Close to Home

by Jenna Bennett

  I hadn’t been entirely truthful with Dix on the phone last week. I’d admitted that I’d fallen for Rafe just a little, but the truth was, I’d done a lot more than that. And I had a sneaking suspicion that Dix already knew it. He knows me, so he knows I’m not promiscuous, and I’m pretty sure he had figured out that I wouldn’t have sex with just anyone. If I’d gone to bed with Rafe, it would be because I’d fallen in love with him.

  God help me.

  That may have been the thought that caused me to jump out of bed and run to the commode. On the other hand, it might just have been past time for the tiny blueberry to make his or her presence known.

  After purging, I sipped ginger ale and nibbled on dry saltines while I got ready for the day. I was still determined to do something to hunt down Elspeth’s heir, who might also be Rafe’s son, today. It wasn’t long before I was in my car—a pale blue Volvo which was the only thing I’d salvaged from my marriage to Bradley, save a small chunk of change and my self-respect—and on my way across town to St. Bernard Academy.

  Opened in the wake of the War Between the States by the Sisters of Mercy, St. Bernard is a Catholic school which caters to both boys and girls from elementary through junior high. I turned off 21st Avenue just south of Hillsboro Village, and drove up the long, tree-lined drive toward the lovely old brick building. No sooner had I parked in the lot than the front door opened and a nun followed by a line of children came down the stairs onto the lawn. All except the nun were dressed in gray sweatpants and identical red hooded sweaters with the letters SBA on the chest. And the letter formation didn’t look anything like the one I’d seen in the photograph of the boy we thought might be Elspeth’s son. The letters in the picture were spiky; these were squared.

  Nonetheless, I climbed out of the Volvo and approached the group. “Excuse me.”

  “Yes?” The nun looked up and all the little boys and girls peered at me curiously.

  “I’m looking for a boy. I think he may be a student here.” I pulled out the photograph I’d taken the liberty of borrowing from Dix’s office yesterday. “Do you know him?”

  The nun looked me over, thoroughly, before turning her attention to the picture. “I’m afraid not,” she said after a moment.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. I’ve taught at St. Bernard Academy for over twenty years. I’ve seen every boy and girl who came through the doors in that time. And he isn’t one of them. Sorry I can’t help you.” She turned to the children, and clapped her hands briskly.

  “That’s OK,” I said to the back of her wimple, and headed for my car.

  There was a chance she’d been lying, of course—she probably wasn’t supposed to give out information about their students—but I hadn’t gotten the impression that she was. Scratching St Bernard off my mental list, at least for the time being, I put the car back in gear and headed down Blair Boulevard toward West End instead, in the direction of Montgomery Bell Academy. If I didn’t find what I was looking for there, I could always come back.

  MBA is a Nashville institution. It opened its doors in September 1867, the same year as St. Bernard. It’s namesake, Montgomery Bell, was a Pennsylvanian who came to Dickson County around the year 1800 and purchased the Cumberland iron furnace from James Robertson, one of the founders of Nashville. Mr. Bell did well, and when he died in 1855, he left twenty thousand dollars—a considerable sum in those days, and one I personally wouldn’t scoff at right now—to the University of Nashville. The money was invested, and by 1867, the investment had grown to forty-six thousand dollars, which was used to open Montgomery Bell Academy.

  Today MBA is one of the top college prep schools in the country, and boasts around 700 students, all male. I parked the car in the parking lot outside the old stone building and stepped out onto the asphalt, surrounded by boys.

  The first thing I noticed was that the Montgomery Bell students did not wear uniform shirts. They wore khaki pants, white or blue oxford shirts, and blue blazers. And ties. The ties seemed to be the only way they could express individuality, since everything else was the same. I saw conservative stripes, polkadots, paisley prints, and one lovely tie dye. I thought that was as good as it was going to get, until Bugs Bunny came along.

