Uncertain Past

by Roz Denny Fox

  “If you two were so different, Riley, why in heaven’s name did you get married? No, don’t answer that if you don’t want to. I’m sure you loved her.”

  “That’s one of us who’s sure.” Riley gazed at Emmy with troubled eyes. “I often think if I’d loved her the way I should have, I would’ve made concessions for her. Instead, I uprooted her from everything and arrogantly expected her to shed those old teachings once we left Oklahoma and came here.”

  “It’s always a mistake to think someone will change.”

  Riley heard a sad warning in Emmy’s statement. He chose not to delve beneath the surface. Besides, they’d arrived at the restaurant with only moments to spare. “Whew, we just made it in time for our reservation,” he exclaimed, hitting the button to raise the top to his convertible. The wind had picked up again and rain clouds drifted over a hazy moon.

  Emmy set her purse and folder on the console and turned the lever to lock the top in place. “I’ve always pictured you in a car like this, Riley. Bright-red, though, instead of blue. You were saving money for a red convertible the summer before I left.”

  “Yeah, well, that money moved the family to Oklahoma. The next amount I earned bought an old clunker to drive back and forth to college. This car’s pure self-indulgence. As for blue rather than red—that’s probably a belated stab at maturity.” Grinning, Riley came around the rear of the car to assist Emmy. “You have an uncanny memory. With everything that’s happened to you, I wouldn’t have thought you’d remember a sixteen-year-old kid’s fanciful dream.”

  Leaning back inside the car to retrieve her purse, Emmy wasn’t quite sure how she should answer Riley. Would he want to hear how for years he’d remained a symbol of hope to a girl who had lost all else? The way Josey talked, he’d been a symbol of sorts for Lani, too. Knowing Riley as she did, Emmy was pretty sure he still carried a boatload of guilt for letting Lani down.

  “Bring the folder with you.” Riley’s voice rumbled near Emmy’s ear.

  “What?” She straightened, relieved that their more personal discussion seemed to be over.

  “The folder. We should have time after we order to take a look at what you’ve written and maybe set down some ideas on how to proceed.”

  “Are you sure? You’ve made your feelings on the subject of my search pretty clear. I don’t want to ruin dinner.” She grabbed the folder anyway, before he locked the car. She’d take any help he was willing to give.

  Riley reached around Emmy and opened the door to the restaurant. He didn’t answer her until after he’d given his name to the hostess. “If I’ve hesitated to help, Emmy,” he said, feeling his way, “it’s because I never understood your reasons. I’m still not convinced we’ll find the answers you seem to need. I just know I want to be around to hold you if everything falls apart. And I want to see your eyes light up if we’re successful. I can’t put it any plainer.”

  Emmy touched his face. She was sorry the hostess chose that moment to pick up two menus and call to them. Emmy was forced to wait until they were seated to thank Riley for his support. Even then, she couldn’t find words to express her gratitude.

  He shrugged, and in the next sentence denied it was personal. “Lawyers are generally good at solving puzzles. In going over the basic process, I saw what you have is a giant jigsaw. Sometimes you’re too close to the picture to find the right pieces. An outsider can often step back and better analyze. You’ll let emotions get involved. Are you ready to order?” He smiled at her over top of his menu. “I see our waitress headed this way.”

  Emmy had barely glanced at the menu. “Ever since I left Shreveport, I’ve been dying for scampi,” she said. “But only if you eat something loaded with garlic, too. At least I hope you’re planning to kiss me good-night.” Emmy hadn’t realized how close their table was to one seating eight well-dressed women. Women who fell silent just as Emmy made her announcement.

  Eight pair of eyes studied the couple curiously before the waitress cut off their view. Emmy had set her purse and folder on the edge of the table. The waitress accidentally nudged it and sent the whole stack spinning. As Emmy grabbed for the folder, her purse popped open and among other things, her lipstick and a package of tampons spilled out onto the trail of yellow legal paper.

