Chapter 4 - The Diner on Route 9
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Clara pushed the heavy glass door of a roadside diner, a bell jingling above her head. She was covered in mud, her clothes torn, carrying a bundle of blankets that held the twins. The few patrons at the counter turned to stare.
"Please," Clara rasped, approaching the elderly waitress behind the register. "I need formula. And hot water. I have money."
She dug into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled fifty-dollar bill she had saved for her mother’s medication.
The waitress looked from the money to Clara’s battered face, then down to the two tiny heads peeking out from the blankets. "Honey, you look like you crawled out of a grave. Sit down in the back booth. I’ll get the bottles."
Clara collapsed into the vinyl booth, shielding the boys from the view of the window. She was exhausted, running on pure adrenaline. When the waitress returned with warm milk and a plate of toast, Clara almost cried.
She fed Oliver first, then Owen, watching the color slowly return to their pale cheeks. As she finally took a bite of the toast, her eyes drifted to the small television mounted in the corner of the diner.
The news anchor’s voice cut through the diner's low chatter. "Tragedy struck the Costello estate last night in what authorities are calling a targeted arson attack. Billionaire Damian Costello’s twin sons are presumed dead in the blaze. His wife, Victoria Costello, narrowly escaped..."
Clara froze, the toast turning to ash in her mouth.
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Presumed dead.
If Damian believed they were dead, he wasn't looking for them. And if Victoria was playing the grieving mother, she would never tell him the truth. If Clara returned the babies now, Victoria would ensure she never spoke a word of what really happened.
