Clearly, Edward found it more intriguing than hilarious.
“Let me ask you something,” Paine says suddenly to Howard, brooding beside him as they walk along.
“What’s that?”
“How do you think Edward got his hands on that marriage license? Assuming his father didn’t just hand him a copy sometime in his childhood—”
“Which is certainly a far-fetched scenario.” The lawyer shrugs. “Anyone other than the bride or groom can write to Vital Records in Albany and request a copy, but they need to include a letter from an office or agency that is requiring the document.”
“In other words, some joe off the street can’t just get a copy of somebody else’s marriage license.”
“Right. And anyway, that was no recent copy, Paine. That was an original document The paper was yellowed.”
“That’s what I thought. So how did Edward get it?”
“He’s a shady character. My guess is as good as yours, but—”
“Do you think he could have broken into Iris’s house to find it?”
Howard shrugs. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Why?”
Paine falls silent, musing. What if Edward was Dulcie’s prowler?
The only thing is . . .
Last night? That doesn’t make sense. Ogden called a couple of days ago to call this meeting. He must have had the marriage license in his possession before today . . .
But not necessarily, Paine thinks. Maybe Edward told the lawyer that he could produce it before their meeting tonight?
“What’s the matter?” Howard asks, watching him. “Think that creep has been snooping around your place when you weren’t home?”
“Or maybe when I was home. Dulcie thought she heard someone creeping around the house a couple of times.”
“My God, Paine . . .”
“I know. But it doesn’t matter at this point. I’m leaving in the morning with Dulcie, Howard. It doesn’t make sense for us to stay, especially now. This is one big tangled legal mess. It’s going to take months to sort it all out. Whether there’s a chance that it can somehow come out in our favor, or not, I’ll handle everything from California.”
“I don’t blame you,” Howard says as they come to a stop in front of Paine’s rental car. “You know that I’ll keep you apprised of the developments, but if that license proves to be legitimate, I think we both know the implications are clear.”
“Absolutely.”
Anson died without a will. Under New York State law, his estate went to Iris under the presumption that she was his wife. If, however, Anson and Iris weren’t legally wed, she wouldn’t have a legal claim to his inheritance and the estate should have been divided between Anson’s children.
Kristin’s death—assuming she was actually fathered by Anson, for which, as Ogden ominously pointed out, there is no proof—leaves Edward as Anson’s sole surviving child and primary heir.
“Look, Paine, I’m not going to give up on this without a fight. We have a good case. You know that I’m prepared to argue that your daughter is entitled to at least half of her grandfather’s estate—”
“I know you are,” Paine says. “But . . .”
“But what?”
Something snaps inside Paine as he stands there, his car keys poised in front of the lock. He’s had it. It’s too much. All of it.
“Look, I’m grateful, Howard—”
“Well, it’s my job, Paine, to see that—”
“I know, but this is really about the house, isn’t it?”
“The house?”
“Ten Summer Street. I mean, that’s all we’re talking about here, right? It’s all there is to Iris’s estate. And at this point, as far as I’m concerned, Edward Shuttleworth can freaking have the place with my blessings.”
“WHAT DO YOU see, Julia? Tell me,” Dulcie says breathlessly above the steady hum of the outboard motor.
Seated beside her on the narrow bench at the back of the boat, Julia wonders if she can possibly capture the surrounding beauty in mere words.
“The sun is sinking low in the west,” she begins, “and it’s streaking the sky with pink and orange, and it’s reflected in the lake. Andy was right—the water is so calm that it’s like glass. I can see lots of trees, and the silhouettes of the cottages at Lily Dale on one side of the lake, and some of them have lights on inside now. Oh, and there are two swans floating over by the shore. They’re so pretty, Dulcie. Their bills are touching, as though they’re kissing.”
“Do swans fall in love with each other like people do?”
Julia smiles, glancing at Andy. But he doesn’t seem to have heard Dulcie’s question. He’s intent on steering the boat, looking straight out over the water.
