by Carolyn Hart
“Good reason?” Her voice shook. “Is my son’s trust in me and his dad a good reason? Is leaving a happy family alone a good reason?” She flung out a hand. “Don’t you see, it was so long ago and only one night and it shouldn’t matter now. Jack came home for James’s wedding. I was Diane’s maid of honor. There were parties and dances and one wonderful night on the balcony of The Castle.” She lifted a hand to clutch at a rose-quartz necklace. “He was handsome and we talked and he held me in his arms. I’ve never felt that way about anyone else. It was a kind of madness. That night we went to the Hume cabin on the lake. My parents thought I’d stayed at The Castle. The next morning he asked me to come to Africa with him. Just fly away and leave Adelaide behind. I wanted to go with him.” Her voice wobbled. “I couldn’t do that to Clint. He had a summer job in Houston. He was coming home in three weeks for our wedding. I couldn’t treat Clint that way. I love Clint. He’s good and kind and he adores me. He came home and we married. I didn’t know I was pregnant. When I found out, I thought everything would be all right. I thought the baby was Clint’s.” Her tone was defiant. “When Ryan was little, I suppose I knew then, but I pushed away the thought. That night didn’t matter. Clint is Ryan’s dad. Don’t you see? Clint is his dad.”
“Weren’t you afraid someone would notice Ryan’s resemblance to Jack?”
She threw out shaking hands. “Why would anyone think of Jack when they saw Ryan? There was no reason to make that connection. When Jack came back from Africa with an eye patch and a scar on his cheek and white hair, he didn’t look anything like he did when he was young.”
Someone had remembered the youthful Jack with painful clarity. I was sure that Margo Taylor, bitter over his long-ago dismissal of her, fearful of her daughter’s pursuit of him, had entered the Dunham house and taken Ryan’s graduation picture. She had pushed the photograph beneath Jack’s door. Whatever her motive—revenge, jealousy of Gwen, or a wish to distract him from Shannon—she had unleashed violent emotions, Jack’s fury at the son denied to him, Gwen’s fear at a revelation she believed might destroy her family, and Shannon’s youthful heartbreak at Jack’s abrupt lack of interest.
Gwen began to pace. “I wasn’t concerned when he came back. There was no reason to do more than say hello to him. Ryan is a counselor at a camp in Missouri this summer. I made it a point to have Diane to my house, rather than dropping in to see her at The Castle. That last week, Diane came over several times. She was terribly upset because Jack accused Laverne and Ronald of fraud. Poor little Diane.” Gwen’s face softened. “She’s kind and good and generous, but she’s credulous. She’s sure she is actually hearing from James and that makes her happy. Jack should have left her alone. It may be a fool’s paradise, but what harm was there?”
“Possibly he didn’t want Laverne and Ronald to fleece Diane. Possibly he felt delving into the occult was irreligious.”
“The Humes have more money than they can ever use. As for the occult”—she made a dismissive gesture—“actually it wasn’t, because it was all fake.”
Gwen’s reasoning was faulty, but this wasn’t a moment to pursue theology.
“Anyway”—she was sympathetic—“hearing from James makes Diane happy. Destroying her connection to James would be cruel. Of course, Jack knew they were taking advantage of her. He’d made up his mind to get rid of them. When he told Diane, she cried until she was sick. I don’t know what would have happened if he’d lived. He was”—her voice was ragged—“frightening when he was angry. He came to my house Friday morning. He forced his way inside. He had Ryan’s picture. He said someone pushed it under his door. He showed me a note with Ryan’s name and birth date. Thank God Clint was at his office. Jack found the wall of our pictures. He looked at them and saw the empty place and then he turned on me. He asked me how I could I have done this to him, how I could have cheated him of his son. But when I knew, what was I supposed to do? I’d heard Jack was getting married. Clint was my husband. Jack yelled at me. He stormed up the stairs and found Ryan’s room—”
She was suffering, but Jack had suffered, too. Long ago his little daughter died, and at that moment in the Dunham house, he saw a room filled with mementos of a child’s life he hadn’t shared.
