The Substitute

Chapter 15 — The Sister

Detective Lindqvist met them in Augusta the next morning. She was younger than Nora expected — early forties, no-nonsense, with a file that was already thick.

“We’ve reopened the Ashford case,” she said. “Arson, kidnapping, fraud. The insurance documents alone are enough for the arson charge — posthumously, but it clears the way for everything else.”

“What about Boyle?” Rachel asked. “The buried statement?”

“Chief Harlan Boyle is under investigation for obstruction. Pete Kowalski gave a formal statement yesterday.” Lindqvist’s smile was thin. “Small towns protect their own. Until they don’t.”

“And the note?” Nora asked. “The one left with me at the hospital?”

“We’re getting a court order for the file. A handwriting expert will compare it to Eleanor’s and Thomas’s known samples.” Lindqvist leaned forward. “Ms. Calloway — there’s something else. We ran a DNA test. Yours, from the hospital records when you were placed. Against Margaret Hale’s — she volunteered a sample.”

Nora held her breath.

“You’re her niece. The match is conclusive. You’re an Ashford.” Lindqvist paused. “But here’s what’s interesting. We also compared your DNA to the sample on file from —” She stopped.

“From what?”

“From Lena.” Lindqvist pulled out a document. “When Milo Ashford was placed in foster care, the state took DNA samples from the family for identification purposes. They had Thomas’s, Eleanor’s, and — from a hairbrush recovered from the house — Lena’s.”

“And?”

“Your DNA doesn’t match Lena’s hairbrush sample.” Lindqvist met her eyes. “It matches as a sibling — a twin — but not as the same person. You really are Nora. The other twin.”

Nora exhaled slowly. Confirmation. She was Nora. She’d always been Nora.

“So where’s Lena?” Rachel asked. “If Thomas died in 2010 —”

“We’ve requested the Nova Scotia files. If Lena was with him, there may be records. School enrollments, medical files, something.” Lindqvist stood up. “We’ll find her, Ms. Calloway. Or we’ll find out what happened to her. I promise.”

They drove back to Portland in silence. Nora stared out the window at the highway blurring past.

“You’re quiet,” Rachel said.

“I’m thinking about the drawing. The one in Thomas’s car. A house on fire, with ‘she’s still in there’ on the back. In an adult’s handwriting.” Nora turned to look at her. “Whose handwriting, Rachel? A child’s drawing, but an adult wrote on the back.”

“Thomas’s?”

“Or Lena’s. If she was with him — if she grew up with him — she would’ve been thirteen when he died. Old enough to write. Old enough to —” Nora stopped.

“To what?”

“To remember. To draw the fire. Just like Milo.” Nora’s voice was barely a whisper. “Rachel. What if Lena’s been drawing the same thing? What if she’s out there, somewhere, drawing burning houses and writing ‘she’s still in there’?”

“Then we’ll find her,” Rachel said firmly. “The detective’s on it. Nova Scotia, Portland, everywhere. We’ll find her.”

But Nora was thinking about the note. *Keep her safe. Her name is Lena.*

If Lena had brought Nora to that hospital — if the brave one had saved the quiet one — then where had Lena gone after?

Back to Thomas? Or somewhere else?

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

She almost ignored it. Then she answered.

“Hello?”

Silence. Breathing.

“Hello? Who is this?”

A woman’s voice — young, hesitant, with a strange, careful cadence, like someone speaking a language they haven’t used in years:

“Is this — is this Nora?”

Nora’s blood turned to ice.

“Who is this?” she whispered.

“It’s me.” A pause. “It’s Lena.”