Fireside Stories

     Chief Inspector Margaret Fitzgibbons sat at her desk in the off room sipping her morning coffee as she waited for her computer to log in to the police station’s server. The off room—formerly a pantry—had no windows, but it always felt cozy to Margaret. Somehow, the tiny room seemed to embrace her and make her feel as though she didn’t live there all alone. Her coffee was half gone by the time the server responded.

     “Who is that?” she gasped aloud at the image that popped up.

     She stared at the police report of stolen electronics from a local store—over five thousand dollars worth of merchandise. Surveillance video taken from the store showed a female suspect at the scene of the crime.

     “Holy…she could pass for my twin sister!”

     The woman in the video even had the same ash blonde hair, short stature and hourglass figure. Margaret was very proud of her figure. She worked out and walked two miles almost every day to maintain it. For a woman in her fifties, she came across as a much younger woman.

     Who was this woman who bore such a striking resemblance to her? Even her coveted morning cup of coffee wasn’t enough to entice Margaret to wait to find out. She quickly scooped up her laptop, grabbed her keys, deposited her coffee cup in the sink and rushed out the kitchen door.

     “Chief, how you doing this morning?” The policeman at the lobby counter greeted Margaret with a smile and friendly nod.

     “Let’s just say I am not too happy at the moment.”

     The officer retreated and lowered his head, pretending to study the log-in book.

     Margaret headed straight to her office, where she plopped down in her overstuffed leatherette chair, picked up the phone and pushed button three—the detective’s room.

     She had no sooner logged back into her laptop, than her summons was answered. With only a warning knock, two young detectives let themselves in, promptly planting themselves in the guest chairs in front of the chief’s desk.

     “Chief, by the look on your face, I can only surmise that you saw the report of grand theft from Gaylord’s Jewelers—and you know someone is using your ID,” the female detective said.

     “Whoever this woman is, she could pass for my twin. I want you to find out everything you can about her. This is the only case you two are to work on until it’s solved. Keep me informed on a daily basis.” She made intentional eye contact with each of the detectives before standing abruptly and ending the meeting with a 'why are you still here?' glare.

     The detectives knew they had their work cut out for them.

     Though she had total confidence in the detectives, Margaret decided to do some checking on her own. The more she mulled this over, the more worrisome it became. Did she have a sister? Years before, she had been told by a nosy neighbor that her mother had given up a child because she wasn’t married. The family had always brushed it off and it had been years since the subject had even crossed her mind. She could never bring herself to ask her mother about it during the years she lived with Margaret in Flushing, New York. Her mother—or was it their mother—had died a year ago.

     She keyed her mother's maiden name into her computer: G-e-r-t-r-u-d-e A-n-d-e-r-s-o-n.

     A photo popped up of a young woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. If she didn’t know better…Margaret would swear it was a picture of herself. She sat back away from the computer, as if the woman could see her, too. She felt a little like she was spying on her own mother.

     After a minute or two, she composed herself enough to scroll down the page and read what little bit of information was offered.

     Unbeknownst to Margaret, her mother had been raised by adoptive parents, became pregnant at sixteen and had run away from home before the child was born. The rest of the information was scant and skipped ahead about five years. Her mother, by this time in her twenties, had married an influential politician with whom she had a second child. They had named her Margaret. It went on to say that Margaret later became the Chief Inspector for the Flushing Police Department…

     “Chester Police Department—Sergeant Browning. How may I help you?” The voice on the other end of the line grated on Margaret’s eardrum like the sound of gravel.

     Quickly introducing herself, she got right down to business.

     “Sergeant, I am searching for some records of my mother, Gertrude Anderson. She was born in Flushing and I understand may have had a child that she gave up for adoption.” Margaret tried to keep an authoritative tone, though she thought she sounded tentative.

     “You’ll have to call the records department at the town hall.”

     “All right, I will—but for the moment, I need to ask if you have had any unsolved jewelry store robberies in your area.”

     “Well, yes. As a matter of fact we have. Do you have information to offer?”

     “Do you have a description of the thief?” The chief plowed through, answering a question with a question.

     “Not much of one. A woman in her mid-to-late forties, blonde and about five-foot-five or so.”

     'It’s the same woman', thought Margaret.

     “Thank you. We may have the same thief in common. I’ll keep in touch.” Margaret quickly hung up before the sergeant had a chance to quiz her further.

     The records department turned out to be a dead end, except for providing the name of an adoption agency just outside of town. Margaret hit the next wall when the director of the agency told her, “I’m sorry Chief, but that information is private and we do not give that out.”

     “I understand; however, there has been a robbery here, as well as in Chester, Pennsylvania. According to the description from both robberies, the female suspect may be my half sister. I need to find her and put a stop to the robberies.”

     “Oh, dear!” the woman exclaimed.

     “Ma’am if you have a computer and an e-mail address, I will be more than happy to send you my own photo, as well as proof of my identity. Could you release the information then?” Margaret asked, trying to appeal the woman’s sense of fairness.

     “Although I shouldn’t…if you’ll provide me with that information, I will forward you whatever you need on the adoption. Send the information to daphne@thehaven.org. ”

     “Thank you! I’ll do it right now.”

     That afternoon, Margaret received the information from the adoption agency. She copied the attachment onto a CD, placed it in her jacket pocket and headed home.

     Sitting at her desk for what seemed like an eternity—the CD staring up at her—Margaret contemplated the gravity of what might be on that CD. On one hand, she wanted very much to know what it would reveal. On the other hand, she knew the information it contained would probably change her life forever.

     Reluctantly, she loaded the CD and waited.

     Ivory Ellen Anderson—baby girl born 1957 to Gertrude Anderson—adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Frank Williams of Flushing…

     The following morning when Margaret arrived back at the station, she was summoned by the detectives she had placed on the jewelry robbery case.

     Margaret followed one of the detectives to the interrogation room. “We’ve got her. She’s got a number,” he said. He turned and gave Margaret a sheepish side glance and kept walking.

     When Margaret entered the interrogation room, she stopped dead in her tracks. The woman seated across the table looked just like her mother. The woman stared a moment, too—then began laughing.

     “Well, how you doin’ sister?” Her tone was belligerent.

     In unison, both detectives looked back and forth between the suspect and their Chief. The resemblance was uncanny.

     The woman was using the alias Mary Margaret Anderson. She had been kicked out of her adoptive parents’ home when she was sixteen because they hadn’t liked the crowd she ran with. She found herself living on the streets, where she became hooked on drugs and alcohol—and, apparently, had turned to crime to support her bad habits.

     Although Margaret wanted to help her sister, she knew she could not bend the rules. Sister or not, she would have to go through the justice system like every other criminal. Her wayward sister was given probation, sentenced to $5300 restitution and a mandatory six months of in-patient drug rehab. Margaret went to see her newfound sister twice a week.

     After being released, “Mary Margaret” went back to using her given name, Ivory Ellen, and was welcomed into Margaret’s house, where they both began a new chapter in their lives. Margaret was happy to have a friend to share that morning cup of coffee with and someone to call “sister”. Ivory was happy to have someplace to call home.

     Within a few months, Ivory took a job as assistant manager at a local dry cleaner—pressing clothes was certainly more appealing than pressing license plates.