“I have to go….”
Without looking back—she couldn’t look back—she went into Taylor’s room, gently woke him from his nap and lifted him into her arms. All his things were outside waiting for the shelter pickup except the crib. Scott had said he’d move that outside later.
“Let me take you to the bus station.” He was standing behind her.
With a nylon satchel on each shoulder and her son in her arms, Tricia shook her head. “It’s not far. I can walk.”
Just a few more steps and she’d be out the door. She heard the kitchen floor beneath her sandals, but didn’t see the counters she’d wiped down every night. She didn’t look at the refrigerator from which she’d taken the piece of typing paper with crayon squiggles that had been her son’s first artistic effort. Didn’t look at the puppy trying to tangle himself in her feet.
Out the door, down the steps. The evening air swooped over her, cool and bracing.
“Hey.”
She stopped, but didn’t turn. God, if there’s a heaven, if there’s a way, give it to me now. This is it. The last chance.
“Just remember one thing.” Scott’s voice came from several feet behind her. He wasn’t following her. He was letting her go.
“When you’re in front of the camera and they’re asking you questions, smile big. I’ll be watching you.”
Tricia’s eyes were red and swollen by the time she reached the bus station. Going first to the ladies’ room, she set down her burdens within reach, blew her nose, rinsed her eyes with cold water…and avoided her reflection in the mirror.
She’d just said goodbye to Tricia Campbell.
Back out in the station, Kate Whitehead bought two tickets to San Francisco.
18
The silence in the house mocked him.
Attacking the emptiness with all the pent-up energy threatening to explode inside him, Scott dismantled the computer system in his bedroom, moving it—with Dog trotting at his heels, going after the cords—into the vacated spare bedroom. After a couple of trips out to the mall for a desk and fancy chair, office supplies and a new phone, he had an office of which his businessman father would be proud.
And another hour to kill before he dared lie down on the couch in the living room. Exhausted though he was, he didn’t feel tired enough to sleep.
Cleaning up a little pile Dog had left in the kitchen, he glanced at the phone.
He’d thought maybe she’d call.
Or maybe, Scott acknowledged, wearily dropping into the plush new chair he didn’t need, he’d known she wouldn’t but had hoped anyway. She’d be in San Francisco by now. With Carley Winchester? Safely ensconced in her house?
Or alone?
Dog pulled at the hem of his jeans, growling.
With a haphazard punch of a finger, Scott flipped on the computer, just checking to make sure everything was reconnected and working, that he could still get online. Fixing a computer glitch could easily take up an hour or more. Or, if he was particularly lucky, it could take the entire night.
It booted up in record time. Or so it seemed. He’d been prepared to wait several minutes for the icons to pop up on the lower toolbar. Instead, he’d hardly blinked before the blue-wave wallpaper shone out at him. With one click, he was on the Internet.
And then off. It worked. He didn’t much care at the moment what was going on in the rest of the world. He was too busy trying to make sense of his own.
When Dog started to whine, he picked up the puppy, held him in his lap, one hand haphazardly scratching his ears.
It breaks my heart to think of you living this way for the rest of your life.
He rearranged his desktop icons. Money management on the right. Internet on the left.
When are you going to quit punishing yourself? When is your sentence over?
Solitaire on the left. E-mail on the right.
Why do you think you’re still alone?
Word processing on the…
Damn, he’d been too heavy on the forefinger, double clicked instead of highlighting and dragging. He waited for the program to finish opening so he could close it and wondered, a bit whimsically, if that was what his life was about: opening things just so he could close them again. Drawers, for instance. Doors. Relationships.
A white screen appeared with blinking cursor. And off to the left, in a side box, a list of recently open documents. Taylor/Scott was the first title on the list.
Slowly moving the mouse, he got closer to that highlighted listing. And eventually clicked on it. How could he be eavesdropping, trespassing, when he owned the computer and had authorized no one else to use it?
It took only seconds for the letter to come up.
But it changed something inside Scott forever.
To Whom It May Concern:
I, Kate Whitehead, being of sound mind and body, do hereby state my intent regarding my son, Taylor Campbell Whitehead in the event that I am no longer alive to care for him. I ask that the court appoint Scott McCall, of 624 Ivy Street, San Diego, California, as his legal guardian and caregiver and any monies belonging to me upon my death or accrued thereafter be kept in Mr. McCall’s care for Taylor’s use, the balance of which is to be conveyed upon him on his twenty-first birthday…
“Oh, my God! Kate?” Impeccably dressed as usual, Carley Winchester stumbled and almost fell as she climbed out of her Mercedes in the parking circle behind her San Francisco home. It was midmorning on Saturday.
She grabbed the doorjamb and hung on. “Is that you?”
Kate nodded, hugged Taylor close and tried not to cry. She’d meant to call. To warn Leah’s sister that a ghost was about to appear in her life. But, in the end, not sure that Carley’s phone wasn’t tapped, she’d decided to wait out back at her friend’s house instead. Carley had a habit of parking in the circle rather than pulling into the garage. Something her husband, concerned about her safety, had nagged her about for years. She’d always insisted that she couldn’t live if she had to be afraid of her own backyard.
