Claire knelt on the warm sand in front of her mother. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me, Mom. I have to know.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Claire, you’d think it was a matter of life and death.” A tinkling laugh came from her pale lips. “Fine, I’ll tell you. Your father said things like that can change and grow over, and of course he was right. You had a scar on your right knee from falling off your trike when you were two. It was gone. But scars fade, of course, and you were so young that it made sense. One good thing was that you never had another asthma attack either. I think the cold air healed your lungs in that missing year.”
Did scars like that fade? Francisca’s face reflected the same doubt that Claire felt rising in her chest.
Moonlight filtered through the open window of her suite, and it was nearly as bright as twilight. Claire knew she ought to get up and close the drapes, but every muscle in her body ached. She moved her bare legs along the soft cotton sheets and buried her face in the sweet-smelling down pillow. She’d dozed off when she first went to bed, but the questions prodded her awake just after one, and her lids refused to stay shut.
She rolled to her stomach and punched her pillow. Prayer would help. She just needed to let go of this burden. While she didn’t know for sure who her earthly father was, she knew who her heavenly Father was. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?
Lord, calm me. Take this fear and uncertainty away.
Her eyes drifted shut, and she deliberately slowed her breathing. In and out, in and out. Her limbs relaxed, and she smiled at the sense of peace that began to claim her. She let herself remember Luke’s smile, the way it flashed in his tanned face. His thick black hair always drew her attention and made her want to put her hands in it. She hadn’t dared so far, but she was going to do it as soon as she had the courage.
He made her feel safe and treasured, and when she was in trouble, he always seemed to appear. Was that by God’s design? This was the first time she’d ever felt such a strong connection to a man. When he looked at her, she felt as though he could see right inside, to the deepest secrets she never told anyone. Did he feel that way about her at all? He seemed to seek her out, but was it mere attraction or something deeper?
When the first thump came, she thought she’d knocked a pillow from the bed. Then she heard it again and opened her eyes. Before she could throw the covers off the bed, she saw movement from the corner of her eye—a man in black moving fast toward her. She didn’t even get out a scream before a soft pillow came down on her face.
She fought against the hard hands holding her down. Struggling to draw in a breath, she found his wrists and tore at them to no avail. Spots danced in her vision, and she struggled to breathe past the suffocating softness pressed against her face. She had to get him off or she would die. She renewed her attack on his arms, digging her newly gelled nails into his skin.
He growled, and the pressure released slightly. Kicking off the covers, she brought her feet up and kicked him hard in the chest. He reeled back, and the pressure on her face eased. With the pillow off her nose, she coughed and drew in a sweet breath of air. She rolled to the opposite side of the bed and landed on the carpeted floor where she leaped to her feet and grabbed the lamp from the table.
The black ski mask he wore creeped her out. She shrieked a battle cry at the top of her lungs and brought the lamp crashing down on his head. He crumpled to his knees, and she raced for the door. She wrenched it open and tore down the hall toward the elevator. Screams ripped from her throat as she ran, pausing long enough to bang on other suite doors as she went.
She reached the elevator and punched the Down button, then turned to face her attacker. No one was there. He must be escaping. Did she dare go back to the room to try to identify him? She took a step back toward her room as her father rushed from his suite across the hall.
His blond hair askew and in his favorite blue pajamas, he hurried toward her. “What’s wrong, Claire? I heard you scream.”
“Someone was in my suite and tried to smother me. Call the sheriff.” Though Sheriff Colton was the last person she wanted to see now. Her vision dimmed, and she leaned her head against the wall. “I feel a little woozy. Just give me a minute.”
Her mother, still dragging her filmy white robe on over the matching nightgown, rushed from their suite and took Claire’s hand. “Honey, are you all right? Harry, call the doctor. She’s as cold as ice.”
The silky feel of the white negligee encompassed her as her mother hugged her tight. “I’ll be all right. I just need air.” Claire dragged in several long breaths until her vision cleared. “Let me up, Mom. I need to see if he’s still in there.”
One by one, doors opened all down the hall as guests peeked out. Two security men dressed in blue uniforms dashed up the exit stairs. They were both young and beefy, and seeing their bulk and determined expressions, Claire felt safe enough to briskly step toward her door.
“Let me, Ms. D-Dellamare.” The tallest security guard sent a sidelong glance her way, and she knew the news of her identity had raced through the town.
She lagged back to let him enter before her. The lights flipped on, and she peeked through the doorway into her suite. At first nothing looked disturbed except for the pillow and lamp on the floor, then she saw her easel overturned. “My picture of Jenny’s attacker—it’s gone!” She stepped closer and saw her sketchpad was gone as well. He’d been here for several reasons, but who was he?
And would he be back to finish the job?
TWENTY-SEVEN
The sun pushed back the shadows as Kate drove her Volkswagen off the ferry and found a spot in the hotel parking lot. Her hands trembled as she punched the lock button and shut the driver’s door. How did she even begin to tell Claire who she was? Yes, they’d had a pleasant though distant lunch, but how would a young woman of Claire’s background react to such a wild statement by a complete stranger?
