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me, too, since we don’t have Hannah around to hate.
    “A book like that might lead to Hannah Javensen’s capture,” said Donna Spring carefully.
    She
wants
the book? thought Janie.
    “But it is bound to focus on us as well,” said Donna, “and especially on your poor mother.”
    Janie marveled that her real parent Donna Spring could refer to Miranda Johnson as “your poor mother.” Sometimes she was so proud of being Donna’s daughter. But she did not say so now. She did not say that in the last year and a half,Donna Spring had become her real mother at last, and the Spring house, her real home. Not expressing the truth was second nature to Janie, because at the same time Donna would love hearing it, Miranda would be crushed by it.
    “Are you going to help the writer, Mom?” asked Janie. It felt as if that ancient kidnapping had spilled acid on her beautiful spring and her sweet romance.
    Get a grip, she ordered herself. It’s not a big deal. It’s the past. I don’t live there. Let the writer do his worst. It won’t touch me.
    But she felt the cold fingers of the media stretching toward her. It was her face they wanted. They wanted to see her crumple and cry.
    “The decision is yours, honey,” said her New Jersey mother. “You do what you think is right.”
    Doing the right thing was harder than anybody admitted.
    By no evil act of their own, two good people—Frank and Miranda—had been hurled into evil by Hannah.
    Poor ruined Frank tried to do the right thing for his real daughter. He also tried to do the right thing for his other daughter, Janie. He wasn’t going to know how it turned out. He didn’t even know what he had for lunch anymore.
    Poor ruined Miranda had tried all her life to be good, kind, and fair. She had been a wonderful mother to the little Janie who had suddenly appeared on her doorstep. Miranda had given Janie everything, from Christmas morning to cake decorating, from driving lessons to bedtime stories, and every minute of it had been just right. And so what? The media attacked her anyway.
    Yes, Hannah should be caught. Yes, Hannah should be tried and found guilty and sent to prison. But Hannah’s parents would be tried as well. Frank and Miranda would be found guilty on television and radio. Found guilty on the Internet and in newspapers. Found guilty by new neighbors and former friends.
    “I can’t always see what’s right,” Janie said to her real mother. “I hide out instead.”
    “There’s no rush,” said Donna. “We can all think about it and decide together sometime during the summer.”
    Summer.
    That long lovely world of slow days and late nights, warm air and friendly sun.
    But Calvin Vinesett would spend the summer writing of crime and filth, hounding Janie and her brothers and sister, tracking down Janie’s high school friends, visiting her two sets of parents.
    When her call from Donna ended, Janie held her phone for a long time, wanting to call Reeve and hear his voice and be comforted. Only Reeve would understand.
    I believe Michael would understand, if I let him, thought Janie. Do I dare?

THE THIRD PIECE OF THE KIDNAPPER’S PUZZLE
    In the group, no one used the name their parents had given them.
    The group would be a family, strong and loyal and true. They would protect one another and be more pure and valuable than the men and women who accidentally gave them life.
    All initiates the year Hannah Javensen joined were given musical names. She became Harmony and the other girls were Vivace and Glissando. She loved that name, Harmony. It meant she fit in everywhere, gently and perfectly.
    One year, the group needed a post office box.
    It was her job to get it.
    She hated jobs.
    She wanted them to do the jobs!
    But they insisted. She was to pay a year’s rent on the box using a false name.
    But the false name had to be a real name, because to open a post office box, it was necessary to have proof of identity. (Itwas typical of American society that they