Finally, clearing his throat so as not to startle her, Noah walked over to his mother and said, “Hi, Mom. Enjoying the nice weather?”
“Noah.” Nadine looked up at him and shaded her eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Her voice faltered. “Was I?”
“I thought maybe we could have dinner together.” Noah smiled. “Unless you’re busy.”
“Not at all.” Nadine closed her magazine. “Would you like a drink?”
“Maybe later.” Noah lowered himself onto the chaise lounge beside his mother’s and said, “I told Janson he could have a couple of hours off. I can whip up an omelet and a salad and we can eat out here.”
“That would be nice.” Nadine’s mood was difficult to read.
“Are you still happy with Janson?” Noah asked, thinking that might be a good lead-in to the subject of the aliens. “Is he helpful?”
“As I’ve said before, I don’t really need anyone.” Nadine’s tone was martyred. “I only keep him around since you said it made you feel better to have him here. Now that I seem to have stopped having those silly little spells, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“I’m glad you’re feeling so much better,” Noah said slowly. “But especially now that Mrs. Fowler has retired and you haven’t found another housekeeper, I think it’s a good idea to hang on to Janson’s services.”
“If I must.” Nadine patted her hair. “Beckham is amusing and very helpful.” She took a sip of her drink. “My friends like him.”
“That’s always a big plus with household employees,” Noah commented dryly.
“Of course.” Nadine’s voice held a note of uncertainty. She had never been one to appreciate sarcasm.
Noah kicked himself for baiting his mother. When would he learn?
As he berated himself, Noah realized that the introduction of Nadine’s cronies’ opinions was his opening, so he asked, “What’s the new hot topic among all your CDM pals?” He needed to find out who was planting the alien crap in her head so he could stop it.
“Jett Benedict’s murder was all anyone could talk about for the last few days.”
“And before that?” Noah used his best bedside manner. “What was it?”
“Well . . .” Nadine finished her martini. “Janice St. Onge is enthralled by Professor Hinkley’s work. She’s the one who originally told me about what was going on around here with the teenagers.”
“Did Janice get that information from the professor?” Noah asked as casually as he could manage. If his mother felt like he was interrogating her, she’d stop talking faster than a criminal who had just been Mirandized.
“I’m not entirely sure of the chronology.” Nadine tilted her head.
Noah made a noncommittal sound to encourage her to continue.
“However, I believe Janice saw the funny lights several weeks or more before the professor spoke to the city council.” Nadine wrinkled her nose. “She’d mentioned the UFOs to me previously, but the afternoon before the meeting, she came over here and told me the whole story.”
“That was when she said the aliens were abducting the teenagers?” Noah asked, leaning toward his mother. “And replacing them with copies?”
“Janice claimed that half the children were already replicas, or maybe that the teenagers were still themselves with parasites inside of them controlling their actions.” Nadine’s tongue traced her lips. “I think the latter is her current theory.”
“If that were true, don’t you think their folks would have noticed that their kids were different?” Noah asked with a frown.
“It depends.” Nadine put her empty glass down on the table and grabbed both of Noah’s hands with hers. “The thing is, the aliens are so good at this, no one realizes what’s happened until it’s too late.”
“None of the teenagers I’ve seen at the clinic display any unusual behavior.” Noah squeezed his mother’s fingers. “And physically they have all been normal.”
“Janice says that the parasite that controls them is so sophisticated it is undetectable.” Nadine let go of Noah’s hands and slumped back. “She told me that by the time anyone realizes what’s going on, it might be too late.”
“How does Janice know all this?” Noah grimaced. His mother was getting all stirred up, and that never turned out well for him. He should drop the subject, but he needed to figure out what was going on, and for once Nadine wasn’t evading his questions.
“Janice didn’t exactly say how she found out.” Nadine licked her lips again. “She just told me that we had to stop it, because once they were done with the children, they’d start on us next.”
“So no plan?” Noah asked.
He tried to remember his rotation on the psychiatric ward. Keep the patients talking until they’d shared their concern. Too bad he couldn’t recall if he was supposed to encourage their delusions or try to make them see reason.
“Uh . . . I don’t believe Janice thought that far ahead.” Nadine trailed off, then seemed to catch herself. “No. I’m sure she didn’t.” Nadine glanced at Noah. “We had quite a bit of wine while we talked, and I was doing the Master Cleanse, so I hadn’t eaten.” She shrugged unapologetically. “The rest of that afternoon and evening are pretty fuzzy, but Beckham informed me I spoke about the extraterrestrial problems at the city council meeting.”
Noah rolled his eyes. As a doctor he didn’t see the value of drinking a combination of lemon, maple syrup, and cayenne pepper. He felt that his patients would do better eating sensibly and consuming more water. And unless the person was constipated, the herbal laxative tea that was part of that regime wasn’t high on his approval list, either.
“Janson was telling you the truth. You made a vehement speech about the alien menace at the meeting.” Noah sighed. “And once he got you home, you tried to phone the media so that they could warn everyone about the threat. Luckily, Janson and I stopped you.”
“I see.” Nadine paled. “While I do think we should do something about the extraterrestrial situation, I’m glad you intervened and I didn’t involve the television people. They’re so crass.”
