20 Questions

By Bria Daly

“Did you kill anyone?” That was the first question Sam asked me on this last road trip.
We’ve been moving every four to ten months for over ten years now. She never asks why we just up and move with no forewarning, why she can’t say goodbye to friends, if she’s lucky enough to make a friend, or why she’s the only kid who, at almost sixteen, has never been allowed to go on Facebook. Sam’s seen me wipe down and bleach everything in sight before a move, and even watched me clean or replace perfectly good light bulbs before we leave for a new place.
I was happy not having to answer any questions, because I always believed the truth would hurt her more than the ten years I’ve been keeping her in the dark.
But that first question was a real eye opener. Of all of the questions she could ask, Sam asked me, “Did you kill anyone?” and after that she asked, “Are you my mom?”
I realized then that the wall I built to protect her was also standing tall and thick between us. Sam deserved to know why I did some of the crazy things I did, but I wasn’t ready to give up too much too soon.
When Sam was little, we played a lot of games on our long road trips; a favorite was ‘20 Questions’. But now that she was older, the game would be used to bring us closer. And so it was that I agreed to answer one difficult question per day with a yes or no answer to see where it would lead us.

As the questions are asked and answered, the wall Mary built starts to crumble and sheds a new light on the dark secrets she’s managed to hide.
20 Questions is a story that unfolds in two parallel tales. The first is of Mary and Sam. The second is of Jack, the FBI’s lead agent on the Whitney kidnapping case, as he befriends Patty Whitney, Mary’s mother- in-law, friend, and accomplice. (298 print pages)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bria Daly
• Release date: Jun 20, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311490735

Bria Daly

I'm a mom, wife, sister, friend, and author.My books are available in paperback, and as eBooks. Writing is something I've always enjoyed doing, but if you ask me what my greatest accomplishment is, I'd have to say it's my children, and with very good reason (I'm a super proud mom).About me...Bria Daly is a pen name created from the names of the most important people in my life: my husband and my two children.I was born in Buenos Aires, Argentina and I moved to the United States when I was young. I married a U.S. military man, and my husband's career took us to wonderful places around the globe. We lived in Japan, Germany, Argentina, Brazil, Honduras, and seven U.S. states. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to see and experience different worlds and cultures. My experiences, the people I met, and the places I lived in, have made me the person I am today, and someone who appreciates all this wonderful world has to offer.I am also an advocate and defender of children, animals, the elderly, and the disabled. My house is always chaotic and loud. Chaos is not what I aim for, but it is what it is. Still, I don't think I'd want it any other way.My furniture is eclectic, our diets are all different (we have 2 vegans, a vegetarian, and an omnivore - I'm one of the 2 vegans), we have 3 dogs, 3 cats, 3 cockatiels, 2 hermit crabs, and two large fish tanks with a variety of fish (today, who knows what we'll have tomorrow?). And I believe my pets are my muses because they're ALWAYS with me and wherever I go.Thanks for giving me the opportunity to share my stories that are mostly family themed, because for me, family is what it's all about.If I can ask for on favor, it would be to please help me reach other readers by leaving a star rating or review whenever you get a chance. Visibility in online searches is based on author ranking and those numbers are generated by reader reviews.And another thing, and I really mean this, go ahead and contact me, I promise will write back. You can also visit me on Facebook, or stop be my website at anytime by going to https://briadaly.wordpress.com/Wishing you and yours my very best,Bria

Book preview

Chapter 1

Every light bulb had to be removed, wiped down, or replaced with a clean one. I was done with the light bulbs, and almost done wiping down the door frames. I’d wipe the little knobs that hung from the chains to turn on the ceiling fans after that.

We owned four lamps, so I boxed two of them, and the other two I’d put in a garbage bag to drop off in a dumpster somewhere along the way. The bathroom light switches I had to do right before we left, and the toilet, tub, and clothes washer would each get doused in about a gallon of bleach.

I heard the whoosh and screech of the school bus’s brakes, and I looked at the already wiped down wall clock in the kitchen; perfect timing.

I’ll call you later, I heard Sam yell out to someone who was probably still on the bus.

No you won’t, I thought to myself, because I won’t let you...

I heard the front door open quietly, but no more than ten seconds later it was slammed shut with such force it made the whole house rattle.

Sam stormed into the kitchen where I had finished wiping the door frames, and spat out, We’re moving.

It wasn’t a question or even a statement; it was an accusation.

I put down the packing tape and looked up at the teen who had just stormed in, and whose eyes were throwing daggers at me.

Yes we are. And I’m really sorry.

Sam ignored my lame apology and picked up the backpack she had dropped on the way in.

When? she spat out.

As soon as you’re packed.

I watched my daughter leave the room without another word, and I really wished I could still turn these things into adventures, just like I did when she was little.

