by Nora Roberts
“Nothing quite so melodramatic as that. My father kept track of you while he could.”
“Your father.” Kelsey sat down. “My grandfather.”
“Yes, he died five years ago. Your grandmother died the year after you were born, and I was an only child. You’re spared a flood of aunts and uncles and cousins. Whatever questions you have, I’ll answer, but I’d appreciate it if you’d give us both a little time before you make up your mind about me.”
There was only one she could think of, one that had continued to hammer at the back of her mind. So she asked it, quickly, before she could draw away from it.
“Did you kill that man? Did you kill Alec Bradley?”
Naomi paused, then lifted her cup to her lips. Over the rim, her eyes stayed steady on Kelsey’s. She set the cup down again without a rattle.
“Yes,” she said simply. “I killed him.”
“I’m sorry, Gabe.” Naomi stood at the window, watching her daughter drive away. “It was really unforgivable of me to put you in that position.”
“I met your daughter, that’s all.”
On a weak laugh, Naomi squeezed her eyes shut. “Always the master of understatement, Gabe.” She turned then, standing in the strong light. It didn’t bother her that the sun would highlight the fine lines around her eyes, show her age. She’d spent too long away from it. Too long away. “I was afraid. When I saw her, so much came flooding back. Some expected, some not expected. I couldn’t deal with it alone.”
He rose and went to her, laying his hands on her shoulders to soothe the strong, tensed muscles. “If a man isn’t happy to help a beautiful woman, he might as well be dead.”
“You’re a good friend.” She lifted a hand to his, squeezed. “One of the very few I can drop all pretenses with.” Her lips curved again. “Maybe it’s because we’ve both done time.”
A quick smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Nothing like prison life to pack down common ground.”
“Nothing like prison life. Of course, a youthful run-in over a poker game doesn’t quite come up to murder two, but—”
“There you go, one-upping me again.”
She laughed. “We Chadwicks are so competitive.” She moved away from him, shifting a vase of early daffodils an inch to the right on a table. “What did you think of her, Gabe?”
“She’s beautiful. The image of you.”
“I thought I was prepared for that. My father had told me. And the photographs. But to look at her and see myself, it still staggered me. I remember the child, remember the child so well. Now, seeing her grown up . . .” Impatient with herself, she shook her head. The years passed. She knew that better than anyone. “But beyond that.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What did you think of her?”
He wasn’t sure he could, or would, explain precisely what he’d thought. He, too, had been staggered, and he was a man rarely surprised. Beautiful women had walked in and out of his life, or he in and out of theirs. He appreciated them, admired them, desired them. But his first glimpse of Kelsey Byden had all but stopped his heart.
He would dissect that interesting little fact later, but for now Naomi was waiting. And he knew his answer mattered.
“She was running on nerves and temper. She doesn’t quite have your control.”
“I hope she never needs it,” Naomi murmured.
“She was angry, but smart enough, and curious enough, to hold on to her temper until she gauges the lay of the land. If she were a horse, I’d have to say I need to see her paces before I could judge if she has heart, endurance, or grace. But blood tells, Naomi. Your daughter has style.”
“She loved me.” Her voice shook, but she didn’t notice. Nor did she notice the first tear that spilled over and trailed down her cheek. “It’s difficult to explain to someone who’s had no children what it’s like to be the recipient of that kind of total, uncompromising love. Kelsey felt that for me, and for her father. It was Philip and I who lacked. We didn’t love enough to keep that unit whole. And so I lost her.”
Naomi brushed at the tear, caught it on her fingertip. She studied it as if it were some exotic specimen just discovered. She hadn’t cried since she buried her father. Hadn’t seen the point.
“I’ll never be loved that way again.” She flicked the tear away and forgot it. “I don’t think I understood that until today.”
“You’re rushing your fences, Naomi. That’s not like you. You had all of fifteen minutes with her today.”
“Did you see her face when I told her I killed Alec?” There was a smile on her lips as she turned back to Gabe, but it was hard, brittle as glass. “I’ve seen it in dozens of others. Civilized horror. Decent people don’t kill.”
