Читать книгу The Real Allie Newman - Janice Carter - Страница 10

SUSAN GOT UP to make a pot of tea. She was amazing, Allie thought, watching her go through the steps without uttering a word. In fact, it had been Susan who’d reached for the box of tissues as Allie recited the whole story in a robotlike trance, until she got to the end where she’d unexpectedly burst into tears.

Allie had stopped the story just short of Joel’s last words to her, about Rob Newman’s admirable job of raising his daughter.

Susan brought the tea to the table and, echoing Allie’s thoughts, said, “Your father can’t be here to advocate for himself, so we shall have to do it for him. He was a good, decent and honest man. We know that and so does everyone who knew him. That’s not to say some of this Kennedy’s story isn’t true.” She stirred a spoonful of honey into her cup and blew on the tea gently before sipping.

“I guessed about six months after we’d started dating that your father had a former life he wanted to forget.”

Allie glanced up from spooning honey out of the jar. Susan had never spoken about her personal relationship with her father, not even after his death. She had never once uttered an irritated or perplexed word about the man who shared her life for twenty years. Allie, who often prided herself on her intuition, felt a pang of guilt that she’d so blindly assumed Susan’s calm nature had signified unconditional acceptance of Rob and his daughter. What doubts and questions ran through her mind all these years? Allie wondered.

“He was always so vague about his origins. Said his parents had both died, and he had no siblings or family nearby. Of course, I gathered immediately that he’d grown up in the States.” She looked across the table at Allie and smiled. “His accent.”

“How come I never noticed it?”

“You grew up with it. Besides, he never used the colloquial expressions that Canadians use. Although he told me he was from Northern Ontario, he never spoke like anyone from there.”

“Did you ever ask him?”

“No. Somehow I never had the courage to confront him directly.” She gave a small, deprecating laugh. “Maybe I was afraid of frightening him off, even losing him. And you.”

“Dad wasn’t like that,” Allie blurted out, reaching out her hand to stroke Susan’s. “He loved you. You know that.”

“I know, but this was early in our relationship. Suddenly this big bear of a man with a tiny waif of a daughter was attracted to me—the stereotypical librarian—and I didn’t want the fairy tale to end.” She laughed again.

“And it didn’t,” Allie said. “You were the love of his life.”

Susan smiled fondly at her stepdaughter. “I know that. As you were. He’d have done anything for you.” She took another sip of tea, then said, “That’s why I can believe this private investigator’s story.”

Blood rushed into Allie’s head. “But—”

Susan raised a hand. “Hear me out, sweetie. When I realized your father was probably an American, I thought he might have been a draft dodger. The war in Vietnam was winding down then, but American soldiers were still being sent over. My suspicion was reinforced by his almost paranoid fear of authority. He drove very carefully, so as never to be stopped by any traffic police. He kept to himself out here on the farm. Some people in town thought he was reclusive, but I knew he was too social to be a real hermit. It was just that he avoided big public functions or occasions.”

“Lots of people are like that,” Allie protested.

“Yes, but he was very protective of you. Don’t you remember all those sleepover parties you had here, rather than going to someone else’s house?” She nodded at the glimmer of recollection in Allie’s face.

“He came with me to every swim meet. And I always had to check in with him if I went out of town for any reason. I used to think that’s why he got Casey for me. She was meant to be a friend, as well as a protector.”

“Of course she was. You were fifteen the Christmas you got that dog. Just starting to be interested in boys.” Susan chuckled. “That was no coincidence, my dear.”

“I guess not. I’m happy that you raised one of Casey’s pups. Tiggy looks just like her.” Allie smiled at Susan, warming to the reminiscences they were sharing at last.

“Remember the argument you had with him when you told him you were moving into town?” Susan asked gently.

Allie sobered at the memory. It had been the one serious quarrel she’d had with her father. “I was twenty-four years old and still living at home. I was a freak,” she whispered. “God, that was an awful fight.” Allie laid her head on her forearms. Susan stroked her hair back from her face, the way she’d done whenever Allie had been sick or upset. If only I could turn back the clock, Allie thought. And make everything right again. Make Dad come back.

