Chapter 8 - The Misdirection
The ambulance doors slammed shut, speeding toward Saint Jude's Children's Hospital with lights flashing.
I sat in the passenger seat of Detective Miller's cruiser, my hands wrapped around a paper cup of cold water he had handed me.
The blue minivan was being towed by forensic officers, wrapped in yellow police tape.
"What did he mean, Detective?" I asked, looking at Miller as he steered through city traffic. "If the baby isn't his sister... whose baby is she?"
Miller didn't answer immediately. He tapped his steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight.
"Ten minutes before your 911 call came in, Sarah," Miller revealed, his voice grim. "A high-priority Amber Alert was issued across three counties."
He tapped a button on his dashboard terminal.
A photo flashed onto the glowing digital screen.
It showed a wealthy, prominent local real estate developer named Richard Vance—standing beside his wife, Victoria, who was holding a three-week-old infant wrapped in a purple knitted blanket.
"That's the baby," I gasped, recognizing the purple wool immediately.
"Richard Vance called state police an hour ago," Miller said. "He reported that his housekeeper—a woman named Clara—stole his infant daughter from their home and fled in a blue minivan."
I stared at the screen, my mind racing through the pieces of the puzzle.
"Clara..." I murmured. "Toby's mother."
"Exactly," Miller said. "The official report says a desperate maid kidnapped a billionaire's child."
"That's wrong," I insisted, leaning forward. "Toby said a man took his mother away first. Why would a kidnapper leave her own twelve-year-old son to die in a hot car with the baby she supposedly stole?"
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Miller looked at me, his eyes dark with grave realization.
"She wouldn't," Miller said. "Which means someone framed the mother... and left the kids to die so there wouldn't be any witnesses."
