“Did he?”
“He didn’t really answer. He just said it would soil my mother’s reputation. And his. I really thought that was the only reason.…”
He read the guilt in her face and hated Charles Rawson. The man had been her father, for God’s sake.
“How was he acting last night?”
“Nervous. It was unusual because he usually kept his emotions to himself. He asked me if I’d told anyone about my half sister.”
“And you said you had. To me?”
“Not you specifically. To the police.”
“Then what?”
He asked me if I had any idea of what I’d done. Then he left.” Tears were in her eyes. “Mrs. Starnes. My father. It’s my fault. Why didn’t I just leave it alone?”
He wrapped his arms around her again and kissed the area around her eyes. “Because your mother asked you. Because someone is trying to keep a deadly secret. And secrets have a way of surfacing.”
“It’s my fault,” she insisted.
“No, Meredith, it’s not. Your parents made choices years ago. I suspect they weren’t the wisest choices. I think that’s why your father died. Not because of anything you did.”
Her body trembled.
He held her against him, then asked the question he had to ask. “Is there any chance your mother might wake from the coma?”
“The doctors don’t think so.” Then she sat straight, pulling away from him. “Do you think someone might try to kill her, too?”
“Not if she’s in a coma. They’ve already taken too many chances. Perhaps they hoped your father’s death would be considered a simple hit-and-run. Your mother’s death …”
“It wouldn’t be that difficult, though. She’s dying. An extra shot of morphine or—”
“There wouldn’t be a reason,” he assured her. “Not unless she regains consciousness. And even then she may not know any more than she told you.”
“When is it going to stop?” Her voice trembled. The words were more a plea than a question.
“I don’t know,” he said. “This sister seems to be the reason behind everything. We can’t keep it to ourselves any longer. I have to tell my partner. You have to tell Byers.”
She knew he was right. And now it couldn’t hurt her father. Or her mother.
She nodded. “Then I have to find my sister, don’t I? That’s the only way we can unravel this puzzle.”
“Yes, but not alone. I don’t want you alone from now on.”
“That’s something else,” she said suddenly. “My father said he was going to hire protection for me. He knew something. He wouldn’t tell me what.”
“Perhaps he left something at his office.”
“I’ll …” She’d started to say she would go by the office later in the morning, but there were so many other things to do. Visit the coroner’s office, for one. Make funeral arrangements. Notify people.
Her mother.
She closed her eyes against the enormity of it all.
The best gift she could give to both of them was to find the person who had killed her father, and to find the sister she hadn’t known existed. The two must be linked.
But would it result in more deaths?
What had Lulu Starnes known that was so dangerous? Was there a clue in her home? In a scrapbook?
And her father. She knew how meticulous he was about his cases. He was a compulsive note taker. Had he left information somewhere?
She knew she was asking the questions to keep other emotions at bay. Her father had never been warm. He had never been much of a father.
But he’d been her father.
She had loved him.
And her mother, for all practical purposes, was gone.
It frightened her that no tears fell. She didn’t want to be as cool and detached as they had been. At one time, she had wanted that. It was protection from hurt. Now she wanted to feel sorrow, grief. Instead there was a great chasm inside. Black and fathomless.
“Cry,” Gage said. “Let it go.”
But she couldn’t. She couldn’t until she knew why.
Still, she leaned back in his arms and warmth crept into her.
Not the warmth of passion, but the warmth of comfort.
eighteen
TUCSON
Trying to keep her nervousness from showing, Holly entered the Social Security office in Tucson.
A friend of Marty’s was baby-sitting Harry at her house. Holly had not wanted to leave Harry in their own rented cottage. She still lived in fear that her husband would find them, snatch her son, then lay in wait for her.
She was loath to leave him at all. But a Social Security card was now urgent. She had to have one to get a bankcard, then a driver’s license. Holly had rehearsed her story over and over again. If it sounded implausible to her, how would it sound to a clerk? But the book she read said that if you failed at one office, try another. Some clerks asked questions; others just accepted the fee and gave you a card.
She had her story together, the birth certificate, a baptismal certificate, a library card, and a rent receipt.
She’d practiced an accent for days. She had been excellent in French in high school and had continued her French studies during the two years she attended college.
She took a seat and waited for the first available clerk, then approached, holding an envelope with her pitiable documents.
“Mademoiselle, I hope you can assist me,” she said with a slight accent.
The woman looked surprised and she gave Holly a smile. “I’ll try.”
“I have just returned to the States after living abroad since I was a child. My father was American but my mother was French. She left him when I was a child and I grew up in France, even married there. But like my mother, I was unlucky with love, you see. My husband took all we had and ran away with another woman. It was very sad, and I decided to come home. But now I need a job. I was told I must have a card.”
The woman looked sympathetic. “You’ve never had one?”
“Non, I think not. We left America when I was a child.”
“Do you have identification?”