  The incident touched off a babble of voices. Two women nearest Emmy bent to help her. A chic blonde paused, skirting around the damning box. Or was she scanning the pages? Emmy bumped heads with Riley as she reached to snatch up the pages from the stranger’s hand. But the woman apparently knew Riley, as did several others, judging by the number who greeted him by name.

  All of them gave Emmy a bold once-over. “Thanks,” she mumbled, far too embarrassed by the episode to supply her name.

  Fortunately, the waitress had been returning change to their neighbors. She completed her task and stood between the tables while they gathered their purses and jackets. It wasn’t until the group had gone that the waitress took their orders. Involved in straightening her notes, Emmy let Riley do the honors.

  “Is everything there?” he asked when the waitress had walked away.

  “I think so. Talk about embarrassing you. I’m sorry, Riley, I hate looking like such a klutz around your clients.”

  “You think I care? Only one is a client. Lauren Stevens. She inherited a piece of property here last year. I helped her unscramble the will. Dana Bartlett sat next to her. Dana’s married to Neil. He’s Jed’s age. The Bartletts own the funeral home, remember?”

  “I do. Neil was red-haired and really chubby. He married the prissy blonde? Wow.”

  “Dana has dark hair. She’s short and flighty. Blonde? The one sitting directly behind you? That was Catherine Jennings.” Riley chuckled, reading Emmy’s shocked expression.

  “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize Amanda’s mom.”

  “Probably because she’s the one who looked down her nose at you. And she’s had cosmetic surgery.

  “Actually, I thought she was reading my notes. Obviously not. She wouldn’t lower herself to do anything so crass. Tell me, does my blunder get any worse?”

  “Besides Catherine, the most influential woman at the table was Valerie Farr. Her husband, Dwight, is an architect who bid on revamping the former men’s club on the east side of the lake. Old man Pettygrove left it to the town. A group led by Catherine’s husband plans to push through a vote at tonight’s council meeting to make the club grounds into a park and public boat launch.”

  “I suppose that’s commendable, isn’t it? I mean, I would’ve expected Ray Jennings to try some underhanded deal to sell to developers.”

  “His bank still wins. To build a park, the town has to float bonds. Huge bonds.”

  “Oh. Those women seemed to be celebrating, so I guess they’re not worried the proposal will be defeated.”

  “Frankly, I doubt it matters one way or the other. Let’s forget them and talk about a strategy for beginning your search.”

  “I’ve already decided on step one. I’m going to start right here in town. The intro suggested interviewing people who knew me as an infant. That would be Mom Fran’s best friend, Joleen Berber. Reverend Briggs, the pastor at our church. And the people she cleaned houses for, if they’re still around. The Parkers, the Hartfields, Noreen Baxter and . . . Catherine and Ray Jennings,” she said after a brief hesitation.

  “That’s a good start. Reverend Briggs was transferred to a church outside of Canton a few years back. Maybe we can combine a visit to him with a turn around Trade Days. Just to see if anyone who still exhibits there remembers a baby being found in one of the permanent stalls.”

  “We?” Emmy folded her hands on top of a new list she’d started. “You’re going with me to visit these people, Riley?”

  He reached across the table and clasped her hands. “Granted, Frannie died a long time ago. But Logan h
as officially declared it murder. I’m not suggesting that digging in your past is in any way connected. However, if the person who killed her stuck around town, he or she might not like what you’re doing. If you know what I mean.”

  Emmy was afraid she did. And she’d rather Riley had kept that worry to himself.

  Chapter Ten

  Replete from finishing off two piping hot platters of scampi, Emmy and Riley discussed leaving her truck parked at his office. But they decided to follow their original plan, and he fell in behind her until they separated at the lanes leading to their respective houses. Riley had intended to hop the fence and join Emmy for coffee—and maybe more. Intentions that came to an abrupt halt when Mrs. Yates stepped to the edge of his porch and called to him.

  “What is it?” Emmy asked in an undertone, juggling her house keys from hand to hand. “Is Alanna ill?”