“People, decent or otherwise, do what they need to do to survive.” He had reason to know.
“She won’t think so. She might have my looks, Gabe, but she’d have her father’s mores. Christ, they don’t come any more decent than Dr. Philip Byden.”
“Or more foolish, since he let you go.”
She laughed again, easier this time, and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “Where were you twenty-five years ago?” She shook her head, nearly sighed. “Playing with your Crayolas.”
“I don’t recall ever playing with them. Betting with them, maybe. Speaking of bets, I’ve got a hundred that says my colt will outrun yours at the Derby in May.”
Her brow rose. “And the odds?”
“Even.”
“You’re on. Why don’t you come down and take a look at my prize yearling before you leave? In a couple of years she’ll leave anything you put against her in the dust.”
“What did you name her?”
Her eyes glinted as she opened the terrace doors. “Naomi’s Honor.”
She’d been so cool, Kelsey thought as she unlocked her apartment door. So cold. Naomi had admitted to murder as casually as another woman might admit to dyeing her hair.
What kind of a woman was she?
How could she have served tea and made conversation? So polite, so controlled, so horribly detached. Leaning against the door, Kelsey rubbed at the headache storming behind her temples. It was all like some insane dream—the big, beautiful house, the placid setting, the woman with her face, the dynamic man.
Naomi’s newest lover? Did they sleep in the same room where a man had died? He’d looked capable of it, she thought. He’d looked capable of anything.
With a shudder, Kelsey pushed away from the door and began to pace.
Why had Naomi written the letter? she wondered. There’d been no emotional storm, no fatted calf, no desperate apologies for the lost years. Only a polite invitation to tea.
And the calm, unhesitating admission of guilt.
So, Naomi Chadwick wasn’t a hypocrite, Kelsey thought wryly. Just a criminal.
When the phone rang she glanced over and saw that her message machine was blinking. Kelsey turned away and ignored both. She had two hours before her shift at the museum, and no need, no desire, to speak with anyone before then.
All she had to do now was convince herself that her mother’s reappearance didn’t have to change her life. She could go on just as she had before—her job, her classes, her friends.
She dropped down on the sofa. Who was she trying to fool? Her job was no more than a hobby, her classes a habit, and her friends . . . Most of them had been shared with Wade, and therefore, in the odd by-product of divorce, they had divvied up sides or simply faded into the background so as not to be touched by the trauma.
Her life was a mess.
She ignored the knock at the door.
“Kelsey.” Another quick, impatient rap. “Open the door or I’ll have the apartment manager open it for me.”
Resigned, Kelsey rose and obeyed. “Grandmother.”
After lifting her cheek for the expected kiss, Milicent Byden strode into the apartment. She was, as always, flawlessly dressed and coiffed. Her hair was tinted a glossy auburn and swept back from a polished face that could, at a glance
, pass for sixty rather than eighty. She kept her figure trim with unsentimental diet and exercise. Her size-six Chanel suit was a pale blue. She tugged off matching kid gloves and set them down on an occasional table, then laid her mink over a chair.
“You disappoint me. Sulking in your room like a child.” Her almond-colored eyes scraped over her granddaughter as she sat, crossing her legs. “Your father’s desperately worried about you. Both he and I have called you at least half a dozen times today.”
“I’ve been out. And Dad has no reason to be worried.”
“No?” Milicent tapped a lacquered fingernail against the arm of the chair. “You burst in on him last night with the news that that woman has contacted you, then you dash off and refuse to answer your phone.”
“That woman is my mother, and you and he knew she was alive. It caused an emotional scene, Grandmother, which I’m aware you might consider to be in poor taste, but that I felt was very justified.”
“Don’t take that tone with me.” Milicent leaned forward. “Your father has done everything to protect you, to give you a decent upbringing and a stable home. And you attack him for it.”
“Attack him?” Kelsey threw up her hands, knowing such an outward display would count against her. “I confronted him. I demanded answers. I demanded the truth.”
