She broke off as Con walked over to the file drawers, studied the labels, then finding the one he wanted, removed several sheets of film. He loaded the machine and began scanning through pages of newspaper. Amy went to stand over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure.” He frowned as the articles flashed by him. “This could take a while. I don’t remember when it happened.”
“When what happened?”
He glanced up at her. “What you said about Nona’s brother being sent to a mental institution—I think I remember something.”
“You know who he is?”
“Maybe.” Maybe not. But if what he suspected was true, Amber was in for a big shock.
She grabbed his arm. “Who is he? Tell me.”
It was a light touch, an innocent touch, but Con felt his stomach tighten. The kiss they’d shared last night had been on his mind all morning, and now he realized why. He wanted more.
He wanted much more than a kiss, which was stupid, considering their past. Her memory had haunted him all these years, had changed his life in ways she couldn’t begin to understand. Making love to her wasn’t the way to exorcise her ghost.
He’d always thought there was only one way to do that.
She wasn’t the only one with secrets, and Con wondered what she would do, what she would think of him, when she found out what he’d done.
He let his thoughts trail away as he found the article he was looking for. “Now it makes sense,” he muttered.
“What does?” Amy had dropped his arm, but she was still standing very close to him.
“The reason you recognized Frankie Bodine yesterday is because he’s Nona Jessop’s brother.”
* * *
AMY FELT AS IF the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. There was a strange buzzing sound in her ears, and the hair at the back of her neck stood on end.
“Then why didn’t anyone know that he was Nona’s brother?” She ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to get rid of the chill bumps. “This is a very small town.”
Con shrugged. “Her real name was Winona. She was a lot older than Frankie, the best I remember. She left Magnolia Bend years ago. After a while, everyone around here forgot that Frankie even had a sister.”
A cold sweat broke out on Amy’s brow. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To find Nona’s brother? Why then, was she suddenly so afraid? Was her fear of Frankie, or of what he could tell her?
Trembling, Amy moved back around to read over Con’s shoulder. As her gaze scanned the lines, another named leaped out at her. Phaedra Darling.
Fay had been the one to accuse Frankie of assault. Which meant Lottie had been the friend of Amy’s father. Which meant that Jasmine’s suspicions could be true—Lottie and Emmett Tremain could have been having an affair before his wife’s suicide.
“My God,” Amy breathed, still reading. “It says he held her at knife point. He threatened to kill her.”
“That was her account,” Con pointed out. “Frankie denied everything, but no one believed him. And why should they have? He was always an outcast here, not anyone who mattered.”
Was he talking about Frankie or himself? Amy wondered fleetingly. “I have to find him,” she said in an urgent tone. “I have to talk to him.”
Con stood and faced her. “Look, we don’t know if Fay’s accusations were true or not. People have been wrongly accused before. But if she was telling the truth, if Frankie did try to kill her, then he could still be dangerous.”
Amy shivered violently. “I know that. But what choice do I have? Frankie Bodine may be the one person who can tell me what happened that night.”
Con’s eyes darkened. “That’s what worries me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like I said last night. You don’t get amnesia from an argument with your father. It had to have been something more traumatic.”
Amy’s stomach twisted as she got his meaning. “You mean, you think Frankie may have…done something to me?”
If possible, Con’s eyes darkened even more. His jaw hardened as he stared down at her. “God help him if he did.”
* * *
IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON by the time Amy returned home. The house was empty and so quiet it was more than a little spooky. She shivered as she climbed the stairs. Lottie had left a note on her bedroom door, reminding her of the Fourth of July barbecue that evening in Riverside Park. Lottie and the girls were all going, and she hoped Amy would join them.
“No, thanks,” Amy muttered, wadding the note and tossing it into the wastebasket in her room. The crowd had already been gathering in town when she’d left, but Amy had had enough stares from total strangers for one day. All she wanted to do was take a quick shower and maybe hit the bed early. Last night’s insomnia was taking its toll, and she hoped that sleep would obliterate, at least for a while, the turmoil raging inside her.
Con had asked her to do nothing about Frankie Bodine until he could check the man out for himself, and Amy had agreed. She didn’t relish going to see Frankie alone anyway. Not after seeing him in town yesterday. But there was still a part of her—a tiny part—that didn’t quite trust Con. Did he really have her best interests at heart?
Why had he gone to see Mena?
After she’d gotten out of the shower, Amy wandered around her room, too restless to climb immediately into bed. A strange uneasiness came over her, and she began to wonder if she was really alone in the house. She even went so far as to open her bedroom door and call down the hallway, “Hello? Anyone home?”
When no one answered, Amy closed the door of her room, and, on an afterthought, locked it. Instead of dressing in pajamas—her original plan—she put on a sundress and sandals. Fully dressed, she felt less vulnerable somehow.
But again that odd feeling invaded her, and this time she walked to the window to stare out into the fading twilight. She remembered seeing Con down by the gate the evening before, and for a moment, she watched a shadow, thinking her memory had conjured the movement.
Someone was down there! He—or she—didn’t come through the gate, as Con had last night, but stood on the other side, gazing up at the house.