Somewhere in the back of Julia’s mind, a shred of anxiety takes hold. All day—no, she realizes, for days—she’s been trying to keep certain thoughts at bay. Thoughts about Andy. Now they rush at her, bringing a tide of fear.
Andy was here the summer Kristin died.
Andy is here again . . . and now Iris is dead.
Andy was there yesterday, when Dulcie was out on the roof.
“Julia? Do swans fall in love?”
“Maybe they do, Dulcie.” There is a wave of tension in Julia’s voice.
“I wish you would fall in love with my dad,” Dulcie says.
Out of the comer of her eye, Julia sees Andy stiffen. So he is listening.
Caught off guard by the little girl’s words, she doesn’t know what to say. She can’t even think clearly.
“Dulcie . . .” Julia begins, trailing off, her mind whirling.
Oh, Christ. Andy? Could Andy possibly be the one who killed Kristin and Iris? It doesn’t make sense, but . . .
“If you fell in love with my dad and he fell in love with you, we wouldn’t have to leave Lily Dale,” Dulcie is saying. “Or else you could come with us, back to California. Then I would have a mommy.”
“You had a mommy who loved you very much, Dulcie,” Julia tells her softly, keeping a wary eye on the man steering the boat.
“But my mommy is dead,” Dulcie says. “And now my gram is dead, too.”
Julia’s grasp tightens on the handles of the urn in her lap. She doesn’t know what to say.
“I don’t want me and Daddy to be alone anymore.” There is a sob in Dulcie’s voice now. “I want you to be with us, Julia. Please. Please love my daddy.”
“Dulcie, I—”
“Please love me.”
“I do love you, Dulcie,” Julia says helplessly. “I do love you.”
Her words seem to echo off the water.
Noticing the sudden silence, Julia realizes that they’ve reached the middle of the lake, and Andy has cut the motor.
RUPERT TUCKS MRS. Wainwright’s substantial check into the appropriate slot on his rolltop desk, then closes the top. As an afterthought, he locks it. There’s no telling how long it will be before he can get down to Lakeshore Savings and Loan in Fredonia to deposit the money.
Still clutching the receiver for the baby monitor, he hurries back to the bedroom. There, he finds Nan still unconscious. She seems to be gasping for breath now, her parched lips parted slightly, fluid rattling ominously in her throat.
Rupert sinks to the mattress beside her, clutching both her hands in his as guilt overtakes him. He shouldn’t have left her. Why did he leave her alone? He promised he wouldn’t.
“Nan,” he says softly, a sob in his voice. “Nan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—oh, Nan. Why is this happening to us?”
The only reply is the harsh sound of her respiration as she drags oxygen into her tortured lungs. Rupert leans his head against her ribs where her breasts used to be, before the cancer began its slow, lethal raid on her body.
Cancer.
Nan.
Mama.
The dam bursts.
A flood of repressed memories rushes toward him.
“All I ever wanted was to be with you. Don’t leave me.” His plea is
hollow in the silent room; it’s not his voice at all, but that of the little boy left behind in a dingy Bronx apartment a lifetime ago.
“Please don’t leave me. Please, Mama . . .”
His tears are soaking the blanket; the blanket is muffling the sound of her heartbeat but he knows it’s still there, can feel her chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. He tries to memorize everything about her, so that after she’s gone, and he’s alone, he can remember what it was like, being with her. Not being alone.
“If you stay I promise I’ll take care of you.”
Oh, Nan.
Oh, Mama . . .
“I’ll work hard and I’ll earn money, and I’ll get us a nice place to live. A real home. I promise . . .”
The stark rasping of breath is drowned out by the sudden piercing ring of the doorbell.
AS SHE DIALS Katherine Jergins’s number with a trembling finger, Pilar prays that the woman will be home to answer her call. According to the voice mail, the message was left hours earlier.
