Lindsay stuffed the files into her leather bag, then met Nathan at the door where he helped her on with her coat.
“Coming, Nadine?” she invited. “We’re going to the Stool Pigeon for dinner.”
Nathan grimaced. The old-style English pub was not his favorite eating establishment, but he and Lindsay had worked out a deal where they went there once a week. Lindsay absolutely loved the people who owned the place, and their greasy, carb-loaded food.
Nadine sided with Nathan where pub food was concerned. Still, she would have said yes, if she hadn’t had other plans.
“I’m going to work until six-thirty, then head straight to my parents’.”
Nathan held the door open for Lindsay. “Okay, see you in the morning. You’ll lock up?”
“You bet.”
Once they were gone, the office fell into the strange, silent calm of after hours. Nadine hung around the reception desk for a bit. When she had worked there, she’d always tidied up at the end of the day. Tamara had done this, as well, but nothing was quite the way it should be, in Nadine’s opinion.
She fought the urge to return a pen to the correct drawer and to straighten the papers in the in-basket. This was no longer her job. She had to learn to let go.
Finally she retreated to Kate’s office—her office, though she was having trouble thinking of it that way.
Once she was behind the desk, she put aside the Waldgrave file she’d been working on and pulled out Patrick’s.
She was bothered by what he’d said about his son. It made her uneasy that Stephen had broached the subject of money so soon. She wished she had been able to talk Patrick into that DNA test. She couldn’t pinpoint why it felt so important. After all, he’d spoken to Diane and she’d been positive that Stephen was his son.
So why did she feel that something was wrong?
Nadine dove back into the file, rereading everything, starting with that first conversation with Diane. June’s sister was the one who’d sent them in the direction of the Canadian Rockies. She’d said Stephen wanted a job on a ski hill, that he was traveling with a friend.
Stephen hadn’t mentioned anything about his friend, though. Nadine wondered if they’d both been able to find jobs. Just as she was making a note to follow up on the friend, a new message popped into her in-box.
It was from Diane Stone.
Nadine opened it and read the short message.
It’s funny that I opened your letter requesting Stephen’s photo today, since I was just speaking to Patrick O’Neil on the phone a few days ago. It sounds like my big sister has left a bit of a mess behind her. I’m attaching a couple of photos. One of June and Stephen together, then another just of Stephen. I hope this helps.
Nadine opened the first attachment and froze at the photo of Stephen. He had red hair, a shade lighter than Patrick’s reddish-brown, as well as his mom’s high cheekbones and fine features.
Even allowing for a bad dye job, he wasn’t the boy they had met in the lounge at Lake Louise.
He was the ski instructor she’d taken lessons from at Kicking Horse.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
NADINE WAS TEMPTED TO BEG OUT of the evening with her parents, but she’d missed dinner last week due to her trip to Canada, and her parents were already resentful enough about her job at Fox & Fisher.
So after she’d locked up the office for the night, she hailed a cab and gave the driver her family’s Madison Avenue address.
Along the way, she pulled out her cell phone. She didn’t want to call Patrick. She felt too humiliated after their last conversation.
But she had to tell him. As soon as possible.
She hit the call button, then waited, holding her breath, for him to answer. When the call went through to voice mail, she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or disappointed.
“This is Nadine. I know you’re upset with me, but I’ve just found out something important about Stephen. I’m going to drop by your place later, around ten o’clock. If that’s too late, leave me a message and we’ll set something up for tomorrow.”
She was still boggled by what she had discovered. It had been such an audacious trick. What had Stephen hoped to accomplish? And how was Patrick going to react when he found out the truth?
She tucked her phone back into her purse as the cab pulled up to the five-story mansion where she’d grown up, just a block from Central Park. Her bedroom was one of four on the top story and sometimes when she spent the night—for Christmas and other special occasions—she could remember how she’d felt as a child, isolated and lonely, wishing for nothing more than to be an ordinary, average child, living an ordinary, average life.
If she stayed in the family home for too long, those old feelings would creep back into her psyche, but this was just a quick visit, and she was happy to see the family’s long-standing housekeeper when she opened the main door.
“Hi, Martha. How are you?” She handed her a package with the gifts she’d purchased in Lake Louise. “I brought you a little something when I was in Canada last week.”
“You always are the sweetest thing.” Martha’s skin was wrinkled now, but her smile was warm as ever. She peeked into the bag and exclaimed over the gifts. Then she took Nadine’s coat. “Your parents are waiting for you.”
Following the sound of her father’s favorite Oscar Peterson recording, Nadine passed through the foyer into the music hall. Her heels clicked on the marble floors and her gaze skimmed past the impressive grand piano where she’d learned to play “Chopsticks,” but not much else, as a child.
Her parents were seated next to the fireplace. Their clothing, her mother in a dress and emeralds, her father in a suit and tie, made the skirt and cashmere sweater she’d worn to work seem casual.
She kissed her parents and accepted her glass of kir royal. Dinner at her parents’ followed a predictable routine. Cocktails in the music hall, followed by a three-course meal in the dining room, and ending with dessert and coffee in the library.
