Trying to ignore his ruggedly imposing presence, Delia got to her feet, pushed past him and stood back to examine her car. “It looks like it’s okay. I suppose I should be thankful.”
“Thankful you didn’t get somebody killed, you mean? What were you doing driving so fast in the fog? You’re familiar with the weather up here. You should know better.”
She arched a dark eyebrow. “So are you. I wasn’t the one hogging the middle of the road.”
“Yeah, well, I was in a hurry to get to the house and get to work.”
She glanced at the truck. It had obviously seen better days. “Since when do you work for your father?”
“Since his arthritis flared up. Some days it’s so bad he can hardly move.”
That took some of the ire out of her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“We’re coping. What about you? How come you’re slumming in Stoneley? I thought you lived in Samoa or some exotic place like that.”
“Hawaii,” Delia said, positive he was just trying to annoy her. Everybody in Stoneley knew she’d been shipped off to Hawaii for college and had stayed there after graduation. Leave it to Shaun to pretend he didn’t know or care where she’d gone.
“Okay, Hawaii,” he grumbled, eyeing the car. “I know you didn’t drive here in that.”
“You always were a smart man,” she countered.
He huffed with evident disgust. “That’s debatable.”
“Maybe I should have said you had a smart mouth.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Touché.” Delia had to work to suppress a smile in spite of his clear animosity. She and Shaun had always enjoyed taunting each other and their rapid repartee brought back fond memories.
He struck a nonchalant pose, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his denim jacket. “So, where were you headed when you decided to take a detour into the shrubbery?”
“To town.” She glanced at the small envelope lying on the front seat of her car. It contained the precious lock of Trudy’s hair. “I’m sort of on a mission.”
“Sounds important. Of course, everything the Blanchards do is important, right?”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” she said. “Guess I’d better get going.”
“You sure that car’s okay?”
“Probably, if you don’t count the scratches. They’re really going to sock it to me when I turn it in at the airport.” She thought she saw him flinch.
“How much longer are you staying?”
“Maybe a week. Maybe less. As soon as my business for the family is finished I’ll be heading home.”
“Good.”
Delia tensed. “Good?”
“I didn’t think you liked it here.”
“You’ve got that right.” She eyed the drive she’d recently traversed. “So, are you going to just stand there giving me trouble or are you going to get back in your truck and scram before my father comes by on his way to work and starts asking us what happened?”
“You aren’t going to tell him?”
Delia shook her head. “Why should I? If anybody notices that the bushes look funny I’ll just say I accidentally ran off the drive, which is the truth.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, I’m not doing it for you, I’m doing it for your poor father. I figure he has enough troubles already without my adding to them.”
For a moment she thought she saw a flash of relief cross Shaun’s handsome face. Then he stood at attention and gave her a mocking salute. “It’s been a pleasure running into you, Ms. Blanchard. Or should I say almost running into you?”
With that he wheeled around and jogged back to his truck.
Delia bit her lower lip to keep from calling after him to get the last word. The less she and Shaun Murphy had to do with each other, the better off they’d both be.
She didn’t know how deeply their chance meeting had affected him but it had shaken her all the way to her core. Watching him depart had tied her stomach in a knot and left her mouth dry. She was going to have to get a grip on herself or people were going to start imagining she still cared for him.
She didn’t, of course. It was ridiculous to think that a sensible, independent woman like her could be influenced by a boyish smile and a square jaw perpetually covered with the light shadow of a beard. Her world might not be filled with playboys in Armani suits anymore but she wasn’t going to let herself be swayed by flannel and denim, either. Not even when that flannel covered a set of muscles to die for.
Fond memories were all right if kept in their proper place, in their proper perspective, Delia reasoned. Shaun Murphy had vowed he loved her and then not only hadn’t come after her when she’d been dragged home from their interrupted honeymoon, he’d never even tried to contact her again. As far as she was concerned, the man was history.
She just wished her history wasn’t still so appealing.
Knowing that DNA identification usually took several weeks, Delia was amazed when a clerk from the police department lab called on Friday to tell her that the test results had been faxed in. Apparently, Blanchard money was the perfect oil for the rusty wheels of bureaucracy.
She thought about notifying her father and letting him pick up the official report on his way home from work, then decided against it and headed into town. Ronald hadn’t acted as if he’d wanted her to go ahead with the DNA test in the first place so she was determined to handle all the details herself. She couldn’t decide whether her father was simply afraid of what he might learn or if he subconsciously wanted Trudy to be the deceased. It was hard to imagine why he would, but then she didn’t have a clue what made the man tick. She had never understood him.
Driving through Stoneley made her a bit melancholy. The town, which had been founded in the mid-1600s, was a peaceful place with a year-round population hovering around ten thousand, give or take the tourists and others who were just passing through. The churches were the cornerstones of the community, especially Unity Christian where her family attended, and there wasn’t much big-city-like conflict. At least there hadn’t been until the recent traumas involving the Blanchards.