“I hoped you still had your Saturday-morning breakfast at the club.”
Kate was referring to a standing engagement with a book discussion group, comprising mainly wealthy professional women.
“Oh, my God.” Carley’s knuckles, still clutching the doorjamb, were white. Her pale peach suit appeared vibrant against her washed-out skin as she stared at Kate.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said, running a hand over the back of Taylor’s head as the little boy laid it against her shoulder. He was still so shy with strangers. “I wanted to talk to you before anyone else discovers me. I’ve been following everything and knew I had to come back, but I have no idea what to do next.”
“Kate?” Carley’s voice squeaked again, her perfectly outlined lips trembling. One shoulder-length black curl had fallen onto her cheek.
Too weary to be self-conscious of the wrinkled jeans and shirt she’d spent the night in, Kate nodded again. Her shoulders and neck ached. She’d been lugging the two bags of belongings she’d hidden behind Carley’s garage, as well as her son, for the hour it took her to walk to her friend’s from the bus station. And then holding Taylor for the additional hour they’d had to wait for Carley’s return.
“I can’t believe it!” Falling away from the door, Carley launched herself at Kate, crying, hanging on to her neck, squeezing so hard Taylor started to kick. Kate didn’t want Carley to let her go, the arms of friendship grounding her in a way she hadn’t expected.
“I missed you,” she whispered, drenching Carley’s neck with her tears. “I missed everyone, so much.”
“Mama!” Taylor squealed in a half cry, pushing against Carley—and against Kate. After a night of sleeping at the bus station he wasn’t at his best.
With tears still streaming down her face, Carley backed up, stared at the baby. “He’s yours?” she asked softly.
Kate gave a shaky nod. “His name’s Taylor.”
Dark eyes glancing from the baby to he
r, Carley smiled and sobbed at the same time. “He’s beautiful….”
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Kate said softly, ignoring the cup of coffee in front of her on Carley’s kitchen table. The Winchesters’ housekeeper didn’t work weekends and Carley’s husband was out on the golf course for several more hours. Taylor, who’d finally dropped off into a restless sleep, was on a comforter spread on the floor in the next room.
Carley’s dark eyes filled with tears again. “It’s been over a month, but I can’t believe it, either. She was so vibrant, you know?”
Kate did know. She, more than anyone, had known Leah Montgomery. “How am I going to live without her?” she whispered now, less sure of herself than she’d ever been.
One perfectly manicured hand, French-tipped natural nails fashionably long, covered Kate’s. She’d forgotten how soft a woman’s skin could be with regular care and lotions and spoiling. “We’re going to be here for each other, that’s how,” Carley said.
And for the first time since she’d left home, Kate experienced a moment of complete peace.
“You’re an amazing woman, Kate Whitehead,” Carley said an hour later, having asked question after question about Kate’s life in San Diego.
“Hardly,” Kate said, grimacing. She lifted a hand to her ponytail, flipped it and let it go. “Look at me! My hair has no style and is full of dead ends, my hands are chapped and rough, my nails as short as a man’s, from too much dishwater, too much stress and too many baby baths—and no manicures. I don’t own a single outfit I’d feel comfortable being seen in….”
“You’ve lost weight.” Carley got up from the table, peeked in on Taylor who, now that he was finally sound asleep hadn’t budged, and moved over to the counter.
“I could afford to leave a few pounds behind.”
“You could not,” Carley said, returning to the table with fresh cups of coffee, to go with the coffee cake she’d cut and served half an hour before. Neither of them were touching either the coffee or the cake. “You always had the most perfect figure of any of us. Now you’re just plain skinny. But we’ll take care of that. Here—” she pushed a plate toward Kate “—have some cake.”
Because she knew better than to argue with Carley when she got that tone, she helped herself to a forkful of cake. Took a bite. It was moist. Delicious. And it almost choked her.
She looked around the familiar kitchen, shaking her head. “I recognize all of this, and yet it’s like I’ve never been here before. Like I saw it all on TV or in my imagination.”
“I’m just glad you’re back,” Carley said, her voice catching again. “It’s more than a dream come true. If only Leah…”
“I know,” Kate said. And then there was nothing more to say.
“So now what?” Kate shifted on the soft suede couch, her knees to her chest as she watched her son playing with his plastic building blocks. She’d pulled them out of one of the bags she’d collected from behind the garage and now they were scattered across the Aubusson rug that covered the hickory-wood floor in Carley’s family room. A state-of-the-art surround-sound entertainment center with a sixty-four-inch television set softly relayed the voices and pictures of Taylor’s beloved Blue.
“After we get you into the shower, you mean?” Carley asked with a tender grin.
“I’ll need to borrow some clothes until I can get hold of some money and buy some stuff.”
She’d returned from the dead, had a mother to contact, a husband who’d threatened to kill her, a court system to answer to—and the thought of showering seemed overwhelming.
Carley nodded. “I’ve already thought of that,” she said, kicking off peach pumps before stretching out on the couch, her toes barely touching Kate’s calf.
Concentrating on that brief pressure, a tangible connection to reality, calmed the panic in Kate’s stomach—even if only for a moment.
