Uncertain Terms (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 12)

by Jenna Bennett

  I shook my head. “She said that Ora Sweet never lived on Water Street. Nor did any other Sweets. Nor did anyone, at the address on the report. It doesn’t exist.”

  Darcy nodded.

  “Also, she said Water Street is a black neighborhood. If it is now, it would have been thirty-some years ago, too. The race on the birth certificate says Caucasian.”

  “I’ve probably got some of both in me,” Darcy said calmly. This obviously wasn’t news to her. Or anything that bothered her, either.

  “Many of us do,” I answered, just as calmly. “My great-great-grandfather William was the son of the groom. Great-great-great-grandma Caroline got lonely during the War Between the States.”

  Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “Does your brother know?”

  “I think he does. Aunt Regina told me and Catherine. She probably told Dix, too. I’m not sure about Mother, though.”

  “I won’t mention it to her,” Darcy promised and looked around for the check.

  By the time we got out into the parking lot, the squad car with Vasquez and Nolan was gone. And he hadn’t left his card with his phone number on the windshield of the Volvo, possibly because he didn’t know it was ours. The way he’d behaved around Darcy, though, I thought it a certainty that he’d be in touch either by the end of the day or sometime tomorrow.

  “Let me get you home,” I told Darcy when we were in the car and on our way out of the parking lot. “We’ve had a big day.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you want to drive by Water Street? Since we’re here anyway?”

  “No sense in that, if the girl didn’t live there.” She shook her head. “This is crazy. We don’t know if she was my mother. We don’t even know if I was born at St. Jerome’s Hospital!”

  No, we didn’t. “It’s interesting, though. Don’t you think? There’s a connection between this girl—Ora or whatever her name was—and this area. Columbia at least, but maybe Sweetwater too. And there’s someone in this area who sent you a newspaper clipping about the job at Martin and McCall. That someone could be your mother. Or your father.”

  “So how do we find out more?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, accelerating as we left the more densely populated areas of Columbia and headed south on the highway toward Sweetwater and Darcy’s subdivision, “but I’ll think of something. Once I have a chance to sit down and think. I’ll call you later.”

  Darcy nodded, but I had no idea whether she believed me or not.

  I dropped her off at her little ranch with the blue door and bright yellow flowers, and waited until she’d gone inside with the door safely shut behind her before heading back to Sweetwater and the mansion.

  I wasn’t really worried about having been followed. We’d both been keeping an eye out, and while it’s fairly easy to get lost among all the other cars on the interstate, it’s a lot harder to shadow someone on country roads and in a small town. I hadn’t noticed anyone behind us on our way into Columbia earlier, or on our way out again now. But the least I could do was make sure Darcy got safely inside, after everything I’d put her through today.

  It had been quite a day. Darcy had held up pretty well, considering. And I couldn’t really blame her for passing out at the sight of the body, when I’d come close to passing out at the sight of my first one, too. And this had been a particularly gruesome one, with half its face missing.

  Not that Brenda, with her throat cut, had been a pretty sight.

  I hadn’t heard anything from Alexandra since we left the barbeque place. Hopefully she was all right. She’d had a big day, too. Although she’d been prepared for the results of the pregnancy test. She’d already suspected she was pregnant.

  I remembered, quite vividly, the confused mixture of my own feelings last fall, when I first discovered I was pregnant with Rafe’s baby. Alexandra must be experiencing all of them, plus a few more that hadn’t been applicable to me. Like, how was she going to finish high school and get an education with a baby in tow?

  But there’d be time enough to figure that out once she decided what she was going to do next. Hopefully she’d call later, if she wanted to talk.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror. There was still no one behind me. The ribbon of the Columbia Highway stretched in my wake, empty and steaming with heat.

  When I pulled up in front of the mansion, Mother was on her way out. “Dinner with Audrey,” she told me brightly.

