The Missing Heir (Special Edition)
Page 10
“You understand the results will be sent to Mr. Haskell,” Betty said as she packed up to leave. “As I explained, that was in one of the papers you signed.”
Mari nodded.
After the lab tech was gone, Pauline hovered solicitously. Mari took a deep breath and readied what was if not a lie, then a half one. “I’ll be flying back to Nevada this afternoon,” she said. “I’ve just been waiting to have the tests done.”
“Goodness, and you not feeling well.”
“I’m better. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Are you certain? Would you like some help packing?”
Mari touched Pauline’s arm. “Thanks, but I’ll manage. You’ve been very good to me. You and Diana both. I’ve really appreciated your kindness.”
“As to that, we’re sorry to see you go. Nothing livens up a house like young people.”
Hurrying as fast as she could, Mari was able to make the next flight to the mainland, and from there caught a commuter flight to Chicago. At O’Hare Airport she was lucky enough to get on a plane to Reno as a standby passenger. Much as she’d hated to use the one “emergency” credit card she carried, she’d felt she had to. No way could she remain on the island any longer.
How foolish of her to allow herself to be charmed by a man again. How could she ever have imagined she was falling in love with Russ? From the very beginning, his only interest in her had been to discredit her. For that matter, why had she ever listened to Uncle Stan in the first place and gotten mixed up in the situation?
The only shred of sympathy she had was for Mr. Haskell, who she felt sorry for. She didn’t believe it had been his idea to have Russ spy on her. More than likely it was his attorney friend, Russ’s dad, who’d concocted the scheme. Lawyers tended to be suspicious. But that didn’t excuse Russ’s part in the masquerade.
By the time the plane set down in Reno, near midnight, Mari was exhausted. She had gone over and over everything that had led up to her stay on Mackinac Island so many times that it began to seem to her that people had been lying to her all her life.
On the way to the ranch in her uncle’s pickup, she pretended to sleep so she wouldn’t have to talk to him. She felt as though she wanted to crawl in a hole and pull it in after her.
When Mari woke in the morning, for a moment or two she was disoriented, then the reality of being home again seeped into her. As much as she’d longed to be back here, she really didn’t feel any better now that she was. After eating the toast Willa insisted on fixing for her, and downing a cup of coffee, Mari made a beeline for the stables, feeling that the company of horses was all she could tolerate right now.
She didn’t want to talk to anyone. Or listen. Willa was a dear and wise friend, one she’d shared her troubles with before, but Mari wasn’t ready to share anything with anyone.
She saddled Tennille and rode out into the bright day. The temperature was already heading for the high eighties and Mari was conscious of the dryness and heat after being on the cool and moist island.
This is what I love, she told herself. I’m a true high-desert rat. I don’t belong anywhere else. Stan had taught her to ride, but Blanche had been the one who’d identified the native trees and plants, insects and animals, and passed along her philosophy of helping others. Which was why Mari had rescued the estray mare, Lucy, following her aunt’s tendency to adopt every stray she ran across.
Lucy had led to meeting Russ, but Mari refused to go down that mental road.
Was I just another stray to Blanche? she wondered. An orphan someone had to look after? The thought depressed her. Certainly her birth mother had qualified as one of Blanche’s strays. Which reminded Mari of the question Russ had asked her: would Stan remember if Blanche had ever said what bus Ida had gotten off in Reno?
Even as Mari filed the question away to ask her uncle Stan, she was disgusted at herself for allowing Russ to seep back into her thoughts.
I won’t think ill of Blanche, she vowed. I won’t be angry at her for not telling me we weren’t blood relations. I know she loved me, and whatever she withheld about my birth from me she believed to be in my best interests. Maybe it actually was. Nothing that has happened since Russ showed up here to buy Lucy is Aunt Blanche’s fault.
Actually, it’s not Uncle Stan’s, either. He loves me and was trying to help me, not hurt me. I wish he hadn’t contacted Mr. Haskell without my knowledge, but that’s beside the point. It’s not fair to blame my adoptive parents for any of this. I’ve no one to blame but myself for believing in Russ. Won’t I ever learn?
“Why aren’t we born with horse sense?” she asked Tennille, who merely flicked an ear, no doubt secure in the knowledge of having it herself.
When Mari got back to the ranch house, Willa was gone, leaving a note on the table telling her that lunch fixings were in the fridge. Since Stan was still filling in at the casino for the errant bartender, Mari would be alone at least until late afternoon.
Wandering through the familiar rooms, she felt restless enough to climb the walls. She’d taken care of what chores needed doing in the stables, and the house was neat and clean. Since she hadn’t known when she’d return, her riding students had been referred to another instructor. What was there to do?
When she reached what Blanche had always called her workroom, containing a hodgepodge of craft items and yarn, Mari made herself go in and look around. After Blanche had died, she’d gone through her aunt’s clothes and given what was wearable to a local charity, but she’d left this small room alone because it reminded her so acutely of her adoptive mother.
