If She Only Knew

by Lisa Jackson

  “I was crazy to know if you were okay and then Alex blocked us from the hospital—” Cherise caught a look from her husband and snapped her mouth shut.

  Donald settled back on the cushions, as if he intended to stay. Maybe even read scripture. “How’re you feeling?”

  “Better.”

  “You’ve had a rough time of it,” Donald said and though he was being kind, Marla felt as if there was a hint of condescension in his words.

  “I’m okay,” she said.

  “But I’ve heard you have some kind of amnesia,” Cherise said. “It’s temporary, right?”

  “I hope so.”

  Cherise said solemnly, “We’ll pray for you.”

  Her husband nodded. “Perhaps we should join hands now and ask for the Father’s forgiveness and guidance?”

  Cherise set down her cup and reached for Marla’s hand. Donald did the same, but before the prayer could get under way Eugenia clipped into the room, Coco at her heels. She’d donned a somber gray suit that matched her expression and suddenly the keyring in Marla’s pocket seemed to weigh a ton. The dog growled low in her throat, then took up her position behind Eugenia’s favorite chair.

  “Cherise. Donald,” Eugenia said without a smile.

  “Aunt Genie!” Cherise shot to her feet and flung her arms around the smaller woman.

  “How are you?” Eugenia said tonelessly as Cherise stepped back and beamed.

  “Better now that I’ve seen Marla. We—Monty and I—were sick to death with worry. I was frantic to see her. I wish Monty would have come with me, but he was busy today and I didn’t know when we’d have another opportunity,” Cherise said, taking a seat again as Eugenia settled into her wingback and dropped one hand to scratch the little dog’s ears.

  Cherise opened her palms, fingers stretching wide in supplication. “Look, there’s been a lot of bad blood in the family and it’s gone back generations, we all know that, but it’s time to put a stop to it. I mean, when I heard that Marla had almost lost her life . . . I just fell down and prayed. Something like this really puts things into perspective.”

  Donald clasped his hands and let them fall between his knees. On his left was a wide gold band proudly pronouncing he was a married man, on his right was a signet ring of some sort and another on his pinkie where a large diamond flashed. “Cherise and I think that this is an opportunity for the family to come together, that when tragedy strikes, or nearly strikes, it’s important to put the past behind us and look forward. To take God’s hand and walk with Him, thank Him for all the blessings he’s bestowed upon us.” Donald’s smile was placidly serene and phony as hell.

  Cherise reached over and squeezed Marla’s hand. “You and I, we were always close. I thought of you more like a sister than a cousin, or an in-law. And I know Monty, he was always fond of you. Is fond of you.” Her eyes were round, sincere, but there was just a hint of something more in their amber depths—something dark and sinful. “We’re here to see that the rift that seems to have widened between us in the past couple of years is bridged.”

  What the devil was this all about? Marla wanted to escape from the saccharine and goodwill and idealistic, shopworn phrases that rang false in her ears.

  The front door opened and Nick, wearing his scarred leather jacket, jeans and wary expression strode in. The corners of his mouth pinched at the sight of Cherise and her husband.

  “Cherise,” Nick said, nodding at his cousin. He stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His gaze skated over his cousin’s upturned face to land full force on Marla. Stormy blue eyes bored into hers. “So, how’s it goin’ today?”

  “Better,” Marla said, refusing to think about last night in the living room and how his body felt against hers. “Lots better. I think I’m starting to feel human again.”

  “Jaw still hurt?”

  “A little.”

  “A lot, I’d wager,” he said, unzipping his jacket.

  “I’ll deal with it.”

  “I imagine you will.” One edge of his mouth lifted a fraction, then he turned to Donald. “You must be Cherise’s husband.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eugenia said and made quick introductions as the Reverend rose and extended a big hand over the coffee table. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said to Nick.

  “Not all bad, I hope.”

  Donald smiled. “Nah. Cherise thinks you’re one of the good guys.”

  Nick snorted and sent Marla a look that could sear through stone. “Then she’s a distinct minority.”

