About That Man

by Sherryl Woods

  “Maybe you should be the detective, Ms. Jackson.”

  “I’m just persistent,” she said. “Besides, once I finally had your name, you were much easier to locate.”

  No one went to that much trouble without a really good reason. Walker was beginning to get the uneasy sense that he should have taken a page out of Flanagan’s book and maintained a lower profile.

  “And now you’ve found me,” he congratulated her. “Why?”

  “When was the last time you heard from your sister?”

  “Years ago.”

  “Are you her closest relative?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, sounding suddenly sympathetic. “I really am.”

  “Sorry about what? What the hell is going on?”

  “Your sister is dead.”

  Once the blunt words were spoken, he realized he should have expected it. He’d been on the other end of enough calls like this to know exactly how they went, but Beth? Dead? It just didn’t compute. For all of her reckless ways, he couldn’t imagine her dead. She’d been beautiful and full of life before she’d gotten mixed up with Flanagan.

  “How?” he asked in a choked voice, fearing the worst. In his line of work, homicide and drug overdoses came to mind quicker than anything else.

  “She caught the flu a few weeks ago. She didn’t get to a hospital until it was too late. It turned into pneumonia, and the antibiotics didn’t work. There was nothing else the doctors could do. We’ve been trying to locate her family ever since.” She paused, then corrected herself. “I mean the rest of her family.”

  The implications of her remark made his blood run cold. “Don’t tell me she was still with that scum Flanagan.”

  “No, he died before she ever came to Trinity Harbor. A motorcycle crash, I believe. But there is the boy. Her son. Your nephew,” she stressed in a way that suggested she had specific expectations.

  “What are you telling me, Ms. Jackson?”

  “I think you’d better come to Trinity Harbor, Detective. You and I need to talk.”

  “About what?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “There’s a little boy here who is desperately in need of a family. Unless there’s someone you haven’t mentioned, it appears you’re all he’s got.”

  Walker’s heart thudded dully as he considered that. If it was true—and there was little question that it was—then the kid was in one sorry mess. According to his ex-wife, he was a lousy father and a worse husband. He had no reason to dispute her. He was a workaholic, always had been. His family had taken a back seat. He regretted it now, but he doubted if he could do things any differently.

  “Ms. Jackson, there must be—”

  “What? Another solution? Do you have one in mind?”

  Walker’s spirits sank. He was it. Heaven help the kid. “I’ll be there,” he said without enthusiasm.

  “When?”

  “When I can get there, Ms. Jackson. I’m in the middle of a homicide investigation.”

  “And given the state of things in Washington, I’m sure there will be another one after that and one after that,” she said, her tone wry. “Meantime, your nephew needs you now.”

  Walker sighed at the accuracy of her assessment. “I hear you. I’m off on Thursday. Is that soon enough to suit you?”

  “I imagine it will have to be, Detective Ames.”

  “Damn straight,” Walker muttered in one last display of defiance as he hung up.

  Why did he have this sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that solving a few homicides was going to be a piece of cake compared to the turn his life was about to take?

  Daisy had fully expected to be confronted by her father before that first day was out, but when that day passed and the one after without a visit, she thought maybe he was going to keep his nose out of her plan to keep Tommy. Not for a single minute did she believe he might not know what was going on.

  Not only did her father stay away, so did everyone else, aside from Tucker, who’d been poking his nose in on a regular basis, most likely to count the silver behind her back.

  At any rate, after the better part of a week she was beginning to believe that everything was going to work out just as she’d intended. Tommy was settling in. He was back in school and behaving himself, according to his teacher. He was still eating her out of house and home, but she assumed that was to be expected from a growing boy who’d gotten it into his head that his next meal might be in doubt. Daisy hadn’t cooked so much in years. Nor had she ever enjoyed it more.