She cruised slowly down the picturesque main street past antique shops, the bookstore and the retro five-and-dime which bragged that everything was just as it had been at the turn of the century.
It looked as if the theater was trying to capitalize on the nostalgia craze, too, because the marquee boasted that it was showing a series of black-and-white romantic comedies from the 1940s.
She recalled the summer when she had snuck away every chance she got to secretly meet Shaun in that very theater. Their elopement plans had been formulated in the last row of red velour seats, right below the projection booth. She could almost smell the popcorn.
“We can’t get married until you’re finished with high school,” Shaun had insisted. “Your education is important.”
Delia remembered leaning against the armrest that had separated them and clinging to him as his strong left arm had encircled her shoulders. “But, we love each other. That’s all that matters.”
“No, it isn’t. Your family is going to pitch a royal fit, anyway. We don’t want to give them any more to yell about than we have to.”
Even at seventeen, Delia had known that Shaun was right. After all, he was two years older than she was and already a man of the world. He had a job, a future. One she fully intended to share with him.
“All right,” she’d conceded. “I can’t very well run off and get married without the groom, can I?”
That silly comment had made him chuckle. He’d pulled her closer and stolen a kiss—one of many.
“Knowing you, Delia, anything is possible.” He’d sobered. “You’re not afraid? Of your father, I mean?”
“No. There’s nothing he can do to me that will ever make me stop loving you,” she had vowed.
What a fool. Unshed tears blurred Delia’s vision as she drove on past the theater. Realizing she was a roa
d hazard when she was so upset, she pulled into the first available parking spot.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered, hitting the steering wheel with her palms. Reliving the past accomplished nothing. All it did was make her cry and leave her with a sinus headache.
She huffed in self-derision. If she wasn’t battling a literal headache she was fighting a figurative one. The sooner she picked up those test results and got things settled, the sooner she could escape Stoneley and the bittersweet memories of her youth.
Accidentally running into Shaun at the estate the other morning must have triggered all these emotions, she concluded. She was over him and had been for a long, long time. That’s all there was to it.
Oh yeah? Then why was she crying?
If I knew the answer to that, Delia thought, I’d be halfway back to feeling normal, assuming I’d recognize normalcy if I saw it. After all, I’m a Blanchard.
Rather than have someone who knew her question her red eyes and upset demeanor, she donned dark glasses, picked up her purse and hurried down the cracked sidewalk toward the police department. The sooner she got this over with, the better off she’d be.
Shaun had just finished having breakfast at the Clambake Café and was heading for his truck when he noticed a red compact car cruising through the intersection of Blueberry and Main Streets. He didn’t know why that particular car had caught his eye but it had. Since when did he care about stupid little cars with scratches on the sides? he mused.
“Since I saw Delia driving one,” he answered drily.
He jogged to the street corner in time to see the red car swing into an empty spot up the block. The driver climbed out. His pulse accelerated. It was Delia.
Hmm. It looked as if she was headed for the police department. Shaun squinted and shaded his eyes. The question was—What for?
He crossed the street and continued to watch the double, glass-topped doors until Delia emerged several minutes later. He hadn’t intended to let her know he was nearby but when he saw her stop and lean against the redbrick wall fronting the office as if she were unsteady on her feet, he immediately started toward her.
There was a single sheet of white paper in her hand. It was shaking like a leaf in a nor’easter.
She didn’t look up when he joined her so he paused and announced his presence. “Delia?”
Her face tilted up slowly. Shaun didn’t have to see her eyes behind the dark glasses to know she was distraught—he could feel it in his bones. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“DNA,” she said.
“Whose?” He saw her swallow hard and forced himself to wait for her answer when what he wanted to do was grasp her shoulders and shake it out of her. Her lips were trembling. So was the rest of her. Whatever had her this upset had to be catastrophic.
“I don’t know whose,” she finally said, passing him the sheet of paper. “Read it for yourself.”
Shaun scanned the report but didn’t notice anything unusual about it. “Trudy Blanchard?”
“Yes. My mother. I’m sure you heard. We held her funeral about a month ago. It was quite an elegant affair.”
“No, I hadn’t heard about it. I’m sorry.” He chanced touching her elbow as a gesture of genuine concern and was surprised she didn’t rebuff him. “I haven’t been back in Stoneley very long and, well, nobody talks about your family to me.”
“That’s certainly understandable,” she said. “I think I need to sit down.”
Shaun guided her to a nearby decorative iron bench. “Want to tell me what’s got you so upset?”
“Yes. No.” She made a wry face. “I guess it would be nice to have somebody to talk through it with before I go back to the house.”
He perched beside her, taking care not to get too close. “Go ahead.”
“She wasn’t my mother,” Delia whispered, staring at the report. “The woman we buried wasn’t my mother.”
“Then who was she?”
Delia shook her head. “I don’t know for sure. I think she may have been my aunt, Genie.”
“I didn’t know you had an aunt Genie.”