When Sam was little, I could make it sound like we were going out to do some exploring, or like we were off to conquer the world. I’d give her a stick to use as a wand, a ball cap for a crown, an umbrella that was both a sword and a shield, and sunglasses that were supposed to make her invisible. Now that she’s older, and considering the way she just looked at me, I’d hesitate to let her carry even pretend weapons for fear she might want to use them against me.

It took Sam less than forty minutes to pack up the trunk she always travelled with. In theory, the trunk was filled with all of her worldly possessions, which obviously didn’t amount to much.

Sam and I could have done the packing in our sleep; experience came with having to move every four to ten months.

While Sam was at school, I had loaded the van with the boxes I packed earlier in the morning.

I had already taped an envelope on the fridge with a note inside, and put enough cash in it to cover the remainder of our six month lease and any utilities that would be due after we left. The landlord would find it once it was obvious that we had already moved out.

Counters, faucets, and door knobs were all wiped down. I kept a list of things I had to clean and do each time we moved, but it was already etched in my memory and the paper seemed to be just one more thing I had to carry around.

I saw Sam drag the trunk out of her room and I jumped up to give her a hand.

Don’t worry mom, I’ve got it, Sam told me without breaking her stride or even making eye contact with me.

She knew there would be a specific place in the van where she could put the trunk. I had a pretty good eye for space and fitting things into tight places. The trunk didn’t weigh much, unless her worldly possessions included bricks, and it would fit perfectly in between the boxes I had already loaded in the back of the open van.

That’s all you have? I asked her. She seemed to have less and less with every move.

Sam rolled her eyes at me and walked out to the garage. I watched her as she opened the door on the passenger side of the van and sat down. She stuck her ear buds in her ears and pushed the seat as far back as it would go. Since the entire back of the van was pretty well packed, the seat didn’t go too far, but she still closed her eyes to listen to some tunes and tried her best to shut me out.

Sam had no idea where we were going and apparently, she didn’t even care enough to ask.

I went back to what I was doing and wiped down the bathroom, and any light switches or doors Sam might have touched. I brought the wrinkled list out of my pocket and crossed things off mentally. All done.

I turned around, closed the door behind me, and didn’t even bother to say Adios, to the fifteenth place we had lived in, in the past ten years.

Chapter 2

I met Geoffrey Whitney at school. We both had a free ride to college, but for me it was thanks to the Pell Grant and some scholarships I had worked hard to get, while for Geoffrey, it was thanks to his daddy.

Geoffrey and I came from very different backgrounds but we hit it off immediately. We each had what the other one wanted. I wanted someone from a world I never knew and to be a part of the world of someone I could look up to; I looked up to Geoff. Geoff liked the attention his name and power brought him, and loved it when people looked up to him; and I was star stuck.

I liked Geoff, because he was everything I wasn’t.

The Whitney name dated back to before the American Civil War, and chances are his family helped fund that war, but I am not sure which side they funded. My guess would be that it wasn’t the side that won.

Geoffrey Whitney came from money. He used to laugh and say his dad was richer than God. For the first few years we were together, I thought that was funny and I used to laugh with him. I was riding on his coattails, and it was a fun ride.

Geoff had a family, a family name, money, and the kind of power that could even buy the things they might not be able to afford.

My name is Amanda King, or at least that’s the name I was given at the orphanage when I was dropped off as a baby. According to the records at the old orphanage that no longer exists, I was approximately five months old. So that’s the birthday they gave me; they just counted back five months to the day, and voilà, my existence was justified with some made up date to mark a birth they knew had to have happened.

The paperwork from the orphanage said that I was found wearing a onesie with an illustration of a turtle on it. It also said that the onesie looked like a hand-me-down, and had a faded, threadbare appearance. Whoever did the intake paperwork added a note to say that the hand-me-down conditions of what I wore led them to believe that I may have had siblings.

There was no note on me, no way to trace where I came from.

I wish I had the power to erase the past and start from scratch like I did when I was five months old. I wish I could do that every time we moved. I wish…

My name is Amanda because I came in during an A rotation. The orphanage assigned an A name, then a B name, C, and so forth following the order of the alphabet. I never met an X while I was there, but I left when I was young; either that or X names weren’t assigned.

My last name King, I shared with all of the kids who came into the orphanage with no name. I wanted to think that it was because they considered us royalty or something. Or possibly that the person who ran the orphanage wanted us to have his or her surname, but it was all a lot less romantic than that.

King was the name of the county where the building that housed us was located. Nothing more, nothing less. I knew I should count my blessings, ‘cause apparently the name King isn’t so bad.

I researched counties in the U.S., and it turns out I could have done much worse. If I had been dropped off somewhere else, my last name could have been Beaver, Antelope, Middlesex, Bath, or Bourbon. So I guess I did okay.