“I guess we’ll never really know the whole story now,” Susan said with an audible sigh. “That’s why we must never doubt our faith in Rob. We must always believe that whatever he did, he acted out of love and concern for you.”

“I do believe that!” Allie cried. “I just wish Joel Kennedy would leave Kingston and let us go on with our lives.”

Susan gave a quiet laugh. “You know that’s never going to happen, Allie. It’s too late. Whatever choice you make will stay with you the rest of your life.”

Allie shivered at this playback of Joel Kennedy’s words. “But I don’t want to have to make a choice. That’s the problem. I just want things to go on—unchanged.” She sat up to look at Susan.

Her stepmother smiled. “There’s that ten-year-old face I remember so well! You’ve always resisted change, Allie. And always had difficulties making decisions. Remember when we’d go for ice cream?”

“That’s because there were too many flavors. If there’d been only a few, I could’ve managed a quicker decision.”

“So you shouldn’t have difficulty with this. Aren’t there only two choices?”

“But a man’s life may depend on me!” That fact struck Allie for the first time. The horror that such a decision was up to her brought her hands to her face.

Susan waited a few seconds before murmuring, “Then maybe there’s no choice at all.”

Allie locked eyes with her stepmother, knowing then what she had to do.

JOEL HUNG UP the phone and shifted back onto the pillows plumped up against the headboard of his bed. He felt a tinge of satisfaction that his judgment of Allie Newman had been spot on, but at the same time, a tiny part of whatever conscience was still operating inside him held back his usual grin of satisfaction at a job well done.

She was coming with him to Grosse Pointe. He knew from the moment he walked out her door that she would. Mainly because she hadn’t shouted after him or angrily protested his parting comment. Walking down the stairs, he’d thought that he might have overdone it, but his parting line had just popped out. Such spontaneous remarks were rare for him, and that worried him. For some reason Allie Newman’s very presence seemed to prompt stirrings he hadn’t felt since he was a gangly teenager. She had a way of making him feel, well—he hated to admit it—out of control. As if the game could go any way and it made no difference how he played his hand.

Joel rubbed his face. He’d taken an afternoon nap, unusual for him, while he waited for her phone call. It was now almost four o’clock and probably a good time to call Grosse Pointe with the news. He should be exulting, but instead, he felt flat inside. Probably because he knew the game was just starting. There were so many more cards to deal and he hoped Allie Newman could stay in the play. Then he thought, she’s a grown woman, she can handle things. Save your concern for yourself, chum.

JOEL SAUNTERED UP to the front of the car ferry. It was a bright morning, warmer than the day before. Puffy cotton-ball clouds drifted across an achingly blue sky. The ferry was almost empty. There were only two other cars, a Canada Post truck, a small transport and an RV with an American license plate. People on holiday, he guessed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real holiday. Probably before his divorce. Wolfe Island loomed ahead. He’d spotted it from his hotel and, needing to kill a few hours, had impulsively joined the line of cars waiting at the ferry dock in Kingston.

It was either that or take one of the Thousand Island cruises, but he was afraid of being stuck on a boat for three hours with nothing to do but look at scenery. He returned to the Caddie and sat patiently waiting for the boat to finish docking. Heaven only knew what he’d do when he disembarked, but he figured the round trip would take up most of the morning. Then, he was assuming there would be another day and a half before he’d be heading back to Michigan with Allie.

She’d said she’d come only if she could have a day or so to get some things in order. Apparently there were still a few exams to finish marking, and she had to arrange for extra help at the store—something about Susan’s back. He’d noticed that the woman had been walking a bit gingerly when he’d followed them the other day.

God, was it only two days ago? He felt as though he’d been in Kingston for ages. Must be the boredom, he decided. Or restlessness to get on with the job. More likely a combination. Maybe even a bit of anxiety about what lay ahead. He wondered what Allie would make of her newfound family.