“Neither did I until a few days ago.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I didn’t know my mother’s parents were alive, either, and now I have three times the grandparents I thought I had.” She sighed. “The Halls, Stanley and Eleanor, seem like really nice people. It’s a relief to know someone besides Grandfather Howard.”
Shaun huffed. “I can sure understand that.”
“Well said. There are times when I wonder how I ended up with so many odd relatives—except my sisters and Aunt Winnie, of course. They’re dears.”
Glancing at the report again, Shaun looked puzzled. “It says here that even though the DNA doesn’t match, it was close. Is that why you think the person was a relative?”
Delia nodded and sighed deeply. “Yes. My new grandparents told us that Aunt Genie and my mother looked very much alike so I suppose a mistaken ID is possible. Genie had to be the body in the library. It couldn’t have been anyone else.”
“Sounds like the plot of an old mystery novel,” he remarked. “You know, the part about the body in the library?” He paused and began to frown. “Hey, wait a minute. Is that when you got that bullet hole in the door that I was hired to fix? I just assumed it had been damaged because of someone’s carelessness with firearms. I never dreamed there was a real murder there. Who did it?”
“Actually, the police are still trying to figure that out,” Delia said. “I think they’re leaning toward Grandfather Howard, although I can’t imagine he’d be clever enough to shoot and then remember to dispose of the weapon. Not in his present state of confusion.”
“Alzheimer’s. I had heard about that,” Shaun said. “So, what are you going to do now?”
“Go home and break the news to everybody, I guess,” Delia said. “It’s going to be quite a shock.”
“Especially to your maternal grandparents. Are they staying at the estate, too?”
“No. Aunt Winnie offered to accommodate them but they said they didn’t want to be in the same house with Howard. I don’t blame them. He was terribly cruel to my mother in the past and his disease has removed his inhibitions. Half the time, he thinks poor Juliet is Mother and pitches terrible fits when he sees her. It’s scary.”
“Are you sure you’re safe there?” Shaun was sorry the minute the words were out of his mouth because they revealed far too much personal concern. “Any of you, I mean,” he quickly added.
“We’re fine. After the shooting, Father changed the combination that activates the alarm system, just in case. And Grandfather’s nurse, Peg Henderson, is with him almost constantly. She sedates him, for his own good, if he gets too wild. She’s really patient with him. I sure wouldn’t want her job.”
“Neither would I.” Shaun relaxed, one arm passing behind Delia along the back of the iron bench without touching her. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
“I am. Thanks.”
“Do you want me to drive you home?”
“No. I have my car. I just needed to calm down.” She stood. “I’d better be going. Aunt Winnie will wonder what’s taking me so long. I don’t want her to worry.”
Shaun rose, too, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Well, take care.”
“I will. No more driving into the bushes, I promise. Will you be coming to work on the door soon?”
“I ordered a special, high-grade mahogany veneer for patching,” he said. “It hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Oh. Well, if I don’t see you again…” She held out her hand.
Shaun didn’t want to touch her but he saw no polite way of refusing so he grasped her extended hand, fully intending to give it a quick shake and then release it. Instead, when he felt her icy fingers, he covered their clasped hands with his other. “You’re freezing. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Thin blood from living in th
e tropics,” Delia explained. “I’ll be fine as soon as I can get out of Maine.”
“You’re leaving soon, right?” He’d been dragging his feet on the repair job rather than work in the house while she was present. The last thing he wanted was to be constantly reminded of their painful past.
“Yes,” Delia said, slipping her hand from his. “I was only staying until we got these results back. I really never dreamed the test would turn out this way.” She smiled slightly and stepped back. “Goodbye, Shaun.”
He increased the distance. “Bye, Delia.” There was nothing more to say. Nothing he dared even think. Considering the way his teeth were set and his muscles were twitching, the less said, the better.
There was no longer any doubt in Shaun’s mind that he’d been wise to avoid Delia. He didn’t care that the special order mahogany for the door had come in days ago—he was not going near the Blanchard estate again until she was gone.
THREE
To Delia’s consternation, everyone in her family had been too stunned by the news about the DNA to think clearly, let alone act on it quickly enough to suit her. That was why she had decided to delay her departure and take matters into her own hands. She’d found several probable addresses for Genie Hall on the Internet, had pocketed the only key that had been returned to the Blanchards by the coroner and had headed for the nearest, in upstate New York.
According to Eleanor, Genie had had no husband or children so Delia figured there would be no close survivors to object if she did a little harmless snooping. And maybe picked up some of Genie’s DNA from her hairbrush, too, if possible, just to double-check identities.
Delia fingered the lone door key in her jacket pocket for the hundredth time. She’d hated deceiving her family by leading them to believe she was headed for Bangor to catch a plane for Hawaii, but the innocent ruse had been necessary. Even if her sisters had understood her motives, she knew her father would have tried to stop her from investigating. Keeping his family under his thumb was Ronald Blanchard’s standard method of operation. After all, look what had happened to her poor, ill mother.
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