He walked through the open door to her bedroom and found her seated at her hand carved vanity. She was looking through her jewelry to find something appropriate for her dress and the occasion. She looked up when she heard him enter and turned in her chair to see him. She smiled approvingly. “Wow! Not bad!” she said referring to the tuxedo Max was wearing. He didn’t have the jacket on yet, and the bow tie was hanging loosely around his neck – but Irene thought he looked dashing.
“Look who’s talking. You look amazing.”
“Thank you,” she responded – looking down momentarily at the midnight blue, silk gown she was wearing – and then added, “I wish I knew what jewelry to wear. Nothing seems quite right with the dress.”
“Here, let me see.” Max set his tuxedo jacket on the bed, walked over to the vanity, and began to look through the beautiful pieces of jewelry.
He stopped and glanced at Irene when she asked, “I wonder what this is?” She removed a charm necklace from one of the drawers and placed it on top of the vanity. “This isn’t mine.”
His eyes widened, and he picked up the necklace. “What the . . .” Max said faintly. He knew whose necklace it was, but he didn’t have the slightest notion how it had come to be in Irene’s bedroom.
“Max, what is it?” Irene asked. “Does it mean something to you?”
Max turned over one of the charms revealing the initials TR engraved into it. The necklace did very much mean something to him. He had given it to Tweed Richards for her birthday. What bothered him most was the fact that Tweed had never set foot in this house after he had given it to her. He was trying to figure out how Tweed had misplaced her necklace here of all places. He held the necklace in one hand while he ran the other through his hair as he walked over to the window. He looked outside in contemplative silence and seemed unaware that Irene was there at the moment. She knew that something was decidedly wrong. She walked over to where he stood and put her hand gently on his arm as she inquired, “Are you all right?”
Max looked at her for a few seconds and then said, “To answer your question – yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, the necklace does mean something to me.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I gave it to Tweed as a birthday present years ago.”
Irene didn’t understand why he was quite so upset and said, “She must have left it here by accident. You guys were here all the time.” She paused as she thought to herself for a moment. She shrugged her shoulders and dismissed the whole incident. “The only thing that seems strange to me is that I didn’t notice it until now. I’ve probably had it for years.”
“No, Irene. That’s what’s bothering me. You see, I gave it to Tweed for her birthday about six years ago. At that point, you were already gone, and I wasn’t here much. The few times I visited, Tweed never came with me, so I have no idea what it’s doing here.”
Irene looked intently at him. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. Are you saying that after you gave Tweed this necklace, she never once came here with you?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She let out a gasp of astonishment. “Then how did it get here?” she questioned, although she was certain she already knew the horrifying truth. “If she didn’t come here with you, then who exactly did she come with?”
“I think we both know the answer to that.”
Irene shook her head as the tears started to form in her distraught eyes. When she spoke, her voice was emphatic. “No! No! How could my own father do that to me? He knew that Tweed did everything she could to make my life miserable, and that still didn’t prevent him from seeing her.”
“As much as I wish it weren’t the case, I’m inclined to agree that there was something going on between her and your father.” Max thought to himself for a moment. “As a matter of fact, Tweed is probably the ‘younger woman’ that Ms. Grant was referring to in the note she wrote your father.”
Irene turned away from him and walked to the window seat at the far side of her bedroom. She sat down and drew her knees up to her chest. She didn’t even try to suppress the tears. She rested her head against her knees and soon her entire slender frame was racked with sobs of disappointment and grief.
Max walked over to the window seat but stopped a few feet away from her. “I’m so sorry, Irene. I know how much you loved your father. You might find this hard to believe, but nothing we’ve learned means he didn’t adore you.”
“It’s not that . . . well it’s not just that.”
“Then what is it?”
She raised her head to look at him, but then she couldn’t say what it was that she was thinking. “Never mind.”
“What? Tell me.”
“No, really – it’s nothing.”
“Try me,” he said as he put his hands in his pockets.
She glanced away from him and looked out the window. She hoped that by not looking at him, it would make what she had to say easier. “It’s just that . . .” she paused as she tried to collect herself. She placed her hand on the windowpane to steady her trembling body and then continued, “It’s just hard that the two people I’ve loved most in my life have cared more about Tweed than they ever cared about me.”
Max knew that he was one of the “two people” to whom Irene was referring. He also knew that Irene couldn’t have been more wrong. He couldn’t answer for her father – but as for himself – Irene meant much more to him than Tweed Richards ever had. He walked a few steps closer and said quietly, “You’re wrong you know.”
“About what?”
“About my caring more about Tweed than you.”
So surprised by his declaration, Irene couldn’t help but turn to look at him. He looked intently at her, and a slight smile touched his handsome face. “It didn’t take me any time at all to get over Tweed, but no matter how hard I tried to forget you – I never could.”
Irene wiped the tears from her cheeks, drew a breath, and smiled tentatively as she responded, “And I never forgot about you, Max.”