“And now that you have it, are you satisfied?” Milicent inclined her head. “You would have been better off, all of us would have been better off, if she had stayed dead to you. But she was always selfish, always more concerned with herself than anyone else.”
For reasons Kelsey could never have explained, she picked up the spear of battle. “And did you always hate her?”
“I always recognized her for what she was. Philip was blinded by her looks, by what he saw as vivacity and verve. And he paid for his mistake.”
“And I look like her,” Kelsey said softly, “which explains why you’ve always looked at me as though I might commit some horrible crime at any moment—or at least an unforgivable breach of etiquette.”
Milicent sighed and sat back. She wouldn’t deny it, saw no reason why she should. “I was concerned, naturally, about how much of her was in you. You’re a Byden, Kelsey, and for the most part you’ve been a credit to the family. Every mistake I’ve watched you make has her stamp on it.”
“I prefer to think I’ve made my own mistakes.”
“Such as this divorce,” Milicent said wearily. “Wade comes from a good family. His maternal grandfather is a senator. His father owns one of the most prestigious and well-respected advertising agencies in the east.”
“And Wade is an adulterer.”
On a little sound of impatience, Milicent waved a hand. The diamond wedding ring on her widow’s hand glinted like ice. “You would blame him, rather than yourself or the woman who seduced him.”
Almost amused, Kelsey smiled. “That’s right. I would blame him. The divorce is final, Grandmother, as of yesterday. You’re wasting your time there.”
“And you have the dubious honor of being the second Byden in family history to divorce. In your father’s case, it was unavoidable. You, however, have done what you’ve made a habit of doing all your life: reacting impulsively. But that’s another issue. I want to know what you intend to do about the letter.”
“Don’t you think that’s between me and my mother?”
“This is a family matter, Kelsey. Your father and I are your family.” She tapped her finger again, carefully selecting both words and tone. “Philip is my only child. His happiness and well-being have always been primary in my life. You are his only child.” With genuine affection, she reached up and took Kelsey’s hand. “I want only the best for you.”
There was no arguing with that. However much her grandmother’s code of behavior grated, Kelsey knew she was loved. “I know. I don’t want to fight with you, Grandmother.”
“Nor I with you.” Pleased, she patted Kelsey’s hand. “You’ve been a good daughter, Kelsey. No one who knows you and Philip would doubt your devotion. I know you’d do nothing to hurt him. I think it would be best if you gave me the letter, let me handle this business for you. You’ve no need to contact her, or put yourself through this turmoil.”
“I’ve already contacted her. I went to see her this morning.”
“You . . .” Milicent’s hand jerked, then settled. “You saw her. You went to her without discussing it first?”
“I’m twenty-six years old, Grandmother. Naomi Chadwick is my mother, and I don’t have to discuss meeting her with anyone. I’m sorry if it upsets you, but I did what I had to do.”
“What you wanted to do,” Milicent corrected. “Without thought for the consequences.”
“As you like, but they’re my consequences. I’d think you and Dad would have to agree it’s a normal reaction on my part. It may be difficult for you, but I can’t imagine why it would make you so angry.”
“I’m not angry.” Though she was. Furious. “I’m concerned. I don’t want some foolish emotional reaction to influence you. You don’t know her, Kelsey. You have no idea how clever or how vindictive she is.”
“I know she wanted custody of me.”
“She wanted to hurt your father because he’d begun to see through her. You were the tool. She drank, and she had men, and she flaunted her flaws because she was so sure she would always win. And she ended by killing a man.” Milicent drew a deep breath. Even the thought of Naomi burned at her heart. “I suppose she tried to convince you it was self-defense. That she was protecting her honor. Her honor.”
Unable to sit any longer, Milicent rose. “Oh, she was clever, and she was beautiful. If the evidence against her hadn’t been so damning she might have convinced a jury to absolve her. But when a woman entertains a man in her bedroom in the middle of the night in nothing more than a silk robe, it’s difficult to cry rape.”