At least Kate had managed to wash out some of the atrocious red dye from her hair, though it still gleamed like copper in the light of the sun. The aroma of bacon and maple syrup drifted out the windows of the restaurant as she marched toward the hotel’s front door. Did she call up to Claire’s room and ask her to come down, or should she call her father and give him one more chance?
She brushed by several people checking out and went to sit on the sofa by the fireplace while she considered her options. Stretching out her jean-clad legs, she people-watched for a few minutes while she gathered her courage. It was about nine, so maybe Claire hadn’t had breakfast yet. All she had to do was pick up the house phone on the table beside her and ask to be connected to Claire’s room, then invite her to come down for breakfast. If it was so simple, though, why did her hands go moist? She wiped her palms on her jeans and picked up the phone.
She stared out the window and listened with half an ear to people talk about the grisly find of a child’s bones in a nearby cranberry field.
Claire’s voice came over the earpiece. “Hello?” Her voice was flat, as though she was depressed.
“Claire? It’s Kate. I wondered if maybe you’d want to have breakfast this morning?” A long pause stretched out, and she gripped the phone receiver so tightly her fingers went white. “Claire?”
“Sorry, Kate, it’s just been a bad morning. I’m supposed to meet my parents for breakfast. You’re welcome to join us.”
Kate bit her lip. Did she have the courage to do this? “Of course. I’ll get a table. See you in a few minutes.” She replaced the receiver and stood. By the time she got a table, Claire and her parents would be down.
“Kate, what are you doing here?”
The familiar male voice made her whirl to face her father as the entry door closed. The scent of fresh air still lingered on him. Dressed in linen shorts and a casual blue shirt that opened at the neck to reveal a patchy bit of white hair, he stood with his feet apart and his hands on his hips.
She straightened and met his gaze with a defia
nt stare. “Exactly what I told you I was going to do. I’m going to tell Claire who I am. I think she will be happy to know she has a sister. Half sister,” she amended when his gaze slid to the side and his face went white. Kate turned to look too.
Claire stood staring at the two of them. She glanced from her father to Kate. “What did you say?” Her blue eyes were shadowed and sad, and she looked pale, as though she hadn’t slept well. She wore a pale-pink sundress that showed off her toned arms.
Her father shot Kate a warning glare. “Nothing much. Kate said you’re having breakfast.”
Claire stepped closer, her high-heeled white sandals slapping against the wood floor. “Dad, don’t lie to me. Not anymore. I heard Kate say we were half sisters quite clearly. Is it true? I can’t take any more deception.” Her voice was low and choked.
Kate eyed Claire’s white face. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
Claire pushed her hair behind her ears. “Apparently I’m not a Dellamare. At least according to some dental records.”
“I-I don’t understand.” Kate glanced from Claire to their father. “Look at us, Claire. We look so much alike.” She flipped the ends of her garish hair. “This is dyed. I only did it to hide our resemblance for a while. Your father had an affair with my mother, and I’m the result. I bet if you put our baby pictures side by side, you wouldn’t be able to tell us apart. We have the same big blue eyes. And look at the shape of my nose and lips. Isn’t it like looking in a mirror?”
Claire’s lips flattened and she shook her head. “You are mistaken, Kate. Is that why you cozied up to me in the bathroom? You thought you could get money from Dad with this claim? I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but becoming my friend isn’t going to get you anything. He may be your father, but he’s not mine. I’m probably going to be out on the street soon.”
Harry reached toward her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Claire. Of course you’re my daughter. This is all going to be sorted out soon. I think we should just go home to Boston and let law enforcement figure out their mistake.”
He didn’t look at Kate once during his plea. She couldn’t take being ignored, not any longer. She plunged her hand into her pocket, brought out her trump card, and held it out. “I have proof, Claire. Here is a picture of me with Harry when I was five. Let’s have a little chat with your wife. She might have some questions too. Here she comes.”
Claire’s chest tightened as she watched her mother approach. Dark circles shadowed Mom’s eyes as though she hadn’t slept well, but her blond bob was smooth and neat, and the clear turquoise of her top brightened her complexion. The hum of conversation around the hotel lobby made everything seem so normal, and yet it wasn’t.
Claire had managed to hold herself together by clinging to the thought that the dental identification might be wrong, but Kate’s defiant proclamation brought her to the edge of her control.
Kate stood off to one side. She twisted a lock of hair around one finger and bit her lip. What had she hoped to gain by coming here? Claire knew her father, and he didn’t take kindly to being pushed. He could be all smiles while he was guiding his adversary to a cliff.
Claire stepped out to intercept her mother. The hotel lobby wasn’t the right place to have a discussion like this. “Hey, Mom, let’s get some breakfast.” She took her mother’s arm and tried to steer her back toward the clink of silverware and the scent of bacon in the breakfast area.
Her mother looked over Claire’s shoulder to where Kate stood. “What’s going on here?”