“—and took Ryan’s hairbrush. I tried to get the brush away from him and he pushed me away, said he’d have the brush, no matter what.” She slumped against a pillar, her fingers once again clasping the hard stones of her necklace. “I begged him. He said he had to know Ryan. He said he would give me a week to tell Clint and Ryan. If I didn’t, he would find Ryan himself and by that time he would have proof that he was his father.”
The DNA from Ryan’s hairbrush would have provided all the proof Jack would ever have needed.
“What did you tell Clint?”
She pushed away from the pillar, stood stiff and still. “I didn’t tell him. He doesn’t know anything.” But her eyes glittered with fear.
“You met Jack at the gazebo Friday night.”
If possible, she looked even more terrified. She scarcely managed to speak. “How did you know?”
“You were seen.”
She hunched her shoulders.
“Does your husband know you quarreled with Jack at the gazebo?” I watched her carefully.
“Of course not. I waited until Clint was asleep. I slipped downstairs and called Jack, told him I had to talk to him. I hoped he might remember how we’d felt and be kind. He came to the gazebo, but he started in again about telling Ryan. I begged him to leave us alone. He wouldn’t listen. Then Diane’s dog barked. I was afraid—” She broke off.
“Afraid?”
“I thought I’d heard someone near, a rustle in the bushes. I didn’t want anyone to see me there.”
Had she feared her husband had awakened and followed her?
“Anyway, there was no use. Jack had made up his mind. I ran home. I wish I could run away now.” She looked despairing. “But it’s no use, is it? You know about Ryan. Someone saw Jack and me in the gazebo. How many people know?”
She felt surrounded by nameless, faceless enemies. I wished I could reassure her. There was perhaps one positive note I could add. “I don’t believe the person who saw you in the gazebo knows about Ryan.”
Some of the tension eased from her body. Her face was taut in thought. Then she gave a short, knowing murmur. “Shannon must have followed him.” Her smile was mirthless. “Dazed by his magic. I suppose she thought…well, it doesn’t matter what she thought. You think she doesn’t know about Ryan?”
“I’m sure.”
“So there’s you and Kay and the person who called and whoever has Ryan’s brush. Oh, I suppose Kay has the brush. It was probably in Jack’s things. That’s how you found out.” She held out her hands in a plea. “If it’s you and Kay, then I beg you. Please don’t be cruel. There’s no reason to bring up all of this. It was long ago, one crazy night in all of Jack’s nights. Don’t let that one moment ruin my life and Ryan’s and Clint’s. Please.”
“Jack said he’d give you a week. What were you going to do?”
Her face once again was a hard, resentful mask. “What difference does it make now? Jack is dead. Ryan will never know. Don’t destroy my life. You can write your book about Jack, but don’t rake up something from the past that will do nothing but break our hearts.”
“I can promise that your family won’t be included in the book.” Since the book would never be written, I felt comfortable reassuring Gwen.
For the first time since she’d reached the gazebo, there was a hint of hope in her strained face. “Ryan won’t find out?”
I wondered if it had ever occurred to her that her son had a right to know the identity of his birth father. From the happiness and warmth obvious in the family photographs in their den, it seemed unlikely that Ryan would ever consider anyone other than Clint to be his dad.
“He won’t be told anything by Kay or by me.”
Her voice was thin. “I hope you
mean what you say.”
“Let us know if you get another call about Ryan. Don’t pay blackmail. Let us help.”
“Ryan mustn’t know. I’ll do anything to keep Clint from finding out.” She could not have made her decision clearer. If she had to pay blackmail, she would. “If only Jack hadn’t come home.” She whirled and ran down the steps and walked swiftly toward home.
I opened the door and stepped into Kay’s room.
She sat at the desk with a pen and pad. She put down the pen and looked up. “If I could swoop through the air unseen, it would be my choice of transport.”
I waved a dismissive hand. “That’s old hat. I enjoy being.” I glimpsed my silk georgette blouse in the mirror. It was truly lovely. “And I’m parched.”
“Mine but to serve,” Kay murmured, but she popped up and moved to the wet bar.
“Club soda, please.” I settled in a comfortable easy chair by the coffee table.
The club soda fizzed as Kay poured it into a tall tumbler filled with ice. She selected a Coke from the refrigerator for herself. She turned from the wet bar and carried the glasses to a clear glass coffee table, then brought a bowl of cashews.
