Theodora, as wise and noble as a goddamn Sphinx, seemed aware of the shame washing over her. With a grunt, she said, “Stop beating yourself up—don’t you know that’s my job? Not that I’m of the mind to do so presently. Maybe you’re not what I had in mind for a relative but you aren’t half bad.”
“I’m all bad. I don’t have the right to be part of a family as nice as yours.”
Considering, Theodora tamped out the ash smoldering in her pipe. “Where’s the key?” she asked suddenly.
Birdie dug it from her pocket. She tried to hand it over but was waved off.
“About keys,” Theodora said, screwing her hat down on her forehead, “they unlock more than doors and the occasional safe-box. Keep it, child. There’s all sort of things inside yourself you might unlock. Good things.”
Birdie tried for a cheeky comeback but she couldn’t speak around the lump in her throat. Yes, she wanted to find her better angels. She wanted to find them even if they were buried so deep it would take a lifetime to unearth them. The path her parents had taken through life was filled with sorrow. She wanted something better.
She brushed at her eyes, which were suddenly damp. “How do you start?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. “I’m not sure how.”
Theodora approached. “I’ll help you. We all will—me and my kin. Your kin.” She gazed up at Birdie with the map-work of lines on her face easing and the gleam in her eyes increasing. “You are a treasure, child. Bad-mouthed and sassy and more fun than a woman my age ought to have. But there it is.”
A breezy anticipation rushed through Birdie, a sudden, startling sensation that she was soaring, high above the treetops and the oppressive worries of her life. “Thanks.”
“Welcome to the family. My kids are itchin’ to meet you. Plan on coming this Sunday for dinner, okay?” Taking her by the hand, Theodora started down the incline. “By the way, I keep both bags of rubies in a safety deposit box at Liberty Trust.”
Birdie scudded to a halt. “You do?”
Theodora tugged her forward. “We’ll stop on our way to Landon’s house. He’s expecting us.”
“He is?”
“I hope he’s got an ice cold Bud with my name on it. Lord, I’m thirsty.”
“It’s not even eight o’clock. How can you think about beer?” A wave of apprehension brought her to a standstill. “What about Meade? I’m not going to Landon’s house if his daughter—”
“Stop fretting!” Theodora stomped her foot. “Don’t you know it jangles my nerves? Let’s mosey down to the bank and fetch your inheritance.”
Birdie’s eyes rounded.
Inheritance?
A smile lit Theodora’s face, her fake teeth poking out with the extent of her glee. “Birdie, one of the bags of rubies is yours. Justice would’ve given anything to get them to your great-grandmother. She died hoping that one day Molly would get a fresh start in life.”
She paused long enough for the elation swimming through Birdie to lift skyward, like a song. “Funny how life works out,” she added. “Fact is you’ll be the one using the gems to start your life over.”
Chapter 29
Clumps of snow landed on the library’s carpet as Theodora brushed the white from her shoulders. “Reenie, do you have beer?” she asked the housekeeper while Birdie looked around at the rich furnishings with amazement.
Reenie nodded. “I took the liberty of pouring a Bud for you when I heard your car.” She paused at the French doors. “I’ll tell Mr. Williams you’ve arrived.”
After she’d gone, Theodora spied the frothy glass on an end table beside a Queen Anne chair. “Thank the Lord. And Reenie, of course. The world would be a sorry place if the road wasn’t paved with beer.”
“If the road were paved with beer, you’d be standing in it.”
“Settle down, girl. Have a little patience.”
Patience?
The morning had already provided a roller coaster of emotional experiences. The biggest so far occurred at the bank, when Theodora rented a second safety deposit box then placed the heavy bag in Birdie’s hands. The rubies, recently appraised, were worth a quarter of a million dollars.
The number was impossible to comprehend. Birdie was still trying to grapple with the sea change in her circumstances. Yet her elation vanished the moment Theodora parked her Cadillac before the brick mansion where Landon Williams lived.
Now she was terrified. Maybe she could handle running into the man, but his daughter? Contrary to Theodora’s opinion, Meade was a dangerous enemy.
