw her on the news yesterday—Callie. With you. She looks so much like Sam.”

He rubbed at his jaw. So far, this woman appeared to be the real deal, but he wanted more—to know that this wasn’t another scum-of-the-earth opportunist like Maxwell Battleman. Callie’s money and fame were strong motivators to come forward. “You’re living in Boston?”

“Roxbury.”

“Can I get your name?”

“Danielle.”

He sat again, picking up a pen. “What about a last name?”

“I don’t feel comfortable telling you.”

If worse came to worst, he had her number. He could access her information that way. “That’s fine. Danielle, we’ve had a lot of people calling in—lots of wild goose chases that aren’t doing anything to help Callie find her mother. Do you have anything that could verify your connection to Samantha and Callie?”

“I have some pictures—just Polaroid shots we took a long time ago.”

He wanted them. “If I give you my email address, can you send them to me?”

“I’ll have to look for them. I like to take pictures, so I have albums everywhere. I have a box of her stuff too—Sam’s stuff.”

If this was for real, he wanted the box too. “Do you think you could get me the pictures today?”

“Yes. Let me find them and I’ll send them.”

“Sounds great.”

“Bye.” She hung up.

He set the landline back in its cradle, then grabbed his cell phone, sending off his department email address in a text as he sat on the edge of his desk. He set the phone down, then crossed his arms, clenching and unclenching his jaw, more hopeful than it was wise to be at this point. If this wasn’t a bunch of bullshit, he and Sanchez had their big break.

He gained his feet and walked to the window, watching the huge orange plow pushing the slushy mix past the station’s parking lot while sand spewed from the back of the truck. Nate tossed out a wave and paced to his desk, growing restless as five minutes turned into ten, then fifteen. He wanted this to be real. He wanted to give Callie some of her answers—like her birth name, for starters.

Finally, his computer alerted to a new email. Sitting at his desk, he opened the document sent from a Danielle Deluca, hoping that she wasn’t some first-class con messing with him and sending him some sort of virus or malware.

I could only find one, but I know I have more.

“That’ll do,” he murmured as he clicked on the attachment, staring at a picture of Callie sitting in a child-safe swing at a city park. Samantha Fletcher wore jean shorts and a plaid tank top as she leaned down next to her daughter, grinning for the camera. “Dear Christ, there you are.” His heart raced as he fumbled with the phone and lifted the receiver, calling Danielle’s number back.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Danielle, this is Sheriff Nate Carter again. Thanks for sending the picture.”

“I know I have more, but I think those albums might be packed away.”