Читать книгу Her Mother's Shadow - Diane Chamberlain - Страница 15

EVEN AS HE PULLED INTO THE PARKING LOT IN front of Lacey’s studio, Rick could see the roses through the broad front windows. She had brought them with her from the animal hospital. They meant something to her, and that could either be good or bad.

He was not exactly sure how to proceed with Lacey. All he knew was that he needed to move carefully. It was unusual for a woman not to fawn all over him. He was undeniably handsome. He was an attorney. He drove a BMW. But it was clear that superficial trappings didn’t matter to Lacey, and that frankly intrigued him. She couldn’t handle too much of him at once, though. Of that he was certain.

He turned off the ignition and picked up a book from the passenger seat, resting it on his lap. He wondered if stopping in to see her after sending her roses and after speaking to her on the phone only an hour before—and now bringing her yet another gift—would qualify as too much. He was willing to take the risk, though. The roses in the window gave him courage.

He’d learned to time his visits to the studio when Tom Nestor wasn’t present. He’d actually been relieved to learn that Tom was Lacey’s biological father, because it explained the extreme interest the man seemed to take in her affairs. Still, he would just as soon visit with her alone.

He walked into the studio, the book in his hand, and was surprised when Lacey stood up, walked over to him, and gave him a quick hug.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.

“You, too.”

This was a rare welcome from Lacey. He must have turned a corner with her with those flowers. The vase rested on the table next to the kaleidoscopes, and the afternoon light shone through the fragile petals.

“What a perfect spot for the roses,” he said. “They nearly look like they’re made of stained glass sitting there.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she said, taking her seat behind her worktable again. She was so pretty in her pale, freckled way. So delicate looking. He hoped he would not hurt her. “They’re inspiring me, actually,” she continued. “I think my next piece will be yellow roses.”

He sat down on the chair adjacent to the table. “Glad I could tweak your artistic sense a bit,” he said, then added, “You act like you don’t receive flowers very often.”

“I don’t think I ever have,” she admitted. “At least not from a man. Well, other than my father or Tom.”

“Hard to believe,” he said. “A woman like you deserves flowers.”

She shrugged off the compliment, and he thought he might have taken things a bit too far with it.

Two customers, a man and a woman, walked into the studio and began wandering among the glass and photographs. Rick lowered his voice to avoid being heard by them.

“Listen,” he said. “I wanted to tell you that I spoke with a friend of mine who’s more familiar with criminal law than I am. He had some suggestions for you on how to protest that guy’s parole.”

She was suddenly all ears. “What did he say?”

“You’ll need to contact the members of the parole commission,” he said. “They’re the people who decide whether this guy … what’s his name again?”

“Zachary Pointer.”

“Whether he should be paroled or not. They’ll take into account his previous criminal record and his behavior in prison. Do you know anything about that?”

Lacey glanced over at the man and woman, who were standing in front of a glass panel, talking about its colors.

“I don’t think he had a criminal record,” she said, looking as though that fact disappointed her. “And I have no idea what he’s been like in prison.”

“Well, here’s where you have some input,” he said. “The commission has to take into account any information they get from you or from other people who knew your mother and were impacted by her death. You’ll need to write what they call a victim impact statement. How his crime has impacted your life. Everyone in your family can submit one. You’re in the best position to write one, though, since you were impacted both by the loss of your mother and by witnessing her … what happened.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze somewhere in space as she thought over what he’d said. “Okay,” she said. “I can do that.”

The man and woman headed for the door, and the woman turned to Lacey, waving with a smile. “We’ll be back later,” she said. “I want to get my sister to see that stained-glass rooster.”

“Okay,” Lacey said. “See you then.”

Rick waited for Lacey’s attention to return to him. “You—or your attorney, at least—will want to look back at any statements the guy made after the arrest and during the trial,” he continued. “Look for a lack of remorse, or that he’s still protesting his innocence. Anything that shows he needs continued incarceration.”

“All right,” Lacey said.

He hesitated, a little nervous about the next item on his agenda. “On another note, though,” he said, “I have something for you.” He handed the book to her. She looked at the title. Forgiveness. Then she raised her eyes to him, her expression quizzical.

“Are you very religious or something?” she asked.

He smiled. “Nope. Just a run-of-the-mill, hardly-ever-goes-to-church Presbyterian. But I’ve just … Well, I’ve worked hard at figuring out my priorities,” he said. “You know, what’s most important in life. What’s worth my effort and energy and time and—”

“He killed my mother, Rick,” she said, a flash of fire in her deep blue eyes.

