Buch lesen: «Father and Child Reunion»

Chapter One

July 15

Eve stopped in the doorway of her mom’s bedroom, packing boxes in hand and a knot in her throat. She wouldn’t think about what she had to do. She’d just do it.

The resolution made, she dropped the boxes by the lace-covered four-poster bed, whipped back the curtains overlooking the flower garden and opened the doors of a tall cherry armoire. The cubicles at eye level were filled with neatly folded sweaters. Cardigans and lightweights on one side, jacket-types and bulky knits on the other. Without letting herself recall the last time she’d seen her mother wearing any one of them, Eve put the lot in a box designated for the women’s shelter. She set the small floral sachet she found tucked behind them in a smaller box for mementos she would save for Molly.

Keeping her mind carefully blank, she turned next to the narrow drawer beneath the now empty shelves. It held scarves. Soft squares of soft periwinkle, rose and yellow lay next to lengths of poppy red, royal blue and emerald green. Patterns were separated from solids. Pastels from primaries. Each color group was separated further by size.

She’d known her mother was efficient, even admired her innate sense of order. But had she ever realized she was this organized?

At the thought, Eve’s resolve faltered. She wasn’t a strong person. A little stubborn, maybe. Independent, definitely. And that, out of necessity as much as training. But she really wasn’t strong enough to divorce herself from the ache in her chest. It was just that, after packing up most of the closet yesterday, blocking her mind to what she was doing had seemed the only way to get through the rest of the room without dehydrating herself.

She hesitantly touched a square of indigo blue. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home in Santa Barbara. Back in her sunny apartment with the tulips she and Molly had planted struggling to grow on their tiny patio. Back at work, arguing with jerky Geoff Englebright about whether or not she could handle major accounts on her own. Back in the familiar world of shuttling Molly to preschool and day care and to T-ball or tumbling class on Saturday, and spending evenings with the sketches she hoped would someday be good enough to sell.

What did she know about filing for probate and liquidating assets and whatever else the attorney had said she needed to do? She knew color and texture and space. She knew how to design interiors that were functional, appealing, stunning. Whatever the client wanted. She knew “Disney princesses” and how to make cupcakes with smiley faces. But she still didn’t know what she was supposed to do with all the things her mother had loved.

Squares of fabric turned into a kaleidoscope of color as the scarves blurred.

Blinking furiously, Eve pulled a breath and picked up a stack of silk. Her mother’s possessions wouldn’t pack themselves, so she’d best get on with it. After all, taking care of her mother’s belongings was part of the reason she’d come back.

Shortly after the funeral, she had returned to Santa Barbara to finish what design projects she could, then turned over the rest to her boss and begged for a leave of absence from her job. She’d been so busy, she could scarcely think. But the numbness that had protected her during that time had vanished the moment she’d walked back through the door of the spacious, two-story house, Molly and suitcases in tow. Though she’d been gone for almost a month, and she’d had a two-day, thousand-mile drive in which to prepare herself for her return, she’d felt just as rocky when she arrived as she had the day they’d left. Nothing had changed. In the days following her mother’s death, the unimaginable—the unthinkable—had become the reality.

Eve still couldn’t believe what the police had told her. Her mother hadn’t just had a heart attack. She’d been murdered.

“A lethal injection of potassium” was how the detective had so calmly described what the killer had used for a weapon. “Someone definitely knew what he was doing.”

The last of the scarves went into the box. The senselessness of her mother’s death only compounded the ache in Eve’s chest. Or maybe, she thought, it was some sort of unacknowledged rage at whoever could have done such a thing that made it so hard to breathe whenever she thought of why her mother was no longer there. It didn’t help that the police had yet to come up with a solid suspect; that whoever had robbed her and her brother of their mom, Molly of her grandmother and the entire town of a decent, caring human being was still running free. At least, she hadn’t heard that the authorities had any leads. Her brother, Hal, who was the acting mayor and in a much better position than she to get that sort of information, wasn’t speaking to her much these days.

The refined, two-tone chime of the doorbell cut off any consideration Eve might have given that disturbing development. As shaky as she was feeling, she could only handle one problem at a time, anyway.

The doorbell sounded again, the notes drifting through the house like a musical ghost.

