Twilight Whispers

by Barbara Delinsky

  “You can never be sure,” she said by way of apology as she handed it back to him. Even with Jordan’s forewarning, Cavanaugh wasn’t what she had expected. He was young, fashionably dressed, and very good looking. Of course, Jordan wouldn’t have mentioned that, the rat.

  They didn’t talk during the elevator’s descent. Katia, who was doing her best to hide the vague nervousness she felt, was determined to let Cavanaugh take the lead. Cavanaugh, meanwhile, was feeling slightly awed by Katia’s utterly natural elegance.

  They took seats at a table near the rear of the coffee shop, and within minutes the waitress had delivered matching orders of coffee and danish. Katia raised the cup and slowly sipped her coffee, studying Cavanaugh all the while. When at last he spoke, it was with disarming gentleness.

  “I understand you grew up with the Warrens and the Whytes.”

  “That’s right. My mother has been with the Warrens since before I was born.”

  “Were you close to Deborah and Mark?’

  “We were all close.”

  “Would you say that you were closer to Deborah than Mark?”

  “In that we’re the same sex, I suppose so. Deborah was six years older than me, Mark thirteen.”

  “But you felt you knew him, too?”

  “We all played together as kids. Even the older ones, when they went off to college, came home often. I guess I knew Mark as well as most of the others, though he was very different.”

  “Different is what ways?”

  “More of a loner. Oh, he took part in everything we did, but he was still somehow … apart. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.”

  “Did the others resent that?”

  “No. Mark was Mark.”

  “Were there any hard feelings as you all got older?”

  “We’re all different in our own ways. We accept that.”

  “I understand that Mark and Deborah were sweethearts from way back.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How did their families feel when they decided to marry?”

  “They were pleased. Mark and Deborah were very much in love, and the thought of marriage between the families was welcomed.”

  “Was their marriage a good one?”

  “Yes. They were alike in many ways.” When he raised his brows, inviting her to explain, she did so. “Neither of them was conventional, which isn’t to say that they were rebellious or loud, just that they seemed to operate on a different wavelength. They were both artsy, if you know what I mean. They dressed differently, not quite bohemian, but leaning in that direction. It didn’t come as a surprise to us when Mark went into filmmaking.”

  “What about Deborah? Did she ever want a career?”

  “Mark was her career. She was happy to go along with what he did.”

  “Then she had no objections to his lifestyle?”

  Up to that point, Cavanaugh’s questions had been harmless. This latest, though—or perhaps it was the faintly critical tone in which it had been offered—was the first reference to something negative. Katia tempered the instinctive defensiveness she felt.

  “Deborah loved Mark. She had faith in him.”

  Cavanaugh cleared his throat. He had expected that Katia would feel a certain amount of loyalty. He wondered how strong it was. “Did you know anything about their lifestyle?”

  “You mean in California?”

  He nodded.

  “I know that it was fast, and that the people they were involved with were even faster.”

  “Did you ever meet any of those people?”

  “No.”

  “They never brought their friends home with them?”

  “To Dover? No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Was it possible that they were afraid of the reaction from their families?”

  She shifted in her seat. “It was possible, I suppose. I think it’s more likely that there was simply no call for them to bring their California friends east with them. Family gatherings are family gatherings. You must know what they’re like, Detective.”

  “Actually, no,” he returned bluntly. “My parents divorced when I was a teenager, and I was an only child.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No need. I’ve done fine.”

  “You just don’t know what you’ve missed,” she argued gently, forgetting for the moment who Cavanaugh was and why he had sought her out. “Family gatherings with the Whytes and Warrens are warm, wonderful times. There’s lots of talk, lots of laughter, lots of solid camaraderie—even now, when we all lead separate lives.”

  “You make everything sound very rosy, as though life with the Whytes and Warrens was a never-empty bowl of cherries.”