Taking a deep breath, Mari forced herself to start sorting things. She found a canister of odds and ends of lost jewelry never claimed by casino patrons that Blanche had brought home. There was nothing of particular value inside, but as a child Mari had loved to play with the unmatched earrings and other pieces. With a sigh, she set it aside in the charity pile, started to pick up a skein of yarn and then paused, remembering something triggered by the jewelry in the canister.
Two days before Blanche had gone to the hospital, where she’d died, she’d presented Mari with a pendant. Where was it now?
“This is yours by right,” her aunt had said. “I should have given it to you long ago.” She’d smiled. “Now the time’s short—better late than never, right?”
Mari, worried sick about her aunt’s congestive heart disease, had barely glanced at the pendant in the little jewelry box as she thanked her, being careful with her hug because Blanche was having so much trouble breathing.
When I find that pendant I’ll wear it in her memory, Mari decided. Most likely she’d stuck it somewhere in her bedroom.
Finding the box in a dresser drawer, she opened it and removed the pendant. It looked to be silver, but if so, it hadn’t tarnished at all. Maybe platinum? Engraved in the metal was a flower of some kind. A close look revealed the heart-shaped leaves and tiny flowers of a lilac. Mari’s eyes filled with tears. Because it was Blanche’s last gift to her, she told herself. Which was true, but how could she deny the meaning lilacs had taken on for her?
She fastened the silver chain around her neck and tucked the pendant inside the V of her shirt.
Willa returned in the late afternoon, insisting on fixing the evening meal. “Got so used to cooking for Stan and you that I can’t hardly recall how to make a meal for just me,” she said.
“You know you don’t have to spoil us,” Mari said.
“Well, now, let’s think about that. Maybe the good Lord intended me to move out here to the desert so you and Stan could get a decent meal now and then. He’s no cook, and it ain’t something you much enjoy, is it? Don’t forget, you buy the groceries, so I do eat free. And in good company.”
“I’m afraid I’m not such good company right now.”
Willa patted her arm. “Nothing says a body has to jabber away to be good company.” She cupped a hand to her ear. “Sounds like Stan’s truck pulling up. I best get the rice on.”
Since she wasn’t ready to talk about the island, she said, “You know they did that blood and DNA test on me, so there’s nothing to discuss until Mr. Haskell gets the results. I already told you he’ll be returning home in a few days.”
“He told me on the phone about his heart being bad.”
“Well, he’s recovering.”
“Anything else?”
About to say no, she remembered what she meant to ask him. “Did Blanche ever say anything at all about where the bus my birth mother got off in Reno might have come from?”
Stan’s brow furrowed. “Seems like she did. Got to cogitate for a bit.” After several long minutes, he said, “Got it. Came off Highway 80, from the east, Blanche figured, on account of the arrival time. Ida never did tell her much, you know. ’Course, she was pretty sick, what with the pneumonia and all.”
The “all” meaning me, Mari told herself. But she didn’t see how Stan’s information would help much. Why had Russ even asked the question?
Another question she’d never asked her uncle occurred to her, but she waited until dinner was over and she’d helped Willa with the dishes before confronting Stan in the living room, where he was watching TV.
She sat beside him on the couch and he turned down the volume. “Why didn’t you or Blanche ever tell me the truth about my birth mother—that she was no relation to either of you?” she asked him.
“Blanche made me promise I’d never tell you.”
“Why?”
“You see, at first, when you were little, she was always afraid someone would find out there was no blood relationship, and they might come and take you away from us.” He smiled at her. “You were like God’s gift to us, Mari, and we’d both have done anything to keep you. Blanche always wanted a kid, but we never had one—till you came along.”
“After I was older, though, an adult—why not tell me then?”
“Blanche worried that you might get mad and go off somewhere. I tried to tell her you’d never do that, but she made me keep my promise. Then, after she died, I heard Joe Haskell on TV asking for his daughter Isabel to come home, and I got to thinking about Ida and how she wouldn’t tell Blanche anything about herself. It could be, I told myself. What if our Marigold is Joe Haskell’s granddaughter? I’d be cheating her out of being an heiress to millions. So I broke my promise and told you.”
Mari didn’t chide him for telling Mr. Haskell first. Stan had set the chain of events in motion because he loved her. She had nothing to blame him for. She had nobody but herself to blame for not questioning the coincidence of Russ first being in Nevada and then on Mackinac Island. She’d let herself be duped.
“You look mad enough to spit nails,” Willa said when Mari came back into the kitchen.
“You were wrong about Russ,” Mari told her. “He’s far from harmless—he’s as poisonous as one of your rattlers.”
“You saying that ’cause he broke your heart?”
“My heart is not broken!”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“It’s my pride, just like you said with Danny Boy.”
Willa shook her head. “Ain’t saying your pride’s not hurt. Probably is. That slick-talking rat you went with afore didn’t so much as touch your heart, though, and you know it. This last one did, I can tell. You think about it, gal. Got to be honest with yourself or things are never right.”
“I hear you, but I still don’t ever want to see Russ again. Or talk to him. If he calls, just tell him I’m not in.”
Later, after Willa had gone home and Stan had fallen asleep in front of the TV, Mari went to bed and waited in vain for Willa’s Mr. Sandman to visit. The tears she’d told herself she’d never again shed over Russ came in a torrent before she finally slept.
