When Shadows Fall (Callaways #7)

by Barbara Freethy

  "No, thanks, I'll call back." She ended the call and set her phone on the bed. She wondered if Peter Harper was at the hospital visiting Molly. It might be worth making another trip down there. She'd probably get further with him in person than on the phone anyway.

  Jumping off the bed, she went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She needed to refresh, change her clothes, and then attack the day.

  * * *

  Olivia got to the hospital just before noon on Tuesday. She'd changed into dark jeans and a tank top under a bright pink sweater and had pulled her long hair into a thick ponytail. She was ready to face whatever came next.

  When she saw Peter Harper sitting in a chair beside his mother's bed, she felt both relieved and nervous. Peter was reading something on his cell phone, and Molly appeared to be in the same condition she'd been the day before.

  Olivia hesitated in the doorway, quite sure she would not get a warm welcome, but she was here, and the man she needed to speak to was also here so she was going in.

  She'd never been a coward when it came to research and asking tough questions of reluctant people, but this story had taken a turn when she'd found herself quite possibly in the middle of it.

  Peter looked up and saw her, taking the decision out of her hands. He got to his feet, and walked over to her as she stepped into the room.

  "I thought I made it clear that my mother is in no condition to have visitors, especially people she's never met before."

  "She wanted to meet me, Mr. Harper. She asked me to come here."

  "Well, that was before she had her stroke."

  "I know, and I really wish I'd been able to come sooner, but your mother left me her journals to read, and—"

  "What?" he interrupted, anger flashing in his eyes. "What did you say?"

  "Your mother wanted me to write a story about her life. She left me her journals, some photographs and a few other items to go through." She decided not to explain that some of those items had been acquired during her visit to Molly's home.

  "You'll return them immediately," Peter said, obviously infuriated at the idea that she had anything belonging to his mother. "Those belong with the family."

  "I will, of course, return them, but I need to ask you a few questions."

  "I have no interest in your questions. My mother's life has always been private, and it will remain so. You need to leave."

  She stared at him, seeing the determination in his eyes, but she didn't quite understand where it came from. Was he trying to protect his mother from her? Or was there something else he was trying to protect?

  She'd have to figure that out later, because she was quickly running out of time. She had no doubt that Peter Harper was about two seconds away from calling security and having her thrown out.

  "Miss—"

  "I think I might be Francine's daughter," she blurted out.

  His jaw dropped, his eyes widening from the shock of her words. "What—what did you say?"

  "I found a birth certificate for a girl born to Francine Harper on June 7, 1988, which happens to be my birthday. I was adopted when I was two days old. The adoption was closed. I had no information on my biological parents, until possibly now."

  She could see the pulse beating rapidly in his neck as he processed the information. His gaze raked her face with new interest, as if he were looking for similarities between her and his sister or someone else in the family.

  "Do you know what happened to Francine's child? Do you know who adopted her?"

  "I have no idea."

  "And your mother never gave you any indication that she might be contacting me for another reason than just a desire to tell her story to a writer?"

  "She didn't tell me anything about you until the day she had her stroke," Peter replied.

  "What did she say then?"

  "Not much. She was excited you were coming. I didn't really understand what she wanted you to write about. I started asking her questions, but before she could answer, she collapsed."

  "She never suggested that I might be her granddaughter?"

  "No." His lips tightened. "Look, I don't know what your game is, but my mother doesn't have any money, so if you're thinking you're in line for an inheritance, you can forget it. My money is completely separate from hers. And she's been living on a fixed income for a long time."

  "I don't want money." She stiffened at his ugly suggestion. "And I'm not running a game. I came at Molly's request, and I'm trying to honor my promise to her."

  "What promise?"

  "That I would tell her story. Did your mother tell you about the underground railroad for abused women that she was involved in? It was tied to a community theater group she participated in back in the seventies."

  "I know she sewed costumes for the theater, but my mother and her friends loved to make up stories. Most of them were not true."

  "Your mother's friends were quite convincing."

  "Well, they're good actresses. You need to stop the book project."

  "Why?"

  "Because you don't know what you're getting into."

  "Then enlighten me," she challenged. "Because so far no one has been willing to tell me why I should leave all this alone."

  "My mother is dying. She can't tell you her story. So that's it."

  "Some of the other women are alive, Eleanor Callaway for one."

  Anger flared in his eyes. "Eleanor Callaway is not anyone you should be talking to. She acts like she was my mother's friend, but she wasn't. She messed up my mother's life."

  She was surprised at his intense dislike of Eleanor, a woman that everyone else she had met seemed to adore. "How did Eleanor screw up your mother's life?"

  "It doesn't matter. I don’t want to talk about that woman."

  "Then tell me about Francine. Did she tell you who the father of her baby was? Do you know why she gave her daughter up for adoption?"

  "No. She told me nothing. My sister was a disaster. She suffered from depression and anxiety, and she self-medicated with drugs and alcohol. I have no idea who fathered her kid. As for why she gave it up—it was probably the smartest thing she ever did in her life, at least for her daughter. For herself it was another story. She couldn't get herself out of the darkness or over the loss of her child. A year later, she was dead. Is that the kind of mom you're looking for?" he asked.