  Katia didn’t quite understand the whisper of bitterness in his words. “No. Not a bowl of cherries. Not always. There were tense times, such as when Gil was up for reelection—”

  “I thought he always knew he’d win,” Cavanaugh said with a teasing smile.

  Katia couldn’t help but smile back. “Gil may have known that, but, let me tell you, the rest of us did our share of nail-biting. You’d never guess it, because we all knew that we had to project an image of confidence to the public. I’ve often wondered if that isn’t what the public looks for most—confidence, an air of competence, whether the competence is there or not.”

  “Do you think Gil has it?”

  “Competence? Look at his record.”

  “Does the rest of the family agree with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Peter Warren?”

  “Peter?”

  “I understand he’s been at odds with his father more than once.”

  “They’re both strong willed. It would be only natural for them to lock horns from time to time.”

  “I understood it to be more than that. Word has it that Peter’s been wooing his father’s supporters out from under his nose.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He wants to be a judge.”

  “If that is so—and I’m not in a position to confirm or deny it—there would be no conflict in terms of backers. The same people who’ve supported Gil could as easily put forward Peter’s bid, but even then there’s only so much they can do. Spots on the Massachusetts bench are by appointment.”

  “Political appointment.”

  “But appointment nonetheless. In the end it’s the governor’s decision.” She shook her head. “Please believe me, Detective. There is no death wish between father and son.”

  “What about between father and daughter?”

  Katia’s heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer loudly enough to more than make up for the loss. “Excuse me?”

  “Between Gil and Deborah. Was there ever any hard feeling?”

  “I’m not sure I see the relevance of that to your investigation.”

  Realizing both that Katia was very sharp and that he had come on too fast, Cavanaugh held up a hand. “I’m simply trying to understand Mark and Deborah and their families. That’s why I’ve come to you. Other than Jordan, I haven’t spoken with the rest yet, because I felt that, with the little bit of distance you have, you’d be able to help me see things more accurately. I’ve read the papers like everyone else over the years, and if I were to believe what I’ve read, I’d say that the families were either all good or rotten to the core. There has to be some middle ground. I was hoping you’d help me find it.”

  Katia’s smile was a wry one. “Jordan was right. You are articulate.”

  “I’m also sincere,” he said, and, surprisingly, he meant it. “My job is to ferret out the truth, and that isn’t easy when you’re trying to read between biased lines. I really do need your help, Ms. Morell.”

  Katia wasn’t sure what it was about the man that appealed to her. She reminded herself that he was a cop, and tried to tell herself that she should keep a stiff upper lip and a certain distance. But Cavanaugh didn’t look like a cop, and he didn’t act like a c
op. He seemed human and deeply concerned with learning the truth.

  She inhaled deeply, then exhaled into a smile. “I may be the biggest sap in the world, but for some strange reason I trust you.” She arched a brow. “I’m telling you that because if it turns out that I’m wrong, you will have the burden of a guilty conscience on your own shoulders. Got that?”

  Cavanaugh grinned. He liked Katia immensely. “Got it.”

  She picked up a knife and cut her uneaten danish in half, then fourths. Lifting one small piece, she took a bite. When she had swallowed and still Cavanaugh hadn’t spoken, she set down the remainder of the piece. “Well? Should I pick up where we left off or would you like to start afresh?”

  “I’d like to start afresh,” he said without hesitation, then extended his hand much as she had done back in the reception area of her office. “The name’s Bob. Can I call you Katia?”

  Katia started to smile, but checked it halfway. Quickly wiping her hand on a paper napkin, she met his clasp. “Katia is fine.”

  “Good.” He released her hand and propped his elbows on the edge of the table. For several moments he simply smiled, then he dropped his gaze to the danish she had cut. “Are you always so neat?”

  “I always watch my weight. Good things last longer if you cut them up and eat them slowly.”

  “You don’t need to watch your weight.”

  She shrugged, but a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. “A woman can never be too thin or too rich.”

