Page 178 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass

Danielle nodded. “I couldn’t keep everything when I moved several years ago, but I kept the things I knew Sam would want if she ever came back—the pink blanket you loved so much.”

“Pink blanket?”

“The one you liked to sleep with?”

Callie shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything about my mother.”

“Oh.” Danielle clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. “I couldn’t bring myself to throw out her paintbrushes—”

Callie’s back snapped straight. “She was a painter?”

Danielle nodded. “She was a very talented artist.” She reached forward, grabbing one of the canvases of a grinning three- or four-year-old Callie and handed it to her.

Callie touched it, gently gliding her finger over the outline of the preschooler’s face, then the sweeping S in the right-hand corner. “My mother did this?”

“Yes.” Danielle smiled. “She would dab at one glob of paint, then another, and beautiful things would appear on the canvas. It always seemed like magic—maybe the way it might be for you with your work.” She picked up the second painting of a park scene in the spring. “This was her favorite.”

Nate studied the insane detail and lifelike images of trees and flowers in early bloom. Callie had definitely inherited her creative genius from her mother.

“It’s breathtaking.” Callie touched Samantha’s signature S in the corner. “Would you mind—I would love to see the blanket.”

Danielle smiled. “Please go ahead.”

Nate put a halting hand on Callie’s leg as she moved to stand. “Actually, I’d like to keep the box closed.”

Callie frowned. “But—”

“I’m going to need to keep the contents with me at the sheriff’s office—see if I can get some prints and run them through IAFIS. It’s the fingerprint identification system. Maybe we can track her down that way.”

Callie nodded, but the disappointment radiating in her eyes was unmistakable. “Okay.”

Danielle looked at Nate. “I found the other pictures I was telling you about. I had to dig a little.” She opened an old picture book. “This is one of Callie and my kids, Trenton and Daisy, when we were up at Sebago Lake in Maine. Trenton is about six months older than you, Callie, and Daisy has you by almost two years. The three of you were inseparable.” She handed the book to Nate. “I took the picture on the bottom right a few months after Sam and Callie moved in with us.”

Nate studied a pretty baby and her young mother, both of them dressed in coats, hats, mittens, and boots. “How old were they here?”

“Sam was probably right around twenty—close to twenty-one if I’m thinking right. Callie had to be just shy of a year and a half.”

Callie looked from the picture to Danielle. “I still can’t believe how young she was.”

Danielle nodded. “Nineteen when she had you.”

“What about my father?”

“Jonah Tracey. He never had anything to do with you.”

“How long was Samantha with Jonah?” Nate wanted to know.

“Mmm, long enough for Sam to get herself pregnant and realize he was no good. A couple months I think. He was in and out of jail quite a bit. The typical good-looking bad-boy type every girl falls for at least once in her life.”

Callie’s eyes widened. “My biological father was in jail?”

“More often than not. Couldn’t stay out of trouble. Have no idea where he’s at now.”

Callie swallowed. “Oh.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anything about your grandfather,” Danielle continued. “You and Sam lived with your grandmother over in Mattipan after you were born, but it wasn’t a good situation.”

“Why?” Callie asked.