As soon as she could without seeming impolite, Anna left Dr. Johnson and retreated to the second floor where many private study and conference rooms were situated.

She was a little ashamed that she had felt the need to lie to the kind gentleman who could be considered one of the last remaining links to her adoptive parents. However, she had learned long ago that she had not the luxury of taking many risks and so had better avoid any further interaction with the old professor.

Before she had taken her leave, she took the opportunity to inform the professor that the letter had most likely been returned because her "grand"parents had sold their home and had since lived in an assisted living facility until their passing. Dr. Johnson seemed profoundly affected by this information, his eyes looking suddenly downcast.

He in turn informed her that he had once studied under her "grand"father at the university where he was now employed. It had been through his intervention that Dr. Johnson had seized upon the opportunity of becoming a member of a board of directors overseeing the welfare of an orphanage in a small town in New Jersey – the very same institution where she had spent her early years. Anna considered that the professor must have once entertained aspirations of a more political nature to have sought such a position.

She was saddened by the thought that she would probably never see the professor again. His dignified kindliness reminded her much of her father.

Having reached the top of the stairs, Anna claimed the first small study room as her own and shut herself securely inside. Then she collapsed in a chair and ripped open the envelope that had been her reason for enduring the confrontation.

She discovered immediately why the letter had been returned to Dr. Johnson and not the orphanage. The letterhead he had alluded to was his own, complete with a printed return address on the envelope. As she unfolded the enclosed missive, she was surprised to see little more than an address scrawled on the paper.

Commerce Bank

500 White Horse Pike

Haddon Heights, NJ 08035

#12570

It must be a safe deposit box, Anna thought. Would I even have access to it?

Twenty minutes later, Anna burst into her dorm to find it empty. She sighed in relief, not really wanting to share this mystery with Susan. She feared she could not do so without sharing other things, and that she was not ready to do. Anna went straight to the wireless phone she and Susan shared and dialed for information.

"Haddon Heights, New Jersey," she responded to the operator's question. After a few moments, she said, "I need to be connected to the Commerce Bank on White Horse."

It took several minutes for Anna to navigate the bank's automated service before she was speaking to an actual representative.

"Commerce Bank of Haddon Heights. How may I direct your call?" a female voice asked.

"I need to speak to someone about my safe deposit box," Anna answered carefully.

"One moment please."

After a couple more minutes, "Commerce Bank. This is Jim."

"I have a safe deposit at your location and no longer have the paperwork for it. I was wondering if I might request another copy?" Anna asked after a moment of thought.

"You don't need the receipt to access your box. If you have a valid form of ID, we can open it for you," Jim replied.

Anna closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a firm line. "I know. However, I currently reside out-of-state and would like to have a copy on hand for my records, especially in case I have to have someone retrieve my possessions for me."

"Sure. Can I get your name and the last four digits of your social?"

This should be interesting, she thought, her heart beginning to pound.

"Annalië Darcy, 3952."

"And your date of birth?"

"January 8, 1954."

"Alright, just a moment."

The faint sound of Jim's fingertips pattering across his keyboard reached her ear. "And your box number, for verification?"

"12570."

"Okay, I just need a mailing address, and you'll receive the records in three to four business days."

Anna slowly released the breath she had been holding.

Almost a week later, she received a manila envelope from Commerce Bank. She tore it open with trembling fingers and pulled out a thin layer of paperwork. Through a quick scan of the papers, she saw that the bank had enclosed a form for authorizing access to a third party.

Once Anna found the principal record for the safe deposit box, she carefully read the details. A "Mark Smith" had begun the transaction and then immediately transferred ownership of the box and its contents to her, having somehow gotten hold of enough of her personal information to do so.

Impatiently, her eyes swept across the contents of the page until she found what she was looking for.

Item 1: Jewelry – Precious Gems.

Description: Ten-pointed star pendant on chain. Silver sterling with diamonds.

Identifying Marks: Engraving. (Translates to Atarinkë.)

Item 2: Sealed Documents.

Description: Envelope addressed to "Annalië".

She had never heard of Mark Smith, and the fact that he knew so much of her was disconcerting at the very least. It had been at least a year since the incident at the orphanage, and to the best of her knowledge, he had never used her information for monetary gain. However, she wondered how the bank could have authorized him to purchase a safe deposit box in her name.

Anna contemplated taking a weekend bus trip to New Jersey to claim the contents of the safe. She realized with emotion that whatever the safe was protecting could provide information on her real family. Would the pendant not be a companion piece to the one that hung from her neck? And what would the letter addressed to her reveal?

However, it could be dangerous if this "Mark Smith" were still looking for her. She did not relish the thought of putting herself in the path of a potential stalker.

He could have found me easily enough by now if he wanted to couldn't he? Anna considered before her thoughts received a darkly intriguing answer – maybe he has.

Anna jumped to her feet as an absurdly simple revelation slapped her in the face.

So you just had a birthday. How old does that make you?

She lunged for her computer, nearly missing the rolling chair in her hasty dive towards it. Her fingers trembled so badly she was almost unable to release the latch on the laptop, and she cursed aloud at her clumsiness. Susan would have been proud.

After mistyping her password twice, Anna reached her homepage and opened her inbox. Why had she never looked more closely at the email address when she received that message? She had previously only considered it long enough to decide that she did not recognize the sender.

MS at larsonsmusic dot com

Anna frowned. MS could be Mark Smith or a half-million other possibilities. It was worth a little investigation though. She entered as a URL and came to a broken link page. Googling 'Larson's Music' yielded better results, but she did not expect to see so many listings with the terms she had used. It took several minutes, but after clicking through the first page of listings, she came across a Larson's Music store that was based in Oklahoma City. Their website included complete contact information.

She dialed the number for the store wondering what she would say if a Mark Smith was employed there.

"Thank you for calling Larson's Music. This is Amy. How may I help you?"

"Is Mark Smith there?"

"Umm…hold on." Over the pounding of her heart, Anna heard the girl ask someone in a bewildered tone if a Mark Smith had ever worked there.

Amy's voice returned to the phone. "I'm sorry. Mark hasn't worked here for a while."

A dead end.