Sufficient Ransom (32 page)

Ann reached over and patted her friend’s hand.

Kika wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Why would Antonia collect all that stuff on Nora when Nora had no idea who she was?”

“I don’t know,” Ann said.

“I guess we’ll never know.” Kika reached over and tossed the remains of her taco into a garbage bin a few feet away. “What about those letters you mentioned?”

Tom Long, Ann reasoned, wouldn’t mind her sharing information with Kika; the social worker was trustworthy. Besides, who was Kika going to tell? “The police found old letters addressed to Nora by the man she lived with in Mexico,” she said. “Some man who was not Todd Pannikin. So you see our whole theory falls apart unless we can prove that Todd is really this other guy.”

“Why do you have to prove anything?” Kika said. “What’re you getting at?”

“I’m not sure,” Ann said. “If we can prove Todd Pannikin was really this guy, Chris Fallon, then we—”

Kika’s eyes grew larger. “Say his name again.”

“Chris Fallon.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Ann said. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Kika stared at Ann for a long moment. “It can’t be.”

“What?”

“Chris Fallon was the name of my father.”

Ann felt the hair stand up on her arms.

Kika reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. “Look.” She showed Ann a yellowed photograph. “That’s my father. His name’s scribbled on the back. See? Chris Fallon.”

“Where did you get this?” Ann asked.

“I found it among Antonia’s papers,” Kika said. “Are you sure you got the name
Fallon
right?”

“Positive.”

Kika lifted her head and stared out at the ocean. For a brief moment Ann saw Nora’s face—the same emerald green eyes, the same furrow of the brow, and the severe lips.

Blinking, Ann tried to connect what she was seeing to what she knew. When Nora was young, she had lived with an American missionary, a Chris Fallon, in Mexico. After their daughter died in birth, Nora left Fallon and returned to San Diego to start a new life. Kika said her father was named Chris Fallon. He too was a Christian missionary in Mexico. That Nora had left the bulk of her estate to her daughter proved that she held out hope that her child had lived. And apparently she had.

I never got to hold her
. Nora’s words clawed at Ann’s heart. She desperately wanted to hold her own son.

“If my father and Nora’s boyfriend are the same person that means Nora was my mother. Antonia must have known.” Kika’s eyes were wide with a sort of questioning horror. “What kind of woman would deny a child her real mother?”

Ann had a strange feeling they were on the verge of making a discovery that had even farther reaching consequences. “You mentioned once you thought you’d been kidnapped, Kika. What made you think that?”

“The people in Mesa Grande, where I was born, told me,” Kika said. “And what’s weird is the detective I hired couldn’t find my birth certificate. It was missing from the church.”

“That doesn’t prove you were kidnapped,” Ann said. “You said yourself your father gave you to Antonia because for whatever reason he couldn’t take care of you. But why would they say your mother had died when she didn’t? And why would they tell Nora her daughter had died when she—you—didn’t? Unless it was all part of a plan to steal Nora’s daughter from her. Kika, how old are you?”

“I turned thirty-four in September. Why?”

“In one of Nora’s letters from Chris Fallon, he names the day Nora left Mexico. It was November 1, 1978. He said it was a day of darkness. Kika, you were born two months before Nora left Mexico. About the time Nora’s daughter would have died. Police also found a small notebook of drawings—babies, toddlers, then later, older girls—all with the same face. The first drawings had written on them the word:
September
. They must have been drawings of you. What Nora imagined you would have been like, had you lived.”

Kika’s face was white. “And to think that Nora was my mother and I never knew. And now she’s dead. Do you think Chris Fallon killed her? Wait a minute! You said you thought Chris was really Todd Pannikin. If that’s true then the pastor is my father.” She pressed her hands to her eyes. “It’s all so weird. It’s freaking me out.”

“The real question is why did your father tell your mother you were dead when you weren’t?” Ann stood up. “Come on, Kika. We need to find out who Todd Pannikin really is.”

12:30 P.M
.

K
ika had had a hard time convincing Ann that she needed to talk to Todd Pannikin alone. “If he is my father,” she had said, “having you there would complicate things, Ann. Please understand. I have to meet him alone.”

Ann had pushed back. “He might know something about Nora’s murder. Worse, he might have done it. I know what questions to ask, Kika. Please let me come!”