He nodded. “I understand. Or rather, I guess I don’t understand what that must feel like. I’m sorry.”

The jingling sound of glass against glass caught their attention, and Rick turned to see a woman push the studio door open with such force that the small, stained glass sun-catchers hanging on it were in danger of breaking. The woman was very tanned, her white-blond hair pinned up at the back of her head. She wore a navy blue suit with a small gold pin on the lapel, and she was not a customer, that much was clear. Her eyes were red and smudged with mascara.

“Nola!” Lacey was instantly on her feet, rushing toward the woman. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Lacey, I’m beside myself!” The woman stood in the middle of the floor, looking as though she might burst into tears. Her hands were pressed to her cheeks and the heavy gold bracelets on her wrists clanged together. Her fingers sparkled with rings.

“I can see that.” Lacey took her arm and drew her toward Tom Nestor’s worktable. “Here, sit in Tom’s chair. Are Jessica and Mackenzie all right?”

“I think so,” the woman said. “I mean, I think they’ll be all right. But I’m on my way to Arizona and wanted to stop in to let you know what was going on before I left.” She looked at Lacey, her eyes wide and filled with pain. “Jessica and Mackenzie were in a car wreck,” she said.

“Oh, my God.” Lacey’s hand flew to her mouth. She lowered herself to her haunches in front of the woman, her long skirt billowing around her on the floor, and rested one of her hands on Nola’s. “How bad?”

“Mackenzie’s fine, or at least that’s what they’re telling me. But Jessica has broken ribs and a collapsed lung and a broken pelvis—” the woman ticked the injuries off on her fingers “—and who knows what else.”

“Oh, Nola, how awful.” Lacey looked over at Rick. “Jessica—Nola’s daughter—is an old friend of mine,” she explained. “How did it happen?”

“A drunk driver,” Nola said. “That’s all I know. I’m going out there to take care of Mackenzie while Jessica is in the hospital. Right now, she’s with a neighbor.”

“You’ll feel better once you see Jess and know she’s in good hands,” Lacey said, and Rick could see tears forming in her eyes as well. He felt intrusive.

Nola nodded, but she looked unconvinced. “My poor little girl.”

Lacey stood up and leaned over to hug her. The woman was unresponsive, stiff as a stick. He wondered how old she was. There was not a wrinkle on her tanned face, and it was obvious she’d visited a plastic surgeon more than once.

“She’s tried so hard to make it, Lacey,” Nola said, a mix of anger and sorrow in her voice. “You know that. Raising Mackenzie by herself, holding down a stressful job, going to school at night.”

“I know,” Lacey agreed. “Maybe I should go with you.”

“No, no.” Nola opened her large brown leather purse and pulled a tissue from inside it. She stood up, dabbing at her eyes. “I’ll call you when I see how she is.”

“Please do,” Lacey said, embracing the woman once again. “Please call me right away.”

With a nod, Nola turned and walked out the door, the sun-catchers clanking against the glass once again.

Lacey sank into her chair behind the worktable. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Poor Jessica.”

“You’re very close to her?” he asked.

“We grew up together.” She was staring at the door, but he could tell she was not really seeing it. “She was my best friend from the time we were in kindergarten through junior high. She got pregnant when she was fifteen, though, and Nola shipped her off to Arizona to live with her cousins and she ended up staying out there. We’ve lost touch a bit since then, but we still have these long, wonderful phone conversations a few times a year. I haven’t seen Mackenzie—her daughter—since the last time they visited the Outer Banks, which must have been three years ago.” She stood up abruptly. “I’ve got to go home,” she said. “I want to call her. I need to hear for myself how she is.”

“Of course,” he said, standing up.

Lacey looked at her watch. “I’ll call Tom to come back to the studio to keep it open, but would you mind staying until he gets here? In case that couple comes back? Or I could just lock up and put a sign on the—”

“I’ll stay,” he said. “It’ll make me feel like I’m helping somehow.”

She smiled at him, a quick, distracted sort of smile. “Thanks,” she said, gathering up her purse and day planner. “I’ll talk to you later.”

He watched her leave. She was gentle with the door; the sun-catchers barely clinked against the glass. Looking over at her worktable, he noticed she had left behind the book on forgiveness. He wanted to run after her, press it into her hands, but he didn’t dare. She already thought him strange in that regard, a religious zealot, perhaps. And the last thing he wanted to do was to scare her away.