  “Good for you.” Audrey has been Mother’s best friend since Mother settled in Sweetwater as a young bride, before Catherine was born. They’re as different as can be—Audrey unmarried, Mother a widow with grown children and grandchildren, not to mention the totally opposite ways they look—but they’re like two peas in pod when they get together.

  “You’re welcome to come along,” Mother offered. “Unless you’ve already had dinner.”

  I hadn’t. Not unless you counted the guacamole at Fiestas de Mexico, and I didn’t.

  “I don’t know...” I demurred.

  On the one hand, it had been a long day and I was tired. I didn’t want to intrude on their girl-time, and I was hoping that Alexandra and/or Rafe would call.

  On the other, it had been a crazy day, and just in case I was wrong about nobody following us from Nashville, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be alone in the mansion.

  “It’ll be good for you,” Mother coaxed, patting my arm. “Unless you’re too tired?”

  “No...” I wasn’t too tired. And—I realized—it would give me an opportunity to pick Audrey’s brain. Unlike Mother, who had moved here after marrying my father, Audrey was a native. She’d grown up in Sweetwater. She’d been around when Ora was pregnant and Darcy was born. Audrey might have known the real Ora, or at least be able to give me some kind of direction for where I could look.

  And she might know Beulah Odom’s sister-in-law and niece, too. Maybe I could get some dirt on them I could share with Yvonne.

  “I suppose I could come with you,” I told Mother. “If you don’t think Audrey would mind.”

  “Of course not, darling.” She tucked her arm through mine and propelled me back down the steps to the Volvo. I guess I was driving. “Audrey is always happy to see you. And I’m sure she’ll be happy to hear that everything is fine with you and Rafael.”

  “About that,” I said.

  “Oh, dear.” Mother stopped at the foot of the steps and dropped my arm. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, really. I saw him when I was in Nashville. He’s back home at the house.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mother said warmly, opening her door. “I guess that means his undercover case is over and he can get rid of that awful hair and the teeth?”

  I walked around the car. “Unfortunately not. The case isn’t over. One of the bad guys is still out there. And he has figured out who Rafe is, and where we live. So I’ll be staying in Sweetwater a few more days.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mother said again, sliding into the passenger seat. I think she might have turned a shade paler, even, although that could have been my imagination. “Rafael is safe, isn’t he?”

  As safe as he ever is. “He said he’d get Wendell and the boys over to stay with him.”

  Mother had met Wendell and the TBI rookies before, both at our wedding and before that, when we were all busy turning Middle Tennessee over to find Rafe after he was abducted.

  “I expect they’ll probably sleep in shifts. Just in case the guy comes back. I don’t think he will, and Rafe doesn’t think so, either, but it’s better to be careful.”

  “Certainly,” Mother nodded. “He can take care of himself, darling. Don’t worry.”

  It was weird, to say the least, to have my mother reassure me about my husband’s capabilities. Two months ago, she’d have done everything she could to disparage him.

  “I know he can,” I said, as I steered the car off the mansion’s property and back onto the Columbia Highway in the direction of town. “So can the others. I’m sure they’l
l be just fine.”

  “And this way we get to keep you a little longer,” Mother said, reaching over to pat my hand. “We’re going to the Wayside Inn, darling.”

  Of course we were. I was already headed that way, having anticipated the destination.

  Twelve

  The Wayside Inn is what it sounds like, an old roadside inn from the days when the road south to the Gulf went this way. It’s built of huge, old logs, with authentic chinking made from clay, lime, and sand, mixed with straw. Since it’s two-hundred years plus, and the oldest building in town—older than the mansion by thirty or forty years—it’s been updated many times, but it still has the original log walls inside, with a polished concrete floor that looks like it might have been there for a hundred years, and a lot of dark, atmospheric booths along the perimeter.

  It’s the nicest—read: most expensive—restaurant in Sweetwater, and Mother loves it. She had probably been here with the sheriff just last night.

  The last time I could remember being here, was the day before my ten-year reunion, when my best friend from high school, Charlotte, and I were going to have dinner, and ended up running into two other old classmates, Tina and Mary Kelly.

