Читать книгу Double Identity - Diane Burke - Страница 12

The flashing strobe lights of the police vehicles pulsated through the curtains and danced along the walls of the room. The sheriff and other officers strode through each room as though they thought it was a public arena instead of the private confines of her home. Sophie never knew you could feel violated by both the criminals who ransacked through your personal belongings as well as the police officers who went through the same belongings, taking pictures and dusting for prints.

She kept in the background and waited. Waited for the techs to finish gathering their evidence. Waited for the police to finish their reports. Waited for the reality of the broken and strewn pieces of her life to sink through the fog that enveloped her. Why was all of this happening? Each minute this living nightmare worsened.

A shadow fell across her lap. Sophie looked up, stretching her head back so she could look into the eyes of the large, solidly built man looming over her.

“Ms. Clarkston.” He tipped his hat. “I didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon.”

“Ditto on that one, Sheriff.”

“I need to ask you a few questions. Are you comfortable here or would you like to move into the kitchen?”

“Here’s fine.” She unwrapped her legs and scooted over to make room for him on the sofa. The sheriff remained standing.

“I make it my business to know the people in this town, Ms. Clarkston. How come I don’t know you…other than from the episode earlier today with that hit-and-run?”

She glanced into the man’s hard, steely gaze and felt like she’d just been slapped. “I…I don’t know, Sheriff. I’ve only been in town a couple of weeks. I guess our paths just haven’t crossed.”

“Is this your house, ma’am?”

Sophie nodded.

“To my knowledge, no one’s lived in this place for years.”

Sophie squirmed beneath the accusatory tone in the man’s voice. “My father and I don’t come here very often. Maybe once or twice a year. My father pays someone to keep an eye on the place and keep it cleaned and stocked since we never know when we’ll be coming home.”

“Home?” The sheriff removed his hat and ran a hand through his thin, graying hair. “To my recollection this cottage belongs to the Weatherly family. Christopher Weatherly was one of the original founders of our town. Back in the late eighteen hundreds, I believe. And his family have been pillars of our community ever since.” He put his hat back on his head. “So pardon me, ma’am, if I find it right peculiar that all of a sudden there’s a young lady living in this residence. Your name’s not Weatherly, now, is it?”

Sophie’s stomach cramped with anxiety. How was she going to explain this to the sheriff? She didn’t have any papers to prove this was her home, only a key. And when she told him her name…or at least the name she had always believed was her name…he’d run a check, if he hadn’t already, and he’d find out her entire life as she knew it was all a lie. Hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but a stubbornness she knew she’d inherited from her father refused to let them fall. She would not show weakness or defeat in front of this sheriff—or anyone else.

“Elizabeth Weatherly was my mother, Sheriff. I believe that counts for being a member of the Weatherly family.”

The sheriff’s mouth opened. “Little Elizabeth Weatherly? She’s your mama?” The sheriff studied her intently. “Of course, I see the resemblance now. I didn’t notice it sooner because I haven’t seen Elizabeth since high school.”

A smile split his face. “Where’s your mama now? I can’t wait to catch up on old times. Don’t worry. We’ll have this property ownership thing cleared up just as soon as I talk with your mama.”

Sophie had a difficult time remaining patient. Why wasn’t the sheriff out chasing the bad guys instead of wasting precious time worrying about her right to be in her own home? “That’s going to be a little difficult, Sheriff. My mother died shortly after my birth.”

The sheriff threw back his shoulders, straightened to his full height and stared back at her.

“That so?”

Sophie nodded.

“Well, that’s too bad. I would have enjoyed speaking with her again after all these years. If I remember correctly, she left shortly after graduation. Ran off with some fellow her granddaddy was gunning for and no one’s seen or heard from her since.” He scratched the gray stubble on his chin and stared hard at her. “I have to admit you’re as pretty as your mama was.”

He plopped his hat back on his head. “I’ll check with the title company and see if the cottage is in your mama’s name or if your grandfather sold it off after she left town. Cain Garrison over there said your name is Sophie Joy Clarkston. Give me your daddy’s full name and where he’s staying. I’d like to talk to him. As soon as he produces a marriage license, that’s all the proof I need that this place belongs to you.”

Sophie’s stomach turned over and bile clung to the back of her throat but she fought hard not to show any outward signs of turmoil in front of the sheriff. “Don’t you have your priorities a little out of order, Sheriff?” Although she kept her tone of voice light and ladylike, there was no mistaking the hostility in it. “Shouldn’t you and your men be concentrating on finding the people who broke into my home, instead of worrying about real estate titles and marriage licenses?”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, you can rest assured, little lady, I’ll find the person who trashed this house and at the same time I’ll find out if this is your home in the first place.” He placed his hand on his belt, thrumming his fingers against the butt of his gun. “Meanwhile I’d try to keep a low profile if I were you. You’ve already caused enough excitement in this town with your near hit-and-run. Now this. If the incident at the diner this afternoon wasn’t enough to clue you in, let me remind you that your grandfather was a highly respected and loved member of our community.”

