sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Her legs had gone rubbery; she was afraid she’d fall.
“It doesn’t say anything about Florida,” he pointed out as though that might leave some hope.
Serenity struggled to gather her splintered thoughts. “That doesn’t mean anything. We don’t know that Lorelei was conceived in Florida, or even born in Florida—only that she was found there.”
Sawyer still seemed skeptical. “But your uncle handled the adoptions for an agency here in California.”
“So?”
“So how could Reagan be adopted in Cincinnati?”
At first Serenity thought he had a point. She assumed what she was piecing together couldn’t be the truth. But when she considered how desperate the church would’ve been to bury the scandal, she changed her mind. “If I was the church, I’d work with only one agency. The fewer people who know, the better.”
“That’s true,” Sawyer agreed. “I guess he could’ve called an agency in Cincinnati and worked with them to place Reagan. He could easily have done the same with Lorelei.”
“So this...priest, Father Greenstone, who had sex with those young girls in his parish—you think he got some of them pregnant?” Lorelei said. “That you, Reagan and I are the result of those pregnancies?”
Serenity was so busy examining the puzzle from all angles, trying to determine if the picture coming together in her mind was actually possible, it took her a moment to respond. “That’s what this indicates to me.”
Sawyer spoke up again. “The timing is right. This says he was convicted thirty years ago, which means he was free the years before that to prey on the young women he came into contact with. And instead of calling the authorities, the church moved him. That’s what they did back then, to avoid the publicity.”
“But Lorelei’s two years younger than we are,” Reagan said. “Moving him didn’t help. He must’ve done the same thing at least once more.”
“And the church probably paid off the mothers and got rid of the babies,” Sawyer said. “Vance must’ve known who his client was, and he told your mother.”
Reagan’s forehead creased. “That’s what I don’t get. Why would he tell her?”
“She could’ve demanded more information,” Sawyer replied. “Or he thought he could confide in her. It would be pretty scandalous news, and let’s face it—scandalous news is always the hardest to keep a lid on. Once he opened his mouth, maybe he regretted it. Hence the letter.”
“If word got out, it would’ve cost him his job,” Serenity said.
“But he’d be more likely to tell his brother, wouldn’t he?” Lorelei asked.
Serenity shook her head. “My father would’ve gone to the police or the press. I know him—and so does Vance. I can see why he didn’t do that.”
“If this is all true, we’re the product of...what? Rape?” Lorelei was still trying to grasp it all.
“This doesn’t read like it was forced,” Sawyer replied. “Father Greenstone got into relationships with these girls.”
“So it was statutory rape.”
“Looks that way.”
Lorelei’s eyebrows slid up. “That’s what connects us?”
Serenity touched her arm. As shocked and sad as she was for herself, she felt worse for Lorelei. Lorelei hadn’t had a Chuck and Charlotte to take over and raise her. She hadn’t even had a Rosalind. “It does explain everything—why Reagan’s mother never told her she was adopted, and why my mother didn’t tell me.”
“A lot of children know they were adopted and don’t know anything about their birth parents,” Lorelei said.
“Maybe my mother didn’t know,” Reagan said. “My father could’ve arranged it.”
“That’s possible,” Serenity allowed. “But even if she did know, I’m betting she couldn’t tell you. So many adopted children try to find their birth parents. If I was the church, I’d make non-disclosure a stipulation.”
Lorelei took the paper that had the copy of the newspaper article. “But...who could’ve sent this?”
Serenity showed her the envelope. “According to the cancellation on the stamp it was mailed from San Francisco last week. That was what made me think it came from the Alstons and must be an attack on Sawyer and me.