One of the first things Eve had done when she’d returned a few days ago was enroll Molly in St. Veronica’s summer day camp. That meant her little girl wasn’t there to peek around the Priscillas in the living room and holler out a description of whoever was leaning on the bell.

For one totally indulgent moment, Eve considered not answering. Only the thought that Molly might be returning early had her shoving her fingers through her hair and heading for the stairs.

It wasn’t Molly. By the time Eve reached the bottom step of the wide, carved oak staircase, she could see a shape visible through the pattern of beveled glass on the front door. It was definitely adult. Big adult. The top of Molly’s head wouldn’t have even reached the casing of the oval window.

She headed across the wide foyer, thinking it was probably Millicent from next door or, perhaps, someone from one of the many organizations to which her mom had belonged. That thought, belated though it was, had her wishing she’d checked herself out in the dresser mirror. Her mom certainly would have. Appearances were important, after all. And Eve, the prodigal daughter, wanted very much to avoid reflecting badly on her mother.

Her hand brushed the collar of her pink oxford shirt, then flattened over the single pearl on her necklace. Her white slacks were cotton and casual, but her attire should stand up to scrutiny. It was the rest of her that needed work. Her blue eyes were probably rimmed in red, and her short blond hair would have been more presentable had she not shoved her fingers through it, but it was too late to undo the damage now. Her caller could see her approaching through the door’s window.

And she could see him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dark. The impressions registered a millisecond before her heart bumped her ribs and her steps faltered to a stop.

Rio.

Her heart jerked again, her thoughts scrambling. She’d known she’d have to see him. Considering his work and her obligations, avoiding him for the next couple of months would be nearly impossible. She knew, too, that she had to tell him about Molly before he found out on his own. But she had no idea how to do that. Or what he would say when she did.

A thread of panic tangled with the other emotions knotting her stomach. She’d known she would see him. But she’d never thought he’d appear on her mother’s doorstep.

Brass clicked when she pressed the latch. Pulling open the door, she glanced past the narrow band of a collarless white shirt to a jaw that looked chiseled from stone. A heartbeat later, she met eyes the color of midnight.

The scent of impending rain blew in with the breeze. Or maybe it was the man dwarfing her in the doorway that suddenly made the air feel charged. Rio seemed bigger to her, his lean body more powerful. His neatly trimmed black hair was combed straight back from his face, accentuating the bronze and beautifully honed features that spoke clearly of his Native American ancestry. But those features betrayed nothing.

His mouth, sculpted and blatantly sensual, formed a hard line when his glance moved from her pale features to the scarf in her hand, then locked on her face once more. Knowing she would see him didn’t mean she’d been prepared. She realized that the moment she encountered the piercing ebony eyes that had always seen so much, and revealed so little.

“Hello, Eve.”

“Rio.” His name was little more than a whisper. “I didn’t expect you.”

“I don’t imagine you did. May I come in?”

Another jolt of panic sliced through her at the question, her glance darting to her watch. Realizing that Molly wasn’t due to return for half an hour, her next breath came a little easier. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

She pushed open the screen, than backed to the center of the large maroon-and-blue Aubusson rug when he stepped in and closed the door. In the space of seconds, he’d scanned the high-ceilinged foyer, the perimeter of polished wood floor and the mirror reflecting the matching Ming-style vases on the long entry table.

“I’m working on a story for the Herald about your mother’s murder.” His voice, smoky and deep, held a cool edge of professionalism as he studied his surroundings. He clearly had a purpose. Yet, he didn’t seem interested in knowing why she’d disappeared from his life without a word. Or why she’d refused to return his calls. When he turned to face her again, six years of silence screaming between them, he was all business. The look in his eyes as he noted the redness in hers seemed no less impersonal.

“I’m interviewing everyone who may have had any contact with her that last day,” he added, making it clear he hadn’t singled her out. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like to talk to you. Just so you know, I’m not willing to jeopardize finding whoever’s guilty for the sake of a story. Anything you tell me stays confidential until the police investigation breaks.”

He was here because of his job. Not because of their past. Eve slowly expelled the breath that had locked itself in her lungs. She knew she should feel relieved. Yet, even though she’d always known that he had mattered far more to her than she had to him, she didn’t know what to make of his indifference.