“You’ve easily lost a dress size,” she continued, “but I’ve got a couple of suits that should fit you. Money won’t be an issue. You’ll stay here and I’ll get you some cash….”
“I have a few hundred on me, but that wouldn’t buy even one outfit Kate Whitehead might wear. And I have no idea how to access my own money here.” The stomachache was back in full force.
Carley frowned. “I imagine they’ll check dental records or something to establish your identity, and then it’s probably just a matter of paperwork to get you a new driver’s license, reissue credit cards, get you a way to access your joint accounts for cash.”
She didn’t want to access accounts with Thomas’s name on them. But the money was half hers. Taylor toddled over, threw a yellow plastic square in her lap and moved back to his circle of toys, sitting down with a plop, his gaze focused on the huge Blue in front of him.
“Does it work that way?” Kate asked Carley, afraid for her son. And for herself. There was so much to think about. “I mean, is there a statute of limitations on someone’s right to reclaim her life? Once I was declared dead, everything that was mine became Thomas’s, didn’t it? He could have remarried—”
Carley shook her head. “You were never declared dead.”
“What?” Kate sat up so fast she saw stars. “How can Thomas be charged with my murder if I’m not declared dead?”
Carley’s panty hose rasped as she rubbed her feet back and forth against each other. “I asked the same thing when I found out,” Carley said, her eyes serious. “People might start to believe I’m as crazy as the press says I am if they found out how obsessed I’ve been with this whole thing,” she admitted. “But I knew in my gut that Thomas killed my sister, and I haven’t been able to think of anything but you and him and Leah ever since.”
“You’re not obsessed, Carl,” Kate said smiling softly at her best friend’s younger sister. “You’re you, and thank God for that.”
Carley nodded, her eyes softening.
“And you’re certain Benny’s behind you?” She asked the question she was almost afraid to ask. “He’ll probably lose any further chance for political success in this state….”
“Benny’s an honorable man, Kate.” She smiled. “I know that’s rare in our circle, but he really is. He’d go after Whitehead himself if he thought he had a leg to stand on.”
In that next second, as she spoke of Thomas Whitehead, the detached veneer returned to Carley’s demeanor—a trick Kate had watched Carley learn long before high school. She’d always considered it the result of a young Carley’s desperate need to contain the natural intensity that was so unacceptable to her parents. Right now, she had a feeling it might be the only thing that would get either of them through this.
“In the case of a missing person, there has to be a motion made in civil court by a family member in order for that person to be declared dead.”
Her face felt cool, as though a breeze were blowing in the white space surrounding her. “So how can they charge him with my murder?”
“That’s a criminal court issue. Apparently a jury can listen to the evidence and decide you’re dead, even if a civil court never finds you so.”
“So I can be dead and alive at the same time.”
“Yep.”
“He can go to prison for my murder, but not spend my assets.”
“Exactly.”
Life was surreal. Twisting in so many directions she couldn’t separate right from wrong. And then something else hit.
“Thomas didn’t have me declared dead.”
“Right.”
“He never planned to marry Leah.”
“It looks that way. He certainly couldn’t have been planning to do it anytime soon, because until he files to have you declared dead, he’s still a married man.”
Shivering, Kate hugged her knees back to her chest. “So why didn’t he have me declared dead?” she wondered half out-loud. “It’s not like he needs my half of the estate, but it’s not a small amount of money, either.”
Carley tilted her head, eyes narrowed. “He claims�
��this is what I’ve been told by Amy Black, chief counsel for the prosecution—that he loved you so much he couldn’t bear to give up hope that you’d be found…and able to take your rightful place as his wife. Just the way you’d want to.”
Kate almost threw up. And then started to shake. All she could see was a red haze. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t walk back into that insidious life of manipulation and control, his diabolical use of tenderness to soften his prey for the kill.
Because Thomas had the one thing that could tip the scales in his favor. The perception of honesty. In everything he said, there was some truth.
“Hey.” Carley’s hand was on her wrist, gently tugging. “It’s okay. You can’t—and won’t—go back to him.”
Kate could hear her words clearly, although they sounded as if they came from a great distance. It was the fervent support shining from Carley’s dark eyes that reconnected her to the world. She listened to the cheerful and unnaturally high-pitched voices coming from the television set several yards away, watched her son happily trying to force a truck into a blue box half its size. And she thanked her best friend’s sister for sending her strength where hers had failed.
“What is true?” she whispered.
“In the state of California, he could’ve been charged with your death even without a body if there’d been reasonable cause. His claims of undying love went a long way toward protecting him against that. He sure as hell wasn’t going to rock the boat by having you declared dead,” she said urgently. “It was all part of the act.”
Yes, and that was what she had to remember every second of every day from now on. With Thomas, it was always part of the act.
“And…” Carley added, her glance sympathetic “…in his own twisted way, Thomas does love you. As much as he can love anyone.”
“Love to him is control,” Kate said in a low voice.
“I know.” Carley paused, squeezed Kate’s hand. “But you broke away from all that, and you aren’t going back.” She said the words with such certainty Kate had to believe them. “In the meantime, the fact that he couldn’t have you declared dead prevented him from stealing your life out from under you.”
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