  Even now, the kitchen was filled with the scent of chocolate chip cookies baking. Tommy had already grabbed a handful and headed outside, swearing that his homework was done as he grabbed his cap and let the screen door slam behind him. Molly meowed indignantly at the disruptive sound, but Daisy just smiled. One of these days she’d get around to breaking him of the habit, but for now she liked the way he was filling her too-quiet house with noise.

  When the doorbell rang, she froze. For a second, she consoled herself with the fact that her brothers or her father would have knocked once and walked right in. So would most of the neighbors, for that matter. Unfortunately, that left one possibility, and it wasn’t a good one. The chiming of the bell meant someone was paying a formal visit and that usually meant trouble.

  “Please don’t let it be Frances,” she whispered with a quick heavenward glance. She didn’t want anything to rock this new life she was creating for herself and Tommy.

  Wiping her hands on her apron, she took her time going to the door. When she found her minister, Anna-Louise Walton, on her doorstep, a welcoming smile spread across her face. The redheaded pastor had already made a huge difference in town with her blunt talk and warm compassion. Daisy had liked her from the instant they’d met. She also liked her husband, a former foreign correspondent who had taken over the town’s weekly newspaper. With his liberal editorials, Richard had already become a thorn in King’s side, which had endeared him even further to Daisy.

  Now, however, when Anna-Louise returned her smile with a somber look, the likely implication of this unexpected visit sank in. Apparently King, who’d been among those on the committee to select a new pastor, was even sneakier than Daisy had imagined. He’d evidently sent Anna-Louise to do his dirty work for him. No doubt his backing of a woman for the job made him feel entitled to use Anna-Louise as his personal representative in what should have been a family matter.

  “Here on a mission?” she inquired tartly as she and Anna-Louise settled at the kitchen table with a pot of tea and a plate of the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven.

  “Why would you think that?” Anna-Louise asked, her expression suddenly as innocent as a lamb’s.

  “Am I wrong? Are you just here to pay a call on one of your flock?”

  “Absolutely,” Anna-Louise said.

  “A preacher shouldn’t fib.”

  A grin spread across the other woman’s face. “Okay, I did get a call from your father a few days ago. He seemed to think you required counsel.”

  “I imagine what he said was that I needed to have my head examined.”

  Anna-Louise chuckled. “Words to that effect.”

  “And you agree with him?”

  “Actually, I’m on your side on this one,” Anna-Louise said. “Which is why I didn’t rush right over. Naturally I neglected to mention my opinion to your father. No point in making his blood pressure shoot up any higher. Richard’s last editorial about the need for a riverfront development plan has already sent it into dangerous territory. King spent an hour after church last Sunday trying to convince me that I needed to look closer to home when it came to saving souls. He apparently feels Richard’s is in danger.”

  “You’re right. He wouldn’t have appreciated your opinion a bit, if it disagreed with his own,” Daisy told her. “You can see that I had no choice, can’t you? Tommy needs to have someone in his life that he can cou
nt on.”

  “No question about that.”

  “And I can give him a good home.”

  “Of course you can,” Anna-Louise agreed.

  Daisy’s gaze narrowed at all the ready agreement. Despite what she’d said, Anna-Louise wouldn’t be here now if Daisy’s actions had her full blessing. “But?”

  “What happens to you when he leaves?” Anna-Louise asked, her expression filled with genuine concern.

  “Who says he’s going to? His mother is dead. So is his father. None of the foster families worked out. Where would he go?”

  “Frances found his uncle today,” the minister said quietly.

  Daisy felt a cry of dismay sneaking up the back of her throat, but she managed to keep it from escaping. She forced a smile. “That’s wonderful! Is he coming here?”

  “Next Thursday.”

  “Has he agreed to take Tommy?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Relief flooded through her. She was willing to seize any reprieve, however temporary. “Well, then, we’ll just have to wait and see what happens, won’t we?”