She’d grown up this way. While the drawn out meal, the formal dress and manners had been stifling to her as a child, over the years she’d grown accustomed to her parents’ ways.
But tonight she found herself seeing everything through Patrick’s eyes—or how she imagined he would see it. She could picture the ironic twist his mouth would take as he observed her world, and her family, from his own small-town, New England perspective.
“So, darling,” her mother said, “fill us in on the past few weeks. How was your trip to Canada?”
“So much happened, I hardly know where to begin. For one thing, I’m no longer receptionist. I’ve been promoted to junior investigator.”
She hadn’t expected them to be pleased, and judging from their flat expressions, they weren’t. Before they could express any negative reactions, she pressed on.
“And I’ve met someone,” she blurted, before she lost her nerve. “His name is Patrick O’Neil. He spoke at the Charity Gala a few weeks ago.”
Her father frowned. “Was that the Children’s Wish Foundation?”
“No, dear. Amazon rain forests.” She turned to her daughter, eyes narrowed. “As I recall you left early, Nadine. Even before dinner. How did you have the opportunity to meet Patrick O’Neil?”
It was too soon to tell the whole story, about Patrick being her first client and how she found his son. For now she’d be smart to keep the story simple and brief. “Patrick was one of the few people I managed to speak with before I had to run.”
“Well.”
As her parents exchanged a long look, Nadine sipped her drink and wondered how to proceed from here. Then, without any forethought, she found herself adding, “I was thinking of inviting him to dinner. Here. Next week. So you could meet him.”
“We’ve already met him,” her father said drily. “At the gala. I hardly think we need to meet again. Now, if your relationship should become serious—which it can’t possibly be after just a few weeks—we’ll obviousl
y issue him an invitation.”
“It won’t come to that.” Her mother smoothed a wrinkle from her silk skirt. “You’re young and you want to have fun. But Patrick O’Neil isn’t the sort of man you settle down with.”
“Oh, Mom. Why do you and Dad always have to sound like you’re characters in a Jane Austen novel? This is the twenty-first century.”
“Nadine, I know you find it tiresome, but the Waverlys have a long proud history in this country,” her mother said. “And you are our only heir. You’ve decided to play at being a private detective…and we’ve come to terms with that.”
“But one day,” her father continued, “you’re going to be required to sit on the board of directors at Waverly Corporation and the Endowment Foundation. You’ll be the custodian of assets and traditions that must be preserved and passed on to future generations.”
It was such an old argument between them, that no one raised their voices. Nadine didn’t even bother to reply. She’d say nothing more right now. She’d introduced the subject and that was enough for now.
WHEN PATRICK MADE IT HOME after a solo dinner at his favorite Indian restaurant, he didn’t know what to make of the message from Nadine.
She said she had something important to tell him. But what could that possibly be? To him, the promise of news sounded like an excuse.
Maybe she wanted to squeeze in a little action after dinner with her folks.
In his dreams. No, in her dreams. After this afternoon, he was done with this woman.
Nevertheless, he put on some music and tidied up his apartment. He was washing dishes when she arrived. He stopped, dried his hands, then answered the phone. After pressing the code to let her through the security door, he went to the hall to meet her.
She was dressed in the same outfit she’d been wearing earlier. But now she looked tired. And worried. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she gazed at him.
“Come in. I’m not going to bite.” But as she walked past him, he deliberately moved so that her shoulder brushed against his chest. She hesitated, then kept going.
He watched as she sized up his place. He had a lot of square footage for a Manhattan co-op. Big windows. A nice view. Of course, it wouldn’t seem like much to someone with her background. “So, princess, how was dinner at the royal court?”
She flinched.
It was a low blow and he was ashamed of himself. “Want a drink?”
She murmured, “No thanks,” but he went ahead and poured a few inches of Scotch for himself.
“So.” With his gaze still fixed on her, he lifted the glass to his mouth and took a fortifying swallow. “You have something to tell me?”
She lifted her chin. “I told my parents about you tonight.”
“What?”
“I told them—I’d met someone. You. They remembered you, of course.”
This was the last thing he’d expected her to say. But it was much too little and much too late. “Sweetheart, I’m not sure why you bothered.”
He’d wounded her with that, and again he felt vaguely guilty rather than satisfied. He took another swallow of the Scotch, annoyed at himself for letting her get to him, even now.
“Yes. Well, maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. But I did.”
“And now they’re dying to meet me?”
When she glanced away from him, he laughed. “Not hardly, huh? Well, you called it, didn’t you? So what brings you here so late, Nadine? Looking for a little tequila sunrise on the wrong side of town?”
“Stop it. I have something important to tell you and it isn’t going to be easy.” She opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. “I printed this at the office. The resolution could be better, but it’s clear enough, I think.”
She passed it to him, and he took a look.
“Who’s this?”
She sighed, then removed a second piece of paper. “This is a photo of him with his mother.”
