“You want to know about the Solomon tragedy.”
Adeline tried to slow the adrenaline rushing through her body, couldn’t slow the momentum. “Yes, sir. It’s of the utmost urgency. Sheriff Henderson and I are working a case involving two missing women and we believe there may somehow be a connection to the Solomon family.”
She was still reeling with the idea that she was adopted. Memories from her childhood kept flashing through her mind in some bizarre out-of-control fast-forward mode. Her father—she was his little angel. Her mother braiding her hair, taking her to school.
How could she not have come from those people?
There was no time for dealing with that now. Cherry Prescott and Penny Arnold were depending on her to find the facts and them.
Urgency or no, she understood, as the old priest sized her up, that he did not have to talk to her about the adoptions or the Solomon family. Even a warrant could not compel him to break his vow on the subject. Yet he’d agreed to see her. That had to mean he was willing to talk.
“You’re aware,” he ventured, “that I’m not obliged to discuss with you the details of a private adoption or any other personal knowledge related to a current or former member of my church.”
A mind reader, too. Before Adeline could launch another persuasive strategy, Wyatt said, “We’re very much aware of the sensitivity of the situation, Father. Any assistance you can provide will be greatly appreciated and may,” he urged, “help the two women—both wives and mothers—who are missing. We’ve exhausted every other avenue.”
Grayson cocked an eyebrow. “I watch the news, Sheriff. That’s why you’re sitting in my living room right now. I hadn’t made the connection between Ms. Prescott and Ms. Arnold. With the heinousness of crime mounting every day, sometimes it’s easier not to look so closely and to simply pray for the world as a whole.” He shifted his attention from Wyatt to Adeline. “But when I saw the two women’s photos side byside on the news this morning, I began to consider the possibility that I knew them or I had when they were children.”
Adeline eased to the edge of her seat. “If you’re not certain, Father, tell us now. Time is too short to be chasing our tails.”
“I did a little investigating of my own this afternoon.” Grayson set his eyeglasses aside. “If I weren’t certain of what I’m about to say,” he scolded, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He inspected her face with that too-keen gaze. “In truth, I could have answered your questions on the phone. But I wanted to see you before I made my decision on just how fully tocooperate, as you call it.”
“I feel confident your sheriff verified our credentials and relayed that verification to you before giving Sheriff Henderson your home phone number.” Adeline didn’t want to drag this out. She just wanted the man to get to the point. She had questions. He, apparently, had the answers.
“It wasn’t about your credentials. It was aboutyou.”
She braced for the tsunami about to blast her emotions.
“You’re the spitting image of your birth mother.”
Adeline rode out the initial impact of his announcement, then pushed aside the emotions that had no place in this investigation. She’d been doing that all night. “Anything you recall about the family and the adoptions could prove useful. At this point we don’t know how the fact that the victims are biological sisters ties into the abductions.”
He studied her a moment more, his expression too knowing for her comfort. He was reading her like an open book. She supposed a lifetime of shepherding his flock had honed his insights into people to an uncommonly perceptive level.
“Quentin Solomon took an axe to his wife and then attempted to do the same to his children.”
A shudder rocked through Adeline, every bit as jarring as when she’d read those words herself after a Google search on the name. It had taken some weeding out, considering the amount of time that had passed, but murder had a way of standing out amid the othersubject lines. She’d printed the most detailed information while Wyatt contacted the sheriff here in Hancock County. The tragic story of the Solomon family had elicited images that haunted her even hours after learning of it.
“He’d been a good husband and father up to that point,” the priest continued. “A good provider. Came to mass with his wife and children every week.” Grayson turned his palms up. “No one could understand what made him snap like that. No financial troubles. No marital problems. Some would say the devil’s doing. I would tend to agree.”
“There was a fourth child.” Adeline guided him toward the specific information she needed. “A son. What happened to him? Was he adopted by a family, as well?”
“Another tragedy unto itself,” Grayson explained without answering the question immediately. “The way I understand it, Tristan, he was ten at the time, hid his three sisters when the fight between his mother and father turned violent. When his father couldn’t get his hands on the smaller children, his rage escalated and he tried to kill Tristan. There was a frightening scuffle and Quentin fell on the axe, killing himself instead of his son.”
Jesus Christ. “What happened to Tristan?” Adeline asked again. That was the one part of the puzzle she didn’t have. The newspapers had pretty much explained the facts in the homicide case, but nothing about what became of the children. His whereabouts were crucial to their next move.
“The doctors believed that the sheer horror of the event pushed him over a mental edge,” Grayson explained. “His mind just locked down. He spoke to no one after that night. Not a word. I went to visit him as often as I could for a number of years, but then he refused my visits. The boy was completely mentally devastated.” Grayson held up a hand when Adeline would have asked her next question. “But he did recover eventually. He was transferred to an adult supervised living facility when he was twenty-one. He remained there for five additional years where he began occupational therapy. He learned a life skill and later merged into society. I believe thatwas about twelve years ago. Where he went from there has never been released to anyone other than myself. It’s my belief that he wanted a complete break from the past. Perhaps that was the only way he could cope.”
“Did he change his name?” she asked when the priest fell silent. “Is he still in Mississippi?”
Father Grayson clasped his hands in his lap. “This is the part that gets sticky for me.”
His position was easy to understand. Prescott and Arnold were missing and in clear and present danger; discussing their lives was an easier decision to make in light of that unquestionable urgency. But the boy—man—wasn’t involved or in any danger, to their knowledge.
“Yes, his name was changed to protect him from the horror of his past. Just as yours was changed.” Grayson searched Adeline’s eyes a moment longer. “With all that he’s already been through, I’m not sure that I can in good conscience facilitate your interference in his life.”
Adeline put a hand on Wyatt’s arm when he would have spoken. “Father Grayson, I don’t need to talk to Tristan. I just want to ensure he isn’t in any danger. If he’s at home, living his life, and hasn’t been contacted in any manner by our perpetrator, then there’s absolutely no reason for us to talk to him. Having a member of law enforcement in his community check in with him in a very casual manner would suffice. The problem is, for all we know, he could be missing already. He could be in imminent danger.”
Grayson saw through her strategy in a split second. “Or he could be yourperpetrator.”