Perhaps he ought to prepare her a bit more for what was coming. Certainly he’d told her as much as he needed to, and it had all been true, more or less. If things went well, she might never fill in the gaps, though he somehow doubted that. She was too sharp. And when those gaping holes were exposed, would she turn on him? Probably. And he wouldn’t blame her.

Joel sighed, then shifted into Drive as the truck ahead of him rolled off the ferry. Allie wouldn’t be the first woman to view him as a betrayer. Yet, for some damn reason, he hoped she might be an exception.

He drove a few yards to an intersection and stopped. A sign read Marysville, and Joel made a quick right just to get the Cadillac out of the way of the vehicles behind. He pulled up in front of a general store called Fargo’s and climbed out of the car. Marysville seemed little more than a handful of buildings. A paved road stretched east and west as far as he could see. There was a line of cars across the street waiting to board the return ferry, and Joel considered joining it. It was at least another forty-five minutes before the ferry back to Kingston left, and he doubted the two or three stores he saw here would fill the time. Of course there was a diner across the road that might offer a good cup of coffee, and he could always tour the island itself. That might use up twenty minutes.

Joel swung through the sagging screen door into Fargo’s in search of a newspaper. He wandered about, admiring the weathered hardwood floors and the sturdy wooden cabinets and shelving units. There was an old-fashioned butcher’s counter complete with weigh scales, a roll of paper and twine. An aproned man stood behind the counter waiting on a woman, while her children prowled about sucking lollipops.

The whole scene was so gosh-darn wholesome that Joel felt as if he’d walked onto the set of some 1970s family-values sitcom. He handed the teenage girl at the cash register fifty cents for the newspaper and headed for the door. He had his hand on the handle just as a gang of people appeared on the other side of the screen, about to enter. Joel stepped back inside to let the group pass.

Several young women and men, all attired in sleek cycling outfits, clomped in with Allie Newman bringing up the rear. She did a double take when she saw Joel. He found her smile ambivalent, not quite as if he was the last person on earth she wanted to see at that moment, but almost.

“What are you doing here?” she asked without preamble.

“Checking out the local sites,” he said, aware of several helmeted heads turning his way.

“That shouldn’t take more than five minutes,” she quipped. She unstrapped her headgear and shook loose her hair. It bounced softly against her neck and settled in a feathery web around her face, sticking to parts of her cheek where perspiration lingered.

Joel was tempted to brush those wisps away but knew the gesture would seem too familiar. Still, he couldn’t keep his eyes from skimming across the skin-tight spandex suit she was wearing. No doubt because of the excellence of her physical condition, he decided.

“Nothing better to do?” she asked, grinning.

He felt his face heat up. Was she talking about sightseeing on Wolfe Island or his perusal of her cycling suit? “And you?” he couldn’t help asking. “Putting things in order?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m supposed to participate in a triathlon at the end of June, and I missed my training session yesterday.” She shot him a look as if he were to blame.

Was there no end of wonders about this woman? He muttered something vaguely congratulatory and started to squeeze past her for the door.

“Are you really driving around the island?” she asked, stopping him before he had his hand on the door.

“Uh, guess so, since I’ve almost an hour before the next ferry. Why? Tired?”

A patient smile crossed her face. “Not yet, but one of my friends has a serious leg cramp and she’s waiting about two miles down the road. We were going to see if anyone here could go for her.”

“Two miles,” he repeated. “She could probably manage on her own when the cramp subsides.”

“She’s just getting over a hamstring injury and has to be careful, but don’t worry about it.” Allie turned away, seemingly intent on joining the group clustered around the ice-cream freezer.

“Sorry,” Joel said quickly, touching her shoulder. “That was petty. Of course I’ll go for her. Maybe you could direct me?”

She nodded and pushed through the screen door. Joel followed meekly, wishing he could replay the past few minutes. He was reminding himself that Allie Newman had an uncanny talent for bringing out weird responses in him when he noticed she was already seated in the Cadillac.

“Good guess,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

“The only one with an American plate. Make a left here and go east as far as you can. The road will curve inland toward the south side of the island. She’ll be waiting on that stretch.”

In less than a minute Marysville was merely a snapshot in his rearview mirror. “Not a lot to do hereabouts,” he commented.

