Looking down, she said, “I started this when I was eight. To remind you of the family order, by the time Michael turned six, David was ten years old, Ryan was twelve, and I was fourteen.”
“I’m aware of that,” I said. I could see she was stringing it out and I could hardly keep from rolling my eyes.
“I can assure you, you’re unaware of this,” she said. “To celebrate his birthday that year, Mom and Dad took us all to Disneyland. You can see for yourself.”
She pointed to a photograph that showed a costumed Mickey Mouse and Cinderella in the background. All four kids were seated at a table in an outdoor café, leaning toward the center so the photographer could get them all in one shot. Michael and his siblings wore paper hats, all of them grinning for the camera. The paper tablecloth, napkins, and cups were decorated with Happy Birthday greetings in several different fonts. The birthday cake was at Michael’s place, with six candles burning away merrily.
I nearly said, So what? I was thinking, Shit, a birthday doesn’t have to be celebrated on the actual day. Parents can throw a party anytime they please.
Diana sensed my response and moved her finger to the date along the bottom of the photograph. July 21, 1967. “You might note these as well if you’re not convinced.”
She turned the pages for me like a teacher reading a picture book upside down so I’d have it in perspective. She’d pasted in dated programs, ticket stubs, receipts, and additional snapshots that showed the kids on a variety of rides. Every item that bore a date supported her claim.
Ryan spoke up as though on cue. “There’s something else.”
“I can hardly wait.”
“It’s about the Kirkendalls.”
He was hoping I’d prompt him, but I was tired of their routine. I said nothing, forcing him to flounder on without an assist. He cleared his throat and coughed once, saying, “Sorry. Keith Kirkendall was a CPA who embezzled $1.5 million from the firm he worked for. The discrepancies showed up during an independent audit and the authorities were closing in. He took his family and vanished overnight.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Good. Then I’ll get to the point. By July 17, when the news of Kirkendall’s crime appeared in the local paper, the family was gone. On Friday, the twenty-first, the house was empty and not a stick of furniture remained. Even if Michael hadn’t been at Disneyland, he couldn’t have been there.”
I was silent for a moment, calculating rapidly. “Maybe it was the week before. July fourteenth instead of the twenty-first.” I was talking off the top of my head, desperate to salvage the story Michael had told me with such conviction.
Diana wagged an index finger. “No, no, no,” she said, as though correcting an errant child. “Mary Claire was kidnapped on the nineteenth. If Michael had seen the men the week before—even if he was correct about what they were up to—the bundle couldn’t have been her. She was still alive and well.”
I closed my mouth and stared at them.
Diana Alvarez’s eyes were bright with triumph. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. Offhand . . . except for an incident in first grade . . . I couldn’t think when I’d felt so humiliated. I’d believed Sutton. I’d persuaded others he was telling the truth. Now here I sat, feeling like an ass. I didn’t care that my ego had taken a hit. I cared because we were back to square one where Mary Claire was concerned. The link, as tenuous as it might have been, was gone.
Diana reached into her tote again, this time pulling out a file folder that she then pushed across the desk. “I made copies of the photographs from Disneyland. I also made copies of the clippings about Keith Kirkendall so you can read them at your leisure. I knew you wouldn’t be content to take our word for it.”
I pushed the folder back across the desk. “I appreciate the offer, but you’ll want those for your latest scrapbook.”
She left the folder where it was. “I made duplicates. That’s yours to keep. We’ve already dropped off a set for Lieutenant Phillips.”
Ryan fixed his big brown eyes on me with a phony look of pity and regret. Briefly I considered leaping across the desk and biting him until he bled.
“Sorry you had to go through this,” he said. “It’s typical of Michael, but that doesn’t make it any less infuriating.”
“Have you told him?”
Diana said, “No. As you know, we’re not on the best of terms. We thought the blow might be softer if it came from you.”