About Face

by Fern Michaels

  Jaybird had the Jag in working order. Adam took a deep breath and relaxed. The Jaguar had that effect on him. The smell of leather never failed to loosen him up. He almost felt like its scent was a requirement for his profession. Luxury car, soft creamy leather, and, yes, the required cell phone.

  He glanced down, making sure the power light was on. With his father in the hospital, he didn’t want to be out of touch, not even for a minute.

  Adam rode the ferry and headed west on 82 for I-75 North. He’d be in Atlanta soon. He’d meet with his patient, then he’d come back to the island in time to see his father before he went to sleep. Being a doctor did have its advantages. He’d wanted to take his father to Emory, but the old man wouldn’t hear of it. The old guy could barely talk, but his mental faculties were in excellent working order.

  Adam smiled to himself as he thought of his dad. They’d had their moments over the years, especially after his mother died, but as time passed his relationship with his father had shifted to a higher level of understanding. He knew his father enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed his.

  Right after his father and Eve married, Adam didn’t think he’d ever walk into Swan House again. He’d thought of it as his mother’s home. Not long after his father’s second marriage he’d come home hoping to make amends with his father for his past behavior. When he saw all the changes she’d made, he’d gotten so angry it was over a year before he could force himself to return to his childhood home.

  It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted his father to be happy; hell the old guy had a few good years left; it was her. He’d never felt she truly loved his father. He knew in his gut Evie loved his father’s possessions far more than she loved him. She’d gone from poor white trash to the president of the Married Ladies Club, the office his mother once held. Normally he would have laughed it off, but Evie had taken her role as John’s wife very seriously.

  She’d practically made herself over. New hair, a face-lift, designer clothing, jewelry. According to his father, Eve spent most of her time shopping in Atlanta, New York, and on occasion would fly to California for a shopping spree. She always returned with little surprise presents for him, mostly silly gadgets that made him laugh.

  If it all made his father happy, more power to him. He couldn’t have cared less about the money. Until the day his father’s accounting firm had called him. His father and Eve had been married about five years when the call came.

  Terrence Lowinsky had managed his father’s holdings for as long as Adam could remember. He’d questioned Adam about his father’s sudden lavish spending. Two new cars, a condo in Atlanta, a small airplane.

  Adam remembered how shocked he’d been. While his father wasn’t a tightwad, he wasn’t frivolous, either. He assured Terrence he would talk to his father. As he’d prepared for a quick flight home, he’d been stunned when he’d spotted Evie and another man at the airport. The embrace he’d seen hadn’t been just a friendly one. He’d lingered behind, almost missing his flight, and watched them. She’d been dressed to kill, and he looked like the cat that ate the canary.

  He’d thought and plotted on the flight to Brunswick and decided he’d let them trip themselves up. He’d advise his father about his wife’s lavish spending, and that would be it. Over the next few years he watched everything they did, and they were none the wiser.

  The jarring ring from the cell phone jolted Adam out of his thoughts. He picked up the contraption and punched the send button.

  “Dr. Worthington.”

  “Uh, yes, Adam. I need to talk to you.”

  “Who gave you this number?” he barked into the phone.

  “Does it really matter?” Bentley asked.

  It didn’t matter, because as soon as he arrived in Atlanta he’d have it changed.

  “What do you want?” While they had contact on rare occasions because of their professions, Adam despised Bentley and wished he’d never laid eyes on him.

  “Actually, I’d heard you put Ms. Edwards in contact with a Dr. Dewitt. I wanted to locate him myself and was told by his answering service he’d gone out of town. I thought you might know where I could find him.”

  “Sorry, Bentley. I don’t make it a habit to know the whereabouts of the medical professionals in the state of Georgia.”

  “You’re sure? I really need to get hold of him.”

  “Goddamn it, of course I’m sure. Why would I know where Dr. Dewitt is? Hell, I barely know the man. He sure as hell doesn’t call me with his itinerary.” On the rare occasions when they bumped into one another at Sanctuary, he never failed to cringe in Robert Bentley’s presence.

