Page 54 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“You must be so disappointed,” Eastlyn consoled.

“More like shocked but not. If you get what I’m saying. I’ve had weeks now to prepare for this moment, knowing that the headstone was a definite red flag. I’ve been learning things about Gran that I never knew before.”

Eastlyn brought out her notepad and took the bait. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that she kept things from me. Not half an hour ago, Daniel found a death certificate in her stack of papers.” Rowan pushed the document toward Brent. “It’s for Rowan Avery Eaton, issued when she was four years old. It says the child died from an accidental fall in Redwood City.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Brent offered, scanning both pieces of paper. He studied the death certificate the longest. “We’ll need copies of these for our files. Is that your social security number at the top?”

Rowan narrowed her eyes, focusing on the numbers. “No. It doesn’t match mine.”

“Okay. This makes for a good lead-up to what we’ve discovered on our end. Your mother—I’m sorry, Gwynn Dewhurst—obviously spent some years living within Santa Mateo County. It’s not that unusual since San Mateo borders Santa Cruz County and Gwynn grew up here. But now we may have cause to think that she obviously knew people, maybe the right kind of people who could get things done.”

“My mother? The drug-addled addict? That’s news to me. Although she did begin her addiction living in San Francisco. Or so Gran claimed. She loved spending time at Half Moon Bay, too,” Rowan pointed out. “She always loved the beach and droned on about living there. I mean, who does that when she grew up here in a beach community? Anyway, I don’t remember hearing her mention Redwood City. Not ever. Which is kind of weird. Don’t you think?”

“I’ll be straight with you. There’s no other reason to play games. From an investigative standpoint—and now based on your DNA findings—I’d say the next step is to find out who’s buried in that grave. Here’s the deal. According to cemetery records, in early December 1999, Jim Dewhurst bought an additional plot at Eternal Gardens. He’d already arranged and paid for his and Lynette’s. But in December of that year, he asked about buying another plot. The only plot closest to theirs available for sale at the time was the one in question, a few rows away. The cemetery logbook shows it was for his granddaughter, who Jim claimed had just passed away. Fairly standard stuff so far. The only problem is Vital Statistics doesn’t show Gwynn Dewhurst ever gave birth, let alone to a daughter named Rowan Avery Dewhurst.”

“Eaton,” Rowan corrected.

Brent shook his head as Daniel brought over a tray with a pot of coffee, two cups, and the cream and sugar. After pouring a cup for Brent, Daniel slid in next to the police chief.

“We think Eaton was a made-up name for your birth certificate,” Brent noted, measuring sugar into his coffee. “Now, you’re handing me a death certificate verified by a funeral director for a four-year-old. Red flags all over that.”

Rowan took back the death certificate to see for herself. “A funeral director? Do they have the authority to do that? What about a child dying under mysterious circumstances? Isn’t that type of death usually scrutinized by the coroner? Deaths of children shouldn’t fly under the radar.”

“Absolutely,” Brent fired back. “It reeks of something sinister."

“We can’t find an Atticus Eaton anywhere. We checked,” Eastlyn tossed out. “We think your birth certificate is a forgery. And Atticus Eaton never existed. We think Gwynn or maybe Jim and Lynette made up a father’s name when they created your fake birth certificate.”

“What if the death certificate is fake, too?” Daniel voiced. When he got a blank stare from Rowan, he clarified, “Think about it. Nothing else seems real. Why wouldn’t the death certificate be phony since they relied on a funeral director for verification? Can you track down this guy?”

“We’ll certainly give it a shot.”

Rowan shifted in her chair. “But why? Why all the deception?”

“They were covering up something,” Daniel offered and earned a nod from Brent.

“But what exactly is the big question,” Brent emphasized. “Which is why I’m moving forward with an exhumation of the grave. I’d already come to that conclusion before Daniel’s call came in tonight and before you produced this death certificate or had knowledge of the DNA not matching. Add in how someone keeps tossing your houses. Chances are, whoever this is keeps looking for something to do with the Dewhurst mess.”

“Dewhurst mess,” Rowan repeated. “That’s a perceptive take, especially considering everything in totality. Like Eastlyn said that day in the conference room, the headstone by itself doesn’t prove much. It’s just a weird coincidence. But add in all the other stuff and you get a giant mystery taking shape. What in the world could’ve made my grandparents take part in such a hare-brained scheme?”

“Parents do dumb things to protect their kids,” Brent pointed out. “Happens all the time.”

“Listen to me. My grandparents,” Rowan said. “Force of habit. They’re not even that. I don’t know where I came from or who I belonged to when I was born. What’s my real date of birth? Could I be the little girl from the shipwreck? What was her name again? Hallie Snelling. Maybe that’s me.”

“Your letter does mention that a genealogy report will follow,” Daniel reminded her, thinking about his own situation. Had his mother Valerie been trying to protect him from the truth or just going the extra mile to cover up an affair? But this wasn’t the time to dwell on his own family dynamic. At least now he knew why he’d felt like the odd man out for three decades. He reached across the table and laid a hand on Rowan’s. “Maybe genealogy will provide some answers.”

“That and cracking open a grave,” Brent surmised, sipping from his coffee mug. “Sometimes taking that drastic step is the only way to get at the truth.”

“Are we saying that Gwynn never had a child at all?” Rowan asked, wanting to clear up that theory. “At all? As in no natural children?”

Eastlyn put down her pen. “That’s according to official state records. We’d need to double-check the other forty-nine states to make sure that’s true. She might’ve given birth outside California. Or in a private institution. Even then, it would show up somewhere given the massive background we did. I doubt she ever had a daughter of her own, though.”

“Unless there was something about the birth that Jim and Lynette wanted to keep hidden,” Daniel proffered, trading looks with Rowan. “There was the loan taken out in November 1999 against the house.”

Rowan nodded, biting her lip. “You’re suggesting they could’ve used that money to pay off someone because a cemetery plot doesn’t cost thirty grand, does it?”

“Okay, it’s possible Gwynn could’ve given birth under some other circumstances,” Eastlyn conceded. “But remember how we talked about the likelihood of Gwynn kidnapping another child? Right now, that seems like the more plausible explanation for why you’re sitting here wondering about where you came from rather than wondering if Gwynn had a daughter of her own.”

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