by Mary Campisi
He shook his head. “It’s about Clay.”
A whoosh of relief fired through her. Listening about her son-in-law for the twenty-fifth time she could tolerate—not enjoy, but tolerate. Anything was better than getting nabbed for drinking.
Len spread his weathered hands across his work pants and sucked in a breath. “That boy was mighty important to me.”
I know, like a son. “Like the son you never had.”
“True. And Katie, well she’s a beauty and just as sweet, too.”
“I agree.” Two hours and fifty minutes before the next drink. God, if Len wasn’t such a lily white, she’d pull out the Smirnoff’s and share a drink with him.
“He was the most righteous person I ever knew. I’d lay out the first one who tried to tarnish his good reputation.”
Oh Len, go see a priest if you want to unload your guilt. Georgeanne sipped in a breath and wished for that drink. Even a teaspoon would do. She couldn’t tell Len to take his guilt and go to hell, because he was an important part in the case against Rourke Flannigan.
“You know Clay was all about honesty.”
Georgeanne sat back in her rocker and pictured everything.
“…and he’d want the truth told…”
Who would have thought a gray-haired scarecrow in Carhartt’s would bring down the mighty Rourke Flannigan?
“…which is why I’m here right now…”
See who ended up in disgrace and ruin.
“…sorry to say this, Georgeanne…”
The Flannigans of Chicago would have their comeuppance and she’d be in the front row to watch.
“Clay wasn’t wearing a safety harness.”
And then she’d laugh in their faces, especially—“What did you say?”
He’d gone all sweaty and pale. He pinched his fingers together and bowed his head. “Forgive me, Lord Jesus, Clay wasn’t wearing a harness when he fell. I put it on him before I called the police.”
Georgeanne heard nothing after that, not Len Slewinski’s scrambled apologies, not his unsteady gait moving past her, not the soft click of the front door. Her brain shut off everything but the truth. Clay hadn’t been wearing a safety harness. Len would not lie about this in a court of law. Once again, the Flannigan’s would come out on top. Once again, the Redmonds would look like trailer trash.
“Goddammit.” Georgeanne yanked the Smirnoff’s from under the stash of newspapers, unscrewed the cap, and swallowed straight from the bottle. No measuring, no timetables, no pauses. Nothing but the burn filling her body, cleansing her mind, easing her into a calm.
Now she could think. She took another swig, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and blew out a long breath. She’d sold her soul fourteen years ago so Katie would be safe, so life could go on as it was supposed to. In Montpelier. With Clay Maden.
Chapter 19
“My father’s eyes were brown.”—Julia Maden
“I hate that man. Hate him.”
“I know he’s kind of a pain, but once you get used to him, he’s not so bad.”
Julia flung herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “He killed my father.”
Abbie plopped down beside her. “It’s not like he actually pulled a gun on him or anything.”
“Might as well have.”
“Maybe it really was an accident, you know?”
Julia slid her a mean look. “Now you’re just trying to protect him, but there won’t be any protecting that man once the lawyer gets through with him.”
“I’m not trying to protect him. I hardly know the man but he’s not a murderer.”
“Right.”
“My mother died in a plane crash but I didn’t sue the airlines.”
“Maybe you should have.”
“You can’t sue the whole world when accidents happen. She shouldn’t have been flying over the ocean in a little plane with a tropical storm brewing. But she did anyway, just like she did everything else she wasn’t supposed to do. Just like your dad shouldn’t have been there all by himself, but he was.”
“He was trying to hurry because that asshole wanted his apartments renovated in forty days.”
“Still,” Abbie shrugged, “it’s not Rourke’s fault.” Pause. “Does your mom really think it is?”
“Who knows? We’re not allowed to say his name. I tried to talk to her about it, but she says she’s going to let the lawyer handle it now, that it’s totally out of our hands.”
Abbie stretched out next to Julia and stared at the blue ceiling. “When you come to visit next summer, we’ll swim in the pool every day. It’s the exact color as your ceiling.”
“Are you crazy? You think my mom’s going to let me come within two states of your uncle? No way.”
“I’m just saying, maybe.”
“Right. I don’t know about you sometimes, Abbie. Even if she did agree, which she never would, think about it; my mom sues your uncle for a gazillion dollars and then he just says, ‘Don’t worry, your daughter can come and visit Abbie, stay in my house, eat my food, swim in my giant blue pool.’”
“My uncle never loses,” Abbie said quietly.
“Well, he’s going to this time.”
“Did you ever notice the way they look at each other?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know.” Abbie scratched her head and squinted at the ceiling. “It kinda seemed like they liked each other a little bit. Maybe. Didn’t you think?”
“No.” Julia twisted her mouth into a snarl.
“I’m just saying, maybe.”
“No way. Besides, my father just died. My mother loved him more than anyone else on this earth, except for me maybe.”