  Adam punched the end button and tossed the phone on the seat. Something was up; he could feel it. Why else would Bentley have called him on his cell phone? And just what the hell did Dewitt and his stepsister have to do with Bentley?

  Casey felt restless. She’d spent the afternoon with Julie and Flora in the kitchen but only felt in the way. She’d tried her hand at piecrust and wound up with a large hockey puck. From there she’d peeled apples, cutting herself three times. After that Flora and Julie both decided she needed something safe. She’d been assigned to wipe out the refrigerator and the freezer. With a plastic bucket of hot soapy water, Casey scrubbed the stainless steel until it sparkled. Then, armed with lemon wax and a pile of rags, she’d polished the dining room table, the banister, and all the little odd tables. After that, she’d attacked the rugs with the vacuum.

  Casey was glad for something to occupy her hands. Her mind continued to buzz, but at least her hands were busy. A quick peek at her cuticles told her if her mind remained in its current state without something to keep her busy, she’d be lucky to have fingers.

  Instead of feeling relief, her mother’s visit had left her feeling empty. When Flora finished with Julie, she would ask her about Marc. She assumed John Worthington had been the only man her mother dated after her father’s death. Or possibly Flora didn’t know about the other men in Evie’s life. Maybe her mother wanted it that way. She could respect that, but she still couldn’t shake off the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Something was missing from her mother’s story. Or, she thought, maybe she just hoped something was missing. And that something would ease the guilt she’d shouldered since learning of her crime.

  A wave of nausea assaulted her as she grabbed on to the staircase railing. Casey slumped down on the bottom step, willing herself not to black out. A deep breath. In. Out. Just the way Dr. Macklin had taught her.

  A whirl of color blurred her vision. Another deep breath. Images, some in focus, some not, danced before her.

  A closet. Only this time she was standing. Searching. She pulled a denim book bag from the top shelf. Her hands fumbled around until she felt the metal Folger’s coffee can. She stuffed it into the bag.

  A sweater, two T-shirts, and a pair of jeans. She went to her dresser and grabbed a few pairs of panties and a nightshirt, crammed it all into the bag.

  She couldn’t spend another night in that house. She’d die first.

  Then he’d come into the room just as she closed the drawer.

  He grabbed her bag and searched through its contents.

  “Give it back! You’ve no right to be here. Leave or you won’t like what I do!” she threatened. Standing in the middle of her spartan room, she looked for a weapon. Her eye found the coffee can he’d tossed in the middle of her bed.

  Filled with a sudden bout of courage, she yanked the bag from his grasp and lunged for the can when his hand caught the side of her face. The sting didn’t bother her; she’d been slapped in the face many times before.

  But the other . . . She wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. She’d die first.

  However, she didn’t want to die.

  His menacing voice filled the room. “Don’t threaten me! You hear? I promise the next time I won’t be as nice.”

  Casey trembled. He left her room as quickly as he’d entered. She glanced around her, praying this w
ould be the last time she looked on the walls that held so many secrets.

  Secrets. Her entire life had been one big secret.

  Excluding the times with Grandma and Flora, she’d spent her life in fear.

  Well, no more, she thought as she tossed the contents of the can into her bag.

  One last look around her. This was it. She’d wouldn’t be afraid anymore.

  Softly she closed the door behind her. As she entered the hallway she didn’t see the fist coming toward her.

  Chapter 18

  Casey shook her head, hoping to clear the images. This was not entirely a dream. She remembered being in that closet.

  “Flora!” she shouted.

  The little woman came running out of the kitchen. “What, what is it, Casey?” she asked, her breath ragged.

  “I remember being in the closet. I was going to leave!”

  “Slow down. Now”—Flora scooted next to her on the step—“tell me.”