  “Oh, Lord, where have I heard that before!”

  “I don’t know. Where?”

  “A friend of mine says it all the time, and in that same smug tone you just used. She’s as thin as you are.” He sat back in his chair, feeling unusually relaxed. “Actually, you’d like her. She’s a guidance counselor in the Boston school system.”

  “I take it she’s not your wife.”

  “I’m not married. I was once, but my job got in the way.”

  “I hear it’s tough being married to a policeman.”

  “You’ve been watching ‘Miami Vice,’” he accused, then took delight when she blushed.

  “Once in awhile. But I heard it firsthand from a fellow Jack knew. This fellow loved having a wife, but his wife didn’t love having a policeman. In the end she couldn’t take the strain.” Katia paused. “You must love your work.”

  “I do.”

  “Do you have any children?”

  He shook his head.

  “I suppose it’s better that way. It’s tough on kids when their parents aren’t together.”

  “God, you do sound like Jodi.”

  His statement pleased her, as did the look of admiration in his eyes. She didn’t know why it should be so when Cavanaugh was a cop, here on official business investigating a murder that had hit her own home.

  The reminder was sobering. She glanced at her watch. “I really have to get back to the office, but I’m sure there’s more you want to know.”

  “Can we meet later?”

  “Sure. How long will you be in the city?”

  “I’d planned to fly back tonight, but it’s kind of nice being here. I haven’t been down in a long time. If I take a shuttle out in the morning, I could go to a show tonight. Any suggestions?”

  “Sure. There’s Biloxi Blues, or Pinter’s The Caretaker, or you could always see Cats. Any of the three are great.”

  “Anything you haven’t seen that I could take you to? I mean, hell, if I’m putting you through all this unpleasantness I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”

  Forget the fact that he was a cop. Forget the fact that she had been out on three of the four nights since she had returned from the Vineyard, all on the rebound from Jordan’s latest rejection of her. Robert Cavanaugh was pleasant and attractive. Why not? “I’ve been dying to see A Lie of the Mind,” she said through the side of her mouth. “If you can get tickets, you’re on.”

  Cavanaugh got the tickets, though it took five phone calls and a forty-minute wait at the box office that afternoon. When he called Katia, they arranged to meet for something to eat beforehand. It was at a restaurant on Broadway, over shrimp and steak, that they returned to the matter that had brought Cavanaugh to the city to begin with.

  “Tell me about your relationship with the Warrens and Whytes,” he asked gently. “I know that you grew up with them and that you’re fond of them.”

  “I love them. They’re my family.”

  “What about your father? I haven’t heard anything about him.”

  “He died when I was nine.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, that’s all right. We weren’t ever close.”

  “Still, it must have been hard.”

  “What was hard was when my brother died. I was eleven then, barely old enough to understand war, much less the casualties of one.”

  “Vietnam?”

  She shook her head. “Israel. When my father died and my mother had to make funeral arrangements, we learned for the first time that she was Jewish. She doesn’t practice it or identify with it. But Kenny was at an introspective age; once he learned about it it haunted him. When the Arab-Israeli War broke out in ’67 he rushed over.”

  “How did your mother feel about that?”

  “Grief stricken. She’d lost her family to Hitler.”

  Cavanaugh winced. “When you were old enough to understand, how did you feel?”

  “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I was really pretty proud of Kenny. He felt something and he acted on it. And I think I understood my mother much better once I’d learned about her past. She was trying to protect us, because there’s a little bit of that Hitler’s-followers-are-alive-and-well mentality in her, so I can understand why she did what she did. I’m not saying I would have done the same and totally denied my roots if I’d been in her shoes, but then, I’ve had a totally different life experience from hers. So had Kenny, which may be why he did what he did.”

  Cavanaugh was shaking his head. “I had no idea. Things like this never make it into Whyte or Warren stories.”

