Whispers and Lies

by Diane Pershing

  “Please, Will, come here. To West Virginia. I…have to come clean, and it’ll take some time. If I don’t, I’ll wind up facedown in the sauce again.”

  Something in Lincoln’s tone got to him—an urgency, a raw cry for help that was totally unlike the Lincoln DeWitt he knew, and it was a cry he couldn’t ignore. He glanced at his watch. A little after one. “I’ll be there in a couple of hours. Tell me where to meet you.”

  Finally, after three horrendous hours of pacing and waiting, of self-examination and self-recrimination, finally it was time to board the plane. Lou took one last look at her cell phone. The entire time, part of her had been hoping Will would call. What she would say to him, she had no idea. What he could say to her that would make any difference—she had no idea of that, either. Idiot, she called herself as she headed for the gate. Still hoping there was something salvageable between the two of them. Fool. Like her poor, ignorant mother. Another fool.

  As though some prayer had been answered, the phone rang. Startled, she flipped it open. “Yes?”

  “Lou?”

  It was a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “Speaking.”

  “This is June.”

  “June?”

  “Your cousin.”

  Of course. “June. Sorry. I’m a little slow today.”

  “Listen,” the other woman said, her tone serious. “I’m packing up, you know. You saw that while you were here. And I’ve left the basement for last, what with the dust and all.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Lou stepped out of the line of passengers boarding the plane. She had plenty of time, and this sounded important.

  “Anyway, there was a trunk down there that I’ve never seen before. It was buried under a huge pile of old velvet curtains. One of those old-fashioned steamer trunks. And on top of it, there’s a big label with your mother’s name on it. I mean, Rita’s name. It says ‘Property of Rita Conlon.’”

  “Really?”

  “The thing is, it’s locked. It’s a pretty old lock and I could probably break it open. But I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right to do that. It belongs to you.”

  An old trunk. Her mother’s things. Things Lou had had no knowledge of, things her mother hadn’t told her.

  More secrets.

  “Shall I ship it to you?” June asked. “I’d be glad to.”

  That would take too long. She made up her mind on the spot. “No need. I’m getting the next plane out. I’ll be there tonight.”

  Lincoln walked Will to the door of the rehab clinic, his face—thinner with recent weight loss—as solemn as Will had ever seen it. He put his hand on Will’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I dumped a lot on you, Will, and if it’s a burden I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m flattered that you trust me with it.”

  The older man nodded sadly. “I had no one else to turn to.” Then, with one of his lightning-quick mood swings, he grinned and his face took on a bit more of the devil-may-care Lincoln DeWitt of old. “Well, I, for one, feel a hell of a lot better. Now I can get back in there—” he jerked his head toward the facility’s interior “—and get on with the work of kicking the sauce. Gretchen’s going to have a baby, you know. She wants her kid’s granddad to be sober. Won’t let me visit the kid or babysit or anything unless I am.”

  “Can’t blame her. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, Will.” He pulled open the glass door and Will walked out. As he did, Lincoln added, “Family is important, so tell that niece of mine hello and that when I get out of here, I’m going to come for a visit.”

  “Will do,” he said to Lincoln, then walked away from the small, concrete building toward the parking lot, running as rain began to fall. He glanced around furtively as he did. Was he being paranoid?

  On the drive to see Lincoln in West Virginia, he’d had a constant battle with a tailgating teenager in an SUV who was obviously getting off at being in a vehicle way higher and way bigger than Will’s normal-size car; consequently Will had found himself glancing often at the side and rearview mirrors. After a while, he’d noticed a red Hummer several cars behind. Next time he looked, it was still there, still keeping three cars back. In fact, it was still there after an hour of driving.

  It could have been a coincidence, but his reporter’s sixth sense thought not. Not only had the senator made an out-and-out threat as Will was leaving, but during the hour he’d spent on the Mall, there had been plenty of time to call out a couple of attack dogs to follow him. To what end, Will didn’t even want to consider.