  The office was located on the first floor, just around the corner from the entrance. It was manned by your typical Southern matriarch: around fifty, with soft blonde hair shellacked into place, wearing a designer suit with real pearls. I knew the type. My mother is one of them. Sheila will turn into another. If I’m not careful, I will, too.

  When I walked in, she smiled graciously, but I knew that could turn at any moment. “May I help you, young lady?”

  I smiled back, trying to stay on her good side for as long as I could. “I’m hoping you can. I’m looking for this boy.” I dug out the photograph again, and put it on the desk in front of her. She looked down.

  A second later she looked up, all the warmth gone from her eyes. “May I ask who you are?”

  “Savannah Martin,” I said, thinking better of extending a hand to shake. “Martin and McCall, attorneys at law.” I laid a business card I’d also liberated from Dix’s office on the desk. To clinch things I pulled out my wallet and showed her my driver’s license. With any luck, she’d never realize that I wasn’t actually affiliated with Martin and McCall. Legally speaking.

  She glanced at it. “And what is this in reference to?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss details. Client confidentiality, you know. Other than to say that we’re trying to trace the heirs to a woman who died in Sweetwater a few months ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” the dragon said, sounding not sorry at all, “but we at Montgomery Bell Academy are not in a position to be able to share our students’ private information with anyone. Not without a court order. Do you have one?”

  I shook my head. “Bet I could get one, though. I have a friend at the courthouse in Columbia.”

  Of course, Todd probably wouldn’t feel inclined to help me track down Rafe Collier’s son. But Dix and Jonathan might know people at the courthouse that they could tag too, if it came to that.

  “In that case, I’m afraid this conversation is over,” the dragon said, lifting the photograph between two fingers, as though it contained contaminants, and extending it to me.

  I took it. “Can you at least confirm that he’s a student here? That way I’ll have something to take back to my boss. He’s going to need that before he puts the wheels in motion for a court order.”

  She hesitated. “I’m afraid I’m unable to do even that, Miss Martin. We have a policy to never discuss our students with outsiders. Whether they’re students here or not.”

  “Well, would you mind if I had a look around?”

  “I’m afraid not. If I have to have security escort you off the premises, I will.”

  She sounded like she meant it.

  “Fine,” I said. And reverted to good manners in time to add, “Thank you for your time,” before I walked out the door.

  Outside in the hallway I stopped to glance around, while I slid the photograph into my bag again, careful not to bend it.

  Just my luck, though: where there had been lots of boys around earlier, now there was no one. There were, however, photographs lining the walls. The orchestra, the drama department, the various sports teams: football and basketball, tennis and lacrosse. And some of the boys in the pictures were wearing shirts with logos. Logos that looked familiar.

  I was peering intently at the faces of the boys who played baseball when I heard the sound of a throat clearing behind me. When I turned around, I came face to face with the school secretary again. “Miss Martin.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was just...”

  “I believe I know what you were doing, Miss Martin.” She glanced at the picture I’d been examining, but it didn’t contain the boy I was looking for, and she took hold of my sleeve. “If you’ll come along quietly, please. Do not make me cal
l security to have you escorted out.”

  She towed me toward the front door. My mother brought me up to be respectful of my elders, so I followed without demur. When she had pushed me through the door into the fresh air, I headed for my car without further resistance.

  As soon as I got there, I pulled out my cell phone and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number I was looking for. Once I had, I dialed, and leaned back to wait.

  As I should have expected, I was rerouted to voice mail. It was the middle of the school day, and the girl I was calling was sixteen. Obviously, Harpeth Hall—the girl equivalent of Montgomery Bell Academy—did not allow their students to answer their cell phones during the school day.

  “This is Alex,” came the familiar voice. “I’m in class. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”

  I waited for the tone, then introduced myself and told Alexandra Puckett to give me a call when she could.