“I’m happy to have been of service.” He would have to talk to Janice St. Onge to track down who had gotten her embroiled in the impending alien invasion. Clearly, Nadine had been too intoxicated to get any details. “And speaking of not getting people involved, it would probably be best if you withdrew your request that the country club allow the professor access to their property.”
“But Janice asked me as a favor.” Nadine stuck out her lower lip. “She thought because you were on the board, it would be better coming from me.”
“I understand.” Noah stood. “Still, I recommend that you don’t pursue the matter.”
“Fine.” Nadine crossed her arms as if in a huff, but her expression bore a trace of relief.
“Thank you.” Noah pecked his mother on the cheek. “Now, why don’t I go start dinner?”
“It’s a little early to dine,” Nadine said, frowning up at him. “I usually eat closer to six thirty, a much more civilized hour. I like to have another cocktail or two in order to help stimulate my appetite.”
Which was precisely why Noah wanted to get some food into his mother. Nadine claimed she was never hungry, but he suspected her quest to stay a size two might have something to do with her disinterest in nourishment. He’d told her many times that there were more calories in one of her giant martinis than in a grilled chicken breast with a baked potato and vegetables.
“Well, I’m hungry,” Noah lied. He was still full from lunch, but he was willing to perjure himself if it would get his mother to eat. “How about you have another small drink while I’m cooking?”
“That would be nice.” Nadine adjusted her watch so the diamond-encrusted dial was centered on her wrist, then looked at Noah from under her eyelashes. “I always have such a bet
ter appetite when you and I dine together. Maybe we could do it more often.”
“Maybe.” Noah felt a tug of guilt. His mother was lonely, and although she liked her health aide, Janson wasn’t family or even a friend.
“I’ll keep you company while you prepare our meal.” Nadine rose from her chair, picked up her empty glass, and followed him inside.
Noah watched through the doorway to the dining room as his mother poured herself a martini from the pitcher sitting on the bar cart against the sidewall. Then, balancing the full glass, Nadine joined him in the kitchen and perched on a stool at the granite counter.
Biting his tongue to keep from commenting on the size of his mother’s small drink, Noah took six eggs from the fridge and placed them in warm tap water. While the eggs came to room temperature, he found a skillet and heated it over medium-high heat.
As he worked, Noah kept an eye on his mother. He’d managed the minefield of one difficult subject—the alien invasion—but he still had to maneuver her into discussing his ancestor’s Civil War experience. Normally, Nadine loved to talk about either her family’s brave officers or her husband’s great-great-great-grandfather, the Confederate hero, but the information Noah needed wouldn’t be as easy to get from her. She’d never willingly disclose any dishonorable acts Colonel Underwood might have committed.
Once the pan was hot, Noah added the butter, and when it melted, he swirled it around the surface of the frying pan. As he cracked the warmed eggs into a bowl, added salt and blended with a fork, he rehearsed how he was going to introduce the topic.
Finally, Noah commented, “I saw Miss Ophelia this afternoon. She mentioned that you had some papers from my great-great-great-great-grandfather’s service. I would love to read them.”
“They’re not very interesting.” Nadine looked away from Noah’s gaze. “Mostly lists of supplies and men, and who was assigned where.”
“Still.” Noah poured the eggs into the center of the pan and stirred them with a rubber spatula. “I’d like to know more about my history so that when I have children I can tell them about it.”
“Children,” Nadine said sharply. “I hope you aren’t counting on Devereaux for that. She seemed fairly enamored with that U.S. Marshal.”
“Dev hasn’t made up her mind yet.” Although Noah’s stomach clenched, he kept his expression neutral. “But I’m sure she’ll choose me.”
“Not if there’s a God in heaven,” Nadine muttered, then took a sip of her drink.
Ignoring his mother’s comment, Noah lifted the pan and tilted it until the excess liquid was under the cooked part of the eggs. “So, do you have those papers handy? I’d like to take them with me tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Nadine played with the stem of her glass.
“Why is that?” Noah used the spatula to loosen the omelet’s edge.
“The thing is”—Nadine gave a high-pitched, mirthless laugh—“there might be some unflattering material in those documents, and I wouldn’t want you to think any less of your heritage because of something you might misinterpret or fail to understand in context.”
“I promise to keep an open mind.” Noah wondered what his mother had been hiding all these years. Seeing Nadine’s lips tighten, he knew she was about to refuse, so he brought out the big guns. “After all, I am the last male Underwood. It’s time for me to assume the family mantle of responsibility. It’s not as if I’ll share the information with anyone.”
He mentally crossed his fingers. Finding a man’s killer was more important than keeping a secret about something that had happened more than a hundred and fifty years ago. And if it had nothing to do with Benedict’s death, Noah trusted Dev to keep the information confidential.
As if reading his mind, Nadine narrowed her eyes and said, “This has something to do with that awful man’s murder, doesn’t it?”
“Only inasmuch as hearing about his research has piqued my interest.” Noah hadn’t lied this much to his mother since he was a teenager.
“You know, Mr. Benedict visited me, asking about those same papers.”