  "I'm not looking for a mother; I have a good one. The woman who raised me gave me everything. She was wonderful, and my dad was amazing, too. Unfortunately, he died when I was in high school. But the years we had together were all anyone could have asked for in a childhood."

  "Then you were far luckier than Francine," he said tightly. "You have nothing to gain here, Miss Bennett. If you don't want money, then what's left? Even if by some remote chance you are my sister's child, what does it matter? Francine is dead. My mother is on her way to join her. And I'm not interested in acquiring any more family. I have had more than enough family problems in my life. I sure as hell don't need anymore. So go home. Go back to the people who raised you and count your blessings that my sister gave you away."

  She didn't know what to say, but even if she had known, she didn't have a chance to speak. A doctor and a nurse came into the room, and Peter was immediately drawn into conversation about his mother's health and what tests they wanted to run.

  With Peter Harper and the medical professionals encircling Molly's bed, she felt very much on the outside. She didn't even know if she was Molly's granddaughter, and here she was intruding on what might be the last moments of a woman's life.

  Shaking her head, she turned and walked out of the room and ran straight into a solid male chest.

  Colton!

  He caught her by the waist.

  "We have to stop meeting like this," he said lightly.

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for you. I figured you'd want to talk to Peter, and he was probably here."

  "You were right. I just spoke to him." She t
ipped her head toward Molly's room. "I told him about the birth certificate and that I thought I could possibly be his niece. He wasn't receptive to the idea. In fact, he was quite rude about it. He accused me of being after his mother's money. When I said I wasn't, he told me I should be glad I was adopted, that Francine was a drug addict, and that I was better off without her."

  Colton's gaze narrowed. "What you really need to do is find out for sure if you're a Harper. You need a DNA test."

  "Which I'm sure would require Molly's consent, which she can't give, and I doubt Peter would be interested in making it happen."

  Colton thought for a moment. "Maybe we can figure out another way to get a sample. We still have the key to Molly's house. Perhaps we can get her DNA off a hairbrush or a glass she recently used."

  A tingle ran down her spine. "That's actually not a bad idea."

  "Why don't we go there now? Peter is still with Molly, so he won't be at the house."

  "All right." As they walked down the hall, she added, "I told Peter I had his mother's journals, and he flipped out, demanding that I return them immediately."

  "Interesting over-reaction."

  "I thought so."

  They took the elevator to the lobby, then made their way into the parking structure.

  "Do you want to follow me to Molly's?" Colton asked. "I'm parked right over there."

  "Sounds good." He started to walk away, but she called him back.

  "Colton? Why did you come looking for me? I thought you'd be angry with me after what happened with Eleanor."

  "I told my grandfather I'd keep my eye on you."

  "Is that really the only reason?"

  His expression turned more serious. "No."

  She waited for him to explain, but he didn't say anything else. He just gave her a long look and then headed to his car.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Olivia thought about Colton on the way to Molly's house. She was happy that he'd shown up at the hospital and relieved that he wasn't blaming her for his grandmother's setback. They'd been practically inseparable since they met, and yet during the few hours they'd been apart, she'd actually found herself missing him. It was so strange. She was used to working alone. In fact, she'd always thought she preferred to be on her own. But this week was different.

  Maybe it was because Molly's story had taken a personal turn for her. It wasn't just about writing a book anymore; it was about finding out who she was and what story Molly wanted her to tell.

  Or perhaps Molly didn't want her to tell the story but rather to hear it, to know where she came from.

  Or maybe she was completely off-base, and she wasn't related to Molly at all. She needed to find out for sure.

  A few minutes later, she was unlocking the door to Molly's house. Being back in her home reminded Olivia of all the things she had yet to look at, the stack of letters that Colton had found and the rest of the contents in the box she'd pulled down from the closet. She wasn't usually so slow to follow up on potential clues or to walk away from a job when she was right in the middle of it. But that's exactly what she had done the night before, when she'd allowed Colton to convince her to live in the moment and leave the past behind. Well, that moment was over, and it was back to business.

  "I'm going to get some plastic bags out of the kitchen," Colton told her. "We'll need something to put Molly's hairbrush in."

  "I feel kind of sneaky," she said, following him down the hall. "Is this right?"

  "We're not hurting anyone."

  "But even with a sample, how am I going to get a DNA test? Will it be difficult to find a lab that will do that?"

  "No, because I have a sister who's a doctor. I'll get Shayla to help us."

  "Will she do that?"

  "I'm ninety-nine percent sure." He opened Molly's cupboards, located a box of plastic bags and then headed back down the hall and up the stairs.

  Colton was definitely a man on a mission, she thought. And it was kind of nice to let him take charge of this. While Colton was gathering samples from Molly's bathroom, Olivia returned to the bedroom closet.

  She'd been so shocked by her find yesterday that she hadn't looked beyond that one box. Maybe there was more to be discovered.