  Alexandra was Brenda Puckett’s daughter. Brenda used to be a coworker of mine, until our boss, Walker Lamont, slit her throat and left her to bleed out on Rafe’s grandmother’s floor. It’s a long story. In the course of it, Alexandra and I had met, and had struck up a sort of unlikely friendship. She missed her mother, I’d found her mother, and she was under the mistaken impression that we had unsuitable boyfriends in common. At the time, Alexandra was dating a young black man named Maurice, whom Brenda abhorred. I wasn’t dating Rafe—I’d never dated Rafe; as I’d tried to tell Dr. Seaver, our relationship was complicated—but we were seeing a fair amount of each other, and he was every bit as unsuitable as Maurice Washington.

  At any rate, Alexandra and I had gotten somewhat close. At least until Steven Puckett’s new girlfriend, Maybelle, had warned me off. She’d been trying to establish friendly relations with Alexandra, and it hadn’t been easy when the girl missed her mother and was resentful of anyone trying to take Brenda’s place. The fact that she liked me, and didn’t like Maybelle, didn’t help, and so Maybelle told me I needed to leave Alexandra alone for a while. I’d told Alexandra what Maybelle said, of course, since any loyalty I felt was to Alexandra and not Maybelle, but since she was sixteen and I was twenty seven, it wasn’t like we’d ever be BFFs anyway. She called me once in a while, to update me on what was going on in her life and to ask about Rafe, whom she had a schoolgirl crush on, but I hadn’t actually seen her in a while.

  You may be wondering just exactly why I was calling Alexandra.

  Well, the picture of the MBA baseball players in the hallway hadn’t included the boy from Elspeth’s picture. It had, however, included another boy I recognized. Austin Puckett, Alexandra’s little brother, was around twelve, and if he went to MBA, there was a good chance he’d recognize the boy in the picture, and that he could even give me a name and address.

  Chapter 5

  Alexandra called back, but not until late. By then, I was sitting down to dinner with Todd.

  He came to pick me up at seven, just as he said he would, and as usual, we’d ended up at Fidelio’s Restaurant off Murphy Road in West Nashville. Todd likes it there, and somehow he’s gotten it into his head that it’s ‘our’ place. I wish he hadn’t, because my ex-husband used to take me there, and it brings back bad memories. But of course I’ve been too well brought up to complain, so I grin and bear it. It helps that the food is outstanding, and well beyond anything I can afford to buy myself these days.

  What didn’t help was that I was wearing the same dress I had worn the last time I’d been here with Rafe. A black wrap-dress with a deep V-neck and a sash that tied on the side, it was forgiving of my slightly expanded waistline. I’d tried on several others, slinky cocktail dresses of the type I usually wear when I go out with Todd, but they’d all made me feel like I couldn’t breathe, and I thought it best not to tempt fate. Besides, I probably looked like I was poured into them. And I certainly didn’t want to risk Todd noticing that I’d gained a little weight.

  As usual, he attempted to order for me. I usually let him, but this time I put my foot down. Gently, of course. But there was no sense in letting him pay through the nose for a glass of wine I couldn’t drink, was there? So when he told the waiter to bring me a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, I shook my head. “Not tonight, thanks. Just water for me, please.”

  The waiter nodded.

  “Are you sure, Savannah?” Todd said.

  “Positive. I’m not in the mood tonight.” I smiled, to take some of the sting out.

  Todd nodded, giving the waiter the go-ahead to do as I said, but when he turned back to me, he was frowning. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You always enjoy a glass of Sauvignon Blanc with dinner.”

  “I know I do. But I don’t have to have a glass of wine to enjoy myself. And I promise I’ll enjoy the food.”

  I would, too. I was starving. Hopefully Todd wouldn’t be too shocked when he saw me tuck into dinner. Usually I nibble delicately, as befits a Southern Belle, and I leave at least half on my plate, but there was no way I’d be able to refrain from eating everything tonight. I’d do good not to lick the empty plate afterwards.

  Luckily the waiter brought some Italian bread along with Todd’s wine and my water, and I grabbed a slice and began stuffing pieces in my mouth. Todd watched me, concerned. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Savannah?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just hungry. I skipped lunch.”