Amy’s heart catapulted against her chest. One instinct told her to go down and see who was there, even as another instinct—the one of survival—screamed for her to run. Get out of the house. Get in the car and drive somewhere, anywhere, to safety. It was too dangerous to be here alone.
But in that split second of indecision, the shadow vanished, absorbed by the deep shade of the woods. It was almost as if the person had melted, so thoroughly did he blend with his surroundings.
So much for an early bedtime, Amy thought, grabbing her purse and car keys. Suddenly, the barbecue in town sounded very, very inviting.
* * *
CON HADN’T CELEBRATED the Fourth of July in years. He didn’t like the memories associated with the holiday, nor the crowd that gathered every year in the park. Frowning, he watched the star bursts of color over the river and thought of other, deadlier explosions. The children’s excited shrieks reminded him of other screams, horrifying screams.
Tearing his gaze from the night sky, he scanned the crowd for Amber. Where was she? She wasn’t home, and she wasn’t here. Where the hell had she gone off to? Surely she wouldn’t go to see Frankie Bodine without him. Bodine lived so far back in the sticks, it wasn’t likely she’d even be able to find his place. But if she did—
Tamping down a feeling of unease, Con turned as he heard his name being called.
James Birdsong walked toward him, wearing pressed khakis, a light blue oxford shirt and tassel loafers—a lawyer’s idea of dressed down, Con reckoned.
“Birdsong.” He took a swallow of his beer, gazing at the attorney over the rim of his plastic cup, remembering a fistfight the two of them had once gotten into after school. Over Amber, of course. He wondered if James remembered it, too. Con was pretty sure he did.
James cleared
his throat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“What about?”
He hesitated, adjusting his glasses with his index finger. “Amber. She’s my client now.”
“Is that right?” Con studied the Japanese lanterns circling the park. The scent of barbecuing meat wafted on the night air, and he realized suddenly that he hadn’t eaten all day.
“I want to talk to you about the annulment.”
“Annulment?” Con felt as if the man had sucker punched him in the gut. He had to resist the urge to retaliate.
James gave him a triumphant smirk. “Amber and I agreed that was probably the best course of action to follow, considering the two of you never lived together.” Never consummated your marriage, Con was almost sure the man wanted to add.
A bitter taste rose in his throat even as he told himself this wasn’t a surprise. What else could he expect? He hadn’t actually thought they’d take up housekeeping, had he, now that she was back?
“We’re hoping you’ll be sensible about this,” James said smoothly. “There’s no reason for you to contest it. An annulment is best for both of you.”
Before Con could retort, Fay came slinking out of the shadows, laughing as she looped her arm through James’s. “There you are! I thought for a minute I’d lost you.”
James scowled down at her. “I need to finish my conversation with Con in private.”
“In private?” She blinked up at him, then turned to glare at Con. “What could you possibly have to talk to him about? What are you doing here, anyway?”
Con shrugged. “It’s a free country, last time I checked.”
She staggered a bit, and James caught her arm.
“You’ve been drinking,” he said, his tone disapproving.
She giggled. “A little. Alcohol lowers inhibitions. You should try it sometime.”
Con almost laughed himself at the look on James’s face. “We’ll talk about this later,” the attorney said. “Right now I need you to go back over there with your family.”
“I don’t want to go,” she said obstinately. “I want to stay here and find out who’s getting annulled.”
“I’m not at liberty to talk about that.”
“Oh, don’t be so stuffy.” She gave him a playful shove in the chest, then stopped abruptly. “Wait a minute.” She turned back to Con. “Don’t tell me you’re married.”
She made it sound a very doubtful prospect, and Con grinned suddenly. “Who would have thought I’d beat you to the altar, Fay?”
He could almost hear her inward hiss. She said scathingly, “Does Amber know?”
When James stiffened beside her, Fay turned back to him, her expression pensive. Sly. Con didn’t think she was as drunk as she’d first let on. “Amber came to see you yesterday, didn’t she? I wondered what that was about.”
“Drop it, Fay,” James warned.
But she’d already put it together. Con saw the revelation register on her face and her eyes widened. “Oh, my God! You and Amber are married! I should have known she’d pull something like that. That scheming little bit—”
James grabbed Fay’s arm. “I said drop it.”
“Why?” She glared up at him, daring him. “You’re not still in love with her, are you?”
When he didn’t answer, Fay jerked her arm from his hand. “You idiot! You goddamn, stupid idiot! When has she ever looked at you twice?”
“Why don’t you keep your voice down?” Con advised. People were starting to glance curiously in their direction. Another minute and a crowd would build.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Fay snapped. “Why don’t you go off and find your wife? I wish the two of you would leave town and never come back. I wish—”
“Phaedra, please!” Lottie came rushing up to her daughter. “What in the world is going on here? You’re creating a scene.”
“So what if I am?” Fay demanded, turning on her mother. Mena was standing a few feet away, and just behind her, Jasmine. “You two are going to love this,” she said over her mother’s shoulder.
“You’re drunk,” Lottie said in disgust. She cast a disparaging glance at Con, as if Fay’s condition was all his fault. “We’d better get you home.”
