Whispers and Lies

by Diane Pershing

  Screened windows were open to take advantage of the cooling night air, and Mr. Hyde lay at her feet, slobbering on her bare toes, yet she barely noticed at all. Anthony was asleep on her mother’s bed. There was a new brass double lock on the door, even though she’d hated having it installed. The world of Susanville had been, most of her life, a place of safety and trust. No more. Once you were invaded, your sense of safety in the world was gone.

  When the phone rang, startling her out of her reverie, she almost thought she was dreaming. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Lou? Hi.”

  He didn’t have to identify himself. She knew from the way he breathed who it was, and her heartbeat kick-started into high gear. “Will. How nice to hear from you.” Calm, composed. Natural. At least that was the way she hoped she sounded.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Just fine. You?”

  “Terrific.” A small pause ensued before he went on. “I wanted to tell you what’s up.”

  “Oh, yes. You mean about Mom and those papers I found.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Bad news?”

  “That depends.”

  She sat up a little, took the last sip of her drink and set it down. “Okay. Just give it to me straight.”

  “You got it.” She heard a paper rustling, then he said, “As far as official documentation goes, Rita Conlon has been off the radar screen for the past thirty-three years. Janice McAndrews, on the other hand, began her paper trail around the same time. Different Social Security number, address, etc. Still, the pictures you found, the timing of your birth, all this pretty much indicates that Rita Conlon is, in fact, the birth name of the woman you knew as Janice McAndrews.”

  Even though she’d suspected this, the news hit her hard. “Wow,” she said softly.

  “You okay?”

  Not really. “Go on.”

  “All right, then. Rita was born in Ireland, emigrated as a child to Florida and had a one-year-older sister, Margaret. I haven’t been able to track her down yet, but I’m working on it.”

  “Mom said she died.”

  “That may be true, but I’ll find out more about her, I promise.”

  “Oh, well, that’s good.” Her insides were reeling, and she wasn’t sure what to say next.

  Will must have picked up on it, because he murmured, “Kind of tough stuff to take in.”

  “In a way, yes.” She reached for her glass, drank from it before remembering it was empty. “I mean, I kind of knew it.”

  “Yeah, but now you really know it.”

  She whooshed out a huge breath. “You’re right. I admit my world seems…shaky now.” She sighed again. “Wow. Everything I thought I knew about Mom and her past is up for grabs, isn’t it?”

  “That it is.” There were a few moments of silence, then Will whispered, “I wish I could be there to comfort you. Put my arms around you, hug you.”

  She received this with a flush of pleasure. “Oh. That’s very nice of you. I mean, very caring.”

  “I didn’t say what I’d do after the hug, though,” he went on. “That’s not so nice.”

  This one threw her but good, and she felt her body reacting in all kinds of ways. Instantly. Her face felt hot, her nipples tightened, there was a small throbbing between her legs. All her physical reactions rendered her unable to speak.

  Will didn’t seem to have the same problem. “So, I see by the silence that you’re, well, silent.”

  “I’m…not sure what to say.”

  “Wing it.”

  She swallowed. “Okay. I wish you were here, too.”

  His voice deepened again into an intimate whisper. “It was good, wasn’t it.” It wasn’t a question.

  Another deep sigh revealed much more than she’d have liked. “Oh, Will. ‘Good’ doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  “Yeah.”

  In the further silence that followed, Lou just knew he was considering how far to go with this conversation. He’d broken his promise to keep their “relationship” to the one encounter…and it was thrilling to her that he had. The silence stretched some more until he finally said, “What are you thinking?”

  “You know what I’m thinking.”

  “Yeah. Wanna have a little phone sex?”

  A giggle erupted from somewhere, and she never, ever giggled. “Oh, God,” she said, “I don’t think so.”

  “Sure?”

  Her face must be flaming now. “This isn’t good, Will. I’ve spent two days trying to put you out of my mind. This isn’t fair.”

  On his end of the phone, she heard him blow out a breath, then mutter, “Damn. You’re absolutely correct, I’m a bastard. I didn’t plan it, trust me. It’s just, hearing your voice, talking to you, that connection to you, well, it’s…rare, I guess. Special. I don’t really want to let it go.”

  I don’t, either, Lou thought, her heart hopping with all kinds of stupid hope, but didn’t say it.

  But again, she was aware of that sense of losing all personal power when it came to dealing with Will. If he pushed it, she would have phone sex; if he crooked his finger, she would hop a plane and come at a run, and nothing and no one would be able to stop her, especially herself. Somehow she doubted that, if she were the one crooking her finger at him, the reverse would apply.

  She put a hand over her midsection, trying to steady her jittery insides. “I think I’ll just…say good night, Will,” she said, proud of herself for doing so…and hoping he’d beg her not to.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Okay. We’ll be good. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Good.”

  Another silence. Then Will said, “I’ll hang up now.”

  Disappointment flooded her. Phone sex. She’d heard all about it, never done it.

  Wanted it, with Will.

  Now.

  Didn’t want it, with Will.

  Ever.

  Split down the middle, about Will.

  “Sweet dreams,” she said softly, then set the phone back in its cradle and stared again at the fireplace.