For two weeks, each day passed much like the one before. Mari made sure never to answer the phone so she wasn’t sure if Russ had tried to reach her or not. She refused to ask Willa if he’d called and Willa didn’t offer to tell her if he had. Not that Mari cared. Stan was filling in at the casino while they tried to find a replacement bartender who suited them, so all the outside chores fell to Mari. She welcomed the task. The harder she worked, the less time she had to think and the quicker she’d fall asleep at night.
At midmorning the beginning of the third week, she’d just finished hauling manure from the stables to the field when she heard Willa hailing her from the house. “Mari, phone call.”
Mari’s heart leaped, but she shook her head. It couldn’t be Russ, Willa wouldn’t call if it was. Still, it must be an important call. At the back door she stripped off her work gloves and stepped out of what she called her manure boots.
“Mari Crowley here,” she said into the kitchen wall phone.
“Lou Simon,” the man on the other end told her.
Mari’s back stiffened. The enemy.
“As you may know, I’m Joe Haskell’s attorney.”
“Yes.” She knew her tone was clipped and ungracious, but so what?
“Joe asked me to let you know the results of the tests done while you were on Mackinac Island.”
Despite her determination to show no emotion, she broke in ask, “How is Mr. Haskell?”
“Doing very well. As I was saying, the results of these tests suggest there may be a relationship involved here. To be quite certain, I’ve arranged for another test to be done in Reno this afternoon. I realize this is short notice, but I’m sure you appreciate that everyone concerned wants an end to the waiting.”
Mari could hardly credit what she’d heard. A relationship? Did that mean she might be Isabel’s daughter, after all?
Lou Simon went on to tell her when and where in Reno she was to go for the tests, ending with, “I’ve arranged for a limo to pick you up and take you there. Expect the car promptly at noon.”
Mari told him she understood, but apparently failed to convince him, because he asked if she wanted him to repeat the instructions.
Collecting herself, she said, “That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
When she hung up the phone, she stood frozen in place, her mind struggling to make sense of what she’d heard.
“What was that all about?” Willa’s voice startled her. “You’d think I was one of my rattlers, the way you jumped,” she added. “Goodness, gal, I’ve been right here in the kitchen all along. Bad news?”
“I—I don’t know whether it’s bad or good. I mean, it’s just more tests they want done. In Reno, this time.”
“The ones you had done back east didn’t turn out?”
“Lou Simon said there ‘may be a relationship involved,’ if I’m quoting him right. You know how lawyers talk. The Reno tests are to make sure one way or the other, I guess.”
Willa grinned. “Don’t you believe it, gal. Lawyer, you say? The bad guy, Russ’s father?”
Mari nodded.
“Heard enough lawyer lingo in my life—my nephew and his son both went that route. Here’s what he meant. The tests already say you’re Joe Haskell’s granddaughter, but this man don’t want to believe that, so he’s having them done over.”
Mari stared at her for a long moment before she began to laugh. When she could speak, she said, “Here I am in my manure clothes, smelling to high heaven, and you’re telling me I’m an heiress?”
Willa nodded. “When are you supposed to go to Reno?”
Reminded, Mari glanced at the wall clock. “There’s a limo coming at noon. I’d better get showered and changed.”
By noon she was wearing a denim skirt with a pale blue shirt, a compromise between jeans and dressier clothes. Willa had tried to get her to eat some lunch, but all Mari could get down was a cup of tea.
When she heard the limo pull up outside, she grabbed her purse and exited. The driver was waiting, holding the back door open for her, and she folded herself inside, only t
hen aware that there was another person in the back seat.
“Hello, Mari,” Russ said as the chauffeur shut her in with him.
Her heart pounded and she could hardly breathe. Why did he still affect her so much when she despised him? It wasn’t fair. After calming down a little, she demanded, “What are you doing here?”
“Accompanying you to Reno,” he said.
She bristled. “Was your father afraid I wouldn’t go otherwise?”
“It was my idea. We have to talk.” He leaned toward her. “Mari, I—”
She help up a hand. “I don’t want to hear one word of explanation from you. We both know there was no excuse for what you did, so there’s no point in discussing it.”
“At least listen—”
“No! I may be trapped in here with you, but I can always put my hands over my ears if I have to.” She glared at him. “And I will, make no mistake.”
She shifted position, moving as far away from him as she could manage. As she did, the pendant swung out from the V of her shirt.
Before she knew what he meant to do, Russ slid over and reached for it, bending to peer at the engraving. She didn’t dare move, lest the pendant be jerked off the chain.
He was close, so close his scent was in her nostrils, reminding her of what she needed to forget. Again she couldn’t breathe.
“It’s a lilac,” Russ said, so softly she scarcely heard him. “Lilac lady.”
Her heart turned over. For a moment she was back in the gazebo, surrounded by the scent of lilacs, and Russ was gazing at her with this strange yearning look in his eyes…. No! She wouldn’t remember. She refused to remember.
That time was gone beyond recall. Russ had betrayed her and she could never forgive him.
Chapter Eleven