  Molly had quite a few clothes in her closet, many of which appeared to be costumes, probably from her theater days. As Olivia looked through the dresses and coats, she couldn't help thinking about the fact that she didn't even know how to sew. Her mom didn't sew, so there had been no one to pass on that tradition. If she'd grown up with her biological family, would she have different skills now?

  She reached the end of the rack and realized there was another box on the floor behind all the costumes. She dragged it out and pulled off the lid. The box was filled with thick yellow envelopes stuffed with what appeared to be bills and tax returns. However, what was most interesting about the receipts were the dates. She would have expected the information to be recent, the past few years, but the envelopes went back to the mid-seventies, the time during which Molly had been working with the theater group.

  "Did you find something?" Colton asked, startling her.

  She stood up and waved her hand toward the envelopes. "I'm not sure. These look like bills and tax returns, but they're from forty years ago. It seems strange that she wouldn't have thrown them out by now."

  "Some people keep things forever."

  "In their closet? And where are her current files?"

  A puzzled look came into his eyes. "Okay, now you're making me more curious. Let's take the box with us."

  "Really?"

  "We can't stay here, Olivia. We don’t know how long Peter Harper will be at the hospital, and if there's something here linking you to his mother, and he wants to cover that up, this apartment is going to be his first stop."

  "Why would he want to cover it up? Molly is sadly dying and Francine is already dead. What does it matter if I'm his niece? Why would he care?"

  "You ask a lot of good questions. Maybe the answers are in that box." He walked over and handed her two plastic bags in which he'd put a hairbrush and a toothbrush. Then he picked up the heavy box. "Anything else we should take?"

  She sighed, feeling guilty that they were taking anything at all. But since she'd already tried the straightforward approach with Peter and that hadn't worked, she was going to have to be more devious. "This is all I saw in here. Peter is probably going to file charges against me for stealing this stuff. I hope you're willing to bail me out of jail."

  "I'll probably be in the cell next to you. But speaking practically, Peter may not notice anything is gone. It's not like we're taking expensive jewelry, cash or electronics—just a bunch of old papers."

  "You're right. Let's take everything to my hotel. We can go through the papers there."

  "Sounds like a plan."

  * * *

  "Where shall we start?" Olivia asked, as Colton set the box down on the small round table in her hotel room twenty minutes later.

  "Why don't you read the letters to Molly?" Colton suggested. "And I'll dig into this paperwork. But before we do all that…what about lunch?"

  Her stomach grumbled at his question. She could definitely eat something. Since she'd left Colton's house earlier that morning, she had yet to grab any food. "I am hungry."

  "There's a deli down the block. I'll grab us some sandwiches. Any requests?"

  "Turkey is fine. I'm not picky; whatever comes on it is great."

  "You got it. I'll get plenty of snacks. I have a feeling we're going to be here a while."

  After Colton left, Olivia sat down on the bed and picked up the letters. She slipped the first one out of the stack and pulled two sheets of paper out of a pink envelope. Then she began to read…

  Dear Molly,

  I know we're not supposed to keep in touch, but it's been almost two years now and I wanted to reach out and let you know that I'm doing so much better. I've made some friends here in Houston and the kids are starting to do well i
n school. Joey Jr.'s nightmares finally stopped about two months ago, and I don't think they're going to come back. His personality has completely changed now that he's not living with daily threats of violence. We've all been reborn, Molly. It's an amazing thing.

  I can't thank you and Eleanor enough for helping me to change my life. If you hadn't come to me with such understanding in your eyes and also such determination, I am quite certain I would not even be alive right now. But I am alive and I am well and happy. It's been difficult to have no contact with my family, but I know the complete break was absolutely necessary. I hope one day I'll be able to see them again, but my first priority is the kids, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep them safe and to keep me safe so that I can be a good mother to them.

  Love always,

  Gracie (I actually feel like Gracie now, too. You couldn't have picked a better name for me.)

  Olivia wondered when the letter had been written. There was no date but the pages were yellowed, and if Gracie had been one of the women helped by Molly's group, then her escape had probably been forty years ago. Little Joey Jr. was probably a man in his fifties by now, and his mother Gracie would probably be in her seventies or close to Molly's age. She wondered if their good fortune and happiness had continued after this letter; she really hoped so.

  She moved on to the next letter.

  Dear Molly,

  You were right. The first step is always the hardest. You told me I deserved better, and it took me almost dying to actually realize that. I hope all is well with you. I think of you and Ellie often and send you my prayers and love. You are two of the strongest women I've ever met. You both risked your lives for me. No one could have given me a greater gift, and even though we may never see each other again, I want you to know that you're always in my heart.

  Yours truly,

  Kelly

  Molly and Eleanor had certainly changed lives, Olivia thought, as she read through several more letters that expressed similar sentiments. With each letter, she felt more proud of what Molly and Eleanor and their friends had accomplished. They'd stepped up when so many others had probably turned away. And even if they'd only been able to do it for a few years, they'd made a huge difference in the lives of many women, and not just the women but also their children.