When Kika stood her ground, Ann said, “New Way’s annual retreat is in the San Bernardino Mountains this weekend. You might be able to catch him at the church. Call me as soon as you’ve talked to him.”

The revelation that Pastor Todd Pannikin was very likely her father both excited Kika and frightened her. She wondered if the pastor knew that she was his daughter.
What about Antonia? She must have known Nora was my real mother. Why else would she have kept all those newspaper clippings of Nora and her husband? All the while, Nora was starting a new life in San Diego
.

The union of mother and daughter that could have been, was destroyed by not one, but two acts of violence. The first, when Nora was told her baby had died at birth. The second, her murder… Kika prayed Pastor Pannikin hadn’t yet started on his trip. She couldn’t stand the thought of having to wait even longer to learn the truth.

The freeway was crowded with lunch-hour traffic. Glancing in the rearview mirror to see if her speeding had attracted the attention of highway patrol, Kika eased her foot off the gas. Her exit was coming up. Minutes later, she pulled into New Way Evangelical’s cul de sac, parked her car close to the main entrance, and stepped out into the cool air. It was windy and the sky was heavy with gathering clouds.

Just as Kika was about to try the church’s front doors, she spotted a man walking toward her from the direction of the one-story buildings that flanked the main plaza. Tall and mostly bald, the man carried books in one hand and a briefcase in the other.

Kika called out, “Pastor Pannikin?”

The pastor smiled as he approached her. “That’s me.”

“Can I speak with you for a few minutes?” Kika asked.

Pastor Pannikin’s blue eyes crinkled into a warm smile. “For a beautiful lady like you? Sure.” He pointed to nearby bench. “Now, how can I help you, miss?”

Kika was so nervous she was having a hard time finding the right words. Finally she said, “My whole life I’ve been looking for my father. And I think I’ve found him.”

The pastor’s eyes opened wide. “Well that’s nice, but what does it have to do with me?” He looked at her closely. “What did you say your name was?”

Kika clutched her Madonna medallion. “My name is Cristina Fallon.”

Pannikin gave an involuntary start. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“That name means something to you, doesn’t it?” When the pastor continued staring at her, Kika added, “You see we have letters that you wrote to my mother in the seventies. And I have a picture of you.” She patted her purse. “Here.”

A kaleidoscope of emotions—incredulity, wonder, secretiveness, and finally, acceptance—slowly crossed Pannikin’s face. He shook his head. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again.”

Kika smiled happily. She was face to face with her father and he hadn’t tried to deny who he was.

Pastor Pannikin looked genuinely curious. “How did this all come about?”

“It’s a long story,” Kika said. “I know you have an out of town meeting to get to. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Are you kidding? I
have
to hear this.” The pastor glanced at his watch. “Pine Wood will just have to wait. Tell me. How did you find me?”

Kika took a deep breath. “You see, Antonia never told me I was adopted. After she died, I found a letter from you thanking her for taking me in. For years I tried to find you and then…”

A look of pain had crossed the pastor’s eyes. He spoke slowly as if he were remembering that time long ago. “I was devastated when Nora died. The woman I had shared my youth with. She never did accept your passing. It hurt me to do it, but I had no choice.

“What do you mean you ‘had no choice?’”

Sighing, Pastor Pannikin waved his hand in the direction of the church. “Since the time I realized that nothing was worth anything in this life that wasn’t tied to The Lord, I’ve been His devoted servant. I’ve made mistakes… Things I never imagined. I had to do it,” he whispered.

“What did you do?” Kika asked anxiously.

The pastor’s eyes were sad. “Please believe me, my child. I never intended to hurt you. You see, I didn’t know until it was too late that your mother, may she rest in peace, wasn’t a true Christian. Nora gave lip service to The Lord in the early years, but then she changed. She started questioning everything about Scripture, about the Lord Himself. Every time I said something that didn’t sit well with her, which was all too often, she would call me a Jesus freak.” His lips trembled. “It hurt so much to hear her say those words.

“At first, I tried to reason with her, to help her understand that she was in a life and death struggle for her soul. But nothing I said moved her. And then she became pregnant.” Pannikin’s eyes filled with tears. “I agonized over my responsibility to the baby. To you. The final straw was when she said she wouldn’t allow you to be christened. Imagine, refusing my child a place in God’s eternal kingdom. It was a fearsome blow to my heart.”