“Thank you.” I reached for the glass. Plain club soda was always my drink of choice, bright, fresh, and not a trace of sweet. I selected five cashews, ate them slowly, felt a pop of energy. I pushed a cushion behind my back and stretched to admire my sandals. Perhaps they’d be even prettier with a green trim. Oh, yes. I nodded approval.
Kay retrieved her notebook and pen and sat in a webbed leather chair on the other side of the table. A shaft of late-afternoon sunlight through the west windows of Jack’s sitting room revealed the fine lines that feathered from her eyes and lips, reflecting a life filled with humor and thought and adventure and empathy.
I spoke rapidly. “I talked to Diane, Jimmy, Shannon, Margo, and Gwen. Diane thinks Jack was murdered…” And I concluded, “…Someone is trying to blackmail Gwen.”
Kay looked up from her notebook as I finished. “How’s this for a summary? Diane’s terrified that Jimmy pushed Jack. Jimmy admitted he intended to confront Jack, but claimed he found the balcony empty. Shannon heard Gwen Dunham say she wished Jack was dead. Margo refused to answer any questions and you believe she pushed Ryan’s picture beneath Jack’s door.” Kay’s expression softened. “And there’s Gwen Dunham. Poor woman.”
Kay’s gaze swung toward the windows to look at the hedge between The Castle and the Dunham house. “I have two sons.” The sentence was filled with understanding and compassion. “I wouldn’t trade my years watching Kyle and Connor grow up for anything in the world.” She tapped her pen on the notebook. “Gwen Dunham had the most to lose.”
“The dog barked.”
Kay looked bewildered.
I was following my own line of thought. “Gwen Dunham was not the only person who was threatened by revelations about Ryan. Friday night, Shannon followed Jack to the gazebo, where he met Gwen. Shannon tried to get near enough to hear, but Diane’s cocker started barking. Gwen said she slipped from the house, leaving her husband asleep. Was he asleep? Did he follow her? Did the cocker bark at him or at Shannon? How upset would Clint Dunham be if he thought the son he loved would learn Clint wasn’t his father? Clint had a motive for murder. Or was someone else out there? Ronald Phillips has a talent for slipping around unseen. He may be planning to blackmail Gwen.”
“There are too many possibilities.” Kay sounded discouraged. “How can we figure out who is guilty?”
“Which one was capable of murder? Was Paul helpful?”
Kay looked at me unhappily. “I feel like I took advantage of him. These people are his friends. He thinks I wanted his perspective so that I could more effectively interview them.”
“Jack was Paul’s quarterback.”
Some of the tension eased from her face. “Thank you.” Her glance said more than her words. Paul’s admiration and respect mattered hugely to her. Someday, if Kay revealed the truth about Jack’s death, Paul would understand.
“I believe Paul’s view of them is as honest a picture as we will find. So”—she was brisk—“Gwen seems an unlikely suspect. He describes her as gentle, self-effacing, unwilling to cause controversy. She loves Adelaide. Clint had a chance some years ago to go with Travelers Insurance in Dallas. Gwen didn’t want to leave Adelaide.”
I looked back over years, considering how Gwen had dealt with a once-in-a-lifetime chance for love. “Jack wanted her to come to Africa. She wouldn’t—or couldn’t—break out of the mold of her life. Keeping the status quo mattered more to her than passion. If she clung to a kind of life that had barely begun, what would she do if something occurred which threatened to destroy her long-established, secure world?”
“Gwen hated him that night in the gazebo.” Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Shannon heard her: ‘I wish you were dead.’”
I cautioned, “We have no proof of what Gwen said. Shannon may have lied.”
“Why?” Kay sipped the soft drink.
“You are forgetting one small matter.”
Kay raised a questioning eyebrow.
“The vase.”
“Oh. Of course. The murderer is quite sure questions from you or me have nothing to do with a book and will take every opportunity to direct suspicion elsewhere. That means the response of one of them has to be filtered through the possibility of guilt. Clever of you.” She gave me an admiring glance. “You aren’t as ditzy as you look.”
Every time Kay and I seemed to be forging a bond, she said something tactless. I suppose pique was evident in my expression. I stiffened. Had I heard a faint chuckle? I looked around the room. If Wiggins was here, he remained, of course, unseen.
