Chapter 3 - St. Orla House
Gideon had been sixteen when St. Orla House closed.
He remembered a ribbon-cutting photograph from childhood.
White brick.
Rose garden.
Corinne beside his grandfather.
The family called it a sanctuary for mothers in crisis.
By breakfast, Gideon had learned that almost everything about the sanctuary existed in carefully written brochures and almost nowhere else.
The foundation's current website had three paragraphs about St. Orla.
No annual reports before 2009.
No resident records online.
No staff directory.
Naomi Hale requested preservation of foundation archives.
Gideon called Corinne.
She answered on the second ring.
"Gideon, I heard about that dreadful scene last night. Is Sage all right?"
He stared at the black notebook on the library table.
"You knew Mara."
Silence.
Then Corinne sighed.
"Of course I knew Mara. She worked on a foundation research project years ago."
"You visited her after Sage was born."
Another silence.
"Who told you that?"
"Mara."
Corinne's voice changed.
"Mara is dead."
"Exactly."
"Gideon—"
"Why did you visit her?"
"She was making accusations."
"About St. Orla?"
Corinne inhaled.
"This is not a telephone conversation."
"Then come to Ashcombe."
"Not with police there."
Gideon almost laughed.
"That's your condition?"
"You have known that child for two days. Do not let grief and guilt make you reckless."
There it was.
Not Sage.
That child.
Gideon's voice went cold.
"She has a name."
He hung up.
Owen entered carrying another report.
"Lucinda Vail has left the county."
"Police?"
"They've spoken to her attorney. She says the drink incident was a misunderstanding and denies entering Sage's room."
Naomi looked up.
"We have camera footage."
Owen nodded.
"She says she went upstairs looking for a restroom."
Gideon said, "In a private bedroom?"
"Apparently."
Naomi asked for Lucinda's phone records and event communications through legal process.
Meanwhile, Sage woke late.
Bernadette brought toast and strawberries.
Sage ate on the floor beside the gray suitcase.
Gideon sat three feet away.
"Can I ask something about your mom?"
Sage nodded.
"Did she ever talk about St. Orla?"
"The white house?"
"Maybe."
"She said Grandma ran away from there."
Gideon frowned.
"Your grandmother?"
Sage nodded.
Mara's mother, Eleanor Ellison, was alive.
Gideon had assumed she had died because the social worker's emergency file listed only Mara as parent and no available maternal guardian.
"Where is she?"
Sage looked down.
"Mommy said Grandma doesn't remember things good."
A memory-care home in Kent.
By noon, Naomi confirmed it.
Eleanor Ellison, sixty-four, advanced vascular dementia.
Mara had been her legal guardian until illness made that impossible.
The nursing home had a box of Eleanor's personal records.
One item stood out.
An original St. Orla House resident bracelet.
Resident number 1187.
The black notebook had the same number beside a name.
Eleanor Ellison.
Red circle.
Beside it, Mara had written:
CHILD RETURNED AFTER 19 DAYS - WHY?
Gideon looked at Sage.
Mara's mother had nearly lost her daughter through St. Orla.
Mara had spent years finding out why.
Then Naomi's phone rang.
Foundation counsel had responded to the preservation request.
The oldest St. Orla records were scheduled for certified destruction that afternoon.
Because of "mold contamination."
Gideon stood.
"Stop it."
Naomi was already moving.
"We're trying."
Gideon looked at the clock.
The destruction truck had left the foundation warehouse seventeen minutes earlier.
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