She deflates a bit when a male voice answers the phone. It isn’t the man who answered when she called the other night. This voice is younger. More impatient.
Pilar asks for Katherine.
“Yeah, she’s here, but I’m on the other line. Can she call you back?”
“I . . . Actually, this is a ship-to-shore call, and . . . I’m sorry, but can I please speak to her now?” Pilar can’t stand the thought of prolonging the conversation with Katherine even another minute.
“Yeah, hang on. Mom!” the voice hollers, just before a click.
For a second, Pilar thinks she’s been disconnected. Then she realizes that the boy—Katherine’s son—must have picked up on call waiting and is hanging up the other line.
Sure enough, after an agonizing few moments, there’s another click, and then Katherine’s voice is tentatively saying, “Hello?”
“Katherine, this is Pilar. I just got your message.”
“My son says you’re calling from a ship?”
“That’s right. I’m on a cruise and I—I’m very anxious to speak to you about your parents.”
“I realized after you called again the other day that you might not be—” Katherine takes a deep, audible breath, then continues, “What I mean is, I thought you were some kind of scam artist until it occurred to me that you might have been talking about my other parents.”
Pilar frowns. “Your ‘other parents’?”
“Ms. Velazquez, my adoptive parents are both dead. But I realized that maybe you meant my birth parents—and that they might be alive, and looking for me.”
STANDING ON RUPERT’S doorstep, Paine presses the doorbell again. Somebody has to be home. Rupert’s car is parked in the driveway in front of Paine’s rental, and there are lights on inside.
Paine shifts his weight impatiently, wanting to leave, but deciding to give Rupert another minute to get to the door. He promised to let the old man know what happened during the meeting with Ogden . . .
A faint sound reaches Paine’s ears.
He listens in worried disbelief.
Somebody is crying. Loudly. It’s an odd, eerie sound, and it’s coming from inside the house.
Paine reaches out and turns the knob. It’s unlocked.
“Rupert?” he calls, stepping into the house.
All he can hear is the blood-chilling sound of a grown man wailing.
“OKAY, DULCIE. HERE it is.” Standing behind the little girl, Julia passes the urn to Dulcie, wondering if Andy can see her hands trembling.
Dulcie flinches beneath the weight. “It’s heavy!”
Her abrupt movement rocks the boat.
“Careful!” Julia quickly steadies Dulcie, placing her hands on the orange life vest that seems too large for her small shoulders.
She returns her uneasy gaze to Andy, standing behind them. He’s wearing sunglasses; it’s impossible to read his expression.
The sun is almost down, Julia thinks, panic building within her. Why is he wearing sunglasses?
He does that a lot. Maybe it’s just a habit. Or maybe . . .
Maybe he’s trying to hide behind the dark lenses.
Let’s get this over with and get back to shore, Julia tells herself, trying to subdue another swell of panic. She tugs at the top of the urn, removes the cover.
“What do I do?” Dulcie asks in a hushed tone.
“I guess you . . . I don’t know.” Julia looks over her shoulder again at Andy. “Should we say something, or just . . . ?”
He merely shrugs. “Whatever you think.”
“Maybe we can sing,” Dulcie suggests. “That circle song, from the service this morning. I liked that song.”
“I did too,” Julia says softly. “It was one of her favorites.”
“Can we sing it?”
Julia swallows audibly, looking out over the water. Her voice wavers as she sings, “I was standing by my window on one cold and cloudy day . . . when I saw that hearse come rolling for to carry my mother away . . .”
“MOM? ARE YOU all right?” Christina asks, setting down her champagne flute as Pilar sinks into her chair at the table. Her daughter’s dark eyes are concerned.
“I . . . I’m not sure what I am.” Pilar looks around. “Where are Tom and the kids?”
“Up at the buffet. Again. You’re scaring me, Mom. What happened when you called home?”
“I got a message from somebody I never expected to hear from.” Pilar quickly explains about the Biddles’ situation, and that she took it upon herself to track down their daughter, thinking she should be at her dying mother’s bedside.