  Wednesday afternoon, Will called Lou at her clinic and was put on hold for about five minutes. He had more news for her, news that he felt really couldn’t wait till the evening. He’d found Janice/Rita’s sister, Margaret Conlon, married name Kennedy. She was widowed, one daughter, still lived in northern Florida in a small town near Tallahassee.

  No doubt about it, Lou’s mother’s connection to Lincoln was even stronger now. The DeWitt family was from Florida. Will was pretty sure that more than thirty years ago, Lincoln and Rita Conlon had gotten together and a baby had been the result. For some reason, Rita had found it necessary to change her name, take the baby and create an entirely new life for herself.

  What could cause someone to do that? Guilt? Fear? A breakdown? Had she committed some kind of crime and run from being caught? Had she found her life, or her baby’s life, threatened and run from that? Had she been emotionally unstable her entire life, possibly even schizophrenic? Lincoln might know, but Lincoln wasn’t available. The sister was the key, for the moment, anyway. In-person investigation was most definitely called for.

  “Will?” Lou sounded breathless.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I take you away from some emergency?”

  She laughed. “No, just a really large dog who doesn’t like having X-rays taken. Do you have news?”

  “I found Margaret.”

  “Mom’s sister? What do you mean, found her?”

  “She’s alive. A widow.”

  “Oh, my God.” He waited while she assimilated the news. “One more lie from Mom.” She sounded bewildered. “I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I, not yet. She lives in Florida, near Tallahassee. I’m heading there tomorrow morning.”

  “So am I.”

  The quickness of her response threw him. “What?”

  “This is my aunt, Will, the only relative I’ve got. I’ll get someone to cov
er for me here. Where is she? Give me the address.”

  “Wait, wait. Aren’t you moving a little quickly? Why don’t you let me scope it out, give you a report?”

  Damn. He should have interviewed the aunt before calling her, he realized now. Who knew what she would say, how much she knew about the mystery that he’d uncovered emanating from two separate sources—Lincoln’s reaction to a newspaper obituary and Lou’s finding a passport and birth certificate. He wanted to protect her from what might be ugly. He wanted to protect his story.

  “No, you’ve done enough, Will. You’ve found my aunt. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Do you know what it’s like to grow up without any father, any brothers or sisters, any uncles or aunts or cousins?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “If I have a living relative, I want to meet her. Did she have children?”

  “One daughter.”

  “I have a cousin!”

  “Lou, calm down. You’re getting your hopes up too high for some tearful family reunion. If your mother told you your aunt was dead, wasn’t it possible she had her reasons? Maybe there was a big rift in the family?”

  “Maybe. But I don’t care. It isn’t my rift. I can think for myself. I want to meet her.”

  She wouldn’t be dissuaded, he got that. “All right. Let’s meet her together.”

  “No. I can’t ask you to do any more for me.”

  “I want to.” Now the guilt hit him, full bore. She thought he was being generous, a good guy. Well, yeah, part of him was doing this for her. A large part.

  The rest was business. His.

  She was thinking aloud. “I know just the person I can get to cover for me. One of my friends from school works as a relief doctor. She loves to travel, and she took over after Mom died. Did a great job, too. As for the plane, I might have to make some odd connections, but I’ll be flying into Tallahassee sometime tomorrow.”

  “Call me, let me know. I’ll have a rental car. I’ll pick you up.”

  “Okay.”

  And that’s when it hit him. Lou was going to Florida and he was going to Florida. At the same time. They would be thrown together, be together. He couldn’t help the surge of elation the realization brought him.

  He’d missed her, dammit. Monday morning to Wednesday evening, two and a half days, and he’d missed the hell out of her. He shook his head. Oh, man, this was not good. He never missed anyone. But there it was, and he’d have to deal with it sooner or later.

  In the meantime, he’d be with her again tomorrow. “Hey, Lou. Know what? I can’t wait to see you again.”

  As though she, too, had understood the subtext of what had just transpired, he heard her swallow, then whisper, “Me, too.”

  Chapter 9

  As the plane touched down at Tallahassee Airport in the late evening, Lou peered out the window. A light rain was falling, and she gazed around the runway as they taxied to the gate. Her stomach lurched with nerves and excitement. How silly she was being. It wasn’t as though he would be standing on the runway, waving his arms to greet her like a scene out of some old black-and-white 1940s movie. In today’s world, a stranger on the runway would be shot, no questions asked.

  But there it was, that fantasy life of hers, the one that had been there her entire existence. Fantasies of a brother or sister, a large extended family. A nice boyfriend, a loving husband. Children, lots of them. She’d dreamed of them all and had never been granted any of them. The biggest fantasy of all, the one that had lasted several years, all through high school and beyond, that Will Jamison would actually see her at last, maybe even love her. That had always seemed to be the most foolish fantasy of all.

  And yet they’d spent an amazing, incredible night together making love.

  But only after getting it straight that there would be no more than the one night.

  And yet he’d flirted with her on the phone.

  But then he’d apologized for doing it.

  And yet he’d said he missed her…and now she was going to be with him, at least for a day or so.