“Uh-huh.” Noah couldn’t remember if his mother had told him about the guy stopping by or if it had been Dev who’d shared that information, so he kept his response noncommittal.
“Initially, he was charming. He even offered to make drinks for us.” Nadine smiled reminiscently. “He mixed the best cosmopolitan that I’ve ever tasted.”
“Then what happened?” Noah minced a couple of slices of ham for the omelet.
“At first he was really upset when I refused to let him see the Civil War papers, but then he made us another cocktail and we chatted about other things.”
“So he just gave up?” Noah added cheese and meat to the omelet.
“Well . . .” Nadine refused to meet her son’s eyes. “I must have dozed off, because when I woke up later that evening, Mr. Benedict was gone.”
“Janson wasn’t here?” Noah wanted to scream at his mother about her drinking, but he knew it would do no good. He needed to have her doctor talk to her. She might listen to her physician, but certainly not her son.
“I’d given Beckham the night off,” Nadine answered. “I had planned to go to the country club dinner dance, but Mr. Benedict delayed my departure.”
“Was anything missing?”
“No.” Nadine pressed her hand to her chest. “I was worried Mr. Benedict might have stolen the documents he wanted while I slept, but they were still here.” She sighed. “It did look as if the contents of the file might have been gone through, but nothing was missing. I checked the inventory.”
“Speaking of those papers, as I mentioned, I’d like to see them.” Noah figured that Dev’s stepfather had photographed the documents. Nadine would have had to be out for hours for the man to read them, and Benedict wouldn’t have risked Janson returning early or his hostess waking sooner than expected.
“Customarily”—Nadine toyed with the pearls around her neck—“the male heir gets the journals and the trust fund on his fortieth birthday. It was felt that at that point a man would be mature enough to handle the confidential information in the diaries.”
“I recall the trust-fund age restriction when Dad’s will was read, but I don’t remember about the papers.”
“That part isn’t in writing. It’s a tradition.” Nadine tossed down the rest of her martini, then leaned forward and said, “But since it means so much to you, I’ll make an exception.” She sighed again. “I may be sorry, but I’ll give you the box.”
“It’ll be fine, Mom,” Noah reassured her. He folded the omelet, cut it in half, and slid it onto two dishes.
“I hope so.” Nadine’s tone was querulous. “Just remember your duty is to the family, not to a woman who may or may not love you.”
While his mother fetched the documents, Noah carried their supper out to the patio table. When his mother joined him, she silently handed him a carton containing bulging accordion folders. As they ate, he noticed that her attitude toward him had subtly changed. She seemed almost apprehensive, which wasn’t like her at all.
Just as Noah and his mother finished their meal—at least Noah had eaten; Nadine had pushed the food around her plate—Janson returned. The aide offered to clean up and do the dishes, so Noah stood and said good-bye to his mother.
As he reached for the box, Nadine grabbed his wrist, her nails biting into his skin, and said, “I really wish you wouldn’t do this.”
“You worry entirely too much about the past and what others will think.” Noah freed his hand. “Most folks don’t judge people’s worth by their ancestors’ behavior.”
“You have no idea how hard I’ve worked to keep the Underwood name one that people admire in this town,” Nadine snapped. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a television show that I want to watch on the History Channel, and it comes on in
a few minutes.”
“Sure.” Noah kissed his mother on the cheek, then teased her, “Are you sure it isn’t The Bachelor or one of those other reality shows?”
“Certainly not.” Nadine pinned him with a cold glare. “I only watch educational programs. Otherwise, I spend my lonely evenings reading important literature.”
Noah swallowed a chuckle. The only novels in his mother’s house were the ones in his father’s office, and the last time he’d been in there, the books were exactly as his dad had left them.
Before Noah could leave, Nadine clutched his arm and warned, “Think twice before you decide some woman is worth flushing everything the Underwoods stand for down the toilet.”
As Noah walked away, he wondered just how rotten the family skeleton would be.
CHAPTER 20
After Noah dropped me at my car, I went home and filled Dad in on what we knew so far about Jett Benedict and what leads we were pursuing regarding his murder. Once he was caught up on my investigation, I asked about Captain Sinclair’s part in the war.
Dad assured me that as far as he or Gran knew, our ancestor had been firmly on the side of the Confederacy. But since neither he nor any of our more distant relatives had ever been very interested, there was no written history, and any stories had died with Grandpa Sinclair.
When my father said he was taking Birdie and her friend Frieda to the VFW’s spaghetti dinner, I was relieved that he was staying away from Mom. Telling him to have a good time, I retreated to my room.
I had half an hour before I had to head back into town, so I stretched out on the bed and checked my cell. There were two missed calls from Jake, but he hadn’t left a message.
I dialed his number, but when it went straight to his voice mail, I disconnected. I hated playing telephone tag. Instead, I texted him, asking what was up, and saying that I was busy the rest of the night.
The remaining e-mails, texts, and messages were business related, and after answering inquiries from vendors, bidding on some vintage lingerie that I wanted for my erotic gift baskets, and deleting a lot of spam, I glanced at the clock and saw that I needed to go.
Between a Book and a Hard Place Page 18