Preferring it to the questions he could have asked, her glance fell to the length of crimson silk wadded in her fist. “I don’t know what I could possibly tell you. I have no idea who would have wanted to kill my mother. Or why.” She paused, her voice losing its steadiness as she drew the scarf through her fingers and held it up. Red had always been her mother’s favorite color. “I was packing Mom’s things. You wouldn’t think cleaning out drawers would be that hard, would you?”

She tried to smile. Pretty sure the effort didn’t match the result, she turned away, heading into the living room with its dark, polished woods and rich blue-and-burgundy fabrics. She could feel him watching her, assessing the way she moved, the tilt of her head. Yet, were she to face him, she doubted his expression would reveal anything that he didn’t want her to see.

Given the way she was feeling just then, a little lost, a lot uncertain, she’d barter everything short of her soul for that ability.

She could hear him moving behind her, his footfall slow and measured. There was caution in the sound. Or maybe it was reluctance. When he stopped beside a navy barrel chair, that hesitation had entered his voice.

“I’m really sorry about your mother, Eve. Considering how close you were, I’m sure you must miss her.”

She was right. Though some of the coolness had left his voice, his expression was still guarded.

“Thank you,” she returned. “I do miss her. Sometimes so much that I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it. But I’m getting by.” She managed the smile this time, even though it was a little shaky at the edges. “A lot of other people miss her, too. I think half the town attended her funeral.”

“I’m sure more would have been there if some of the roads hadn’t still been blocked.” His glance skimmed her face, but the unwilling concern in his eyes vanished as he looked away. “I was on an assignment on the other side of town, or I’d have been there myself.”

He couldn’t possibly know how relieved she was that he hadn’t been. The entire city had been affected by the mud slides that had taken out electrical power, roads and water lines. Though utilities had been restored for the most part and the roads cleared, like aftershocks of an earthquake, the effects of that fateful storm were still being felt. It was one that would go down in the history books. Which, she reminded herself, was the only reason Rio was here now.

“This investigation you’re doing,” she said, hurrying past the silence suddenly straining their conversation. “Have you found out anything yet?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Looking very much as if there was something else he wanted to say, he took a step closer. He must have changed his mind about whatever it was. That same step brought him right back to business.

“Nothing that leads anywhere specific. Since your brother is the council’s liaison with the police, he has an inside line to what’s going on. I’m sure you have as much information as I do. Maybe more.”

“Actually,” she replied, the hope he might know something fading to disappointment, “I know very little.”

That didn’t seem to be the response he’d hoped for. A frown slashed his forehead.

“So what has Hal told you?”

“Only that they’re working on it. He said he’d let me know if anything comes up.”

“That’s all?”

“We really don’t talk that much. Hal’s been awfully busy since he took over Mom’s mayoral duties.” The explanation sounded like an excuse. She knew that, but it was the truth, as far as it went. “I’ve talked to one of the detectives a couple of times, and he’s mentioned one theory they’re following. Something about strip miners and some lease renewal Mom was opposed to. But I hate to keep bugging him.” The hope sprang back, refusing to die. “If there’s anything you know…”

“Why isn’t Hal talking to you?”

His eyes searching hers, he moved closer still. He was a reporter, Eve reminded herself. He wanted a story. Yet, even though she knew that, even though Rio couldn’t have made it any more obvious that he was there only because he had to be, the edge in his voice had softened. Something that sounded suspiciously like the concern she’d so briefly glimpsed moments ago had stripped it away.

It made no sense at all to Eve, but if he suddenly turned nice on her, she didn’t know if she’d be able to handle it.

She drew a quick, steadying breath. At least, to Rio, it seemed she was seeking some sort of control just then. All he really knew was that he hadn’t expected to see her this way. More than that, he hadn’t expected her to matter.

Not anymore.

He had stopped an arm’s length from her, forcing her to tip her head back to look up at him. He could tell she’d been crying. Or trying to avoid it. Yet, even with the telltale pink tinting her sky blue eyes, there was no denying how lovely she had become. She was no longer the girl he remembered, but she was still as small and slight as a fawn. Her pale blond hair looked shot with sunlight, and though the stylish, sophisticated cut was far too short for his taste, it framed a face of fragile beauty; a face that revealed far more than he wanted to see.

Between the grief she so bravely held in check and her obvious hunger for anything she could learn about her mother’s murderer, she looked desperately in need of a pair of arms. Realizing that he was actually thinking about easing her into his, he shoved his hands into his pockets. Even if he could get past what she’d done to him, his touch could well be unwelcome.