  “I was going to leave. I remember. I had a can of money I’d saved. I don’t know where it came from, but I know I’d been saving for a long time. Something happened. I remember thinking it would be the last time. I’d had enough. I’d been to see Doc Hunter. It’s weird. I can remember thinking that something horrible happened, but I can’t seem to remember just what it was. The feeling of fear is there, though. It still is. I was afraid I’d die, Flora!” Casey placed her head in her hands and thought of Dr. Dewitt. Maybe she should have stayed.

  “You stop thinkin’ that right now!” Flora admonished.

  “I can’t help it, I know someone wanted to . . . hurt me. Or maybe, they wanted to keep me quiet!”

  “Well, I know that molestin’ wasn’t somethin’ your momma wanted to come out, but I don’t think she’d a hurt anybody. ’Specially you.”

  “And that’s another thing. This morning Mother told me who molested me. I thought I’d feel some sense of closure, but I don’t. It all seemed too tidy to me.”

  Flora cleared her throat before asking, “Who did she say it was, Casey?” The housekeeper’s lively blue eyes were watchful.

  “Marc somebody. But she said he didn’t actually . . . What he did, she said, was touch me where he wasn’t supposed to touch me. Apparently they’d dated for a few months. She said that when she confronted him he left, and she never heard from him again. Mother said my behavior changed whenever he came around. She told me after Doc Hunter’s examination I told her what happened and who did it. Apparently I begged her not to go to the police.”

  Casey cast a side glance at Flora. Her face, usually so expressive, remained blank.

  “I never heard of the man. That’s not to say he didn’t exist, though.”

  “You mean you never watched Ronnie and me while Mother went away? She told me they went to Atlanta for the weekends.”

  “Could have. But I’d guess by then ya’ll woulda been old enough to stay by yourselves.”

  “Flora.” Casey’s voice filled with excitement. “What about the house? Why hasn’t anyone taken me there? If something horrible happened to me in that house, and that something horrible caused me to lose my memory, wouldn’t it seem logical I should go back there?”

  Flora stood up and smoothed her ever-present apron over her hips. “I suppose that’d be a sensible thing to do. Don’t understand why Blake or Adam hasn’t suggested that to you.”

  Casey didn’t either. She wanted to go back to her old house, but she wanted to go alone.

  “Flora, where is this house?”

  “Now, don’t you go gettin’ any ideas, girl. That place is so old it’s about to fall apart. It was old when you lived there. I suspect the place is full of rats and God knows what else by now. I don’t think Miss Evie’s been back there since she married Mr. Worthington.”

  “I’m just curious, Flora, that’s all.”

  “Well, you know what they say about curiosity.”

  “No, tell me.”

  “That it killed the cat. The old Edwards place is at the end of the island. On Back Bay Street.”

  “Is that by Poorman’s?” Casey asked.

  “Yep. How’d you know about that place?”

  “Adam needed a lift to the hospital. Blake and I picked him up there.”

  “You jus’ stay away from there. Now, I’m thinking we need to find something else for you to do.” Flora pushed a strand of white hair back into place.

  Casey would have done anything Flora asked her to do. But now all she wanted was a chance to get out of the house.

  “Would you mind if I begged off? I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’d like to rest a while.”

  Casey crossed her fingers, hoping Flora didn’t see through her lie. She didn’t like to deceive her friend, but just then she didn’t have a choice.

  “Of course, dear. I seem to forget you’re not up to par jus’ yet. You go on up, and I’ll have Julie bring you a cup of tea.”

  “Thanks, but I’d like to rest. I’ll come down for the tea later.”

  “If you’re sure,” Flora said.

  “I am. Thank you, Flora. I’ll feel better after I’m rested.” Casey gave her a quick hug and had to remind herself she was tired so she wouldn’t run up the stairs. She could feel Flora’s eyes on her back.

  Once inside her room Casey wondered how she could get out of the house undetected. Peering down the long hall, she stepped out of her room, quietly closing the door behind her. Removing her sneakers, she stuffed one under each arm as she ran down the three flights of stairs. She heard Flora and Julie in the kitchen. That day being one of Mabel’s days off might make it her lucky day, since Flora would be busy preparing dinner.