  Donald laughed, Cherise blushed and Eugenia’s frown deepened. Nick grabbed a cup of coffee and settled one hip against the window ledge, his long, jean-clad legs stretched in front of him.

  In the ensuing small talk, Marla learned that Donald had once been a pro football player, a running back, one of those Christian athletes who prayed before each game. But all that was before God had decided that a three-hundred-fifty-pound linebacker would tackle Donald, crack three of his ribs and break his ankle in two places, thus ending his short, though seemingly awe-inspiring, career.

  “. . . So the man upstairs thought I needed to lead a congregation rather than a team,” he said with a smile, then set his cup on the table. “And that’s one of the reasons we’re here.” He reached toward his wife and she, like a trained dog, linked her fingers through his. His other hand smoothed the worn leather binding of his Bible. “Cherise has been concerned that the family is splintering. Her parents are both gone now. Nick, you took off years ago and your father, too, has passed on.”

  Where was this leading? Marla wondered.

  “Recently we’ve had so many problems within the family that there have been ugly accusations slung in all directions. Words have been spoken in anger. Words that most of us regret.

  “Cherise . . . well, I think I speak for Montgomery as well, has been very upset ever since the accident that nearly took her cousin’s life. When she tried to contact Marla, she was treated as if she were an outsider.” Donald’s big shoulders slumped. “We were hoping that we could all start over, that the fractured parts of the family could come together and we could put our differences behind us. That Marla lived was a miracle, most certainly God’s work. It wasn’t time to call her home yet.

  “Now let’s use His example and heal the rifts in our family.” Donald’s somber eyes met Nick’s. “Let’s be a team again.”

  Nick studied the preacher with a jaundiced eye. “I don’t remember being a part of any team.”

  “Certainly. The Cahill Family Team.”

  Marla thought she might get sick. Was this guy for real?

  “You’re serious?” Nick said. “The Cahill Family Team? Kind of like the Trapp Family Singers?”

  “Don’t be so snide.” Cherise pursed her scarlet lips and managed to appear wounded. “Of course we were a team. Years ago. When we were kids.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Eugenia pointed out.

  “I know but I’m enough of an idealist to think we can get it back again,” Cherise insisted as her husband stood and drew her to her feet. “No matter what has happened, we’re all family.”

  Donald said, “We’re inviting you to the church, for services this Sunday. Afterward we’d like to have all the family to dinner at our house.”

  “Please come,” Cherise insisted and hugged first Nick, then Marla. She took Eugenia’s hand in hers. “Bring Alex, Cissy and the baby.”

  I’d rather share a rat with a python, Marla though.

  “Will Montgomery be there?” Nick asked, and Cherise’s smile faltered a bit.

  “I’ll invite him of course. With Monty you sometimes don’t know. I really wanted him to come today, but unfortunately he had other plans. I’ll try to talk him into coming over to the house on Sunday, though.”

  “We’ll see,” Eugenia said frostily but Cherise didn’t seem to notice.

  They were about to take their leave when Nick asked, “Was Pamela Delacroix a member of Holy Tr
inity?”

  Donald’s spine stiffened slightly. His expression, beneath his calm exterior, shifted slightly. Warily. “Yes,” he said, his eyebrows knotting. “It was a great loss for the congregation.”

  Marla couldn’t believe her ears. “You knew her?” she asked. Finally, a connection.

  “Not personally, no, I’m ashamed to say. She wasn’t a regular, but she did attend services once in a while.”

  “What about you? Did you know her?” Marla demanded, her eyes fastened on Cherise.

  “Not at all. I mean, I wouldn’t even have known what she looked like,” Cherise said quickly. “The Reverend was right, she came a couple of times a few months ago, but she didn’t join any of the groups we have available. We offer Bible study several times a week, and a woman’s focus group and even singles counseling, but she didn’t join in.”

  “Then how did you know she attended?” Marla asked. “Did she tithe with a check?”