  On business, she told herself firmly. Not romantic business, family business.

  When she’d called him with her travel plans, they’d discussed whether or not to call Margaret and announce that they were coming. Unsure what kind of reception they might get, they’d decided to just go to her current address and somehow get the story from her of what had happened all those years ago to force Lou’s mother to cut off all ties to her former life and create a new one.

  They were nearing the gate. Lou opened her purse and, once again, took out her compact and checked her face. She’d put on powder, blush, lipstick, mascara, the whole look-how-pretty-I-am-with-powder-and-paint thing, even though she never did that anymore unless she was going to some kind of formal function or business meeting.

  But she was seeing Will again, and the makeup made her feel pretty. Or prettyish, anyway.

  She was still getting used to the fact that she was no longer the same Girl Most Likely Not to Get a Man that she’d always considered herself to be. That was Lou in her old skin, but she didn’t quite feel comfortable yet in her new one.

  He was there, right outside the security gate near baggage claim. He waved and she waved back, a thrill coursing through her system. God, he was gorgeous! Tall and self-assured, a crooked smile of welcome on his face.

  Without thinking, she ran to him, pulling her small carry-on behind her. He opened his arms and caught her up in them. They hugged briefly, fiercely, then he cradled her head in his hands and kissed her. Hard and long, until she was breathless.

  When they broke apart, they gazed at each other and broke out laughing. “Well,” he said, “so much for keeping our hands off each other.”

  “Seems that way.” Joy was erupting inside her, little bursts of happiness, but she tried to keep it casual, as though hot guys greeted her like this all the time.

  He grabbed her case, slung an arm around her shoulder and escorted her toward the parking lot. “Look, Lou, I’m thinking it’s better not to go right to Margaret’s. It’s an hour away and it’s getting dark. Two strangers knocking on her door at night might not get us the welcome we’d like. Agreed?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, we’ll go first thing tomorrow. Meantime, I’ve booked us a room and made dinner reservations.”

  “A room.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She stopped walking and looked up at him. “One room.”

  “Yes.” He cupped her face in his hands and gazed at her with a sexual intensity that nearly made her jump his bones right there. “One room. I can’t keep my hands off you. Hell, I don’t want to keep my hands off you, Lou, and I’m sure hoping you feel the same way.”

  “You’re a bad man,” she said lightly, unwilling to tell him the extent of how full her chest felt with his complimenting her on her desirability. She wanted to pump her arm up and down and scream “Yes!!!!!” Never, ever had a man said he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  “The baddest,” he replied cheerfully. “Come.”

  With Lou by his side Will was a happy man. He drove them to one of those pseudo-Tara B and Bs, where they were shown to a room replete with a big brass bed, flowery wallpaper and way too much lace. He’d booked the place because he thought Lou might like this kind of thing.

  Not that either of them noticed. They dispensed with their clothing seconds after closing the door of the room, and neither of them dressed again until the next morning.

  The first time they made love, it was on top of the pile of recently discarded clothing. The next time, they managed to make it to the bed. The time standing up in the shower was the best, the highlight, Will had to admit, because Lou was so small, she could wrap her legs around his hips while he held her up by the buttocks, giving him lots of control over the rhythm and traction and depth of penetration. She came three times, each climax bigger than the previous one, and the look on her face—raw, helpless sensuality—just about took his b
reath away.

  He had a moment of embarrassment when, right after his own climax, the one that took the top of his head off, his knees buckled, and both he and Lou landed up on the floor of the shower. But neither hit their head, the water was nice and hot, and no one really got hurt, except that when you laughed yourself silly under running water, you got some of the stuff up your nose.

  He canceled their dinner reservations and ordered room service. Then he fed her, in bed, which she took to quite nicely. Ate more than he’d seen her eat, for sure. Then she asked if she could spread some of the chocolate mousse dessert on his body and lick it off him. Fine with him, he told her, and while she feasted on him, he lost it, totally lost it. Talk about helpless. Her tongue was magic, sheer, unadulterated heaven.

  Afterward, with his arm around her, her head curled on his chest, her small hand playing with his chest hair, she told him, sweetly, shyly, that it had never been like this with anyone else. He knew she was telling the truth, and it really pleased him. Too much, probably. That proprietary male-of-the-species thing rearing its ugly, primitive head once again.

  But he couldn’t help it. The feelings were there. Lou was his, dammit.

  Whatever the hell that meant.

  Margaret Kennedy lived in a small, modest tract house in a middle-class neighborhood. On her lawn was a FOR SALE sign, with SOLD slashed across the bottom.

  Lou had dressed carefully for this meeting, in a pair of linen pants, a sleeveless cotton knit top and sandals. Her hair was kept off her face by a tortoise-shell headband. She knew she looked neat, not in the least threatening. Hands sweating, and not just from the humidity, she glanced at Will, who nodded and rang the doorbell.

  It was answered by a woman in her late twenties. She was ordinary-looking and slender, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Through the closed screen door, she said, “Yes?”

  Lou spoke. “I’m looking for Margaret Kennedy.”

  “And just why are you looking for her?”

  “It’s personal.”