  Audrey had already snagged a table, and a glass of white wine, and was sitting there, looking for all the world like a middle-aged, Americanized, Coco Chanel. She’s tall and angular, with cheekbones for days, a severe, black, stacked bob, and bright red lips, always dressed in dramatic primary colors. No soft pastels for Audrey; she leaves those for Mother, who is a little shorter and a lot softer, with champagne-tinted hair and an elegant, ladylike wardrobe mostly made up of pale blues, greens, and corals.

  Audrey lit up when she saw us. “Margaret. And you brought Savannah!”

  We air-kissed, and I slid into the booth opposite while she and Mother did the same thing. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said, when Mother had taken her seat next to me. “I have to stay in Sweetwater another day or two. Mother thought I might like the company for dinner.”

  “Of course, darling.” Audrey is pretty much always happy to see me. Having never been married or had children of her own, I’m sort of like a niece, I guess. “And how’s your handsome husband? That’s was quite a kerfuffle at the party the other night.”

  “He’s fine,” I said. “We worked it out. And he still has the dreadlocks and gold teeth. But I’m getting used to them.” Earlier today, I hadn’t even really noticed they were there. He was just Rafe, and I’d been delighted to see him, dreads and all.

  Mother shuddered delicately. “He’s not thinking of keeping them, is he?”

  “I hope not. The hair gives him a headache, he says. It’s heavy. And I don’t imagine he’ll keep the gold teeth when he doesn’t have to.”

  “Good to know,” Mother said. “He’s quite handsome, you know. Without all of it.”

  Yes, I did know. I had no idea Mother knew, though. This was the first time she had said anything complimentary about my husband’s looks.

  I didn’t comment, of course. “I’m happy the two of you are getting along better these days,” I said instead, blandly. “I know he was worried about his welcome into the family. I’m glad we were able to work things out.”

  “But of course, darling,” Mother said. “If he’s your choice, then I’m happy for you.”

  Sure.

  Audrey gave me a knowing look across the table. I’m sure she’d been privy to more of Mother’s feelings on the matter than I ever had. Mother and I hadn’t ever talked a lot about Rafe. After I’d informed her that he was the one, and that if he wanted me, he could have me, and I didn’t much care what anyone else thought about it, she’d kept mostly quiet. To me, that is. Audrey had probably gotten an earful on more than one occasion.

  “So what did you do today,” she asked me, once the waiter had come and left after taking our orders.

  “I’m glad you asked. I went to Nashville with Darcy Corcoran. She’s trying to find her biological parents, so we went to look through the records the police confiscated from St. Jerome’s Hospital after Sheila died.”

  Audrey blinked. “They let you see those? Aren’t they privileged?”

  “I guess they probably are. But I have a friend with the police.” I smiled complacently.

  “How is Detective Grimaldi?” Mother asked. Like Audrey, she had ordered a glass of Chardonnay for her dinner beverage, and was swirling it around in the glass. I’d like to say I wasn’t envious, but I enjoy a good glass of wine, and the Wayside Inn has an excellent cellar. But of course in my current condition, wine was not on the menu. I took a sip of my tea and tried not to feel deprived.

  “She’s fine. Busy. Caught a case this morning. A dead gang banger who was one of the three Rafe lost last night.”

  Mother nodded. I wondered if she had noticed the relationship between Grimaldi and Dix, and was curious. She wasn’t stupid, so it was likely she had. She’d had occasion to observe them together during my wedding in June, after all.

  On the other hand, she can be obtuse, so maybe she didn’t realize what kind of relationship it was they had.

  Or maybe it wasn’t the kind of relationship I thought it was. Maybe they were just friends and I was the obtuse one.

  “So did you find anything in the police records?” Audrey wanted to know.

  I shrugged. “Yes and no. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Darcy. We don’t even know if she was born at St. Jerome’s Hospital. But we did find the record of someone born at the right time, that the police hadn’t been able to trace.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mother said warmly, and likely didn’t mean it the way it sounded.