  Anna-Louise put her hand on Daisy’s. “I know how much you love children. That was evident to me from the minute I got here. And you’ve told me about the doctor’s opinion that you’ll never have children of your own. You’re the best Sunday school teacher we have, as well as the best history teacher at the high school. The kids adore you. You’d be a terrific mother to Tommy, and you deserve this, Daisy, you really do, but it might not work out. I just want you to be prepared to let go.”

  “God would not bring Tommy into my life and then snatch him away,” Daisy countered.

  “We don’t always know or understand what He plans for us,” the minister reminded her. “We just have to accept that He has our best interests at heart.”

  How could losing Tommy be in her best interests? Daisy felt the sting of unshed tears at the back of her eyes. “What do you know about this uncle? He and Tommy’s mother can’t have been close. He didn’t come for the funeral.”

  “He’s a cop in D.C. Beyond that, I don’t know much. Frances was fairly stingy with what she considers to be confidential information. She just wanted me to prepare you.”

  “Is he married?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then why would he be any better suited to care for Tommy than I am?”

  “It isn’t a matter of ‘better.’ It’s a question of family. He and Tommy are related.”

  Daisy wanted to argue that a loving stranger might be better for Tommy than a bad relative, but until she met this man and knew the whole story, she had no cause to stand in judgment of him. Anna-Louise was likely to tell her she didn’t have the right even then. Judgment was God’s business.

  And so it was, Daisy thought. But just in case He had other things on His mind besides Tommy Flanagan, she intended to look this uncle over very carefully before she relinquished Tommy to his care.

  3

  Driving into Trinity Harbor, Walker shuddered. It was exactly the way his boss had described it. Quaint. Picturesque. Charming. Slightly faded, like a fancy dress left hanging in the closet too long, but with a hint of past glories. Lawns were well-tended. There were churches every few blocks, some of them clearly quite old. And every now and again there was a glimpse of the Potomac, shimmering in the bright sunlight.

  He hated places like this. Give him a little grit and grime any day. Give him bustling sidewalks and clogged highways. Give him skyscrapers and run-down neighborhoods. He knew the rules of survival in a city like D.C. He liked the anonymity. He didn’t know beans about getting along in a town where everybody knew your name and your business.

  He followed the directions Frances Jackson had given him, drove on through the town of Trinity Harbor, then past open farmland just sprouting green, through the county seat in Montross until he came to what looked more like a remodeled school building than a government agency. The discreet sign on the front door proved otherwise. Westmoreland County Social Services, the sign stated in neat letters.

  Once he’d turned off the engine, he sat perfectly still, unsure whether he could go through with this. It wasn’t just the thought of having Beth’s death confirmed in black and white in the form of a death certificate. It was all the rest—his nephew, the expectations, and the regrets that he hadn’t found his sister before any of this had happened.

  Because of all that, Walker had taken his own sweet time leaving home this morning. He’d stopped by the station, had a chat with Andy, looked through some paperwork, then, finally, when he could delay no longer, he’d hit the road. He’d managed to delay his arrival till midafternoon—much later, no doubt, than the imperious Mrs. Jackson had been expecting him. He braced himself for her displeasure along with everything else, took a deep breath and headed for the door.

  Inside, he discovered that Frances Jackson was nothing at all like some of the social workers he’d come across in D.C., dedicated, but wearied by their caseloads. Nor did she fit the image he’d conjured up on the phone—a starchy woman, mid-fifties with a perpetually down-turned mouth. No, indeed, Frances Jackson was nothing like that.

  Sixty if she was a day, she had unrepentantly white hair, round cheeks and rounder hips, and eyes that twinkled behind rimless glasses. She reminded him of picture book illustrations of Mrs. Claus. He smiled despite himself, felt himself finally beginning to relax. He could get around a woman like this. He’d be out of here and back to D.C. in no time. Alone.