“Are we on the record, or off?”

“None of what you say to me is going anywhere right now. I already told you that.”

“But this doesn’t have anything to do with your story.”

“This isn’t about the story. It’s about why your brother has cut you out of the loop.”

His words seemed to magnify the distress in her eyes. She already looked far too vulnerable. Far too alone.

Balling his hands into fists, Rio took a mental step back, regrouping, reassessing. Any investigative reporter worth his byline knew how important it was to remain objective. And he had been so sure his objectivity was in place where Eve was concerned. Obviously, he’d overestimated himself. With anyone else under such circumstances, he would never have barged in with the steamroller routine. But with her, all he’d wanted to do was get in, get the information he wanted, and get out. All the way across town, he’d reminded himself that whatever it was they’d once shared had ceased to matter the day she’d run off without so much as a goodbye, good luck or go to hell. The visit today was strictly business.

He reminded himself of that again, wanting to believe it this time, and watched her cross her arms. The bright slash of red scarf tangled from elbow to wrist.

“Eve,” he said, his tone quiet. “Why isn’t he talking to you?”

He spoke her name the same way she remembered his saying it when he knew something was on her mind. As if he was prepared to patiently drag it out of her if he had to.

He’d never had to try very hard.

“He’s upset because Mom named me the executor of her estate instead of him. We haven’t agreed on much of anything since we found her will.” She paused, just short of adding that she thought Hal’s feelings were hurt.

“So he’s punishing you by not giving you information?”

It sounded so juvenile when he put it that way.

“Grief affects people in many different ways,” she said defensively, thinking that someone who covered the trials and traumas of life for a living should certainly know that. Her older brother’s pain was as deep as her own. “But it’s not like Mom cut Hal out of the will. All she did was change her executor.”

“When did she do this?”

“Just a few months ago. Her attorney said he was talking to her about some other matters and she brought it up, almost as an afterthought.”

“She never hinted she was thinking about it?”

“She never said a word to me. I keep thinking that she planned to mention it and just didn’t get the chance. There was always so much going on with her, and with Hal’s wedding and everything, it just wasn’t a priority.”

She pushed her hand through her hair, the motion as unsteady as she looked. “She left so much undone, Rio. Every time I turn around, I find some other project she was in the middle of. If it’s not something for the Children’s Center, it’s the women’s shelter. And I’m trying to tie up all those loose ends by guessing how she would have wanted things handled. In the meantime, I’m on the fringes as far as the investigation is concerned. It’s hard not knowing anything.”

It shouldn’t have been so easy to admit all that to him. Nor should it have seemed so natural to stand there letting him see the frustrations she was so careful to shield from everyone else. But then, no one else had ever known her like he had. Even when she hadn’t felt like talking, he’d always been able to draw her out. And he’d always listened.

The knowledge was not only seductive, it was dangerous. And she had to be seriously addled to be going on as she was with Molly en route even as they spoke. Her little girl would be barreling up the steps in a matter of minutes.

“You know, Eve, it’s possible that you know more than you realize.”

“I really don’t think so.”

“Are you willing to talk to me to find out?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll do whatever I can to find out who did this to Mom. And I’ll answer your questions.” Praying the bus wouldn’t be early, she glanced nervously toward the door. “I just can’t do it now.”

“Are you expecting someone?”

The man was observant to a fault.

She told him she was and started across the room. “This isn’t a good time to talk.”

“Then, I’ll come by later. Just give me a time.”

“No! No,” she repeated, more quietly. “I’ll meet you tomorrow. In the morning. Is that okay?”

More curious about her reaction than about whoever she was expecting, he lifted his shoulder in a deceptively casual shrug. “Sure. When?”

“Is nine all right?”

She was already at the door. Rio was right behind her, wondering what had put the sudden tension in her slender shoulders. She was definitely more agitated than she’d been a moment ago, and far more evasive. He’d already noticed how she tended to avoid his eyes. But he wanted to think that was only because she was feeling a little guilty about the way she’d dumped him. Anxious as she was to get rid of him now, however, he couldn’t help thinking she was hiding something.

Whatever it was, he told himself, unless it had to do with Olivia Stuart’s murder, he didn’t care about it.

She opened the door, standing back so he could pass. He didn’t move, though. The doorway was blocked.