Sophie blinked hard but remained silent. She shouldn’t be surprised that the sheriff had already heard about the altercation with Charlie in Holly’s diner. Gossip in a small town travels faster than a brush fire after a drought.

“A lot of folks won’t be happy to know Elizabeth Weatherly’s daughter is back in town,” the sheriff said. “The memory of your granddaddy’s broken heart is still fresh in most people’s minds.”

He stared hard at her as if he was waiting for his words to have an impact. “So I’ll hop to it, ma’am, and get started on investigating the bad guy who trashed your place.” His eyes narrowed. “But I’m also gonna make a point of talking with your daddy about the title and marriage license, too. No sense leaving any questions unanswered now is there, ma’am?” He tipped his hat in a “have a good day gesture” and walked away.

Sophie’s legs trembled, refusing to hold her upright a moment longer. She plopped down on the edge of the sofa and drew in a deep breath. What would the sheriff do when he found out her identity was a fake and her father was missing? Would he throw her out in the street? Where would she go? What would happen to her then? She lowered her face in her hands. More importantly, where was her father? He held all the answers to her questions. Was he dead or alive? She had to know his whereabouts. Even if he was dead, she had to know. Not knowing was its own kind of nightmare.

She looked up and her eyes scanned the room. Who had done this to her home? What did they want? Had they found what they came for or would they be back to search some more? Fear crept down her spine.

Sophie’s father had gone out of his way to teach her to be strong and independent. Considering the events of the past two weeks, she felt like he had been training her for this very day. But the past two weeks had taken their toll. She’d lost her father…twice. She was still reeling from both his disappearance and his deception. As if that hadn’t been enough, someone had tried to run her down today. And now her home had been ransacked.

Was it so wrong to need someone to talk to? Someone to help her make sense out of the chaos? She lowered her head and wished she was still on speaking terms with God.

When she looked up again, her eyes locked with Cain’s across the room. Within seconds, he excused himself from his conversation with one of the officers and headed her way. Her heart skipped a beat and a rush of heat filled her cheeks. Was she that transparent? Could a mere glance communicate her confusion, her fear…her need for comfort?

Cain had seen a flash of panic in Sophie’s eyes. But that’s all it had been. A flash. A split second of letting down her guard before she returned to wearing her protective mask of self-reliance and strength. His heart filled with empathy.

He stepped gingerly over the broken items strewn on the floor and made his way across the living room. So much had happened to her in such a short period of time. She was holding up a lot better than most folks would in her situation. Probably better than he would if he had to face the loss of his dad and the fallout from a lifetime of deception. But she was hanging in there. He had to admit he admired her.

Then he reminded himself that he shouldn’t be feeling admiration or empathy, or anything else for that matter. This was a job. Sophie was nothing more than a client in trouble and needing his professional help. Professional help, buddy. Keep your emotions out of it. No matter how cute she is. No matter how vulnerable beneath that tough persona. That’s your Achilles’ heel, remember? Your fatal flaw, to always want to run to the rescue. Not this time. Professionalism all the way.

Cain sat beside her. “It’s going to be okay.” Sophie lifted her eyes to his. He smiled to offer reassurance and perhaps a little comfort. “Have you had a chance to look around? Is anything missing?”

Sophie sighed and forced herself to take another look around the room. Drawers hung open, their contents scattered across the gray carpeting. Pictures hung askew on the walls or had been pulled down and the frames shattered. Clutter and chaos flowed in one unbroken rhythm from the living room to the kitchen, and she imagined it continued into the bedrooms. She hadn’t had the heart to walk back there yet and see.

“It’s hard to tell,” she replied. “Everything’s been moved…and broken…and…” Her voice choked on a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Cain said. “You’re doing fine. You’ve been through a lot today.”

Sophie squinted at something she saw in the distance. She jumped up, hurried across the room and carefully lifted a wooden box lying open on the floor.

Cain came up behind her. “Is it broken?”

She turned the small chest around, examining it for damage, and then clasped it against her chest.

“No.” A look of relief flooded her face.

“It’s special?”

Sophie lowered the small box and ran her fingers slowly, almost tenderly, across the hand-carved design on the lid. “My dad made this for me when I was just a kid.” Tears shimmered in her eyes but she blinked them back and forced a smile. “My father is a craftsman, loves woodworking.” She swept her hand in a slow arc around the room. “Almost everything in here…the furniture, cabinets…even the picture frames were all hand-carved by my dad.” Her smile was bittersweet. “He loves working with his hands. He has a true gift for carving.”

“Is that how he made his living? The Charlottesville police report couldn’t find any tax returns or bank accounts in his name.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could call them back. She stiffened and the smile faded from her lips. The questions had to be asked. But did he have to ask them right now?

He felt her eyes on him, studying him, choosing her words before answering. “My dad’s an artist. He hand carves furniture, animal lawn ornaments, unique wooden birdhouses, all sorts of things. He’d travel across the country from one craft fair to another selling his wares.”