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere, Mama. Not until I tell Jasmine and Mena Con’s dirty little secret.”
“Why don’t you just shut the hell up?” Con growled. “What business is this of yours?”
“None whatever,” she agreed. “I’ve never been able to stand you, thank God. But Mena and Jasmine—they both think you’re some kind of hero. They’ve both been pining away for you when all this time…” She gave a hard, unpleasant little laugh. “All this time, Con’s been married to Amber,” she said loudly.
* * *
THE FIRST FAMILIAR FACE Amy saw when she entered the park was her aunt Corliss. She was standing off to herself, wearing a starched, cotton print dress and watching the proceedings with a critical eye. A country-western band played on a makeshift stage, but Corliss didn’t so much as tap her toe to the music. Her face was a mask of stern disapproval.
Even though Amy had been intimidated that first day by the woman’s formidable appearance, she didn’t hesitate to approach her. “Aunt Corliss!”
The big woman spun, sloshing red punch from a plastic cup over her hand. The sticky liquid dripped like blood to the ground. “Why, Amber Rochelle!” she said in surprise. “Lottie said she didn’t think you were coming.”
“I changed my mind.” Amy glanced at her aunt’s hand and said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Don’t you fret about it.” She tossed the cup in a nearby barrel, then scrubbed her hand on a delicate white hankie she pulled from the pocket of her dress. “Let’s go somewhere and sit down, away from all this infernal noise. I’ve got a pounding headache.”
They found a deserted picnic table near the edge of the park, and Corliss eased herself down with a groan. “My arthritis is giving me fits tonight. When you get to be my age, it’s just one thing after another.”
She wasn’t that old, and she looked to be in perfect health, strong and big boned, but Amy murmured the appropriate sympathy.
Corliss pursed her lips. “Would you look at that?” She nodded toward two long-haired boys heading rather stealthily toward the woods. “Up to no good, I’ll wager. High as a cat’s back, the pair of ’em. I’m just glad to see Jasmine Louise isn’t with them. Although God knows where she is.”
Amy watched the boys for a moment, then turned back to her aunt. “Could I talk to you about something?”
“Well, of course, dear heart. You can talk to me about anything. I know you don’t remember, but you and I were very close once.”
“I want to know about my mother.”
Corliss, who had continued to scrub her hand with the hankie, paused. Her gaze looked wary. “What do you want to know about her?”
“Why she died.”
Pain creased Corliss’s brow. “What can I tell you? Miranda took the easy way out, and the rest of us had to deal with the consequences.”
The bitterness in her voice surprised Amy. “Did you and my mother not get along?”
“Course we got along.” Corliss scowled at someone in the nearby crowd. “She was my only sister, and I loved her. But I can’t say I ever truly understood her. She was a beautiful child. I was Mama’s favorite, but Daddy…he just thought the sun rose and set on Miranda Lee.” She paused. “There was always a sadness inside her, even as a little girl.”
“Is that why people assumed her death was a suicide?”
Corliss stared at her for a moment. “What else could it have been?”
Amy shrugged, not yet ready to voice the suspicion that had been lurking on the fringes of her mind. She asked instead, “Do you think her suicide had something to do with Lottie?”
Corliss’s eyes narrowed on her. “You’ve been talking to your sister, I take it.”
“Is it true? Did Lottie an
d my father have an affair? Is that what drove my mother to suicide?”
“I don’t know.” Corliss sighed. “I’ve always hated to think Lottie would do something like that. She, Miranda and I were all childhood friends. Lottie’s mother was our housekeeper when Miranda and I were just girls. Lottie was our playmate.”
“You mean Lottie lived at Amberly a long time ago, before she even married my father?” The revelation shocked and troubled Amy, because if it was true, it explained a lot. Namely, Lottie’s obsession with the house.
Corliss nodded. “She and Miranda used to pretend that she was our long-lost sister, kidnapped at birth, and that she would someday grow up to become the mistress of Amberly. Miranda encouraged all that nonsense by giving Lottie some of our dresses and hair ribbons and such, so that she looked as if she really did belong there.
“After a while, I think we all started believing in the fantasy, especially Lottie. Then her mother died, and she had to leave Amberly to go live with some of her kinfolk in Greenville. They were dirt poor and already had too many mouths to feed. I suspect they didn’t really want Lottie, poor thing.”
“Did you keep in touch with her?”
Corliss grimaced. “I never was much of a letter writer myself, but she and Miranda corresponded for a long time. Then when Lottie moved back here with her husband years later, I guess she probably figured they could pick up the friendship where they left off as kids. But Miranda had her own life by then. She was mistress of Amberly, and I don’t think she was all that eager to have Lottie underfoot.”
“When did the affair with my father start?”
“While you girls were all still in high school. I sometimes wondered if that’s why Fay resented you so much. You had everything she wanted. A mother and father who adored you, a beautiful home, more friends than you could shake a stick at. You got every bit of the attention she craved.”
Which brought another question to Amy’s mind. “Did Frankie Bodine really assault her?”
“Why, how odd that you would ask about him. I just saw him not more than five minutes ago.”
Her Secret Past Page 13