“Not if you’re a tourist,” she said. “Though if you live here, I imagine working a farm keeps you busy.”

He decided to keep quiet the rest of the way, which took scarcely five minutes along a paved road that stretched across flat acres of farmland.

“There she is!” Allie pointed.

A young woman was sitting under a tree beside the shoulder just ahead. Joel slowed and pulled well over, in spite of the lack of traffic. He helped Allie load the bike into the trunk and then tie the lid down with a bungee cord he just happened to find in the trunk. Allie sat in the back seat with the other woman and began to massage her calf muscles.

Before he climbed into the car himself, Joel noticed how expertly Allie’s long slim fingers moved up and down the injured leg. Finally he forced his gaze away and got in behind the wheel, wishing he could trade places with the injured woman.

See? he chastised himself. There you go again. It was almost as if he was bewitched. Get a grip, fella. There were long days ahead—turbulent ones—and his part in them was just beginning.

They pulled up in front of Fargo’s and Allie helped her friend out of the car while Joel retrieved the bike from the trunk. The friend thanked them and hobbled away to join the rest of the group, standing around the outdoor pop cooler. Allie hovered near the car.

“Guess I’d better get in line,” Joel said, jerking his head at the cars waiting for the return trip.

He hoped she’d suggest they wait together, but she only nodded and said, “See you on the boat,” as he climbed back into the Caddie.

As he reversed the car, he saw her wheel her bicycle toward the group. During the wait to get aboard, Joel had a long talk with himself about letting his guard slip every time Allie Newman was in his presence.

When the boat returned, he took his time parking the Caddie on board and heading for the upper deck. There, he saw the gang of cyclists lounging on the benches on the far side of the ferry. Joel leaned over the railing to view the Kingston skyline.

It was a pretty town, he thought. Or small city. There were lots of old limestone buildings and a waterfront that had so far managed to escape major development. This was a place where tourists flocked during the summer months, and to accommodate them, outdoor restaurants and sport bars stood in abundance. Having grown up in Philadelphia, Joel couldn’t imagine a childhood in such a small place. That reflection led him to wonder what kind of childhood Allie had with a parent on the run, ever vigilant about the past catching up to him.

A burst of laughter from the other side of the deck caught his attention. Allie stood in the midst of the cyclists, regaling them with some story that had them in stitches. Joel watched her hands gesturing to elaborate her tale, throwing her head back to laugh with them. He envied that ability to hold a group in thrall. He’d once had a partner who could do that. Joel contented himself with observing, taking in the nuances of expression and body language of the group. That was what he did best. Watch and observe. Draw conclusions. Then act.

Feeling hadn’t been a part of the routine for years, it seemed. He sighed and looked away, back to the city skyline. Back to the job ahead.

ALLIE WHEELED her bike along the pedestrian path of the ferry dock, occasionally glancing around for Joel’s car. She’d noticed him standing alone at the front of the deck on the return trip. For a moment she’d considered calling him over, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. She doubted he’d have wanted to join them, and more, she was reluctant to have to make some explanation about who he was or how she knew him. Not that any of the gang would have asked; they were basically cycling pals. But her friend Linda might well have picked up on the vibes between her and the private investigator.

And what vibes there were! Allie was shocked at the way she’d behaved around the man, why she let him get to her as he so obviously did. Perhaps it was simply a matter of that old cliché—about killing the messenger. She certainly had good reason to wish Joel Kennedy’s message had never been delivered. As for the messenger, well, he’d be gone from her life as soon as they arrived in Grosse Pointe. Which suited Allie just fine.

The cycle group split up at the end of the dock, after agreeing to meet the following week. Linda raised a brow at Allie’s comment that she’d be out of town but said nothing. Allie figured her friend would be calling her later that day, and what would she tell her? She’d have to come up with some explanation for Beth and the staff at the store, as well. She was about to strap on her helmet when a car horn beeped lightly behind her.

Joel Kennedy smiled at her from the open driver’s window. “Want a lift?”

