Page 75 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

“Why are you back here? Why don’t we go out front?” Will prompted.

“Because I don’t want this getting back to Brent Cody that I’m calling people from the commune. You have no idea how fast gossip travels in a small town. You should’ve heard him blast me for going to Redwood City.”

“I see. But couldn’t we do this from your house?”

“If the shop gets busy, I can always help out. I can’t do that if I’m sitting at my dining table.”

“Okay. How’s it going so far?” Will asked, getting rid of his jacket.

Stuffed into the postage-sized storage, Rowan handed off her sheet of notes. “Those are the ones I could get hold of, but I still have all these to get to. We could split up the rest and make it go faster.”

Will scanned the list. “Did you get all these people to talk to you?”

“At first, most were embarrassed to admit they were part of it. But once I got them that far, they opened up. It’s sad that so many got taken in by Dodge’s false promises. They really did think they’d found Utopia.”

“The cult mentality baffles me. The subject might make for a good book.”

She smacked Will’s arm. “Unless you want the cult topic to focus on debauchery, drugs, and sex, I’d pass on it and focus on the journey to find Hallie. That seems far more fascinating than following a nutcase drug dealer who manipulates people.”

Will rubbed his upper arm. “That hurt. You’re bossy, just like my sister used to get when she wanted her way.”

“Oh, stop complaining and get to work,” Rowan directed as she keyed in another number. “We’ll never get anywhere unless you start using your investigation skills.”

Will got to work on his cell phone. Their calls didn’t yield much about the commune’s specific adoption practices. But they learned Nichols kept his businesses separate from the drug operation. Rumors suggested that he let someone else oversee the vast amount of paperwork involved in making an adoption look and feel legit. They did gather more names to research—people who might have the legal expertise to conduct a successful adoption ring.

“It sounds like Nichols handed off the forgery part to another party with legal experience,” Rowan gleaned. “A case in point. Me. My birth certificate looks genuine. Who would a drug dealer have trusted enough to do that? A lawyer in town he knew could get the job done without throwing up red flags.”

“Had to be someone close to him,” Will assessed. “He wouldn’t let just anyone manage the legal stuff unless he knew they wouldn’t screw it up and leave a trail that led right back to him. That means it has to be someone at the top. We just need to find that person. Did anyone ever drag Nichols into court? Because whoever represented him early on must’ve partnered with him later in the adoption racket. Think about it. To produce the right adoption papers and birth certificates requires a person with a specialized background.”

“That’s a great idea. We should check that out.” Rowan looked up from her cell phone to see Eastlyn standing several feet away.

“What are you guys doing?” Eastlyn wanted to know.

“I could lie and make something up,” Rowan said, getting to her feet. “But I doubt you’d believe me. We’re calling the names on the list Phoebe sent me.”

Eastlyn glared at Will. “Who are you?”

“Will Snelling. I’m looking for my sister Hallie.”

Eastlyn traded looks with Rowan. “The newspapers said the whole Snelling family—”

Rowan lifted her chin and didn’t let her finish. “The newspapers were wrong. The whole family didn’t die. Will’s here and we think Hallie survived, too. We think she somehow ended up at the Celestial Moon Commune. We’re making these calls hoping to track her down.”

“That’s an extreme long shot if I ever heard one,” Eastlyn reasoned.

“We know. But long shots sometimes have a way of paying off. Will and I decided to partner up on this. If he finds Hallie, then there’s a chance I can also track down my parents. Did you find anything out about Tamsin Southwick?”

“That’s why I’m here. I can’t find any connection between Tamsin and Gwynn Dewhurst?”

“You’re sure about that?”

“I suppose Gwynn could’ve been at the same party,” Eastlyn conceded. “But her name doesn’t show up on the official list of witnesses. According to the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department, there were approximately seventy guests who wandered in and out of that beach house near the lagoon. Tamsin Southwick was one of those guests. She was twenty-one at the time of her death. She’d been drinking heavily—as had all the guests—because the party had been going on for three days over Thanksgiving weekend.”

“And drugs,” Rowan prompted.

“I’m sure there were plenty of those, too. I managed to track down some of the witnesses who gave statements that Saturday night, the night Tamsin died. They were more forthcoming twenty-four years later than they had been when it happened. They remembered Tamsin because she was British. A few people claim she showed up Thursday morning with a kid, a little girl in tow, but they weren’t positive about either detail. No one could agree on whether she actually had a child with her or when she arrived. They did remember the host passing out ecstasy and cocaine as party favors. With drugs and booze flowing, no one could remember the exact time Tamsin went into the pool or under what circumstances. But at some point, someone realized she’d jumped into the pool supposedly after the child. It’s more likely in her drug-induced state that she fell in and couldn’t get out. And before you say anything else, there is no mention of a little girl in the official report. The owners of the house found Tamsin dead the next morning, floating in the pool.”

“What do you mean the owners? I told you Dodge Nichols owned that house,” Rowan insisted. “We already checked the county tax records.”

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