“But as it turns out, Christina, Katherine Jergins never even knew Rupert and Nan Biddle. They gave her up for adoption when she was born. Katherine’s adoptive parents never even told her the truth before she died. She found out a few years ago when she needed a medical procedure and found out that her younger brother’s blood was incompatible with hers—and that they couldn’t possibly be related. She remembered her mother’s pregnancy and knew that her brother was her parents’ biological child. That was when she figured out that she must have been adopted.”
“Well, it isn’t unusual for parents to keep something like that from a child,” Christina points out.
“No, but it’s unusual for people to claim that they’ve raised a daughter, as the Biddles did.” Pilar is troubled. “I don’t understand why Rupert and Nan would lie. They convinced everyone in Lily Dale that their daughter Katherine was raised there, and that they sent her away to boarding school. They’ve also convinced everyone that she still visits them. Off-season. When the place is deserted. No wonder nobody I’ve ever spoken to has mentioned meeting Catherine. Except for one person . . .”
“Who?”
“Lincoln Reynolds,” Pilar says uneasily.
IN THE BEDROOM, Paine finds Rupert huddled over his wife, sobbing like a child.
“Oh, Rupert . . .” Paine goes to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.
Rupert spins around with a start. “What are you doing here?”
“The door was open, so I—”
“Go away,” Rupert bellows. “Leave us alone.”
Paine can hear the woman in the bed struggling for breath.
“She’s in agony, Rupert,” he says softly. “Shouldn’t we call a doctor, or an ambulance?”
“I called the doctor. He says there’s nothing he can do.”
“I’m so sorry . . .”
“Oh, Mama,” Rupert sobs, as though Paine weren’t even in the room.
Mama? Paine’s blood runs cold.
“Rupert,” he says gently, “that’s Nan. Your wife.”
“Nan . . .”
“Your wife.” Paine realizes that Rupert isn’t all there right now. He simply can’t handle the anguish of losing Nan. His mind must be playing tricks on him. “Rupert, isn’t there somebody I can call? You shouldn’t be alone. What about . . . don’t you have a daughter? Can I call her?”
&
nbsp; “Kath . . . erine . . .” The word spills from Nan’s lips.
The woman’s eyes are open now, focused on Paine’s. There is an air of desperation about her.
“Katherine,” Paine echoes. “She’s your daughter? Can I call her for you?”
Nan gasps, erupts in a choking sound.
“No!” Rupert stands, wild-eyed, looking from his wife to Paine and back again. “No!”
“She’s trying to speak, Rupert,” Paine says, reaching for Nan’s hand, squeezing it. “Do you want Katherine, Nan? I’ll call—where is she?”
It seems to take every ounce of Nan’s strength to force the final words past her lips.
“Kath . . . dead.”
WITH DARKNESS, A hush has fallen over the lake.
Dulcie sits on the seat, clasping the empty urn against her chest, her face turned toward the sky, her eyes closed.
“Can we go back now?” Julia asks Andy, struggling to keep her growing urgency at bay. As she moves toward the seat, she catches her heel on a fishing pole and nearly falls.
Andy reaches toward her.
Swiftly regaining her balance, Julia instinctively jerks away from him.
He freezes, his hand hovering in midair, inches above her arm. “What’s the matter?”
“I just . . . I’m sorry. I thought you . . .”
“You thought I what?”
“Why are you wearing sunglasses?” she asks, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. “Can’t you take them off now? It’s dark out.”
Dulcie has turned toward them, a curious expression on her face.
“Julia?” she asks. “Is everything okay?”
Andy slowly removes his sunglasses. His eyes meet Julia’s. In his intent green gaze, she sees concern. Confusion.
But nothing more.
Nothing threatening.
Julia exhales in relief. “Everything’s fine, Dulcie. Let’s go back to shore.”
In the Blink of an Eye Page 34