  “You’re late,” she said briskly, but without censure. “Let’s go.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

  Once again, Walker was forced to reassess the woman. He’d allowed himself to forget for just an instant that appearances could be deceiving. Right now he had a panicky feeling that she intended to take him straight to wherever this nephew of his was, introduce them, then abandon them to fend for themselves, her duty done. He was nowhere near ready for that. He would never be ready for that.

  “Whoa,” he said, standing stock-still in the middle of the corridor. “Where’s the fire?”

  “It’s almost dinnertime in these parts and I’m starved, Detective. I missed lunch waiting for you. We can talk over food.” She gave him a thorough once-over. “Besides, next to music, I hear it’s the best thing for soothing a savage beast.”

  He chuckled, caught off-guard by the display of humor. “And that would be me?”

  “You do pride yourself on it, don’t you? I could tell that when we talked on the phone.”

  “In my line of work, it’s helpful,” he said, feeling defensive about his initial display of rudeness when she’d called.

  “I’m sure it is,” she agreed. “But down here we like to think we’re more civilized.”

  Outside, she gestured toward her car, a brand-new Mustang convertible that surprised him yet again. “I’ll drive,” she said.

  He regarded the car with envy. “I’ll be even more agreeable if you’ll let me.”

  “Because you don’t trust a woman behind the wheel?”

  He heard the unmistakable challenge in her voice, but he didn’t need to lie. “Because I’ve been dying to test-drive one of these babies and haven’t had the chance,” he countered with absolute honesty.

  She tossed him the keys. “In that case, it’s all yours, Detective.”

  She directed him back onto the highway and into town, then down a side street past the stately old courthouse with its square of grass in front to the Inn at Montross. Tucker regarded the historic facade and little flower-lined brick patio doubtfully. Places like this gave him hives.

  “Isn’t there someplace we can get a basic burger and some fries?”

  “I’ll refrain from commenting on your deplorable eating habits,” Mrs. Jackson said. “I’m relatively certain you’ll find something on the menu here that will do. And they’ve done me a favor by keeping the kitchen open past their usual lunch hour.”

  Walker remained skeptical as they cl
imbed the brick steps into the white building that dated back to the 1600s, according to a sign by the front door. He stepped into the wide foyer, glanced around at the antiques and the open, airy rooms and began to revise his opinion. The place had big-city class, he’d give it that.

  Without waiting for a hostess, Mrs. Jackson led the way onto a closed-in front porch and settled at a table by an open window. “Sit down, Detective. I promise you the chef can offer more than tea sandwiches.”

  Duly chastised, Walker sat. The social worker regarded him with amusement.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you a fast-food place. The nearest one is miles away, and I got the distinct impression that you’re in a hurry.”

  “Always am.”

  “Well, then, as soon as we order, we’ll get right to it.”

  Ten minutes later, Walker had a beer in front of him and the promise of a blackened chicken wrap sandwich that would bring tears to his eyes. When it came, Mrs. Jackson watched with amusement as it did just that.

  “Too spicy for you, Detective?”

  “No,” he insisted, gulping half his beer to tame the taste. “Best sandwich I ever had.” He nodded toward the piping hot potatoes accompanying it. “Best fries, too.”

  “Better than a fast-food restaurant?” she inquired, eyes twinkling.

  “Are you teasing me, Mrs. Jackson?”

  “Just trying to make a point.”

  “Which is?”

  “The big city doesn’t have all the advantages over us country folks.”

  “No,” he agreed. “I can see that.”

  She paused in eating her own sea bass bisque. “You know, Detective Ames, it hasn’t escaped my notice that we’ve been together for a half hour or more now and you still haven’t asked about Tommy.”

  Walker sighed and put his sandwich down. “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure what to ask. Until you called, I didn’t even know he existed.”

  “You and your sister weren’t close?”

  Walker recalled a time when they had been. Beth had trailed him around adoringly, pleading to be allowed to play with him and his friends. He had tolerated his younger sister because no one knew better than he that they received little or no attention at home.