He whirled into being behind Kay, visible only to me, chestnut hair burnished in a stream of sunlight from the window, broad genial face equable, mustache quivering in amusement. He gave me a thumbs-up, pointed into the distance, and disappeared.
I was swept by elation. Despite my continued appearances, Wiggins had clearly awarded me the Department of Good Intentions Seal of Approval. If Wiggins didn’t have a seal, I’d be happy to help design one. Perhaps a dear sea lion perched astride bright red (of course) letters trumpeting: YES! For an instant, tears of joy filmed my eyes.
“Don’t cry.” Kay was obviously distressed. “I didn’t intend to be disparaging, but, frankly, you are so young and pretty, it’s hard to take you seriously.” She clapped a hand over her lips, looked appalled. “Did I say that? How many times was I treated like that when I was your age!” She shook her head in bewilderment. “Of course you aren’t that age, even if you look it. How confusing is that?”
My, a seal of approval from Wiggins and a compliment and an apology from Kay. I felt like giving another Rebel yell, but settled for a pleased smile. “‘No offense meant, none taken.’”
Her laughter was genuine and appreciative. “Anyway, you’ve done excellent work.” She bit her lip, flashed me an impish glance. “For a pretty young woman. Okay.” Her smile fled. “If Shannon pushed Jack, she’d try to steer suspicion to someone else. Do you suppose she knew about Ryan?”
I drank the fizzy club soda, slowly shook my head. “She’d have told me, especially if she was trying to implicate Gwen.”
Kay stirred the ice in her Coke. “Paul was circumspect when I asked about Shannon. She’d been a client. I asked the circumstances. He said the matter had been settled and he wasn’t at liberty to discuss it. When I got back, I checked with Evelyn. She was more forthcoming. When Shannon was fourteen she rammed her bicycle into a teenage boy who was throwing rocks at a cat. She knocked him down and he ended up with a broken nose and five stitches in his chin. His parents sued. Jimmy got his dad involved. The suit was settled. Evelyn didn’t know whether James had provided money, but she thought so.”
It was my turn to murmur “oh.” “Hotheaded. Impulsive. Lacks control.”
Kay glanced at the notebook. “Shannon’s not the only one with a temper.
Paul said Evelyn is quick to anger, slow to forgive. The Castle matters more to her than people. She takes enormous pride in the art collection. Although she dutifully responds to charitable requests, her gifts are respectable, but not overly generous. She never hesitates to spend several hundred thousand for a painting or sculpture that she wants.”
I was puzzled. “How can art matter that much to her when she has such poor vision?”
Kay shrugged. “Pride of possession? Perhaps having Alison describe a work and knowing that the painting hangs at The Castle is enough. Maybe the art collection gives meaning to her life. Paul said Evelyn was resentful, angry that she’d never met anyone to love, that she’d spent her time caring for her father without any support from her brothers.”
Kay glanced again at her notes. “As for Diane, Paul said she’s timid, easily flustered, affectionate, and vulnerable. Paul thought it was a shame Jack hadn’t dislodged Laverne and Ronald. He said”—Kay’s eyes met mine—“that Diane would fight to the death to keep them at The Castle.”
I remembered Diane’s pitiful “I’d rather die” when she spoke of losing Laverne. “When a weak person is backed into a corner, the response can be vicious.”
Kay said briskly, “‘Dangerous if threatened’ sums up Diane. Jack had no intention of easing up on the Phillipses.”
“Wouldn’t Diane wait until she was certain he could prevail?” I had no doubt Diane was desperate to keep Laverne near, but I thought the threat would have to be certain before she would act. “Is she decisive enough for preemptive action?”
Kay was thoughtful. “For all we know, Jack may have spoken to Diane Saturday evening. I think she would have to be absolutely desperate to commit murder.”
“Paul’s take on Jimmy?”
Kay’s face softened. “Jimmy reminds me of Jack when he was young. Paul feels the same way. Although”—her tone was suddenly dry—“unlike Jack, Jimmy’s been a one-woman man since he and Shannon went on a Halloween hayride in middle school. Shannon is volatile and known to flirt. In fact, she dated another guy last summer.” She paused. “Jimmy slouched around looking morose. That’s when he took up hang gliding.”