Stunned at Todd’s confession, Kika had a fleeting thought that the man was so hung up on religious proprieties yet was so casual about premarital sex.

The pastor’s voice hardened. “I resolved right then and there that if I couldn’t save Nora’s soul, at least I would save that of my own flesh and blood. You see Cristina, to stand by and do nothing, would have been murder, plain and simple. I had to give you up for something greater than our earthly bond. To do anything less would have been playing Russian roulette with the most precious part of you—your immortal soul.”

Though his eyes pleaded for her acceptance, Kika realized, with sudden clarity, that Todd Pannikin was proud of what he had done. Proud that he had denied Kika the love of a real mother. Proud that he had given his child to an abusive woman. Kika’s initial shock at his confession gave way to rage. “Your duty?” she cried. “To deny me my own mother? And Nora, her daughter?”

The pride she had glimpsed in Todd’s eyes quickly morphed into anger. “If you had any humility you would thank me for saving you from Nora March,” he said, smoothing his shirt and pants with trembling hands. “Seeing you clutch that medallion, I have no regrets.”

Kika’s felt like her head would blow open with the force of the rage that welled inside of her. “You say you gave me away because you loved me? You denied Nora her own child. And me, my mother? You gave me to that horrible Antonia. You stole me from my own mother! And all those years Nora thought I was dead. How could you?”

The blood had drained from the pastor’s face. He refused to look at Kika. Glancing at his watch, he stood up. “It pains me to see that you don’t understand the gift of eternal life I have given you. This world’s suffering means nothing. Good-bye Cristina, and may the Lord have mercy on your soul.”

Kika tried to block his way. “You’re nothing but a kidnapper! Did you also murder my mother?”

Pannikin sidestepped her and turned to go.

“You think you’re a good man. Don’t you?” Kika shouted. “You let Nora live with a hole in her heart.” Her medallion cut into her hand. “You’re a monster!”

Still avoiding her eyes, Todd said, “I had no concerns for your earthly life. The Lord was and is with you.” He hurried away as Kika shouted after him that he was an evil heartless man.

Her sobs subsiding, Kika felt like a lonely orphan all over again. But this time it was worse than it had ever been, because her father had deliberately made her so.

2:00 P.M
.

C
het arrived at Ann’s house as she hung up the phone. She had forgotten that she had promised to call him after her visit to the Villarreals. With all the strange things happening lately she didn’t blame the pastor for coming around to check on her. She motioned for Richard to let Chet in as she hid in Richard’s study. She had failed to reach Kika for a third time and she was worried. She needed time to think about the whole Todd Pannikin-Chris Fallon connection away from Chet’s searching eyes.

Scouring her memory for overlooked details, Ann remembered that Nora had once mentioned an old acquaintance, a “Chris” who had wronged her, but she didn’t provide any details. The incident had always stood out in Ann’s mind because it was the only time she had seen Nora really angry.

Thinking hard, Ann recalled another time when she and Nora were out to lunch together. As they were being seated, Nora’s cell phone rang. Nora excused herself, saying that it was Pastor Todd calling again. Evidently the pastor had been trying to get more money out of her for his church and Nora was annoyed. As Nora walked away, Ann overheard her saying, something like, “Wait a minute, Chris!” Ann remembered wondering if the Pastor’s first name was really “Chris,” but that like Richard, whose first name was “Barrett,” he preferred to be called by his middle name.

Things were starting to make sense. Pastor Todd was really Chris Fallon. He and Nora must have been lovers. Their baby was supposed to have died. Nora leaves Todd and returns to San Diego. She meets Peter March, marries him, and gives birth to Chet. Years later, Todd re-enters Nora’s life and befriends Chet. Adrift after his divorce, Chet takes up Pastor Todd’s suggestion that he pursue a career as a minister. Nora must have wanted to be a part of her only child’s life so badly that she was willing to fund Chet’s life’s work—New Way—though she herself wasn’t religious. Only when Nora wakes up to the fact that her son has become
passionately committed to the church, to the exclusion of pretty much everything else, does she withdraw her support.