  “No . . . after she died one of the women who teaches an adult Sunday school class mentioned it. She’d seen Pam’s obituary in the paper and we started our prayer tree—that’s a telephone chain within the congregation, so that everyone could pray for her and her family.”

  “Did you meet her family? Her daughter?” Marla asked.

  “I didn’t even meet Pam,” Cherise reminded her, but she seemed uncomfortable, suddenly eager to leave, as if there was something about the conversation that made her nervous.

  Nick cocked his head to one side. “You didn’t mention that you had any connection with her when you stopped by the hotel the other night.”

  “It slipped my mind.” Cherise shot back. “So sue me.”

  Her husband sent her a sharp look and she instantly softened. “Sorry. Yes, I should have said something when I came by the hotel,” she admitted, avoiding the censure in her husband’s gaze. “It just slipped my mind.”

  Donald made a point of checking his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I’ve got an appointment with the church treasurer in half an hour.”

  Marla and Nick escorted the guests to the front door. Carmen, as if she’d been listening to the conversation, hurried to the closet to fetch Cherise’s cape.

  “It was good to see you again.” Cherise gave Marla a hug as Donald shrugged into his jacket. A handshake or two later they were out the door, their arms linked, the picture of Christian fidelity and love.

  “What the hell was that about?” Nick asked.

  Eugenia lifted a tired hand. “Just another way to wheedle back into the family’s graces. They’re after money, Nick. They can whitewash it with all sorts of euphemisms and terms such as ‘family solidarity’ or ‘God’s work’ or ‘being a part of a team’ or whatever, but the bottom line is, Cherise is trying to cozy up to the family fortune.” Eugenia cast a quick glance at Marla. “Don’t get me wrong, she probably was concerned about you. Cherise isn’t a bad sort. Just self-involved. And that husband of hers . . . well, he can pray until he’s blue in the face, he’s still got his problems. Alexander hired him at Cahill House and it turned into a horrid scandal.”

  Wearily Eugenia picked up her tea cup and placed a raspberry scone on a small plate. “Couldn’t keep his hands off one of the girls.” Her lips tightened and she broke off part of the scone. “I wouldn’t have been surprised if her condition wasn’t because of him. She never did say who the father of her child was, and she’d attended services at Holy Trinity. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.” Eugenia took a small bite of her scone. Coco, lying at her feet, watched her greedily. “Needless to say, Alex had to let him go. The scandal did so much damage. It’s amazing that Donald’s parish kept him on, but then he always swore that the girl was lying, that he hadn’t touched her. In the end the girl dropped the charges.”

  “This just gets better and better, doesn’t it?” Nick said sarcastically. “All part of the Cahill family history.”

  The phone jangled loudly. Nick strode into the front hall, snatching the receiver by the second ring and said, “Nick Cahill.” He carried the receiver back to the sitting room, his eyes focused on Marla. “Yeah, she’s right here. Just a sec.”

  “You’re on,” he said, handing her the phone. “Detective Paterno.”

  “What does he want?” Eugenia demanded.

  “I called him earlier,” Marla explained and took the police officer’s call while her mother-in-law regarded her as if she’d gone mad. For privacy’s sake, Marla headed up to the library, all the while telling Paterno about the night when she’d ended up in the clinic and what she could recall about the accident that killed Pamela. “. . . I don’t remember all the details, but I know someone was in the middle of the road that night and he was lit up like a Christmas tree, the lights blinding. I swerved to miss him and the truck did the same. I can’t say for sure what happened to him, but he jumped out of the way of the truck and ended up on the opposite side of the road from me,” she said. Paterno had a few more questions for her then asked her to come to the station to make a statement.

  She hung up promising to call him if she remembered anything else, then returned to the sitting room.

  Eugenia appeared stunned. “Nick says you remember the accident.”

  “Yes.” Marla nodded. “Most of it.”

  “But you don’t recall why you were going to Santa Cruz?” Eugenia set her plate on the floor and Coco inched forward, sniffed and gobbled the tiny piece of scone that was left then licked the plate for extra measure.