  When she reached the bottom landing, she made a mad dash for the front door. Careful not to make any noise, she pulled the heavy wood aside and stepped outside.

  The sky was overcast, dark clouds hovering overhead. A sudden shift in the direction of the wind caused her to ponder her decision. The atmosphere suddenly seemed charged with electricity. She knew Sweetwater was in for a heavy storm. Flora had said earlier her bones were aching. She slipped her shoes on. A storm and some heavy rain weren’t going to stop her.

  Casey jogged to the bottom of the hill and stopped. She’d forgotten about the guard at the gatehouse. The small brick house had windows on both sides. If she were to pass without being seen, she’d have to crawl on her belly. Feeling foolish at how she’d look if she were caught, she shrugged. She needed to get out of there, and she’d managed to come as far as she had without being seen. Why stop?

  Inching her way to the ground, she met with gravel and red dirt. She couldn’t believe what she was doing. As she came to the side of the brick structure, she could hear the guard talking on the phone.

  She lowered herself beneath the window and rolled to her side, where the shrubs were so overgrown anyone could hide there. She used her elbows to pull herself through the undergrowth. Relief didn’t describe what she felt when she reached the other side of the shrubbery. It would be impossible for the guard to see her, since the land was downhill.

  She brushed the dirt from her blouse and checked herself for damage. She’d survived and was little the worse for wear with the exception of a few grass stains.

  The road to Sweetwater was to her right. She picked up her pace and jogged a good three miles before stopping to catch her breath.

  When small drops of rain splattered the pavement, Casey knew she had to hurry, or she’d be caught in the storm. It couldn’t be more than another mile to the end of the island, she thought as she ran for cover. She could feel the back of her slacks getting drenched as she splashed along the street. Sweetwater looks like a ghost town, Casey thought as she slowed to a walk.

  Winded from her efforts, she stopped and placed both hands on her knees, holding her head down while she tried to catch her breath. So many years on dangerous drugs and lack of exercise hadn’t left her in good physical condition.

  Yes, she told herself. One step at a time
. She picked up her pace again. Her clothes clung to her, and she hoped she wouldn’t catch cold. Getting sick was the last thing she needed just then.

  Two, three, then four more blocks. The island stopped. The only things to be seen were tall grass and sand. She looked first to her left, then right and through the rain that was coming down in sheets. She could barely make out the sign that read Back Bay Street.

  Hurrying, Casey sprinted to her destination. What would she find? And surely there was more than one house on the street. How would she know which one she’d lived in? The questions pummeled her as fast as the pellets of rain slapped against her chilled skin. She passed two small wooden houses, both with lights on, telling her someone lived in them. Flora said her mother hadn’t been to the house since she and John were married. Casey slowed her jog to a steady pace. Shivering from the dampness, she was about to give up when she saw it.

  She knew for sure, one hundred percent positively, no matter what, that she’d lived there.

  Paint peeled away at the edges of the two-story house, its wooden shutters showing dabs of faded yellow here and there. The house might’ve been a cheery yellow at one time.

  It was. She remembered. Her grandmother used to live in that house. She’d painted it herself.

  She walked up to the front porch, its surface sagging with age and lack of care. Careful of her step, Casey inched her way one foot at a time across the porch’s wobbly foundation. The roof overhung the porch, and Casey was grateful for its protection, no matter that rain dripped in.

  She drew in a deep breath. This was it. She grabbed the rusted handle to the screen door. She pulled the door aside, waiting for the expected creak, and stopped.

  She remembered something about the house. And it filled her with a dread so powerful she almost turned and ran.

  Roland stopped in his tracks. He thought he heard a noise, but knew no one in their right mind would be out in this weather, and if they were, they sure as hell wouldn’t be where he was. He’d spooked himself.