  “I see.” Todd watched me chew. “Were you working?”

  “I was actually helping Dix with something. Tracking down an heir.”

  “How did it go?” Todd asked, interested. Perhaps he was hoping that I would come to my senses and finish law school and come back to Sweetwater to work for the family firm. Little did he know what I’d actually been doing. And I wasn’t about to tell him.

  “I haven’t found the person yet, but I made a step in the right direction.”

  “Excellent,” Todd said jovially.

  I reached for another chunk of bread. “What about you? How did the appointment with your dad go yesterday? Did he remember anything helpful about the Cartwright case?”

  Todd grimaced. “Unfortunately not. It was a total waste of time. Except for having seen you, of course.”

  “Spending time with your dad must have been nice, too.”

  “I live in the same house with my dad,” Todd said with a shrug. “I see him all the time.”

  That he did. I wondered if Todd had given any thought to where we’d live if I ever took him up on his proposal of marriage. It wasn’t like I could move into the foursquare in Sweetwater with him and Bob Satterfield.

  But maybe he planned to kick Bob out, in the hope that mom would take him in, and then we’d have the house to ourselves.

  I used to say that if I ever got remarried, I’d marry Todd. He was everything I’d been brought up to desire in a mate: successful, handsome, reasonably wealthy, and Southern. The current situation had put a crimp in that whole scenario, of course, but it wasn’t that I didn’t like Todd. We’d always gotten along well, even if I’d originally started dating him back in high school because Dix was going out with my best friend Charlotte, and it would make everyone happy if we hooked up. Mother had never given up hope that I’d marry Todd. When Bradley proposed, she gave us her blessing, but she never let me forget that I could have had Todd instead.

  The problem—one of them, anyway—was that he was too much like Bradley for comfort.

  Oh, not that I thought Todd would ever cheat on me. He loved me. If I agreed to marry him, it really would make him the happiest man in the world, and he’d never, ever stray. He’d always stay with me, always cherish me, always put me on a pedestal and worship at my feet... and why did that sound like more of a prison sentence than a recipe for a happy marriage?

  Before I could take this depressing train of thought any further, my phone rang, and I excused myself to answer it. “This is Savannah.” />
  “Hi!” said a familiar voice, “this is Alex!”

  I smiled. It was impossible not to, in the face of so much enthusiasm. “Hi, Alex.”

  “I’m so sorry it took me so long to get back to you. I didn’t pick up my messages for a while, and then I had to wait until I was out of the house to call. Didn’t want to do it in front of Maybelle.”

  So Maybelle was still around. Part of me had hoped that Steven would wise up and kick her to the curb once he got over the grief of losing Brenda. That he’d see what a barracuda she was. But no, Maybelle must have dug in deeply enough that he couldn’t.

  I’d always liked Steven Puckett. Not in any romantic way, just as one person to another. He’d suffered a horrible loss when Brenda was killed—he’d seemed to genuinely like her, poor sap, in spite of having been kept firmly under her fat thumb for twenty years—and I had hoped good things might come his way in the aftermath of the murder.

  Instead, Maybelle had gotten her claws into him before Brenda was even in the ground. Maybe he was just the kind of man who was attracted to, and attractive to, managing women.

  “So where are you now?” I asked, just a little worried. One night a few months ago, I’d had to venture into one of the less desirable neighborhoods on Nashville’s east side to rescue Alexandra from a party at Maurice Washington’s house. I hoped she hadn’t gotten herself into some sort of crazy situation again. Todd wouldn’t be nearly as effective a backup as Rafe had been.

  “Just over at a friend’s house. Lynn and Heather and I are watching a movie.”

  “That’s nice,” I said, smiling apologetically at Todd, who watched me like a hawk from across the table.

  “Nothing else to do tonight. So why did you call?”

  “I need a favor,” I said.

  “What?” It wasn’t an exclamation, just a request for information.

  “Your brother goes to MBA, right?”