  “I’ll see.” Riley jogged over to his housekeeper. He quickly returned to Emmy, an apology already on his lips. “An IRS hearing for one of my clients has been advanced to tomorrow morning. The guy’s a nervous wreck and has been calling all evening. I need to phone him and then I have to hunker down in my den and prepare for the case.”

  “Is that all? I was afraid something had happened to Alanna. Why didn’t Mrs. Yates notify you on your cell phone?”

  “She called my answering service and then talked to Marge, who forbade her to disturb me. Mrs. Yates is put out. She hates being bothered during her favorite TV shows, and my client called repeatedly.”

  “Alanna said Mrs. Yates ignores her during soaps, too. Riley, shouldn’t your sitter’s number-one objective be to entertain Alanna when you’re gone?”

  “The woman doesn’t drink on the job or have male friends to the house. Believe me, Emmy, I’ve dealt with those situations. Sure, I’d like her to be warmer. But in a town of this size, it’s tough to find reliable domestic help.”

  “I feel guilty for having taken you away from Alanna this evening.”

  “Don’t. Until she was two, I worked at home. She was three before I left her for any length of time in the evening. I see Mrs. Yates heading for her car. I need to go inside, Emmy. I’d ask you in for coffee, but . . .”

  “I know.” She bobbed her head. “You have a case to prepare. That’s okay. I want to go over these notes.” She tapped the manila folder she had tucked under her arm. “I think I’ll write out a list of questions to ask each person I plan to interview. The same set of questions won’t do for everyone on my list.”

  “I should be back in my office by one tomorrow. I’ll ask Marge to pick us up a couple of deli sandwiches when she goes to lunch. That way we won’t waste time stopping somewhere. We’ll see Joleen first, then work through Fran’s clients. Save Reverend Briggs for last. Depending on how late it is, we may see him the following day. I have to be home at five-thirty on the dot—I promised Mrs. Yates. She has an appointment.”

  “I appreciate you working me into your busy schedule, Riley. I know I said I’d handle the interviews alone. But as the time draws nearer, I’m getting more and more nervous.”

  “I only have one added question for you, Emmy, and then I have to go. There’s no need to answer now, but please give this serious thought. If you find something horrible, can you walk away and simply accept that you needed to search, regardless of the outcome?” He backed away slowly, feeling bad for quashing her growing excitement. But far better that she start out grounded in reality.

  “I will give it serious thought,” she murmured.

  He paused beneath the spreading limbs of the big live oak tree, watching her until she finally hurried into her house. When he’d heard her close the door and saw a light pop on, he loosened his tie, removed his jacket and meandered up the steps to his porch. His first act once inside was to check on Alanna. She’d kicked off her covers. He straightened them and smoothed back the silky hair that lay in a tangle around her small face. He considered what Emmy said about Mrs. Yates’s lack of compassion. She kept the house polished. Alanna’s toys sat on their shelves like rows of attentive soldiers.

  But would his daughter be better off amid the type of clutter he’d grown up with, as Emmy had suggested the day they argued about his split with Josey and his mother?

  His mother was a good woman. Riley honestly didn’t know how he’d let his relationship with her deteriorate to the point it had. After Lani’s death, she’d tried to be supportive. He’d been bitter. Bone-deep bitter. At the time, he couldn’t imagine ever wanting to visit the reservation again.

  He might go now, though. With Emmy. She’d pricked his conscience. Some part of him really didn’t want his daughter, twenty years from now, being angry with him—maybe even rejecting him—because he’d kept her from a family that might have loved her. Would love her. He knew, without doubt, that his mom and sister would love Alanna to pieces. The estrangement was entirely his fault. He’d cut off everyone and turned into a regular SOB where family was concerned. That included sending back his mom’s letters unopened until she’d finally stopped writing to him.

  Riley brooded over his past actions long after he should’ve started work on his client’s case.