  What they hadn’t counted on was that Will knew this road pretty well. One of his colleagues and his family lived out this way, and Will was a frequent weekend guest at their home. Without signaling, he crossed three lanes of traffic and exited into a fairly mountainous region. He took back roads through hilly forests, always keeping his eye out for the Hummer, but he didn’t see it again. Either he’d been overly cautious or had succeeded in shaking his tail.

  Now, as he drove away from Lincoln, Will was on edge. Lou, he thought. What about Lou?

  He’d hidden it as best he could during the meeting, but the tale Lincoln had told him of a series of cover-ups going on for years, of a missing diary and blackmail, had shaken him to the core. He was worried. For himself, sure, but more importantly, for Lou. He tried to reach her, but there was no answer at her home. Figuring she hadn’t arrived there yet, he tried her cell phone. Again, no answer. He called the clinic, left messages all over the place.

  Should he fly to Susanville to warn her? Call someone there to get word to her to be careful? Should he drive through the night and hope he wasn’t too late?

  Or was he exaggerating the threat to Lou?

  He shook his head. He’d lost his objectivity, for sure. When it came to Lou, he was lost, period.

  It was midnight by the time Lou and June climbed down the stairs to the basement, armed with flashlights. The room was illuminated by one weak bulb, so the flashlight proved helpful, especially when it came to smashing at the rusty old lock until it gave way.

  The trunk was filled with all kinds of memorabilia of Rita’s early life, from her infancy all the way through her high school prom. There were dolls and books, a handwoven blanket, a christening dress, a small trophy she’d won for public speaking. One by one, Lou took each item out of the trunk and gazed at it, feeling melancholy. Here was the entire life of the woman she knew as her mother, and whom she would always consider her mother.

  Even though she didn’t yet have the details, she knew now that Janice McAndrews had sacrificed her life for an infant she hadn’t borne, had given that child all the love and feeling of security she could, had dried that child’s tears and supported her dreams. Lou was damned lucky to have had Janice as a mother and she knew it.

  She turned to June, who’d sat with her the whole time. “You’re so kind to do this for me.”

  “What do you mean, kind? I was dying to know what was in there.”

  Lou’s spirits lifted and she laughed. “I can’t tell you what having a cousin means to me. There was never anyone—no aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, no one.”

  “Well, you got one now. And when you’re ready, I’ll be introducing you to a few more—my husband and kids.”

  “Can’t wait.” Lou lifted out what seemed to be the last item in the trunk, the pale blue satin dress Rita had worn in the prom picture, wrapped lovingly in tissue paper.

  Again, she wanted to cry. For the promise of a teenager at a prom, someone with dreams and aspirations of her own, and whose life had taken a different path, one probably not of her own choosing.

  She was about to close the trunk when something in the corner, nearly hidden by shadows, caught her eye. She reached in and brought out a small, red, leather-bound book. It was a diary, the kind adolescent girls kept to record crushes and moods—she’d had one of her own. “Oh,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s so sad. All those
years with me and she didn’t have this to look back on.”

  June put a hand on her arm. “But now it’s yours. And you can find out what she was like. Won’t that be a comfort?”

  “Yes, I suppose it will.” Rotating her neck, she sighed. “I’m beat. I’d like to read this, but not tonight.”

  “We’ll deal with it in the morning. I’ve made up the guest room for you.”

  “Thanks so much. You’re a dear.” They stood and, as though both had received the same signal at the same time, they hugged each other, then laughed.

  “Welcome to the family,” June said. “Come, let’s get you into bed.”

  All the way back to D.C., Will kept trying to call Lou, at home and on her cell, but couldn’t reach her. It was like trying to find Lincoln all over again. Finally, deciding if he looked like an idiot, so be it, he called the Susanville Police Department and insisted on being put through to the chief’s home.

  “What’s up, Will?” Kevin said when he came on the line, his voice thick with sleep.

  “Sorry to wake you, Kev, but Lou’s not answering her phone. She should be home by now and I’m worried.”

  Kevin yawned. “Excuse me?”