“Rape,” Kelsey repeated, but the word was only a shocked whisper and Milicent didn’t hear.
“Some believed her, of course. Some will always believe that kind of woman.” Eyes hard, she snatched her gloves from the table and began to tap them against her palm. “But in the end, they convicted her. She was out of Philip’s life, and yours. Until now. Will you be so stubborn, so selfish as to let her back in? To cause your father this kind of grief?”
“This isn’t a choice between him or her, Grandmother.”
“That’s exactly what it is.”
“For you, not for me. Do you know, before you came here, I wasn’t sure I would see her again. Now I know I will. Because she didn’t defend herself to me. She didn’t ask me to choose. I’m going to see her again and decide for myself.”
“No matter whom it hurts?”
“As far as I can see, I’m the only one who’s risking anything.”
“You’re wrong, Kelsey, and it’s a dangerous mistake. She corrupts.” Stiffly, Milicent smoothed on her gloves, finger by finger. “If you insist on pursuing this relationship, she’ll do whatever she can to destroy the bond between you and your father.”
“No one could do that.”
Milicent lifted her gaze, and it was sharp as steel. “You don’t know Naomi Chadwick.”
CHAPTER
THREE
NO, KELSEY DIDN’T KNOW NAOMI CHADWICK. BUT SHE WOULD.
Kelsey’s years of higher education hadn’t been wasted. If there was one thing she knew how to do well, it was how to research a subject. Any subject. Naomi was no exception.
For the next two weeks, she spent most of her free time poring over microfilm at the public library. Her first stop was the society page, where she read the announcement of the engagement of Naomi Anne Chadwick, twenty-one, daughter of Matthew and Louise Chadwick of Three Willows Farm, Bluemont, Virginia, to Professor Philip James Byden, thirty-four, son of Andrew and Milicent Byden, Georgetown.
A June wedding was planned.
Kelsey found the wedding announcement. It was a shock to see her father looking so young, so carelessly
happy, his fingers entwined at his heart with Naomi’s. He’d worn a rosebud boutonniere. Kelsey wondered if it had been white, or perhaps a sunny yellow.
Beside him, Naomi glowed. The grainy newsprint couldn’t diminish the luster. Her face was impossibly young, heartbreakingly beautiful, her lips curved, her eyes bright, as if on the verge of a laugh.
They looked as though they could face anything together.
It shouldn’t hurt. Kelsey told herself it was foolish to be hurt by a divorce that had happened without her knowledge. But these two young, vital people had created her. Now they were no more to each other than painful memories.
She made hard copies of what she wanted, made notes on the rest, as she would for any report. With feelings of amusement and bafflement, she found her own birth announcement.
There was little after that, an occasional squib about attendance at a ball or charity function. It seemed her parents had lived a quiet life, out of the Washington glitter for the short term of their marriage.
Then there was the custody suit, a terse little article that had merited space in The Washington Post, she imagined, due to her paternal grandfather’s position as undersecretary of the Treasury. She read the names—her own, Naomi’s, her father’s—with a sense of detachment. The Post hadn’t wasted much of its dignity on a domestic squabble.
She found a few articles on Three Willows and racing. One mentioned the tragedy of a promising colt who had broken down at a race and was shot. It merited a single picture, of Naomi’s beautiful, tear-streaked face.
Then there was murder.
Such matters rated more space, a few prominent headlines.
LOVERS’ QUARREL ENDS IN TRAGEDY
PASTORAL VIRGINIA SCENE OF VIOLENT DEATH
Her mother was described as the estranged wife of a Georgetown English professor and the daughter of a prominent Thoroughbred breeder. The victim was somewhat flippantly referred to as a playboy with ties to the racing world.
The story was straightforward enough. Alec Bradley had been shot and killed in a bedroom at Three Willows Farm. The weapon belonged to Naomi Chadwick Byden, who had notified the police. She and Bradley had been alone in the house at the time of the shooting. Police were investigating.
