Читать книгу About That Man - Sherryl Woods, Sherryl Woods - Страница 10

D riving 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. Walker 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 climbed 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.

“She was a beautiful little girl,” he said, recalling her huge blue eyes and halo of strawberry blond curls that had later darkened to a golden hue. “She was always laughing. Then she got involved with Ryan Flanagan, and the laughter died.”

The social worker regarded him sympathetically. “How old was she?”

“Sixteen, still a girl, really, but we couldn’t stop her. My parents tried in a halfhearted way. I tried, but I was away at college and Beth was starved for attention. When Ryan asked her to run away with him, it was too much for her to resist, I guess. When our parents died, I couldn’t even locate her. I had to tell her about their deaths the next time she checked in, which was three or four months later, around the time she and Flanagan got married. She called to give me the big news.”

The anger and dismay he’d felt back then was still alive in him today. “I wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her, but it was too late.”

“Was that the last time you heard from her?”

“No, she called again after he’d abandoned her. She was all alone, scared and pregnant. I wired her some money and begged her to come home. I was married by then. I told her she could stay with us until she had her baby.” He shrugged. “She said she might not even have the baby, and she never did show up. And that was the last time I heard from her. She was somewhere outside of Las Vegas.”

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Jackson said. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

“It drove me nuts,” he said honestly. “Here I was, this big city cop with all sorts of investigative skills and a lot of high-tech resources at my disposal, and I couldn’t even find my own sister. Turned out she was a couple of hours away and I didn’t even know it.”

“You should know better than anyone that a person who wants to drop out of sight can pull it off if they’re clever enough. Maybe she was making her way back to you when she ended up here. Maybe she just wanted to be back on her feet by the time she saw you. She and Tommy had been here a few years. They were doing well. She worked a variety of jobs, since much of the work around here is seasonal. She cleaned houses from time to time, waited tables, helped out in several of the shops.”

“Why not just one job?”

For an instant Mrs. Jackson looked uneasy. “I suppose it’s of no consequence now, but she seemed to have this fear of getting ’caught up in the system,’ as she put it. Several people offered her full-time work, but when it came time to fill out the paperwork she balked.”

Walker uttered a curse. “That was Flanagan’s paranoia at work. No Social Security number, no taxes, nobody tracking his every move. The man liked living on the fringes of society, picking up odd jobs whenever he could, always for cash. I thought Beth was smarter than that.”

“I’m sure she was. In fact, she’d been offered work right here at the Inn, and I think she’d almost convinced herself to take it. Anna-Louise–she’s a minister here in town–said Beth had been talking a lot about taking that final step so she could get back in touch with her family. She must have been talking about you. It was the only clue we had that she had anyone in her life other than Tommy.”

“She didn’t have to prove anything to me,” he said, though he was relieved if she’d done all of that for her own sake. And for her son’s.

“Maybe she thought she did. I’m sure she knew she let you down.”

“That didn’t matter,” Walker insisted. “I just wanted my baby sister to be okay.” He looked at her. “And now she’s dead,” he said bitterly. “What kind of brother does that make me?”

“One who did the best he could, I suspect.”

He frowned at being let off the hook so easily. “No lectures?”

“Not my job,” she assured him. “We can’t change the past, much as we might like to. I prefer to deal with the here and now.”

“Meaning Tommy?” he guessed.

She nodded. “Meaning Tommy.” She slid a snapshot across the table. “I thought you might like to see this.”

Walker hesitated before picking it up. His hand shook as he lifted it off the table. He sucked in his breath as Beth’s blue eyes stared back at him. The boy had her crooked, mischievous grin, too.

“I’ll bet he’s a handful,” he said finally.

“Oh, he is,” Mrs. Jackson said fervently. “Not that it’s much of a surprise. A boy all alone in the world has to find some way to deal with the fear. He’s been better since he’s been living with Daisy.”

“Daisy?”