Chapter 64
Frustrated, Luke ran his hands through his hair. He had been trying for the past few days to trace Peter McCune, but it seemed that he had fallen off the face of the earth. “Where could he have disappeared? I swear I’ve looked everywhere,” he said to Sarah Jane, his voice sounding exasperated.
She was resting on the bed in her hospital room while he sat across the room from her on the couch. She smiled briefly for a moment when she looked over at him, and she couldn’t help but recall the past several days. It seemed like he never moved too far from that couch. Suddenly, she noticed Luke staring at her – his face puzzled – and she tried to remember what they had been talking about before her mind wandered. She thought to herself for a moment and recollected that Peter McCune had been the topic of their conversation. She focused once again on the issue at hand and said logically, “People don’t just vanish, Luke. He’s got to be around somewhere.”
“Unless he ended up dying so that he didn’t have to pay his medical bills,” he responded facetiously, without really thinking about what he’d just said.
“That’s it!” Sarah Jane exclaimed.
“What?”
“Have you checked the obituaries?”
He shook his head. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Quickly he searched for any Peter McCune’s who had died in the state within the year. He sifted through the results hastily but stopped abruptly when he found what he was looking for.
“Anything?” she questioned expectantly.
Luke was silent for a few moments, unable to tear his eyes from the computer screen. After a moment, he collected his thoughts and looked up at Sarah Jane. “Peter McCune died unexpectedly from a cerebral hemorrhage in June as a result of traumatic brain injuries that he had sustained from an accident. June! Sarah Jane . . . June. Peter McCune died suddenly months before Duncan was murdered, so he couldn’t ha
ve done it.”
“So, what do we do now?”
He shook his head wearily. “I guess we’re just going have to accept the fact that Duncan may have been accepting bribes from the people on our list, but it looks like none of them murdered him.”
“Max and Irene are going to be so discouraged when they hear this didn’t pan out. I think all of us were hoping this would be the answer.” She and Luke just stared at each other, both feeling weighed down with thoughts of disappointment and failure. After some time, Sarah Jane said, “So, we’re right back where we started – we still don’t know anything.”
Luke shrugged his shoulders. “That’s not entirely true.” She looked confused and he added, “We know who didn’t do it . . . all we have to figure out now is who did.”
Chapter 65
December 25
Irene walked down the stairs from one of the numerous guest rooms in Blake’s home to the dining room to have Christmas brunch with Luke, Max, and his uncle. Luke’s family had scheduled a cruise months ago, but he opted to stay home with Sarah Jane. She was still in the hospital, and he was going to spend the day with her and her parents after brunch. Max was spending the Christmas holiday at Blake’s home, and he had insisted that Irene stay with him over the holiday as well. When Irene told Blake that she didn’t want to impose on them, he told her that she could never be an imposition – he considered her family.
As Irene walked through the double doors of the elaborate dining room, she found that all three men were already there – deep in conversation. When they heard her enter, the conversation ceased, and they all glanced her way. She smiled at them as she said cheerfully, “Merry Christmas!”
“You too, dear – you too,” Blake responded as he walked over to her. He gave her a warm, fatherly hug, which was soon interrupted when Luke picked her up and embraced her in a tight, bear hug.
She held her arms loosely around his neck and laughed as she said, “Put me down! I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry, Rene,” he said. “I couldn’t help myself.” He analyzed her appearance and then said, “Wow! You look stunning! What man wouldn’t love to find you wrapped under his Christmas tree?”
“That’s sweet of you, Luke, but you exaggerate. I’m sure I’m not every man’s Christmas wish!” she teased.
They all laughed, and it was then that Max reached her side. He hugged her closely, and she affectionately returned his hug. Blake and Luke exchanged glances and then looked back at them.
The time flew by, and Irene couldn’t recall having such a nice time or laughing so hard in a very long time. After brunch, Luke said goodbye to the group and left for the hospital to visit Sarah Jane. Blake thought that it would be better for Max and Irene to exchange their presents without an audience and excused himself.
A short time later, Max and Irene settled in the cozy family room to exchange their presents. A fire was burning in the rustic brick fireplace, Max sat in a large leather armchair, and Irene sat on the couch across from him.
“Who should go first?” Irene questioned.
“Me,” he responded with a grin. “Patience never was one of my virtues.”
She laughed as she said sarcastically, “You’re kidding?”
As he unwrapped the present, she said nothing but watched him in anticipation. He opened the box and removed the gift. It was a commemorative, autographed baseball from the Boston Red Sox displayed in a handsome trophy-like, glass case. He looked at it for several moments, and Irene said uncomfortably, “I don’t know if you’re even a fan anymore but I thought that . . .”
Max interrupted, “I’m still a huge fan.” He looked at her and smiled, “I just don’t know how you ever found this. It couldn’t have been easy to come by. I’ve been looking for one this rare for years.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I don’t like it . . . I love it.” He stood up and pulled her to her feet. “Thank you,” he said as he gave her a kiss on the cheek.
She blushed and looked down nervously as she said, “You’re welcome.”