  “The mother was a young woman from this area, who gave her address as 4521 Water Street in Columbia.”

  They both nodded.

  “There is no 4521 Water Street in Columbia.”

  “There is a Water Street,” Audrey pointed out.

  I nodded. “But it’s only a couple of blocks long. There’s a 600-block, an 800-block, and a 900-block. Nothing above 1000.”

  They both looked nonplussed. “Did you go there?” Mother wanted to know.

  “I didn’t have to. Officer Lupe Vasquez with the Columbia police went there instead. Last year. The Nashville police asked the Columbia police’s help with tracking Ora Sweet down, and Lupe Vasquez got the job. I have her report in the car. But the bottom line is, there’s no such number and no such woman. No Sweet family on Water Street. Ever.”

  I waited to see if they’d pick up on what I’d picked up on—Sweetwater—but it didn’t look like either of them did.

  “So what are you saying?” Mother asked.

  “I’m saying that Ora Sweet gave a fake name and a fake address when she checked into the hospital to have her baby. And now we have no idea how to find her. Or who she was.”

  Mother wrinkled her brows. Audrey looked distressed.

  “You’ve lived here a long time,” I told her. “Your whole life, right?”

  She nodded.

  “You’d have been living here when Ora—or whatever her name was—was pregnant. She’d be around your age. Can you remember anyone like that? Someone who was pregnant, but didn’t come home with a baby?”

  “That was a long time ago, Savannah,” Audrey said. “Darcy is what? Thirty-four, thirty-five years old? Before you even came to Sweetwater, Margaret.”

  Mother nodded. “You know who you should talk to?” she told me.

  “Who?”

  But by then Mother had seen the waiter approaching the table with his big tray of dishes, and she shushed me. Not in front of the servants.

  I rolled my eyes, but kept quiet as he deposited various nicely presented and delicious-smelling plates in front of each of us. Mother had ordered the mountain trout and Audrey the stuffed flounder. I had fallen into temptation and asked for the seared potato gnocchi with mushrooms and brown butter sage sauce. Not as many healthy Omega-3s, plus I’d be paying for it later, with an extra five pound
s to lose after the baby was born, but it would be worth it.

  Mother, remarkably, didn’t say a word. Normally, she would have eyed my food and my waistline and told me something like “a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips,” but since I became pregnant the second time, she’s been biting her tongue a lot. It’s appreciated, even though I don’t actually say anything about it. I’m sure she’ll start mentioning my weight again as soon as the baby’s born.

  The waiter withdrew, with hopes that we’d enjoy our food. I lifted my fork and turned to Mother. “Who?”

  “What?... Oh.” She picked up her own fork and used it to pick at her fish. It flaked very nicely, and she must have been satisfied with its consistency, because she used the fork to convey a morsel to her mouth. After swallowing, she said, “Denise Seaver, dear.”

  “Denise Seaver is in prison,” I said. “I put her there.”

  “Yes, dear. I know that. But she’s about our age.” She glanced across the table at Audrey. Audrey had her mouth full, and her flounder must not have been up to the same standard as Mother’s trout, because Audrey looked like she had a mouth full of sawdust. However, she nodded.

  “And she was practicing female medicine in Columbia at that time,” Mother added. “She had been doing it a few years already when I came to her with Catherine.”

  Since my sister is thirty-two, give or take a few months, that would have been thirty-three years ago. Ora Sweet—might as well call her that, for lack of another name—if she was from this area, and it seemed she was, might have gone to see Doctor Seaver. A young, female doctor close to her own age... it must have seemed a much more comfortable proposition than visiting one of the old guard male practitioners with her dilemma of pregnancy out of wedlock.

  Had Denise Seaver been involved in the illegal adoption ring that long ago? Was she the one who had told Ora to give birth at St. Jerome’s? Or was this the case that had started Denise Seaver down the road to selling babies?

  “She’s in prison,” I said again.

  “They have visiting hours, don’t they?”