“Daisy Spencer. The Spencers were founders of Trinity Harbor–not Daisy, of course, but her ancestors. Her daddy, King, is still the most respected man in town. The richest, too, by all accounts, though my own father disputed that with his dying breath.”

“Bad blood between the Spencers and your family?”

“More like an unending rivalry. King Spencer is the kind of man who doesn’t like anybody challenging his supremacy.”

“Is his daughter the same way?”

“Not at all. Daisy is a wonderful person.”

“And she’s a foster parent?”

“Not usually, no.”

“How does her husband feel about this?”

“Daisy isn’t married.”

Walker was beginning to get a clear picture of the woman. A society do-gooder looking to gain a few more points.

“How exactly did Tommy end up with her?”

“She found him in her garage the other morning after he’d run away from another foster home. He’s been acting out a lot since Beth died…mostly mischief, but clearly cries for help.”

“And despite that, this Daisy just decided to let him stay?”

“Daisy is a remarkable woman, as I’m sure you’ll see. She knew your sister and Tommy from church. She never hesitated about taking him in.”

“Maybe we should leave things the way they are,” Walker said, trying not to flinch under Mrs. Jackson’s immediate frown of disapproval. “If Tommy’s been behaving since he moved in with her, maybe she’s just the person to keep him on the straight and narrow, to give him whatever he needs.”

“You would turn around and leave here without even seeing the boy?” she asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“It could be for the best,” he insisted.

“Perhaps so,” she agreed stiffly. “But I thought you were made of tougher stuff than that, Detective.”

“I’m just saying that this woman sounds like a good role model for Tommy.”

“You’re his uncle, ” she reminded him. “The only family he has left. You would deny him that sense of identity, that sense of connection, because it’s inconvenient?”

He could feel the heat climbing into his cheeks. “I didn’t say–”

“You didn’t have to. You’re a coward, Detective Ames.”

The blunt assessment hit its mark. What had ever made him think that he could get around this woman? She was one tough customer. He met her gaze evenly. “Maybe I am, Mrs. Jackson. You don’t know much about me.”

“I know that you’re willing to turn your back on a little boy without even meeting him.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Walker muttered, thinking of the accusations his ex-wife liked to throw at him about his treatment of his own kids.

“What was that?”

He sighed. “I have two children of my own, Mrs. Jackson. Two boys.”

“Yes, you mentioned being married.”

“Divorced, actually. My ex-wife has moved to North Carolina. I see my kids for two weeks in the summer. My ex claims that’s still more than I saw them when we were living under the same roof.”

She surveyed him with that penetrating look that disconcerted him.

“Is she right about that?” she asked.

“Probably. I’m a dedicated cop. It’s never been a nine-to-five job for me.”

“Which is to your credit. I’m sure it’s not easy. Based on our phone conversation, I’m sure you’ve seen things that the rest of us would prefer to pretend don’t happen. That must take a terrible toll. The work must consume you at times. I know mine does, and it can’t be nearly as difficult as what you face.”

“That’s still no excuse for neglecting my family,” he said. “I was a lousy husband and not much of a father.”

“Your words or hers?”

He smiled at her indignant expression. “Hers, but she pretty much nailed it. I don’t deny it.”

“Owning up to your mistakes,” she said with a little nod of satisfaction. “I think maybe you have potential, after all, Detective.”

“I haven’t changed,” he insisted.

“But you can, with the right incentive.” She pushed the picture of Tommy back in his direction. “At least meet him. Tommy needs to know that he still has family out there. You owe him that. You surely owe your sister that.”

Walker couldn’t debate that point. He owed Beth for not being there for her, for not trying harder to keep her away from Flanagan, for not finding her years ago.

“Okay, you win. I’ll meet Tommy, but I’m not making any promises, Mrs. Jackson.”

“Fair enough.” She reached across and patted his hand. “I’m sure you’ll decide to do the right thing when the time comes.”

Walker wished he shared her faith. There was one more thing he had to do while he was here, though. He needed to go by the cemetery, see where his sister was buried.