Allie reminded herself to relax and take the offer at face value. “Thanks, anyway, but by the time we get this into the trunk, I could already be home.”

The smile froze on his face. Allie saw that he was regretting the invite. Plus, she suddenly felt her words had sounded ungracious. “Look,” she said, “I didn’t mean that to sound as bad as it did. I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”

He waved a hand. “No problem. So shall I call you later to work out exactly when we could leave for Grosse Pointe?”

Impulsively she changed her mind. “Maybe I will take that lift, and we can figure something out on the way.”

The car pulled over and Joel got out to help Allie with the bike. The second she was sitting next to him and on the way up Brock Street to Wellington, she thought she ought to have cycled, after all. The spandex suit was hot and itchy. Worse, she feared her trusty deodorant might not have been up to the task of dealing with the twenty-mile route around Wolfe Island.

He didn’t speak for a long while, adding to her discomfort. But when they were almost at her corner, he said, “If you’re free tonight, I’d appreciate having company for dinner. We could make our plans then. Interested?”

And surprisingly, she was.

“THAT’S THE OWNER—Zal.” Allie nodded to a heavyset bearded man walking toward the center doors of the restaurant. “He used to be a member of a 1960s rock group called the Lovin’ Spoonful. Ever hear of it?”

Joel frowned. “Vaguely. So he retired from that to go into the restaurant business? I bet this is harder work.” He glanced around the patio courtyard where they were sitting beneath a lattice of wisteria and vines. “Very pretty, though.”

“And the food’s great,” Allie added.

“The name’s a bit odd.”

“I suppose, to an outsider. But here in Kingston, Chez Piggy is so famous no one questions the name.”

Joel flipped open the menu. “Okay, so let’s get into it. Prove the name right. I’m starving.”

“Me, too.” Allie picked up her glass of wine and sipped leisurely. It was a lovely balmy evening and she wanted to savor every second of it. Her dining experience was enhanced, she had to admit, by the man sitting across from her. Allie hadn’t missed the discreet looks he’d been receiving from some of the other female patrons.

She’d met Joel outside the nineteenth-century tunnel-style walkway that led into the restaurant and had been surprised at her thrill of pleasure when he approached. His beaming smile reassured her that the afternoon’s edginess had disappeared. He didn’t look like a private investigator, in his pressed tan trousers and crisp, pale-yellow short-sleeved shirt, at least not like Allie’s television-inspired notion of one.

His perusal of the menu gave her a chance to study him closer. He was an introvert, she decided. His dark-brown eyes, set deeply in his face, gave little away in terms of what he was feeling or thinking. Except when he raised his head and caught her in the act. Then he let her know right away that he figured she was sizing him up, and the idea obviously amused him. Allie feigned sudden interest in the antics of some children at an adjacent table.

“You don’t seem like the maternal type,” he remarked.

The comment took her aback. “Well, maybe not yet, but I hope to be someday.”

“It’s a serious job, parenting.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

He seemed to regret the opener, giving a slight shrug that she couldn’t interpret. Finally he said, “Actually, I have a six-year-old son, Ben. He lives with his mother most of the time, but I see him one weekend a month and a couple weeks every summer.” He paused, adding in a more somber voice, “If my schedule can work the visit in.”

Allie didn’t know what to say. For some reason she’d never considered that Joel Kennedy might be married with a child. Or rather, divorced with a child.

“You must miss him.”

The observation hit home. He gave a brusque, “Yeah,” before turning his head to signal the waitress.

After they ordered, the subject was dropped and Allie devoted her attention to the bread basket. She sighed, thinking about the long trip she’d soon be making with him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No…no,” she stammered, raising her eyes to his. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Shall we decide when to leave? I was thinking about the day after tomorrow, if you need the time. Or,” he paused, “even tomorrow, if you’re finished what you had to do.”

Better to get the whole thing over with. “I’ve actually finished what I need to do. We can leave tomorrow if you like. But after my run, which I usually do about six or six-thirty.”

He gave a mock shudder. “Okay. How about I pick you up at eight? We’ll stop for coffee on the way to the highway.”