“Oui. I have a birth certificate, a baptismal certificate made before we left this country and my library card. I am trying to relearn English again. I hope you will forgive my … poor—”
“You speak very well,” the woman said, glancing over the documents. “We really need something with a photo on it, but …”
“I tried to get a bankcard, but the people at the bank said I need one of these numbers, and so does the driver’s license office. I have been going around and around, and I am so … desperate.”
“How did you happen to come to Arizona?”
Holly gave her a bright smile. “I read books about … your cowboys. And cactus. I thought, This looks a fine place to live. Not so much rain as France.”
The woman hesitated, then nodded. “I think this will be enough.”
Holly sighed with gratitude. “Merci. I mean, thank you.”
“Merci will do nicely,” the woman said. She gave Holly forms to fill out, then took them back when Holly had completed them.
“Bring by your driver’s license when you receive one, and I’ll add it to the file,” she said.
“You are very kind, Mademoiselle …” Holly peered at the sign on the desk. “Mademoiselle Mackay.”
“It is Mrs.,” she said. “Welcome back to America.”
“I will be very happy here if everyone is like you.”
Holly took back her documents. The birth certificate. The baptismal certificate she had purchased at a Christian book and gift store, then aged by leaving it outside in the sun.
And was handed her Social Security card.
Her lifeline.
BISBEE
Liz Baker’s reaction to her son’s brief disappearance had raised a warning flag for Doug Menelo.
She never talked about her past. Never mentioned her husband’s name or anything abo
ut him. At their first meeting, she’d been more than a little skittish around him. Wary. Even scared.
He had chalked it up to recent widowhood and the uncertainty of facing the dating world again. Now he wondered.
She had started to relax with him at Whitaker’s ranch. Perhaps, he realized now, because he had done all the talking. He’d enjoyed teaching her about the land he loved. But he also remembered how reluctant she was to repeat that ride. Or go with him for supper.
He wasn’t vain enough to think a woman should fall into his arms. But he would have been stupid not to recognize the attraction that had sparked between them. Something held her back. He’d thought it was her loyalty to a dead husband.
But there were small things … like Harry’s unusual silence about his father, and his mother’s worried expression when anyone talked to him.
Doug didn’t like the thoughts. He liked her more than any woman he’d met for a long time. He had begun using cologne and dressing with more care. He’d smiled more since meeting her.
She was unquestionably a very pretty woman, although she seemed to try to hide it. She rarely used lipstick and dressed in oversized shirts and loose jeans or slacks. But the bone structure of her face was exquisite and she had a shy smile that lit all of the outdoors.
Now he recalled her expression when she’d first met him. He’d seen echoes of it since. Fear. It had been fear. The kind of fear that an abused wife usually harbored. He had seen it far too many times to mistake it.
Could she be running from an abusive husband?
His protective instincts couldn’t quite shroud a warning: If she was running from a husband, what about Harry? Had she violated a custody order?
He was jumping to conclusions, but they were conclusions reached from years of experience in domestic disputes. It would explain much that had puzzled him.
He rifled through a pile of bulletins for missing women and kidnapped children. As he discarded each one, he breathed easier.
Still, his instincts were usually right. She was afraid of something.
He would go by her house tomorrow. Perhaps take some offering. Candy. Cookies for Harry. His niece loved making chocolate chip cookies and he could drop off a package. Perhaps he could get Liz to confide in him.
He would also continue looking. A fugitive wife or not, she might well need help. He was damn sure going to try to give it to her.
NEW ORLEANS
Meredith woke up in Gage’s arms. They had not made love, but he had accompanied her upstairs and had lain down with her, his arms around her. Comforting. Protective.
She’d been cold. So very cold. She had lain awake for a long time before drifting into a listless sleep. Questions. So many questions.
Who killed her father and why?
And Lulu Starnes?
And had whoever tried to run her down in the hospital garage really meant to kill her? If so, why hadn’t they used the gun that shot out the garage lights?
Nothing made sense.
Her mother! Should she tell her about her husband’s death? Would some subconscious part of her mind understand? Meredith was suddenly aware that her mother’s care was now in her hands. Guilt twisted inside that she had not stayed at her mother’s side nor had she had any success in finding her sister.
Did her mother understand on some level that Meredith was trying to fulfill that one last wish, trying frantically to do so before her mother died?
Why did one thing seem to be connected with the other? A lost daughter. Death.
She’d finally slipped into sleep. She didn’t know how long she slept but when she woke, Gage’s arms were still around her. She turned and looked at him. He was awake and looked as if he had been for some time. She wondered whether he’d slept at all.
“Hi,” he said in the low lazy drawl that had so attracted her from the beginning. He was still fully clothed except for shoes, and his hair was tousled. Golden bristle covered the lower part of his face. His eyes were fully awake.
“Hi,” she said as a wet nose bumped her arm.
Nicky.
He chuckled. “Get use to it. The perils of having a dog.” He rolled over to the side of the bed. “I’ll take him out, then make some coffee,” he said. “Why don’t you stay here and get a little more rest?”