“Before we go to see Tommy, there’s something I’d like to do,” he began.

“Stop by the cemetery,” she guessed. “It’s five now. I’ll call Daisy and let her know we’ll be there about six. And if you’d like to take flowers to your sister’s grave, I know where we can get some lovely ones.”

He hadn’t thought of flowers, but she was right. He needed to make a gesture, leave something behind. Maybe wherever Beth was she would know and would understand that she’d always been in his heart.

King waved his latest housekeeper out of the dining room. Never could trust the help not to pass along every word that was spoken in his house. Finally satisfied that she wasn’t lurking at the keyhole, he regarded his sons intently and asked, “Okay, now, what are we going to do about your sister?”

“I should have known you didn’t just invite us over here for a nice dinner,” Tucker grumbled.

“He never does,” Bobby agreed. “Steak always comes with a price. Daddy inevitably has something up his sleeve.”

King scowled at the pair of them. “Don’t smart-mouth me. Your sister’s in trouble and I want to know what you’re going to do to fix it.”

“Last I heard, Daisy was a grown woman who knew her own mind,” Bobby said. “What’s she done that’s so all-fired wrong? She saw a kid who needed someone and she took him in. Isn’t that what you’ve always taught us? That we have an obligation to look out for other people?” He lowered his voice and intoned, “’Spencers do their duty for the less fortunate.’”

King frowned at the mockery, but decided to ignore it. “Not when she’s going to wind up getting her heart broken,” he countered.

“I’ve warned her,” Tucker said. “She says she knows what she’s doing.”

“And Anna-Louise has warned her, too,” Bobby pointed out, then grinned at his brother’s startled expression. “Daddy’s covering all the bases. I gather we’re the second string, which must mean Anna-Louise struck out.”

The truth was, Anna-Louise hadn’t reported back to him yet, which galled King no end. He’d deal with her later. In the meantime, he needed someone else on the case.

“Somebody’s got to look out for your sister.” He scowled at Tucker. “I don’t know why you didn’t take that boy out of there when you had the chance.”

“You wanted me to arrest him?”

“He was stealing her jewelry, wasn’t he? You told me that yourself.”

“He tried. He didn’t succeed. I doubt Daisy would have approved of my slapping handcuffs on him and hauling him off to jail. She’d have demanded to be in the cell right next to him, and she’d have had Anna-Louise’s husband down there snapping pictures for next week’s front page.”

King didn’t doubt it. Richard Walton was a troublemaker, and a Yankee to boot. Actually, he was from Virginia, but he’d worked for one of the Washington papers, which was just as bad as being a Yankee by birth. Tucker was right. Walton would have stirred up a ruckus.

“Besides,” Bobby said. “I don’t think we’re going to have to do anything. I hear Frances found the boy’s uncle. He’s due here today.”

“They’re over at the Inn as we speak. I saw Frances’s car there when I left the courthouse to come on out here,” Tucker added.

“This uncle, is he taking Tommy with him?” King asked, feeling hopeful for the first time in days.

“No word on that,” Bobby admitted.

“Well, why the heck wouldn’t he?” King demanded. “The boy’s his responsibility. Dammit, Frances isn’t going soft, is she? Do I need to call and tell her how to do her job?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Tucker muttered.

“I heard that,” King said, scowling at his oldest son. “The day hasn’t come when I can’t take on the likes of Frances Jackson. One word to the Board of Supervisors and she’d be out on her tush.”

“I think you’re underestimating the respect people around here have for her,” Tucker said. “And don’t forget, her ancestors are every bit as blue-blooded as ours.”

King chafed at the reminder. It was a fact Frances liked to throw in his face every year when Founders’ Day rolled around. In fact, the blasted woman prided herself on being a thorn in his side. She had been ever since grade school, when she’d publicly trounced him in a spelling bee. His daddy had never let him forget that he’d been beaten by a girl.

“I don’t want to talk about Frances,” King grumbled.

His sons exchanged amused glances. The spelling bee incident was one of their favorites.

