Read Online The Wrong Girl by Hank Phillippi Ryan - Free Book Online
Authors: Hank Phillippi Ryan
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the mirror. “I’m pissed off now. Truly. I’m getting to the bottom of this. And I’m so grateful for your help.”
“ She’ll be the pissed off one,” Jane said. “The last thing Ella Gavin wants is a reporter sniffing around. That’s the last thing anyone wants. I’ll wait for you here.”
Tuck tugged the black cap from her head, revealing a cascade of newly auburned curls.
“Whoa,” Jane said.
“Told you I was pissed,” Tuck said. “I had to do something. Anyway, why don’t you wear this hat, stick your hair underneath, and here, wear my sunglasses. I’ll say you’re my friend. Can you do a Southern accent?”
“It’ll never work.”
“It’ll work.”
Jane watched a stocky young woman in a toggle-front wool jacket and lace-up snow boots appear from between a row of cars, pause, and draw a fringed black-and-white woolen scarf closer around her neck. The sun glared off the hoods of the rows of cars, and scarf lady shielded her eyes with a mittened hand.
“I bet that’s her.” Fine. Maybe Tuck would finally explain why she thought the Brannigan had made a mistake. Fine. As a favor to a former colleague, she’d go in, find out, get it over with, leave. “She’s looking at her watch, but not running for a train.”
“Fab,” Tuck said. “We’ll let her go first, then we’ll—”
Jane closed her eyes, changed her mind, turned on the ignition. “Tuck. Wait. This is so … personal. I feel like I’m intruding. You go in and get the scoop. I’ll go to the paper, work on my own stuff like I’m supposed to, and meet you for lunch. Then you can tell me everything. If you want.”
“Hey, turn that thing off, Jane. I want you to come. And what if this is a huge story?” Tuck said. “I mean, Ella Gavin called me back, right? She’s gotta know something. Or be guilty about something. Maybe she discovered the woman I met in Connecticut is a … a … some kind of con artist. Who pretends to be people’s mothers and then rips them off. That’d be a story, wouldn’t it?”
Jane faced Tuck, looking at her from under her lashes, skeptical. This was Tuck’s life, not a news story. “You’re kidding, right?”
The woman in the muffler had scurried into the coffee shop, disappeared through the revolving door. Their appointment was for 8:15. The dashboard clock said 8:15.
“Okay, so no.” Tuck dismissed the idea with a flick of her palm. Then she touched Jane on her sleeve, entreating. “But Jane. Seriously. I have to find out. I do. What if…”
This had the potential for disaster. Tuck should be prepared for a truth she didn’t expect.
“Tuck? ‘What if’ this Ella Gavin has confirmed Carlyn Beerman is your birth mother? And that’s what she’s about to tell you?”
Jane worried she was crossing some line. But Tuck had put her there. “What if you really are Audrey Rose?”
*
Ella Gavin wished she’d brought a hat, wished her feet weren’t so cold, wished she were anywhere but here in the parking lot of the Riverside T station. And this was all her idea. She squinted against the sun—how could it be so bright and be snowing at the same time? It was like everything was happening at once.
Which it was.
All she had to do was turn around, hop back on the T, show up at the Brannigan, and if anyone asked, say she’d gotten the all-clear from the dentist. She’d e-mailed Ms. Finch about her “early-morning appointment,” reassuring her supervisor she’d be in by 9:30. The folder of paperwork—in her Target shopping bag in case she had to take it back to the Brannigan—would be well-camouflaged. She could throw it away, or shred it, or, heck, toss it in a trash can here at the station. Done and done.
She was leaving.
But what would she tell Tucker Cameron? It was Ella’s suggestion they meet. If she canceled, or didn’t show up—that didn’t mean the inquisitive Miss Cameron would go away. It meant she’d persist. Certainly call the Brannigan, and probably
“ She’ll be the pissed off one,” Jane said. “The last thing Ella Gavin wants is a reporter sniffing around. That’s the last thing anyone wants. I’ll wait for you here.”
Tuck tugged the black cap from her head, revealing a cascade of newly auburned curls.
“Whoa,” Jane said.
“Told you I was pissed,” Tuck said. “I had to do something. Anyway, why don’t you wear this hat, stick your hair underneath, and here, wear my sunglasses. I’ll say you’re my friend. Can you do a Southern accent?”
“It’ll never work.”
“It’ll work.”
Jane watched a stocky young woman in a toggle-front wool jacket and lace-up snow boots appear from between a row of cars, pause, and draw a fringed black-and-white woolen scarf closer around her neck. The sun glared off the hoods of the rows of cars, and scarf lady shielded her eyes with a mittened hand.
“I bet that’s her.” Fine. Maybe Tuck would finally explain why she thought the Brannigan had made a mistake. Fine. As a favor to a former colleague, she’d go in, find out, get it over with, leave. “She’s looking at her watch, but not running for a train.”
“Fab,” Tuck said. “We’ll let her go first, then we’ll—”
Jane closed her eyes, changed her mind, turned on the ignition. “Tuck. Wait. This is so … personal. I feel like I’m intruding. You go in and get the scoop. I’ll go to the paper, work on my own stuff like I’m supposed to, and meet you for lunch. Then you can tell me everything. If you want.”
“Hey, turn that thing off, Jane. I want you to come. And what if this is a huge story?” Tuck said. “I mean, Ella Gavin called me back, right? She’s gotta know something. Or be guilty about something. Maybe she discovered the woman I met in Connecticut is a … a … some kind of con artist. Who pretends to be people’s mothers and then rips them off. That’d be a story, wouldn’t it?”
Jane faced Tuck, looking at her from under her lashes, skeptical. This was Tuck’s life, not a news story. “You’re kidding, right?”
The woman in the muffler had scurried into the coffee shop, disappeared through the revolving door. Their appointment was for 8:15. The dashboard clock said 8:15.
“Okay, so no.” Tuck dismissed the idea with a flick of her palm. Then she touched Jane on her sleeve, entreating. “But Jane. Seriously. I have to find out. I do. What if…”
This had the potential for disaster. Tuck should be prepared for a truth she didn’t expect.
“Tuck? ‘What if’ this Ella Gavin has confirmed Carlyn Beerman is your birth mother? And that’s what she’s about to tell you?”
Jane worried she was crossing some line. But Tuck had put her there. “What if you really are Audrey Rose?”
*
Ella Gavin wished she’d brought a hat, wished her feet weren’t so cold, wished she were anywhere but here in the parking lot of the Riverside T station. And this was all her idea. She squinted against the sun—how could it be so bright and be snowing at the same time? It was like everything was happening at once.
Which it was.
All she had to do was turn around, hop back on the T, show up at the Brannigan, and if anyone asked, say she’d gotten the all-clear from the dentist. She’d e-mailed Ms. Finch about her “early-morning appointment,” reassuring her supervisor she’d be in by 9:30. The folder of paperwork—in her Target shopping bag in case she had to take it back to the Brannigan—would be well-camouflaged. She could throw it away, or shred it, or, heck, toss it in a trash can here at the station. Done and done.
She was leaving.
But what would she tell Tucker Cameron? It was Ella’s suggestion they meet. If she canceled, or didn’t show up—that didn’t mean the inquisitive Miss Cameron would go away. It meant she’d persist. Certainly call the Brannigan, and probably
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