I have few memories of that place. Most orphanages went away a long time ago. There aren’t too many in the country left now and most I think are private. There are some religious organizations still around.

Nowadays, I think kids go straight into foster care, and with any luck, they get adopted at some point along the way. I was in foster homes throughout. It’s alright though; most of the places where I lived were pretty good. I kept to myself and stayed out of everyone’s way; two great qualities that allowed me to stay a little longer at a few of the homes, and made me marketable to fosterers who wanted to help, but didn’t want extra work; I tried to take care of myself.

Moving to college was easy for me. I shared a room with a whole bunch of strangers and changed dorms every year; that wasn’t a big stretch from foster care.

As far as going to college, I knew I was lucky to have been given the opportunity, but it wasn’t just luck that made it happen; I had brains on my side too. I didn’t get a free ride only because I was poor and qualified for a couple of we feel sorry for you grants. I worked my ass off and earned some scholarships on pure merit. Once in, I was on a work-study program, and I picked up tutoring jobs whenever I could.

I had so much going for me, and then I met Geoffrey. No, that’s not really fair. I met Geoffrey when we first started school, and I was star struck. I dropped out of college when I married Geoff and because I was immediately pregnant with Elizabeth. But I wish I had stayed in school to finish.

Elizabeth was my first child. Elizabeth is also the same child who happens to go by the name of Sam now (short for Samantha). I changed her name when we ran away from Geoffrey.

My new name as of ten years ago is Mary, only because it was one of the more common names in all of the U.S. The name Mary ranked number one in commonality, with almost four million Mary’s throughout the U.S., and a Percentage Frequency of 2.629. Next came Patricia, with 1.6 million Patricia’s in the U.S., and a Percentage Frequency of 1.073.

Our last name became Smith, for the same reason. Of course I always knew Smith was a pretty common last name, but now I have data to back it up. It is the number one most common last name in the U.S., with 881 occurrences per 100,000 people.

I’m not a statistics person. I just wanted to get lost in a crowd so I started by giving myself a name that would make the search longer, to give me a head start. That’s all those numbers ever really meant to me.

Samantha ranks 177, and there are over 188,000 Samantha’s in the U.S., but when Sam was younger, I liked that her name worked for either gender and added an extra step to the search. Of course now that Sam is older, her name may be non-gender specific, but her body certainly isn’t; she’s very much all girl.

Patricia, Pat, would have worked, but it was already taken by someone else in our family.

Chapter 3

You didn’t even ask where we’re going this time, I told Sam when I got in the van.

I started out of the driveway and looked around to make sure I didn’t see any cars I hadn’t seen in the neighborhood before. The neighborhood was quiet; I had picked it for that reason. I would put some distance between us and the house we just left behind, before I had to make a stop.

The first five to ten miles I always stayed vigilant watching out for cars that seemed to follow my same route.

So I didn’t really care that Sam was ignoring me. It was better that way. I didn’t need any distractions until we hit the twenty-five mile mark, and then I could relax, if only for a little.

The next thirty-five miles were uneventful. Sam had her eyes shut, but I knew she wasn’t sleeping. Every once in a while I’d hit a pothole, and she’d jump and pretend it woke her up, only to pretend to go back to sleep a few seconds later.

The kid was pissed, and I couldn’t blame her.

At the forty-seven mile mark, I saw a big Wal-Mart, and drove the van into the back, where the loading area was, and where they keep their dumpsters.

I looked around, and didn’t see anyone close by, nor did I see any security cameras. We were almost fifty miles away from our last address, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I pulled the van in as close to a dumpster as I could get, got out of the van, and popped the back where I had put the big black plastic bags filled with last week’s trash, as well as a couple of lamps, the rags I used to clean the house with, everything we had in the refrigerator, and some other things that could be labelled as loose ends. I put two bags in the first dumpster I saw, and three more in the next one.

Taking care of loose ends is important. At our next place, I’ll start tying loose strings that are easily untied, and make sure no loose ends are left when we are forced to move again.

Sam got bored of totally ignoring me, or maybe it was the fact that we were on the open road, so she kept her eyes up front and started counting telephone poles for lack of any other thing to do.

All of a sudden she looked at me and asked, Does it matter?

"Does what matter?" I asked her.

"Where we’re going. You said I didn’t even ask where we were going this time."

I wanted to tell her that was about fifty miles ago, but I guess it took her this long to want to acknowledge my question.

Of course it matters, I told her lamely, knowing that there were several things that mattered in making that decision. What mattered was going somewhere we had never been to, going to a place where nobody knew us, moving to either a huge city where we could lose ourselves in, or a sleepy town that hadn’t made it on a map yet. It mattered alright, but not in the way Sam would have wanted.