“Fine.” Allie returned a smile, but wasn’t feeling as optimistic as she had moments ago. Did she really know him well enough to spend five or six hours alone with him in a car?

The waitress arrived with their dinners, and for the next half hour they focused on eating. But after their plates were whisked away and they were lingering over coffee, Allie blurted, “Tell me more about Spiro Kostakis.”

“Curious?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Forty-eight hours ago you were doubting his relationship to you.”

“A lot can change in forty-eight hours,” she murmured, and peered down at her coffee.

“Yes. A lot can,” he agreed.

Something in his tone brought her head up, but his expression was impassive. He cleared his throat. “How about if we leave the business part till tomorrow? I don’t like mixing business with pleasure if I can help it.”

Allie felt unexpectedly flattered that she was part of the pleasure that night. Tomorrow would be soon enough to get the lowdown on this new family of hers.

Joel insisted on picking up the tab for dinner. “Expenses,” he said, settling the matter, and because the evening was so mild, they decided to walk.

“Is it always this quiet on a Thursday night?” he asked.

“This time of year it is, because most of the university students have gone home for the summer. The weekends are busy, but the real tourist crowd doesn’t arrive until June. Then all the outdoor restaurants, clubs and bars are full.”

“I was watching the marina from my hotel room. I guess it’s hopping in the summer, too.”

“Oh, yes,” Allie said, nodding. “I once spent a hectic summer working there when I was a student. The boating crowd tends to attract some pretty eccentric types.”

“I don’t get the draw,” Joel said. “To big luxury boats, I mean.”

“Some people call those huge speedboats ‘babe magnets.’”

“Ouch! Expensive way to ensure a good love life,” he muttered.

She laughed, but thought he’d probably never had to worry about attracting women.

They’d reached her house and now stood awkwardly in front of it. Allie briefly considered asking him in, but had too much to do. He solved the impasse by commenting, “I imagine you have things to get ready. And you have to pack for a couple of weeks.”

“Really? I didn’t think it would take that long.”

Joel frowned. “I hope I never implied that, Allie. If I did, I’m sorry. First they have to do blood tests to see if you’re a match. This is assuming Spiro is still in remission so they can go ahead with the transplant. Plus, you’ll need a few days to recuperate.”

Allie’s stomach gave a small lurch. She hadn’t thought through the physical implications of the whole business. “I hope this doesn’t jeopardize my… I mean, I’m supposed to…”

“Your triathlon? We’ll find out as soon as we get there, but I’ve a hunch it won’t. End of June, you said?”

She nodded.

“It should be okay. Don’t worry.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Thanks for a great evening. I enjoyed it.”

Allie simply stared. It wasn’t only the unexpected kiss that puzzled her, but the stiffly presented compliment that came with it. For want of anything wittier, she said, “Was that business or pleasure?”

A stain of red crept up his neck. “Definitely pleasure,” he replied. Then, turning on his heel, he said, “I’ll be here at eight.”

Allie watched his retreating back, thinking he was the oddest man she’d met in a long time. And if that was pleasure, she was thinking, what does he do to really let loose?

JOEL MADE THE CALL about ten o’clock. Their estimated time of arrival in Grosse Pointe, he’d said, would be about four in the afternoon, allowing for lunch and rest-room breaks. Spiro was pleased, as Joel guessed he would be, but reserved.

He’d asked what Allie was like, and Joel had to think for a moment. In the end, he suggested that Spiro should draw his own conclusions, but that she was definitely Katrina’s daughter. Joel told him about the duplicate photograph, omitting the fact that Allie’s mother had been torn out of the picture. When Spiro mentioned that the whole family would be on hand to greet her the next day, Joel felt a tug of sympathy for her. He hung up the phone and swung his legs off the bed.

Allie had no idea what she was getting into, yet still had agreed to go with him. A gutsy woman, definitely. Beautiful, too, though not in the Hollywood way. If he hadn’t been such a prig about following the rules, he might still be with her, instead of alone in his hotel room.

Maybe what he really needed was a long cold shower to rid his head of Allie Newman. Though he doubted the shower would be enough.