“Okay. Sorry.” Minutes passed with no sound between them but Mr. Rexter’s lawnmower next door. “Julia?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you really not allowed to leave the house?”
“You heard her when I called to ask if Maxine could take me to lunch. She almost flipped. I’m on house arrest until your uncle leaves town. You shouldn’t even be here.”
“If she comes home, I’ll sneak out the window.”
“You’re crazy.”
“So, what are we going to do? I’m bored.”
“I don’t know. Watch Pretty in Pink?”
“Again? No thanks.”
“I’ve never been on house arrest before so I don’t know.”
Abbie sighed. “I’ve been on it plenty of times.”
Julia leaned up on an elbow and asked, “So, what’d you do?”
A tiny smile slipped over Abbie’s face. “Pay them back. I’ll show you if you want.”
“Like what?”
“Ever snoop around in your parents’ dressers? Look in their underwear drawer? In the back of the closet?” Julia shook her head. “It’s called payback. You find out all kinds of things. Want to do it?”
“My mom doesn’t have any big, dark secrets.”
“How do you know?” Abbie sat up and challenged her.
“I know.”
“Okay. It was just an idea.”
Julia scanned the room and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “She’s not going to be home for another two hours. I guess we could do a mini search, but we’re not going to find anything.”
“Well, then let’s at least look through her clothes, maybe try on shoes and stuff?”
Julia hesitated. “I don’t think she’d like that.”
“Do you like being on house arrest for something you didn’t do?”
The words hadn’t even formulated a question before Julia jumped off the bed and raced down the hall to her parents’ bedroom. She yanked open the top drawer of her mother’s dresser. “I’ll start here. You take the closet.”
Fifteen minutes later they’d unearthed a red negligee, a black lace bra, and a bottle of Chardonnay 1991. “Your mom’s boring,” Abbie announced as she yanked out a shoe box. “I guess she doesn’t have any secrets.”
Abbie lifted the top off a shoe box and pulled out a pair of black sandals with tiny rhinestones on the buckle. “These are cool.” She threw off her flip flop and shoved a foot into the black sandal. “Very cool.”
“You should see the other black ones she has with tiny pink beads sewn on the straps. She wore them in a wedding one time.” Julia crouched on the floor and peeked inside the closet. “Let me see if I can find them.” She yanked out several boxes, stacking one on top of the other until she had twelve boxes.
“Does your mom have some obsession with shoes?” Abbie asked, buckling the other strap on her sandal.
“I guess. I never realized she had so many.” Julia lifted the top box off the pile and the other boxes crashed to the ground, upending shoes and tissue in a big thump.
“Timber!”
Julia groaned. “Damn. We have to make sure everything gets put back the way it was. I don’t want her to know we were snooping.”
“Snooping for her bottle of wine? Or the red negligee that’s not even see-through? If these are the biggest secrets she has, I’d say she should have been a nun.”
Julia giggled. “Actually, I think she might have thought about it at one time.”
Abbie rolled her eyes. “We’d probably have more luck finding secrets in a nun’s closet.”
Julia reached for the black sandals with the pink beads and shoved them on her feet. Both girls wobbled around the room laughing and pretending they were airline stewardesses. “Let’s try on another pair,” Julia said, flinging off her sandals. “There used to be these really cool suede boots…” She sorted through the boxes in search of the boots. When the last box produced no results, she crawled back toward the closet and peered inside. “I thought I had all of them.” She squinted into the filtered darkness and spotted a box. “Here we go.” She tossed the cover off the over-sized shoe box and gasped.
“What is it?” Abbie inched closer and peeked inside the box. “Ooohhhhh. A red diary.”
Julia snatched the box to her chest. “Not so fast. First, we get this stuff cleaned up, just in case she comes home early. Then, we peek inside.”
“Oh, all right.” Abbie shoved boxes together in neat stacks and lined them up in the closet while Julia straightened her mother’s drawer and tucked the negligee and bra in the back. When she picked up the bottle of wine to bury it in the back of the closet, Abbie stopped her. “We could sneak a few tastes and nobody would know.”
Julia shrugged. “Sure. But just a little. I don’t want her to find out.”
“Get two Dixie cups. Hurry.”
Julia tucked the book under her arm and raced to the bathroom, where she grabbed two Dixie cups. When she returned to her mother’s bedroom, Abbie was lying on her back on the floor, making crisscrosses in the air with her rhinestone-sandaled feet.
“Here.” Julia handed her the Dixie cups. “You pour. I’ll start reading.”
“Okay.” Abbie shimmied onto her belly and grabbed the wine. She unscrewed the top and poured an inch into each cup. “Here’s to secrets,” she said, holding up her cup.
“Secrets,” Julia echoed.
“Okay, I’m dying. Read.”
Julia laid the red, velvet book on the carpet and opened it to page one. Her mother’s neat handwriting jumped out at her and for just a second, guilt squeezed her belly. She pushed past it and read, “This book is dedicated to the love of my life.”