“You traveled with him?”

She blinked with surprise and then grinned. “Of course. I literally grew up on the craft circuit. We’d frequent many of the larger annual fairs. After a couple of years, it was like a family reunion meeting up again with the friends we knew from the years before.”

Cain took the box from her hands and studied the intricate design carved into the lid. “This is beautiful.”

Sophie beamed with pride. “Thank you.”

He handed it back. “What about school?”

“I was homeschooled. Dad used to say I’d get more of an education touring the United States than I would ever get in an overcrowded classroom.”

Cain digested the information and wondered if he should take a chance and push for more. Treading as carefully as he could, he asked, “Have you always traveled with your dad? I understand you had to when you were a kid. But you’re not a kid anymore, Sophie. Did you ever want to do something else? Something on your own, maybe?”

Sophie shrugged. “Sure. Doesn’t every teenager long for the day they can leave home and set out on their own? I wasn’t any different.”

Cain gave her a questioning look but remained silent.

“Around my eighteenth birthday, my dad got sick. We thought he’d had a heart attack but it was just a really bad respiratory infection causing muscle spasms in his chest. But it scared me silly. Dad had never been sick before. I realized not only was he the only family I had, I was the only family he had, too. It had been the two of us for so many years and if I left—”

She stared off into space, lost in thoughts of long ago.

“I couldn’t leave. He needed me. Besides, I did do something on my own.” Her smile widened and it lit up her face. “I became an artist myself.”

“Wood carving?” Cain couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.

Sophie shook her head. “No. When I was little, I used to try and make things out of mud pies. Dad sensed I had a drop of creativity of my own. He surprised me with clay and a small kiln.”

“You sculpt?”

Sophie nodded. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not…I mean, I am but…”

“Remind me to show you some of my work. Maybe I’ll even let you try it sometime. There’s something awesome about feeling a slab of clay ooze through your fingers. Kneading it. Molding it into something unique and beautiful.”

Unique and beautiful.

His thoughts exactly as he stared into her upturned face.

“Sometimes I think God gifts the sculptor with just a tiny bit of insight into what it must have been like for Him when He created us out of dust,” Sophie said.

“I thought you didn’t believe in God.” Cain grinned at her.

“I believe in God. I’m just not on speaking terms with Him right now.”

“Really? Do you think that’s wise? Who shut the door? You or Him?”

Sophie chewed on her lower lip and lowered her head.

Not wanting her to slip back into a morose mood, Cain gripped her elbow and steered her toward the kitchen. “C’mon, let me help you clean up this mess. Find me a broom and I’ll sweep up. But don’t you dare tell Holly I had anything to do with housework. She’s been after me for years to clean up after myself at the house, and I’ll never hear the end of it if she learns I actually know how to use a broom.”

Cain followed Sophie from room to room as she surveyed the damage to her home and belongings. Her shoulders sagged and each step seemed difficult for her. But she didn’t cry anymore.

Thank you, Lord, for small favors. You know how a woman’s tears make me feel so helpless. And that leads to bad decisions. Fatal decisions.

They had just come down the short hall when the sheriff stepped into their path.

“Ms. Clarkston, I’m fixin’ to head out. We’ve done all we can do for now.”

Sophie wrapped her arms around herself and nodded. She looked pitiful. Fragile. Defeated. Alone. A man’s heart would have to be made of ice-cold steel not to be moved. Apparently, the sheriff agreed with Cain’s line of thought. He placed a comforting hand on Sophie’s arms and his voice softened. “This is a lousy way to welcome you to Promise, Ms. Clarkston. And I’m really sorry that you have to suffer through it.”

He stepped back and straightened his hat. “I’m planning on getting to the bottom of this, ma’am. You can count on it. And as soon as I get the chance to talk to your daddy, I’m sure we’ll be able to clear up some of the misunderstandings.”

Sophie’s shoulders stiffened. She offered a weak smile, nodded but remained silent.

“Meanwhile, I’m leaving you in good hands.” The sheriff gestured to Cain. “I’m sure he plans to stay here and help you clean up this mess. Isn’t that right, son?” Cain smiled. Son. He hadn’t been called that since his grammar school days. “Don’t worry, Sheriff. I’m on it.”

The sheriff nodded, signaled to his men and they left.

Sophie didn’t release a breath until she saw their cars disappear down the dirt road, spewing a cloud of dust.

“What’s going to happen when the sheriff discovers my dad’s information is fake?” she asked in a soft, unsteady voice.

“I imagine he’ll come back with a lot more questions.” Cain lifted her chin with his finger and gazed into her turbulent green eyes. “But since you don’t know any more than he does, you have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Right.” Sophie offered a tentative smile. “I didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t have anything to worry about, do I?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You don’t have anything to worry about from the sheriff.” Cain gestured around the living room. “But someone is going to a lot of trouble to make sure you worry about them.”