  For an instant Katia wondered if she had misjudged him after all. “I don’t want them to! What I’ve told you is off the record—”

  “I know,” he said quietly, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “What you’ve told me goes no further than this table.” He withdrew his hand and picked up his fork. “If you lost your father and brother, I can understand why you grew so close to the others.”

  Reassured that confidentiality would be observed, Katia relaxed again. She liked Cavanaugh. She wanted to talk, wanted him to understand. “Actually, the closeness was there all along. From the first Kenny and I were treated like members of the family. That’s one of the things that was so wonderful about the Whytes and Warrens. They always accepted us, and without condescension. Growing up, Kenny and I had many of the same benefits they did. I’ll always be grateful to them for that.”

  “You were fortunate. I can see why you feel so positive about them.”

  “Please don’t misunderstand me,” she cautioned. “It’s not all gratitude. I love them as family, but also legitimately like them. They’re individuals, each one of them interesting people. They have faults; we all do. But I have a tremendous respect for their strengths.”

  Cavanaugh looked down at his food then and took several bites before raising eyes that were more sober. “Mark Whyte was in trouble in California.”

  Her fork wavered before her mouth; she finally set it down. “I know.”

  “Do you know what sort of trouble?”

  “Yes … if you’re thinking the same thing I am.” She wasn’t about to say it first.

  “Child pornography?”

  She expelled a breath and nodded.

  “How did that go across on the home front?”

  “It didn’t. I mean, they don’t know.”

  That took Cavanaugh by surprise. He wasn’t sure he believed it. “How come you do?”

  Katia
was in a momentary bind. She wanted to keep Jordan’s confidence, yet there was no way she could do that without lying. So, albeit with some trepidation, she went with the truth. “Jordan told me.”

  Cavanaugh’s features were controlled, only his eyes darkened. “I didn’t know he knew. He didn’t mention anything about it when we talked.”

  “I’m sure he was hoping that you’d find the murderer without having to go into that … mess. He’s worried about his parents, especially his mother, and what it will do to them if, or when, they find out.”

  “When did he tell you?”

  “Last weekend.”

  “Did he tell you that Mark was about to be indicted?”

  Katia sucked in a breath. “Was he?”

  “Yes. Did Jordan know?”

  “He said that the L.A. police knew what Mark was doing; Mark had told him that. Mark had also said that he wouldn’t be prosecuted.”

  “But did Jordan know about the indictments?”

  “No. At least not that I know of.” She read Cavanaugh’s face with ease. “If you’re thinking that he had an ulterior motive for withholding information from you—or me—you’re wrong, Bob. Jordan was sick about the whole thing. I think one of the reasons he told me was that he simply had to share it with someone. Jordan has never had cause to lie to me. He would have told me if he knew that Mark was about to be indicted.”

  Cavanaugh wasn’t fully convinced of that, but he didn’t want to risk Katia’s confidence. Still, there was something he needed to know. “Are you in love with Jordan?”

  Her hand twitched involuntarily. “Where did that come from?”

  “From the look in your eyes from time to time.”

  Regardless of the trust she had placed in Cavanaugh, Katia was not about to grant him total disclosure. “Jordan is family. He’s like a brother to me.”

  “He’s not a brother. You’re not related by blood.”

  “You know what I mean,” was the best she could do.

  Mercifully, Cavanaugh seemed to accept it. He pressed his lips together and nodded.

  But there was something she had promised Jordan, a plea she had to make. “Bob? Please don’t say anything about the pornography unless you absolutely have to. It’s going to kill Jack and Natalie, not to mention Gil and Lenore. They tried, really they did. Jack and Gil may have been absentee fathers for much of the time, but they always wanted the best for their children. And if Natalie finds out what Mark was doing she’ll blame herself. She’ll agonize over what she did wrong. She doesn’t deserve that—none of them do. People may think of them as being wealthy and powerful, but they are human beings. Deep down inside they’re not any different from other parents who love their children. They hurt at times. Believe me. They hurt.”