“I still don’t have any idea why we’re here.” Birdie shifted from foot to foot. “I’ll apologize to Landon for everything my mother did. Or I’ll try—after I go home and wash up. I’m covered in dirt from the cave.”
Under her breath, Theodora murmured, “Bitch, bitch, bitch.”
Birdie tried to calm down. She was stuck here and she knew it.
Reluctantly, she recalled the photographs she’d glimpsed at Meade’s office. At some time during her childhood, she’d known Landon. The fretful child she’d once been had contentedly sat on his lap and smiled up into his beaming face. Was he Paw Paw, the man who’d shown her kindness during the dawning years of her life?
Pacing before the mile-high shelves of books, she frowned at the confusing mix of emotions welling in her chest. Delight at the possibilities for the better life the gems represented. Trepidation over the reception she’d receive from Landon. And bone-deep terror over the prospect of running into Meade.
She picked up a crystal vase from one of the shelves and turned it over in her hands. “I take it Landon is rich,” she said, her stomach twisting in knots. She returned the surprisingly heavy crystal to the shelf.
“He’s done well for himself.” Cocking a brow, Theodora lifted her glass and sipped. The line of foam on her lips made a none-too-attractive mustache. “Would you like a drink?”
“At ten in the morning? Pass.”
“You sound like Meade, griping about the hour and whether it’s a proper time for libations. Why can’t young people relax? Would you at least sit down?”
“I’m safer on my feet.” She smiled gamely. “If Meade shows up and hurls something in my direction, I’ll need to move fast.”
“How ridiculous,” Theodora said, as if Meade wasn’t a clear and present danger. Raising her glass, she added, “Fine drink, beer. Won’t you join me?”
“No!”
From the doorway, a silvery voice said, “I’ll have a beer with you, Theodora.”
Birdie’s guts swam with fear as Meade swept into the room. A bizarre yipping followed her stiletto heels, and a miniature white poodle trotted close behind. Some maniac had outfitted the pooch in a doll-size green jacket, red pants and bow tie. He was a pint-sized Christmas elf, with fur.
“What the hell is that?” Birdie asked before she had the sense to stop herself.
Meade paused by the wet bar and gave her the once over. “On second thought, a martini is in order.” She reached for the bottle of Skyy.
Somehow Birdie found the courage to ditch her fear. “It’s nice to see you too. Should we pick up where we left off last night? Got any boxing gloves in the house?” If rudeness was the game of the day, two could play as easily as one. “What the hell’s in a martini anyway?”
“Vodka, vermouth—need one? You can show me your right hook later.”
“Count on it. And yeah—fix me up. Are those olives? Load my glass with five or six.” The dog sniffed at Birdie’s muddy tennis shoes and she leapt back. “Call your beast off me. He can’t have sex with my Nikes.”
Theodora belched. “The dog isn’t particular. The scoundrel will hump anything that’s not moving.”
“He’s merely enthusiastic.” Meade flourished a crystal goblet beneath Birdie’s nose. “Your drink.”
She walked to the couch with the poodle hot on her trail. “Beat it,” she muttered, seating herself. The demand brought a yip of protest. The dog lea
pt into her lap, nearly spilling her drink. “Sweet baby,” Birdie cooed, and the rakish dog tipped his head to the side. “Are you only allowed to play with doggies from the right side of town?”
Meade stiffened. “I’m not a snob even if I do prefer to avoid the undesirable element. People like you—and your mother.”
“Leave my mother out of this,” Birdie said, steering the poodle from her lap. He obediently sat on the cushion next to hers and licked her hand. Maybe she’d knock Meade down, and keep the damn poodle out of spite. He was cute. “I don’t excuse Wish. I’m sorry for everything she did to your family, but I won’t sit here and let you insult her.”
“Enough already,” Theodora put in.
Scowling, Meade took a sip of her martini. “Theodora, I’ll grant you’ve been a good friend to my father. While I have no idea what you discussed with him last night, I’m willing to wait for his so-called news. Just don’t expect me to feel anything but contempt for… her.” She jerked her drink toward Birdie, who was beginning to feel as small as the poodle.
