His brows rose. “Why?” She told him her suspicions, and he frowned. “I’ll have a DNA test run.”
There was something in his manner she couldn’t be putting her finger on. Lack of surprise, maybe?
“I didn’t think you’d consider such a thing.”
“We need to keep an open mind.”
“Didn’t you already run tests on Jesse and Liam? After the accident?”
“We did.”
“And?”
“The results didn’t come in until yesterday. They were”—he searched for a word—“inconclusive.”
“So how did you identify them?”
Adams looked taken aback. “Jesse said he was Jesse. And as of this moment, we still have no reason to doubt him.” He went to the door and opened it. “I’ll be in touch.”
Frowning, she left the office. If there’d been a misidentification, it would be the police’s fault. Had he been suspicious of something like this already and didn’t want to admit it?
Backing out of the parking space, she turned the car toward the Travellers’ community. What was she going to say to her great-grandfather? Perspiration broke out on her forehead, and she flipped the air conditioning on high. He might have forgotten she even existed—if he ever knew. She had no memory of him. All she remembered was living hand-to-mouth at the camp, each month in a different family’s house.
She drove to the Travellers’ village without another incident. Children played in the yards and stared at the car as she slowly drove through. The clouds were dark out to the east. Did these children know a hurricane was coming?
Two little girls were close to the road. She rolled down her window. “Where can I find Darby Costello?”
The tallest girl, her light brown hair in pigtails, pointed down the street. “In the silver trailer at the end of the road.”
“Thanks. Did you girls hear we have a hurricane warning?” They stared back at her. One nodded. “Watch the sky, okay?” She drove on slowly, taking in the expensive houses set amid others that were more modest. Mobile homes also added to the mix. She’d never seen anything quite like it. The Travellers here had done well for themselves.
This time of year, most of the men would be gone working their trade, some working their cons. That was the problem. The bad ones tarnished the good ones. And there were good ones. A majority really.
There it was. Her great-grandfather’s trailer had seen better days. It was a steel travel trailer with more dents than smooth metal. The yard held flowers, so Alanna deduced someone cared enough to try to pretty it up. Maybe some of the neighborhood women.
She parked the car and got out, taking care to lock the vehicle. As she approached the trailer, she heard a TV blaring out the news. What would he say when he saw her? Would her mother have warned him she might be coming?
She wet her dry lips and rapped her knuckles on the door.
“I’m coming!” a tremulous voice shouted from inside.
She heard a bang as if he’d dropped something, then some shuffling. The door opened and a wizened old man peered out at her. Darby Costello was bald except for tufts of white hair above each ear. He wore a flannel shirt and a pair of denim coveralls in spite of the heat. The rubber soles on his slippers nearly flopped off as he walked.
Bleary blue eyes regarded her. He spoke words she didn’t understand at first. She listened closer and realized he was speaking Cant, the Gaelic-derived language of her childhood.
When he spoke again, she caught it. “Yes, I’m Alanna,” she said in English. “How did you know who I was?”
“Yer mum was by.” He turned his back on her. “Come in. I been expecting you.” He shuffled away from the door.
Alanna followed him into a tiny living room crowded with worn furniture. The pungent odor of chewing tobacco wafted up from a chipped enamel spittoon. The smell of the tobacco brought back a dim memory of her sitting on a man’s lap. This man’s? She studied the angles and planes of his wrinkled face but couldn’t dredge up the memory any better.
He pointed to the orange sofa. “Sit.”
She sat on the sofa and waited until he shuffled to his recliner. “What did Maire tell you?”
“That you’re looking for yer sister.” He opened a pouch of Copenhagen and tucked a nip of it into his cheek.
Alanna leaned forward. “Have you heard from Neila since she left?”
He nodded. “She called every month for a while. Ain’t heard from her in over three years though.”
Her hope sputtered. “Do you have a phone number for her? Have you tried to call her?”
“Called once’t. No one answered. Figured if she wanted to talk to me, she’d be calling.”
Alanna’s pulse began to race. What would it be like to hear her sister’s voice after all this time? “Could I get her number?”
He regarded her with rheumy eyes. “Wouldn’t gain you nothing. That horse is dead.”
“She’s my sister. I’ve never stopped missing her. Please, I have to find her.”