He noted her unease and not wanting to unsettle her more moved away from her. He sat back down in the chair and placed the baseball on the ottoman. “Now, it’s your turn.” She sat down and placed the package in her lap as she opened it. When she tore the red and gold striped wrapping paper, she saw that it was a book. She turned the book over so that she could read the title. She stiffened and her breathing escalated when she realized that the book she held in her hands was a first edition of The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. She gently touched the cover – her fingers tracing the words of the title – and then held it close against her. She couldn’t stop the tears from coming. This was the last book her mother had read to her before she died. It was also the book that she and Max had read aloud together in Conservatory Gardens while they had been attending school in New York. Irene was speechless. Max could not have given her anything that could have been more meaningful or thoughtful. She looked at him as the tears streamed down her cheeks, and her voice was barely a whisper, “You remembered?”
He cleared his throat, and it took a few moments for him to gather his composure. “How could I forget? Those were some of the best times of my life.”
She nodded and smiled hesitantly. “Mine too.”
He stood up and then sat down beside her on the couch. She turned to face him, and he took her hands in his. He took a deep breath and said, “Irene, I . . .” his voice faded before he could finish.
“What?”
He tried once again to collect himself. It was time for him to say what was on his mind – what had been on his mind for a long time. He looked down at their hands as he said, “I know I don’t deserve you, and I know you don’t need me,” his gaze moved from their clasped hands to her beautiful face as he added firmly, “but I need you.”
Irene placed her hand softly on the side of Max’s face as she said faintly, “Max.” He reached up and covered her hand with his own. After a few moments, he moved his hand from hers to the nape of her neck – drawing her toward him. He looked down at her mouth and then back at her eyes. He closed his eyes and placed his lips on hers, and when he felt her warm response, his other arm slid tightly around her waist. One of her arms encircled his torso while the other rested on his chest. The kiss went on for some time – neither of them wanting the moment to end – both having waited years for it to happen again.
Chapter 66
“How’s it feel?” Tweed questioned Irene.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she responded, her tone of voice sounding confused.
Tweed shook her head. “Stop pretending that you don’t know what I mean. You’ve played the innocent long enough!”
“Is this about Max?”
Tweed sneered maliciously. “Of course it is. You always wanted him didn’t you? Even when he was mine, you did everything you could to break us up!” she shouted.
“That’s not true. When he told me that you were engaged, I left so that I wouldn’t get in the way.” When she remained silent, Irene continued, “I didn’t want to interfere.”
“Your leaving messed things up a lot more than your staying would have,” she responded caustically.
Irene tried to understand what she was inferring. When she couldn’t, she looked at Tweed, and her face was puzzled as she questioned, “How? How did my leaving cause bigger problems?”
“When you left your presence still lingered like a ghost – a ghost that haunted Max.” Her face looked vicious as she gloated, “But, I got even.”
Irene’s heart started to race, and her breathing sounded harsh – even to her own ears. When she spoke, her voice was faint. “What do you mean?”
“Max may have chosen you, but your father didn’t.”
“Please,” she pleaded, “leave my father out of this.”
Tweed ignored her plea
and continued, “You stole Max from me, and I stole your father from you. I’d say we’re even!”
“No!” Irene shouted. She placed her hands over her ears and clenched her eyes shut in an attempt to block out Tweed’s callous words.
Tweed walked nearer as she questioned smugly, “Is the truth bothering you?” Irene backed away from her, and Tweed smiled viciously as she clicked her tongue. “I can see that it is.”
Irene’s breathing became erratic, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Suddenly she was jolted awake – her pillow wet with tears. She’d been dreaming again. She thought about her dream for several moments, and it was then that she understood what she needed to do to be at peace with her father.
Chapter 67
December 26
The next morning, Max walked into the kitchen at Blake’s home for breakfast to find Irene already there. She stood with her back to him as she looked out the bay window – lost in her thoughts. She didn’t hear him enter, and it wasn’t until he placed his hands softly on her shoulders that she became aware of his presence. Startled, she turned around to face him as she let out a gasp. “Max! I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“Apparently,” he joked. “Sorry if I scared you.”
She shook her head, “No, I’m okay. I was just thinking.”
“About what?”
“My father,” she replied.
“I’m sure you’re disappointed. I honestly thought that we’d be able to figure out who killed him, but it’s starting to look like we may never know.”
“It’s not just that.” Irene looked down for a moment as she collected her thoughts, and then she looked back up at him. “My dad’s not who I thought he was, Max. I used to worship him, but since I’ve come home, I’ve found out all these horrible things about him.” She was struggling to keep her composure, and he took her hands gently in his own. “The thing that’s so unbelievable is that even though I know the truth about him, I still love him.”
He looked at her compassionately. “He’s your father, Irene. Just because he wasn’t perfect doesn’t mean that you’d all of a sudden stop loving him.”
“It’s time I laid the past to rest.”
Tic Tac Toe (A Suspense Novel) Page 17