  “No,” Marla said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Nor why I was with Pam, or how I knew her.” But I’m going to, she thought. One way or another.

  A door slammed in the back of the house and footsteps hurried along the corridor. Coco barked, then quieted as Fiona, her face so red her freckles were barely visible, hurried through the foyer and into the sitting room. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, apologizing all over herself. “Little James, is he all right?”

  “Sleeping,” Marla said, and the girl didn’t wait for any other instruction, just hurried up the stairs, her raincoat billowing behind her.

  “Flighty thing,” Eugenia observed, her gaze following Fiona’s path. “I really don’t know if she’s right to look after James.” She patted her jacket pocket and scowled. “Have either of you seen my keyring?”

  “You’ve lost it?” Nick asked.

  “Misplaced, I think.” Eugenia’s face folded in concentration and Marla felt like a criminal, the keys suddenly so heavy she was certain they would jangle as she moved. “Strange,” Eugenia said. “I remember having them this morning.”

  “They’ll turn up,” Nick predicted.

  “I suppose, but it’s so unlike me to lose them.” She whistled to Coco and headed toward the elevator, leaving Marla alone with her brother-in-law.

  “Look, Nick, I think we should talk about what happened last night,” she said, forcing the issue that hung like a cloud between them.

  “I made a mistake.”

  “We both did.” She rubbed the back of her neck and closed her eyes. “I’d like to say it shouldn’t have happened, but I can’t. I don’t regret it.”

  Nick’s jaw tightened. “You should.”

  “Do you?”

  His shoulders hunched. “I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss it.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she admitted, “but it’s something we can’t just ignore.”

  “We have to,” he said, and she saw the struggle in his eyes, the strain of his emotions in the tightness of his muscles. “Besides, I have something I want to discuss with you.”

  “Okay. Shoot.”

  “While you were high on painkillers, I’ve been busy.”

  “With what?”

  “Trying to find out what the hell’s going on around here.” He withdrew a large envelope from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Marla. “This is a start.” She opened the flap and found herself staring at copies of snapshots of Pam Delacroix, i
f the heading on the paper was to be believed. Her insides twisted and she bit hard on her lip as she was finally able to put a face to the name.

  So this was the woman.

  And she was dead. Marla studied the laughing face, clear skin, arched eyebrows and green eyes.

  “She looks a lot like you, don’t you think?” Nick asked.

  “I suppose,” Marla whispered, her gaze moving from one shot to another, studying each photo that had been copied onto the paper. “There’s kind of a resemblance.” Her head twisted when she saw Pam with a fresh-faced girl of about eighteen. The girl, dressed in a graduation gown, was radiant, one arm linked with Pam’s. “Her daughter?” Marla guessed.

  “Yeah. Julie.”

  “She’s in college now, right?”

  “Was. She dropped out.”

  “Because of her mother’s death,” Marla said, feeling responsible. Dear God, would this nightmare never end?

  “Nope. That’s the strange part. Julie had already quit school a few weeks before you and Pam headed south.”

  “Is that right?” How odd. “Then why were we going to Santa Cruz?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” he said, folding his arms over his chest and straining the seams of his jacket. “Maybe you had another destination,” he prodded, recalling his conversation with Walt Haaga.

  “Where?”

  “I was hoping you’d remember.”

  “Not much chance of that,” she said sarcastically. “At least not yet.”

  “But don’t you think it’s odd that you left your children and Alex without saying a word?”

  “Very.”

  “Then you drove off to God-only-knows-where with a woman who looked enough like you to be your sister?”

  “But I don’t have a sister . . .” she began, then held her tongue. Sister. She felt something deep inside, the niggle of a memory that hadn’t quite surfaced yet. “No one’s mentioned a sister. Just a brother.”

  “Rory.”

  “Yes.” Still holding the pages, she dropped into the chair she’d so recently vacated. “He’s in a home of some sort because of an accident, right?”

  “Yes.”