They giggled and sipped their wine. “Ooooh, sounds sexy,” Abbie said. “You sure you want to read this? Maybe you should let me take a look at it first.” She inched her fingers toward the book but Julia slid it out of reach.
“This is my mother, my secret. You find your own.”
Abbie made a face and said, “It’s probably some sex book about your parents.”
“Or their love story.”
“Hmmm. Probably how they met, how they fell in love, blah, blah, blah.”
“If you don’t want me to read it, just say so and I’ll look at it later.”
Abbie wrinkled her nose and muttered, “No way. I want to hear every little detail.”
Julia grinned. “Thought so.” She leaned over and began again. “May fourth, nineteen ninety-seven. It has been six hundred and thirty-three days since I last saw you. I destroyed all the pictures of us—everything—first out of anger, then despair, and finally, fear. I didn’t want to remember the thick silkiness of your hair beneath my fingers, or the tiny chip in your bottom front tooth...or the fierceness in your voice when you promised to love me forever.”
Julia stopped reading. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Sure it does. Your mother bought the book when they were separated for some reason. Very romantic. We’re going to get some juicy stuff out of here, I can tell. Keep reading.”
“I didn’t want to remember there ever was an us, but your voice, your touch, your eyes, the color of a summer storm, have consumed me for almost two years.”
“Wait,” Julia blinked hard, “this isn’t right.”
“What? Keep reading.”
“But—”
“Read the rest.”
“No!” Julia slammed the book shut and threw it across the room.
“Hey, why’d you do that? Julia?” Abbie scooted over to her. “What’s wrong?”
Julia refused to look at her. “My father’s eyes were brown.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Have you ever heard of a brown storm?”
“Oh. Shit.”
The next words fell out of Julia’s mouth in a cold, emotionless jumble. “I guess she had a secret after all.”
Chapter 20
“Do you know anyone with eyes that color, Rourke?”—Julia Maden
Rourke hung up the phone and tossed his pen on the desk. “Done. Miles will draw up the papers. You ready, Maxine?”
She nodded and pulled out a pad and pen. “Mr. Flannigan, you’re certain this is what you want to do?”
“When have you ever known me to second guess myself?”
She turned the color of a pickled beet. “Actually, never sir.” She let out a discreet cough and lifted her bony shoulders in what might have been called a shrug. “But Mrs. Maden—”
“Wants her money. And she shall have it.” Damn, Kate. She really thought it was about the money. “Every last cent of it. How many pennies are in four million dollars, Maxine? No, don’t pull out a calculator. Just guess.”
“Why, I don’t think I can.” She fidgeted in her chair and gave him a helpless, confused look.
“Exactly. It’s a damn lot of money, excuse my language.” He’d been a fool to think Kate would see through his guise to his heart. “When we get back to Chicago, Miles can review the letter and take care of the details.”
Maxine pulled out a tissue and wiped her forehead. “You aren’t going to inform her of your decision?”
“I see no point involving her any further.”
“But sir, I think she would want to know.”
It would change nothing between them. He’d been hoping for her heart and she’d been holding out for money. “I don’t want to see her again.”
“But Mr. Flannigan—”
“I’m going to draft this letter and then we’re through here. I’ve been thinking of driving to Syracuse this afternoon to take a look at the construction site. Abbie would be bored to tears staring at concrete and beams, so she’ll stay here with you. I’ll be back early Saturday morning to take us to the airport.” He had to put distance between himself and Kate before he did something foolish like try to see her again.
“Yes, sir.”
Rourke rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the gnawing ache centered at the base of his head. He knew it was tension and he knew the cause. He’d just decided on the first sentence of his letter when the front door burst open and Abbie and Julia flew in like twin tornadoes.
“Well, no one can accuse you girls of not knowing how to make an ent
rance.” Rourke’s smile slipped when he saw Julia’s face. “Julia? What’s wrong?” Do not let it be Kate.
“Where is she?” Julia advanced on him in a gust of hostility. “Is she here?”
“Who?”
“My mother.”
“No.” He glanced at the red book plastered against her chest. “Isn’t she at work?”
She stepped toward him and shook her head. “Angie said she left an hour ago. Don’t lie to protect her, Rourke.”
What was going on? “Why would I do that?”
Her gray eyes burned liquid silver. “Everybody seems to be lying lately.” She inched closer. “What’s one more lie?”
He shot a glance toward Maxine, pleading for help, but her thin face had paled under her makeup. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell your mom about my association with the company right away. I wanted to give her time to adjust to…” Hell, adjust to what? Seeing him again? His touch “I didn’t want to rush things.”
“I’m sure.” Her eyes turned to tiny slits.
“Your father’s death was an accident, Julia. As difficult as it is to hear, demolition is a dangerous profession. Sometimes, people die.”
Her lower lip quivered but she shot out the next words. “Actually, that’s why I’m here. To talk about my father.”