  “Remember the break-in at her place? I think it was connected to something bigger, something I’m working on. It goes pretty high up, Kev, and I’m concerned for her. She should be home now and she’s not, and I’d consider it a huge favor if you’d go over there and make sure she’s okay.”

  Bless Kevin, he finally got the seriousness of Will’s request. “I’m on my way.”

  “Call me back on my cell, will you? I’m in the car.” He gave him the number, then disconnected. Now all he could do was wait.

  Which wasn’t an easy thing to do. Not when his insides were screaming with anxiety. Had they gotten to her already? Had they followed her to the airport, abducted her?

  No, of course not. Lou had left for the airport before his confrontation with the senator; at that point, DeWitt hadn’t known the threat Will—and by extension, Lou—might represent. Not before she’d left.

  Then why wasn’t she home yet? Her plane had landed hours ago, and he knew it was only a short drive back to Susanville. Maybe she had decided not to go home yet. He’d hurt her, deeply. Maybe she’d stopped off somewhere to lick her wounds.

  God, he hoped that was it, he sincerely hoped so.

  It was even possible she wasn’t in any danger at all. After all, they’d already searched her house, knew she didn’t have the diary, didn’t they?

  No, not true. They hadn’t finished the job the first time they’d broken in. They would be sure to finish it now. They might be there at the very moment.

  Kevin, where the hell was Kevin?

  It was another anxious half hour before the chief called. He reported that everything at Lou’s place was locked up tight, doors and windows secured, that she wasn’t there and neither was her car. The man on night duty at the clinic said she hadn’t checked in with him yet, and he would have heard her upstairs if she’d been there.

  Okay. She simply wasn’t home yet. Will blew out a breath, tried to relax, but it was difficult. The rain, which had become a pretty big storm, caused several minor accidents and one major pileup, so the two-hour trip took four. At last, he was driving along the streets that led to his condo. It took his usual ten minutes to find a parking space—always at a premium in D.C.—but by eleven o’clock he was walking down the block toward his place, an old newspaper over his head for whatever feeble protection it offered.

  He stopped a few houses from his. A red Hummer was parked in front. Coincidence, again?

  Keeping the newspaper over him to mask his face, Will slipped down the alleyway to the right of his building, carefully opened the gate to the backyard and, giving thanks for the noise made by the rain, was able to peer in one of the side windows without being heard or observed. What he saw made his previous anxiety look like a warm-up.

  The living room had been trashed, just like Lou’s had been. Couch and easy chair ripped, pictures smashed. Two men were sitting there near the front door. One had a long, brown ponytail, the other wore a black baseball cap. One read a newspaper, the other shifted a tire iron back and forth between his hands. They were, most definitely, waiting for him to get home.

  Not a coincidence at all.

  Stealthily, Will moved around to peer in one of his office windows. They’d done the most damage here. Files were strewn across the floor, chairs were overturned. His laptop was smashed, the screen shattered, the keyboard ripped out.

  The senator was definitely on the warpath.

  Thursday morning, Lou checked the trunk through as luggage on her flight, keeping the diary with her to read on the plane, which turned out to be difficult. There was quite a bit of turbulence resulting from a hurricane off the coast of Louisiana. Also, Rita wrote in a tiny script that was difficult to make out.

  Still, Lou managed to read tales of Rita’s Irish childhood, her fights with her sister, her babysitting jobs from early on, her close relationship with her father, a more distant one with her mother. There were some crushes on boys, a nice party when she turned sixteen. When Lou came to the part detailing the infection in her fallopian tubes and the subsequent hysterectomy, she was stirred with compassion for the young woman who had loved babies so much.

  She stopped reading as the plane touched down. Rain and wind made the drive back to Susanville arduous, and the minute she got there, she barely had time to change before she was called to the clinic for an emergency. Roxanne, a Boston terrier, had broken a tooth that had to be removed to prevent the pulp cavity from becoming infected.