Again he accepted the paper, only this time he felt a jolt of surprise. “That’s June.” It was a bigger, clearer photograph than the one printed with her obituary and he felt a pang for how her disease had aged her.
“Look at the boy beside her.”
“Why? It isn’t Stephen.”
Nadine didn’t say anything.
He stared at the photo again. First June. Then the boy. Slowly he straightened and faced Nadine. “The kid we met at Lake Louise…He wasn’t Stephen Stone.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then who was he?”
“I’m guessing he’s someone who knew Stephen. Maybe the friend he traveled out with.”
Patrick was filled with a weary dismay. Those four days spent in Canada had been a bloody waste of time. “So we’re back to square one.”
“Not exactly.”
He went still. “Oh?”
“I believe I met the real Stephen Stone at the Kicking Horse Resort. When he heard who I was, and why I was looking for him, he pretended that he was a substitute instructor and that Stephen had just left the resort to go work at Lake Louise.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Is it? From the start, you guessed that your son’s first reaction would be anger. He didn’t want to meet you, so he asked a buddy of his to pretend to be him.”
“Why bother? All he had to do was deny being Stephen and wait for us to leave.”
“Maybe he was worried you wouldn’t let it drop until you’d found someone you thought was your son. Or maybe he was curious. Maybe he wanted to know what you were planning to say.”
“Following along with that logic, I suppose his buddy tried to dye his hair red, since that’s Stephen’s most recognizable characteristic.”
“Yes. The color ended up closer to purple than red, but it succeeded in hiding his true hair color, which was all he really needed to do.”
“Bloody hell. I can’t believe this.” Patrick started to pace, then stopped. Nadine’s theory fit the facts, but it was far from palatable. What a nasty trick the kid had played.
But could he really blame him? He thought about how angry he had felt toward his own father. Once, when he’d been visiting the new family, his father’s wife had bragged about how her husband had never missed one of their rug rats’ baseball games.
Patrick had acted as if he couldn’t care less, but inside he had burned. His father had never once made it to any of his sporting events.
Just as Patrick had never been there for Stephen. What he needed to make sure Stephen understood, though, was that he hadn’t been given a choice. He was as much a pawn in this game as his son had been.
“I guess we would have avoided this mess if I’d taken that damn DNA test you were always pushing on me.”
To her credit, she didn’t rub it in. “It’s not too late. I’m planning to fly back to Canada as soon as possible and finish this properly.”
“You mean, we’re flying back to Canada.”
By now she knew him too well to argue. “Hopefully Stephen is still working at the Kicking Horse Resort. He’s had some time to process your appearance in his life. Maybe by now he’ll be genuinely interested in meeting you.”
“Right.” Patrick didn’t think it was going to be as easy as that. “I wouldn’t let him know we were coming just in case. And what do we do about the imposter?”
“Let’s wait and see what Stephen has to say first. He may not realize his buddy was trying to extort money from you.”
“And if he does?”
“Then maybe he was even angrier than you thought.”
THE NEXT MORNING NADINE WAS waiting at the coffee station when Lindsay and Nathan arrived for work. Since Tamara wasn’t due for another fifteen minutes, she had put on the first pot of the day, knowing that her partners were going to need the caffeine. Especially after what she had to tell them.
As soon as they were out of their coats, she handed them each a full mug.
“Oh, no,” Lindsay said, accepting the beverage gratefully. �
��What’s wrong now?”
“I’ve got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”
At the exact same time Lindsay said, “Bad,” and Nathan said, “Good.”
“Okay.” Nadine leaned against the corner of her—Tamara’s—desk. “Let’s start with bad. I have to travel to Canada again. We found the wrong son.”
“What do you mean?” Lindsay asked, while Nathan looked equally confused.
Nadine explained how she’d discovered that the boy they’d met at Lake Louise was not June Stone’s son—and therefore not Patrick’s, either. Then she put out her theory…and they were both impressed.
“Well done, Nadine. I think you’re right,” Nathan said slowly.
“Of course she’s right. If only the client had agreed to take that stupid DNA test…” Lindsay grabbed a handful of her own hair, frustrated. “I hate to lose you here at the office, especially when it’s Tamara’s first week.”
“Patrick’s making the travel arrangements. He probably won’t have plans in place until the weekend. In the meantime I’ll get as much done here as I can. Which brings me to the good news…”
“Spill,” Nathan said. “You look as excited as a kid at Christmas.”
“I spent a lot of time on the Waldgrave case yesterday. I started by visiting the florist shop where that deliveryman worked. When I told the owner that we suspected her deliveryman was using her clients for his con operation, she agreed to cooperate with my investigation.”
Lindsay and Nathan both looked impressed.
“She told me that Ted Isaac works full-time, but that he has all-day Sunday and Thursday mornings off. That got me thinking…morning is probably the perfect time for him to run his scams. Not very many people have visitors on Thursday morning, so he’d have a good chance of catching his victims at home and alone.”
“Did I tell you she had a good head on her shoulders, or what?” Nathan grinned. “Since this is Thursday, I think I know where you’re heading with this.”
Receptionist Under Cover Page 13