  Emmy sat in Riley’s office reception area, nervously spinning a full cup of coffee on a glass coaster while she awaited his return from court. He’d phoned thirty minutes ago to say he was on his way. Emmy had convinced Marge to let her make the deli run. Even then, preferring to wait for Riley, she was left to twiddle her thumbs and watch Marge devour her sandwich.

  Riley burst into his office, shedding a wet topcoat and shaking droplets of water out of his hair. “Brr. We’ve picked a fine day to go on our little Easter egg hunt,” he said, tossing the dripping coat over a metal coat tree. “The storm that’s been teasing us all week has finally hit with a vengeance.”

  “You’ll probably find more people at home because of it,” Marge advised, peering over the top edge of her half glasses. She tossed her deli wrap in the wastebasket.

  “I agree,” Emmy said. “The women Mom Fran cleaned houses for played tennis or golf on sunny days. I had imagined they’d be old by now, until you pointed out Catherine Jennings last night. I started thinking she must have been really young when she had Amanda. My—my—birth mother could be Catherine’s age.”

  “Emmy.” Riley’s voice held caution and something more. Anguish?

  “You think it’s getting my hopes up to speculate on the age of the woman who gave birth to me? Look, Riley, if you’re going to examine every word I say throughout this search, then I’d better do this on my own.”

  Marge glared at her boss. “I’m going out to buy stamps before I’m forced to hurt you, Riley Gray.”

  “All right, you two, I know when I’m outgunned.” He went into the conference room and came back with his corned beef sandwich and Emmy’s smoked turkey. As he unwrapped his, he said, “The guy who sent me the research information called me today. He said he’s only been successful in one out of four searches. He’s not very optimistic about our chances because we have so little to go on. Hell, I don’t know why I agreed to get involved.” Riley took a big bite and mumbled, “I don’t want this causing you even more pain, dammit.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Riley.” Emmy waited until Marge banged out of the office to hug him. “But you don’t have to worry. I’ve had years to deal with the pain. What I’m suffering from now is curiosity. Who were my parents? What’s their nationality? What did they look like? What interests did they have? Were they predisposed to any degenerative illnesses?” She waved her sandwich at him. “Should I worry about food allergies?”

  Riley skimmed a finger down her cheek. “Last night, I promised that was my final question. I’m in this with you, Emmy. For better or worse.”

  She swallowed a lump. “You sound as if we’re embarking on a lifetime commitment instead of heading out to talk to a
few people I used to know.”

  Riley debated venturing onto ground better left unplowed. He fought the urge and won. “I’m starved. Let’s finish eating, then we’ll don our Sherlock Holmes hats and set off on our Huckleberry Finn adventure.”

  “Talk about opposites. Hey, speaking of Huck Finn,” Emmy said, washing a bite down with a slug of sweetened coffee. “I circled by Beaumarais on my way here, to give Jed that military address for maybe locating Will. Gwyn jumped right on it.”

  “That would be quite the reunion if old Will rode back into town on a white charger.”

  “Why do you say that? You think he might have become a cowboy or something?”

  Riley grinned. “More like Zorro. Don’t you remember how Will used to clown around slashing his initials through the air? And despite the unfairness he experienced all his life, he was definitely a believer in justice. I can see Fielder coming unglued. I never sit down with him that he doesn’t make me feel like I’m still the town’s worst juvenile delinquent.”

  Emmy broke another piece off her smoked turkey sandwich. “You, Will and Rico Santiago all vied for that title. And you told me Rico is a doctor now. Do you remember the Halloween you three painted a big, fluorescent U on every vehicle in the city yard? Fielder had just been elected sheriff and he’d taken delivery of the town’s first brand new police car, if I recall.”

  Riley threw his sandwich wrapper away and opened a bottle of water. “You should’ve heard him last year when he found out that Will and I, with Jed’s reluctant help, were the ones who heisted those fifteen cases of beer.” He grinned. “We removed them from a car belonging to a couple of thieves—who took ‘em from the Legion Hall. That was the summer before our junior year.”

  “You didn’t! Fifteen cases? I’m surprised you all weren’t sick as dogs.”