Do you even know where we’re going? she asked me.

No.

Of course I do, I lied.

Big city or small?

No clue.

I thought small again? I looked over to my passenger to see if small caused a positive or negative reaction.

As suspected, nothing. No indication of whether I had made the right call or a very bad one. Her apathy was more disturbing than her annoyance.

Sam started to put her ear buds in her ears again, so I hurried to say something before she did.

Sam, I thought maybe this time you could help me choose a place. You know, make it fun, like when you were little.

I took a quick sideways glance at her, while still trying to stay focused on the agonizingly boring flat and empty highway ahead of me, and decided this time I wouldn’t lie.

Okay. Not fun exactly, but at least if you help me choose, I can share the blame with you when we pick another loser town like the last one, I finished cheerfully.

It’s not the town that’s the loser.

So that’s how it’s going to be.

I’d have to find a place fast, because if this kept up we wouldn’t have to wait for someone to catch us or hurt us. We’d end up killing each other before anyone else had a chance.

I decided to tackle what I had just started and replied, I’m assuming you’re not referring to me when you say that ‘It’s not the town that’s the loser’.

It’s whatever you want to think, she said, but this time I saw a hint of a smile.

"So now you’re just being insulting. I can play your game too, and just ignore what you said. Anyway… I said, trying to change the subject, Do you remember when you were little and we went on adventures? We’d move somewhere new and we used to say we were exploring."

You used to say that, and I just went along with it.

No, snooty pants. You say that now, but you used to like it.

"Used to. Used to, as in past tense, as in operative word."

"Okay, now you’re snooty and you’re smart; I’ll give you that."

Sam smirked, as if she just won.

Whatever, I told her, Why don’t we at least try to make this an adventure? You know, like who can pick the lamest town?

That’s no challenge for you. You pretty much mastered lame picking.

Nah nah nah nah nah… I said making gibberish sing song sounds, I’ll just cancel you out when you’re mean to me.

Sam laughed at me, So what kind of great adventure do you have in mind? she asked mildly curious.

We can stop in a bit and then we can look at a map, I said as if that explained it all.

You know I can do that on my phone, right?

Yeah, but that’s no fun. On a map, we can close our eyes and point anywhere. How cool is that?

On a phone, I can put the number of miles I want to go and it will show me hundreds of locations from our starting point.

Kids these days are so boring…

Sam tried not to, but I saw her smile before she looked out the window and turned the other way.

Chapter 4

Jack turned away from the phone once he realized he had been staring at it and trying to will it to ring; if only it were that easy.

Jack was sick and tired of the case. He had been on it for a while and knew it inside and out, but every lead had taken him nowhere.

The most recent operation was scheduled to take place at eight that evening. He didn’t think it was a good idea to wait, but he wasn’t working alone.

His office had received a pretty solid lead the day before and had contacted the local law enforcement office in Highland Springs to coordinate efforts with them. Not even the FBI can just show up somewhere without alerting the locals; it’s bad P.R. and besides, they know their way around better.

Everything was ready to go. All Jack was waiting for was a last minute confirmation from the locals that the sting was set to take place, and verification of some of the information they had been given.

In the past two years since he had taken over the case, Mary Smith had already moved at least five times. Jack was the fourth agent assigned to the case; nobody wanted it. It was a big joke in the agency, and it was passed around as quickly as possible, like it was a game of hot potato.

Mary Smith had been on the run with her daughter Samantha since Samantha was six. Samantha was turning sixteen next month. Jack couldn’t remember his own niece’s birthday, but he knew everything there was to know about Samantha, and then some.

Of course most of the data they received was under the child’s real name, Elizabeth. He had several pictures of the little girl, and it was easier to picture her as a Samantha or a Sam, than an Elizabeth. Not so much with the mother, who looked more like a Mandy or an Amy, than Amanda, and not even close to looking like a Mary. Still, after almost ten years of covering her tracks and using an alias the FBI already knew about, she probably didn’t even think to respond to her given name.

Mary – slash – Amanda was a beautiful woman. Too bad she was on the wanted list in every state in the U.S., as well as Mexico and Canada. Her crime was kidnapping. The offense was she ran away with her daughter during divorce proceedings in which her husband sought full custody of the child.

This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. What elevated this case over so many others was the fact that the father was wealthy and was able to pull a lot of strings.

Jack had read the file over and over to get a better idea of the situation. The picture the girl’s father painted of the mother, Mary, made her sound like she was unfit. Unfit or not, the woman went to a lot of trouble to keep the child. That wasn’t easy with all of the resources her almost ex-husband was able to hire.

Jack had a harder time painting his own picture of Mary. There was a lot of documentation on her from the State from the time she went into the orphanage, and later at each and every foster home she went through. But that was all