“You know, I could disown both of you,” he declared. “Neither one of you shows me an ounce of respect.”

“I thought you did that last week,” Bobby said.

“No, it was last month,” Tucker countered. “I remember distinctly that he said he was going to disinherit us because we told him at Sunday dinner that we didn’t care about the price of cattle.”

“Well, dammit, what kind of sons don’t give a fig for the business that their daddy is in, and their granddaddy before him?” King demanded, thumping his fist on the table so hard it rattled the china and brought the housekeeper scurrying out of the kitchen. He waved her off. “Get back in there. I’ll call you when we’re ready for dessert.”

Bobby shot a sympathetic look toward the woman, who’d only been on the job for a few weeks. “You’re going to run off another housekeeper if you’re not careful,” he warned his father.

“So what if I do? It’s my house.”

“We’ll remind you of that when you start grumbling about having to do the dusting,” Tucker said, grinning.

King wondered what he’d ever done to deserve such disrespectful sons. If he didn’t need their help with Daisy, he’d have thrown them out and gone through with his threat to disinherit them.

“We’re getting off-track,” he said instead. “I expect you to do something about this situation with your sister. Make sure that boy leaves here with his uncle, preferably tonight. Am I making myself clear?”

“If you feel so strongly about this, why aren’t you over there telling Daisy what you think?”

“Because she doesn’t listen to me any better than the rest of you. If I show up, it’ll only make her dig in her heels.”

“True enough,” Bobby said. “Daisy got her stubbornness from you.”

“She got it from your mother,” King contradicted. “I’m a perfectly reasonable man.”

Tucker and Bobby hooted so loudly at that it brought the housekeeper peeking through the kitchen door. King gave up. He’d either made his point or he hadn’t. Tucker and Bobby would do what they wanted to do, the way they always did. So would Daisy, for that matter, even if it ruined her life. He could console himself that he’d tried to fix things.

He frowned at the eavesdropping housekeeper. “You might as well get on in here and clear the supper dishes, Mrs. Wingate.”

“Will you be wanting your pie and coffee now?” she asked as she eased into the room, giving him a wide berth as she loaded a tray with the dinner plates and serving dishes.

“I’ll take mine in the study,” he said. “These two can take theirs wherever they want.”

“I’m thinking I’ll take a couple of extra slices and head on over to Daisy’s to see what’s what,” Tucker said, glancing toward his younger brother. “What about you?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bobby agreed.

King regarded them both with satisfaction. Maybe their skulls weren’t quite as thick as he’d been thinking, after all.

“You’ll let me know what you find out,” he ordered them as Mrs. Wingate delivered his piece of apple pie and coffee and set a covered pie plate in front of Tucker.

“You could come along,” Tucker suggested.

“Not on your life,” King retorted.

“Scared of the heat,” Bobby observed.

“Probably so,” Tucker concurred.

“No, just saving the big guns for later, in case you two mess this up,” King told them. He scowled. “Which I am counting on you not to do.”

“Daddy, we will do our best, but this is Daisy we’re talking about,” Tucker reminded him. “I haven’t won an argument with her since she was old enough to talk.”

“Then it’s high time you figured out why that is and changed it,” King told him, shaking his head at the pitiful admission. “What kind of sheriff lets a little slip of a woman walk all over him?”

“One who’s smart enough to know when to cut his losses,” Bobby suggested.

“Exactly,” Tucker agreed.

King threw up his hands. “I swear to God I am calling my lawyer right this minute and changing my will. I’m leaving everything to a bunch of blasted bird-watchers. They’re bound to have more gumption than you two.”

“Glad to see we’ve made you proud yet again,” Tucker said, giving him an unrepentant grin as he headed for the door with the pie plate in hand.

Bobby gave his shoulder a squeeze as he passed. “See you, old man.”

“I’m not old,” King bellowed after them, then sighed. He might not be old at fifty-nine, but his children were going to send him to an early grave. Every one of them seemed to be flat-out dedicated to it.