  And so the day flew by, one crisis after another. A puppy with an umbilical hernia, a Lab with a skin infection, a basset hound with problem kneecaps from years of sitting up and begging, rabbits with ear mites, a hamster whose toenails had curved over and were growing back up into its paws.

  Will called three times; each time, she told the receptionist to say she wasn’t available.

  Teeny, the huge, sweet man who helped with baths, came into one of the exam rooms where she was checking an infected paw on Sheldon, a mixed-breed golden Lab and collie. He knocked on the open door. “I’m sorry to bother you, Dr. Lou, but that guy called again. Will.”

  She shook her head, not at Teeny, but at herself. She really, truly didn’t want to speak with Will. She was still hurt and confused and angry at him. On the other hand, idiot that she was, there was this small, extremely female part of her that was just thrilled he was pursuing her so hard.

  “He left a message,” Teeny went on. “He said to tell you that it was urgent and that he’s coming here, and that it has to do with—” he glanced down at the paper in his hand “—your senator. Whatever that means.”

  “Oh.” It wasn’t about her, after all. It was about his damned article. Now she felt really stupid, for allowing her hopes to take wing once again. No more, she vowed.

  Finished. Done. Adios, Will.

  “And he also said to turn on your cell phone and to please be careful. He asked me to underline please.”

  “Okay,” she said, barely aware of his words as she scraped at the abscess on Sheldon’s paw, applying medicine and murmuring soothing words to the injured animal as she did.

  Cell phone? she thought vaguely. Oh, yes, she’d turned it off on the plane to Florida yesterday and had forgotten all about it since. Where was her mind? What if they’d needed her at the clinic?

  It wasn’t until that evening that she was able to sit down in her favorite chair, martini by her side, and pick up the diary again. She’d lit a fire in the fireplace because of the rain; even though it wasn’t really cold outside, rainy weather equaled flaming logs and warmth.

  She opened the diary and picked up where she’d left off. Now she was at the section that described Rita’s various nanny jobs and how attached she grew to each child she cared for. She’d worked for four months in Emma Mae’s Boca Raton apartment—the
last trimester of a difficult pregnancy, the birth and one month afterward. Rita had taken the job because it paid well and she’d felt sorry for Emma Mae. The teenager had been hustling on the street when Jackson picked her up and set her up in her own apartment.

  Emma Mae had become pregnant without DeWitt’s knowledge. When he found out, he was furious, insisted she either get an abortion or give the baby up for adoption. Emma Mae refused. Only weeks after the baby’s birth, Rita was in the baby’s room, changing her diaper, when she heard the two of them fighting, yelling awful things at each other. They’d both had way too much to drink, which was a common thing when they were together. That was why Rita had been so grateful Emma Mae had decided not to nurse.

  Suddenly, she’d heard a scream, followed by the sound of someone falling down the stairs. When she rushed out to see what had happened, DeWitt was gone and Emma Mae lay lifeless at the foot of the stairs.

  She didn’t contact the police because she feared for her life. Under his smooth, earnest surface, DeWitt was ruthless and ambitious and way too powerful—a decorated war hero running for the Florida senate. Acting on instinct, Rita grabbed the baby from her crib, gathered some of her own things and took off, stopping to empty her bank account of her hard-earned savings. Then she drove north to her sister’s house, scribbled what she’d seen in the back of her diary. She planned to bury the diary in her trunk and ask her sister to store it for her.

  Rita knew she would be a target for DeWitt, who might want to eradicate any evidence of his connection to the dead woman. She would do all she could to keep the child safe, she wrote, including cutting off contact with her beloved sister, Margaret. It was the only way to keep her safe, too; if Margaret knew nothing, there would be nothing to tell.

  Rita’s final words were, “And I write all this now, so if something happens to me, something suspicious, it will serve to set the authorities on the right path. Perhaps I am a coward, but it is my fondest wish that what I have recounted here will never be seen. There are too many secrets that could harm too many innocent people. But if it is read, I will be gone, and so I leave the living to make their own decisions and to find their own peace.”