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Theodora snapped. “This meeting was his idea.”
Birdie looked from one to the other. “Why are we having a meeting?”
But no one heard the question. Meade placed her drink on the wet bar and rushed across the room.
Landon Williams paused in the doorway looking broken and worn. Pity swept through Birdie. His grey suit was roomy and dated. The silk cravat at his neck seemed a sweetly overdone gesture as pathetic as the poodle’s bow tie.
When his daughter reached him, he gripped her forearm like a lifeline. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and Birdie’s heart went out to him. He didn’t look well. He appeared as nervous as she was.
Frantically, she searched her memory for an inkling of him. If he was Paw Paw, surely the sight of him would bring something to the surface. It didn’t, and she brushed away her disappointment.
Acutely conscious of her manners, she rose as Meade steered him toward the couch. Silence weighed down the proceedings as if they’d all been plunged deep beneath the ocean.
His tawny gaze found Birdie.
Something whirled through the stifled atmosphere of the library. Landon’s expression shifted. Birdie snatched in a breath, nervously assessing the change coming over him.
Meade noticed too. Gripping his arm tightly, her attention tracked with his. Heat spread across Birdie’s cheeks as they all stared at her, Theodora included, as if she held a secret as rich as the rubies.
“Dad, I’d like you to meet Birdie,” Meade was saying.
“Birdie… you mean Bertha, darling. Her formal name is Bertha.”
The statement was issued in little more than a whisper. It was enough. Transfixed, Birdie let his voice sink deep into her soul.
Open your mouth, Bertha. The doctor won’t hurt you, darling. He simply needs to check your throat.
His voice. She knew his voice. It was as familiar as the beat of her heart.
Lost in his gaze, she was blinded by the disjointed images flung across her eyesight. Paw Paw, seated on the bed shuffling Go Fish cards while he checked her temperature. Paw Paw, buying her ice cream in the park and helping her load vegetables into a grocery cart.
Carrot, potato, parsnip, she’d recited, the difficult words sticking to her lips like glue. But he’d clapped his hands, delighted with her efforts.
The tang of citrus and spice—the cologne he wore, even now—breathed life into her memories. Birdie visualized him as he’d been years ago, a young man with a snap in his step. How he’d clasped her tiny hands and spun her around with a hearty laugh as delightful and dizzying as his love.
The visions raining down weren’t hers alone. Landon’s quivering mouth drew open with surprise. Stepping away from his wide-eyed daughter, he clasped Birdie’s hands and brought her close.
And whispered in the sweetly impish voice she adored, “Parsnip, is that you?”
* * *
Birdie spent the next hour in a daze of discovery.
Under Theodora’s gentle prodding, the man she’d known as Paw Paw fit together the missing pieces of her life. Landon came to life, growing more determined, even confident, as he delved further into the particulars of Birdie’s childhood. The details regarding his ill-fated love affair with Wish Kaminsky stamped regret on his face. Yet he soldiered on, as if he couldn’t find peace until he’d given Birdie every remnant of a stolen past.
“When I fell in love with your mother, I was unaware of her marriage to Tanek,” he explained. He’d seated himself in the center of the couch between Birdie and Meade, no doubt sensing the wisdom in separating them. “Tanek was in prison at the time. In Minnesota if memory serves. I didn’t find out about him until much later.”
“What about your marriage?” Meade drained her glass. “You were cheating on my mother.”
He brushed his fingers across her knuckles. “My affair wasn’t a secret. Your mother didn’t care.” Landon’s mouth was grim, and Birdie suffered a deep sadness. What did it cost to reveal the contents of his failed marriage? “After we married I chose to believe we were happy. You were born and for a while your mother seemed content to play with you, to dress you… she’d dreamt of having a daughter. You brought her so much joy.”
“It wasn’t enough?” Despite the haughty pose, Meade’s voice grew whisper-soft. She was suddenly less formidable, and the comfort Birdie desperately wanted to bestow on Landon flowed on to his daughter. “Daddy, are you saying Mother regretted marrying you?”