“I can’t.” She looked at the clock. It was nine.
“All right.”
She liked the way he accepted her comment. He didn’t push. Didn’t baby her. Didn’t try to manage her. She left the bed and went into her bathroom. She stared at what she saw in the mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Her hair stuck out in all directions. Her T-shirt looked as if it had just emerged from the bottom of a clothes bin.
Funny she could regard herself so passionlessly when the only world she knew was collapsing around her. She imagined she was still in shock. She supposed that was one of the mind’s protections.
She took a quick shower, shaking the cobwebs from her mind. She pushed away grief by making a mental list of things that had to be done. First was a visit to the police department. She would tell them everything she knew, including the information about her sister and how it might be related to two deaths.
She would have to formally identify the body, make funeral arrangements, prepare information for the obituary. She shuddered. His death wasn’t really real to her. She suspected it soon would be.
Her search for her sister would have to wait.
She went back to her bedroom and changed into a dark blue linen suit she’d just purchased for court. She added just a hint of lipstick and went into the kitchen where the smell of brewing coffee met her. Nicky was contentedly eating a piece of toast.
She would have to get food for him. She added that to her growing list.
Two slices of toast popped up from the toaster. A glass of orange juice was on the table.
“I was going to make an omelet,” Gage said, “but your fridge is dismally empty. It’s obvious you do not have growing boys in your household.”
“And you’re a growing boy?”
“Damn, I hope not. But I am a hungry one. What about breakfast on the way to the police station?”
She wasn’t hungry. But she hadn’t had anything to eat since a quick bite at noon the day before. She needed her energy, and her wits. She took a cup of coffee. “Before we go to the police department, can we go by Lulu Starnes’s home?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’re the detective on the case,” she said.
“Probably not for long. I called my partner just now. I am being sought by my superiors, probably so they can inform me that the case is being turned over to the detectives involved in your father’s case.”
“But you haven’t been told yet.”
He eyed her with bemusement. “Nope.”
“Have you reached Mrs. Starnes’s family yet?”
“Yes, a sister. She’s in Detroit. She should be here later today.”
“Then we should go to the house now. Will you get in trouble if you take me there?”
“As you said, it’s still my case. What are you looking for?”
“Photos. Memorabilia. A diary. Anything that might tell us who the father of my sister is. We should do this now, before you get taken off the case.”
“Okay. Then Byers’s office. I told him you would be there this morning.”
Her mind sorted through what she needed to do today. “I’ll make some calls on the way.” She paused. “What about Nicky?”
“I can take him home with me. Beast likes other dogs.”
“In what way?” she asked suspiciously.
He grinned. “Not for dinner, if that worries you. I feed him well. And there’s a kid next door who feeds him when I’m gone.”
“Just until I go home,” she said. She wanted someone with her tonight. She couldn’t expect Gage to hang around. He had been kind last night, but …
She nodded. “Thank you.”
“We’ll go by
my house first to drop off Nicky, then Mrs. Starnes’s home.”
Anything to delay visiting the morgue. Anything to delay reality. She had never considered herself a coward but now she felt like one. Only Gage kept her from falling apart and she wouldn’t crumple in front of him.
Lulu Starnes. Concentrate on Lulu Starnes.
She waited while he fetched a leash and attached it to Nicky’s collar. Though the dog had eaten the slice of toast, his tail was between his legs. Well, he had lost someone he loved. And so had she.
At Gage’s home, Beast greeted Nicky with enthusiasm. The dog wagged his tail for the first time since she had taken him from the crime scene. Then the two dogs did what dogs do. Sniffed each other as they continued to wag tails. She decided he would be fine with Beast.
Five minutes later, Gage and Meredith reached Mrs. Starnes’s home. The crime lab people had obviously left. Yellow tape indicated a crime scene. A police car sat in front.
A chill invaded her. She really didn’t want to go inside again.
“Are you sure you want to go in?” he asked gently.
Once again he’d read her mind. “Yes,” she said. “How?”
“It’s my case and my crime scene until I’m officially relieved,” he said.
There was quiet anger in his voice. She got out of the car and waited until he went over and talked to the officers, then returned.
He led the way to the door and stepped aside for her to enter.
She couldn’t move for a moment. She remembered yesterday—or was it an eon ago?—when she’d walked in.
She felt Gage’s hand at her back, bracing her.
She took a deep breath and went inside. She avoided the kitchen and started her search in a small room obviously used as an office. Bookcases stuffed with books lined three walls.
Meredith checked the desk. She knew that Wagner and Gage had probably already checked it. But she knew what to look for and they hadn’t. A large calendar filled the surface of the desk, and she saw her name written neatly on it. A pile of what looked like bills were on one side. There was no computer.
Strange. She would have expected one.
Photos. Lulu Starnes must have photos somewhere.
Meredith went through the drawers but found nothing. Gage joined her, shaking his head to her unasked question.
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