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proved useful to Sam in the past. Manley
would do most anything for Sam—as long as it was legal.
    “Me? What do I know about being a guardian
for a 13-year-old?” exclaimed Sam.
    “Just consider her a client, dear. Take care
of your client. Now, what was your other point?”
    Sam was flabbergasted! His mother’s plan made
sense, but he wondered if he was the right person to carry it out.
He decided to drop it for now and discuss alternatives later, out
of earshot of Becky. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
    “The second point is, with all this testing
and studying at such an accelerated rate, when does Becky get to be
a kid? Interact with other children? Have a life?” Sam added.
    “That is a problem, but I have a partial
solution. I’ll enroll her in the Grayson Academy. They’ll teach her
social graces—I’ll help with that, too, of course—dancing,
interpersonal dialogs. That sort of thing. All the pre-debutantes
go there for their training. There will be boys and girls of her
age there,” replied Helena.
    “Rather stuffy solution,” interjected John,
“but a good idea. We’ll need to supplement that somehow.”
    “Well, the plan can be refined as we get into
it. Now, Rebecca, what do you think of all of this?”
    Becky, of course, was overwhelmed.
    “ I think it’s great! Do you really mean
it?” exclaimed Becky, grinning from ear to ear.
    She jumped up and ran to Helena and hugged
her.
    “Yes, Rebecca, we mean it,” replied Helena as
she patted Becky’s back. “There will be house rules, of course. The
most important one is that you will never lie to us about anything.
Always tell the truth and we can work out any problem.”
    Becky made the rounds, hugging everyone.
    Sam’s emotions were in turmoil. He did not
relish being responsible for other people’s welfare. That was why
he had turned down a field commission in ’Nam—balked at promotion
in the OCSD. He could look after himself very well, but a
13-year-old girl? He wasn’t sure. Was it fair to her?
    Helena continued, “Having admonished you
about telling the truth, Rebecca, I am sorry to say that we must
start this relationship with a white lie. It should not harm
anyone, however. We will say that you are a relative. You can call
me ‘Nana’ and Mr. Crown ‘Grandpa.’ Samuel will be an uncle. That
way, your living here will not raise a lot of unwarranted
questions. Besides, we want you to feel as if you are a
relative.”
    Sam said, “The judge is the only hurdle for
that. He may want to see some proof.”
    Helena frowned. “Try it anyway, dear. If it
turns out that you need papers of some sort, talk to your father.
I’m sure his old boy’s network can still come up with something.
Right, John?”
    John Crown shrugged and puffed on his pipe.
“I’m retired, dear.”
    “Of course you are, dear,” said Helena,
knowing her husband could still work mystical things. She had made
her wishes known—that was enough.
     

Chapter 8
     
    Thursday, August 13, 1998
    Santa Ana, CA
     
    On Thursday, August 13, Sam went to the
Coroner’s Office in Santa Ana to negotiate the release of Rachel’s
body. The guy on duty—Joe Murphy—knew Sam from his Sheriff’s days
and also knew he was a private detective now, so when Sam showed
him Rachel’s picture and told him he represented a client looking
for a missing girl, the man bought the story. After seeing the
picture, Murphy told Sam that they definitely had his missing
person and the cops were still searching for a next of kin so they
could release the body.
    “Have this guy come in and we can get the
paperwork done,” said Murphy.
    “The problem is, Joe, my client is out of the
country. But I’m his agent so you can release her to me. I’ll get
in touch with him and see what he wants to do about burial
arrangements,” lied Sam.
    “Well, that’s unusual, Sam.”
    “Not really. What if he sent a telegram from
London and told you to release her to me,” said Sam, thinking