“I managed her assets well, which pleased her. It was more her restless nature. I doubt one man could have ever satisfied Cat. She was… high spirited.”
Meade’s polished veneer slipped away. “She—she ran around on you?”
Some of the light faded from Landon’s gaze as well. “Your mother craved excitement. She quickly lost interest in people, charities—she rarely stood still.”
“Like my mother,” Birdie said, needing to rescue him before Meade forced a more graphic explanation. His gaze drew to hers with palpable relief. “Landon wasn’t the only man she took advantage of. My mother never stayed in a relationship very long. I’m not even sure she knew how much she hurt people. Relationships were a game. She kept a scorecard. If you didn’t pay up or play by her rules, she cut you out.”
Remarkably, Meade’s gaze softened. “Do you mean her relationships with men… or with you?” she asked, and Birdie was suddenly aware of the hurt needling her heart. “Last night, at the police station, you said you were living on your own at sixteen.”
Horror whipped across Landon’s face. “Is it true, Birdie?” She nodded meekly, and a fine rage climbed his cheeks until it blazed in his eyes. “What about the money I gave Wish for your education? I put money in your college fund, and set up a money market account. It was put in place to protect you!”
He’d provided for her education? “My mother was always broke,” she whispered, afraid. Anger transformed him before her eyes.
“She wasn’t! She had thousands—hundreds of thousands.”
“There wasn’t any money.” Dry-mouthed, she watched him grapple for self-control. “We lived day-to-day. In motels. On the road. Landon, she must have hid the money you gave her.”
“Don’t call me that!”
Swiftly rising, he strode to the wet bar where he stood with his back to them. Fury rode a tremor up his spine. His grief left a taste in the air, like ash from the fire that had consumed him years ago.
Theodora approached, but he warded her off. “No. Let me do this.” Turning, he held Birdie’s gaze like a fist. “Tanek was in prison when I met your mother.”
“I get it.” She tried to smile but her lips were frozen in place. “My mother gave you the widow routine. You fell for it.”
“She left soon after,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Four years went by. I was mad with grief. She returned with you. Your eyes—”
“Yeah—violet. It’s
unusual.”
With a gasp, Meade turned toward her. “Grandma’s eyes,” she whispered, and the moment uncoiled in a rush of ungovernable emotion.
Landon neared, his gait even. “Birdie, you were four years old when you ran a fever. I took you into Cleveland General. I told Wish you’d be seen by a specialist I trusted.” He knelt before her and took her hands in his. “The doctor ran the test, so I’d be sure. I had to make it right even if I couldn’t divorce Cat. She… took up with men. So many, and I had to protect Meade as well.”
“You tried to do what’s right.” Birdie replied, skimming his words, unable to see into their depths.
“I had proof you were mine,” he said, and his voice broke. “The paternity test—”
He cut off. The world shook.
And she finally understood. Oh, God—she did.
On a sob, Landon pulled her into his arms. “Birdie,” he said, shaking them both to the core, “I’m your father.”
Chapter 30
Slouching on the recliner, Hugh growled at the insistent ringing of the doorbell. Glowering, he lobbed pretzels at the jarring sound.
“Go away!” A three-alarm fire couldn’t pry him from where he’d camped for a week in an undignified bout of self-pity.
Heroic, he wasn’t. An overrated virtue if ever there was one.
The ringing persisted, catapulting him to his feet. The television remote and several beer cans went flying.
“This better be good!” He yanked open the door to his condo with the sheer force of his impotent rage.
Leaping back, Anthony Perini raised his hands in surrender. “I’m unarmed. Don’t shoot.”
“Hell, it’s you.” Perplexed, Hugh scratched his groin. He really did need a shower. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, idiot.” With a lopsided grin, Anthony surveyed his grizzled face. “Man, you smell like shit. Ever hear of deodorant?”
“Not lately. Go away.”
“Cut me some slack. Mary sent me to talk to you. She’s worried about you—everyone is.”
Treasure Me Page 28