“Nothing.” Dad smiled at Kate. “Just meeting as planned for breakfast.”
Kate clenched her hands together and burst into noisy sobs. “I’m not going away. If you don’t tell her, I will.”
“Tell me what?” Mom’s brows winged up, and she took a step back.
Claire stood frozen as she waited for some sign of what her dad would do. Her mother was one of the most possessive wives she knew, and she would erupt at this news. If it was even true, and Claire wasn’t convinced Kate had told the truth. For all she knew, this was some kind of elaborate scheme to get money.
She released her mother’s arm, then turned toward Kate. “Let’s go talk this out. We don’t need to go into this in front of the entire hotel.”
Kate shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s time there were no more secrets. Besides, I’m sick. I need help from my biological family.”
Life-threatening sick? Claire took in the other woman’s sallowness and the way her hands shook. Could she need an organ transplant or just money? Staring at her, Claire saw truth blazing out of Kate’s blue eyes. However ludicrous the story seemed, Kate believed it wholeheartedly.
Claire’s mother began to shred the tissue in her hands. “What does that have to do with us? Who are you?”
“This is Kate Mason.” Claire went to Kate’s side and took her arm. Heat radiated off Kate’s skin, and up close, Claire could see how sick she was. “I’ll listen to what you have to say, Kate. You can tell me about it over breakfast, and I’ll help if I can.”
Kate shook off Claire’s grip. “I’m not going anywhere.” She faced Claire’s mother. “Your husband is my biological father.”
When her mother swayed at the news, Claire leaped to catch her. Her mom glared at her husband. “Oh, Harry!” Her voice shook. She looked again at Kate. “You’re Mary Mason’s daughter, aren’t you?”
Kate straightened. “You’ve met my mother?”
“She was my first housekeeper when we were newlyweds. She left to care for her sick brother.” She went to the sofa by the fireplace and practically fell back onto it. “Or so I was told.” Leaning forward, she put her face in her hands and moaned. “I can’t believe this.” She looked up and shot her husband a glare.
Claire sat beside her and put her arm around her mother’s shoulders, but she shook off the embrace. Claire staggered when her mother pushed her, but Kate caught her arm and steadied her. Her mother had never acted so out of control before. Claire didn’t know how to calm her. Maybe only Dad could.
Her mother lifted her head and glared at her husband, who took a step toward her. “When I confronted you about Mary, you made me think I was crazy, jealous for no reason. And all this time . . .” Her face went red, then white. “She was from this area, so you set her up here and continued to see her, didn’t you? I remember the frequent visits you used to make. And you just had to have Claire’s birthday party here. Everything that’s happened is because you couldn’t keep your pants zipped. How could you, Harry?”
The last sentence was a wail that made the hotel employees and guests turn and look toward the small group clustered in front of the fireplace. Claire’s mother grabbed a metal basket of decorative balls placed on the table fronting the sofa, then seized the top one, a heavy ceramic red one, and threw it at her husband. It struck him in the chest and bounced to the polished hardwood floor.
He stood blinking stupidly at his wife until another round missile zoomed toward him. He ducked the blue ball. “Lisa, stop it. You’re causing a scene.”
A security officer headed their way, and the other guests gawked and whispered. Claire’s mother didn’t seem to notice as she continued to pelt her husband. The noise the balls made when they struck the hardwood floors reverberated around the lobby’s tall ceilings. Tears streamed down her face, and her mouth contorted in a silent scream.
Ducking and zigzagging, Claire’s dad managed to cross the ten feet separating them. When he reached his wife, she threw the empty basket at his head. His eyes wide and disbelieving, he touched his forehead and looked at his bloody fingers.
“I hate you,” she panted. She rushed past the gaping guests and hotel employees.
Claire started to go after her, but her father put his hand on her arm. “Let me.” He didn’t look at her or Kate as he caught up with his wife near the elevator.
Claire closed her eyes and sighed. Everything was broken in a million pieces.
TWEN
TY-EIGHT
As soon as he entered the hotel, Luke turned toward the raised voices and picked up on the agitation in Claire’s voice immediately. He quickly stepped past the bellman’s desk. Everyone in the lobby craned their necks toward the two women near the fireplace. He was sure causing a scene was the last thing Claire would want, so whatever had happened had to be extreme.
Claire and the other young woman both had their hands balled into fists at their sides as they watched Harry Dellamare lead his wife into the elevator. The woman with Claire looked out of place with her faded jeans and tennis shoes under the gleaming crystal chandelier. Her dull hair was poorly dyed.
Claire bent down to retrieve a silver basket on the floor and put it on the table. She turned and saw him, and her gaze latched on to him as if he were her lifeline. “Luke.”
She looked so beautiful and fresh in her pink sundress that he never would have guessed there was a problem if not for the circles under her eyes. She held out her hand, and he moved to take it. Her fingers were cold and shaking. “What’s wrong?”
He knew she’d be upset from the revelations last night, but from her demeanor, he suspected something else had happened. Maybe the DNA had come back with incontrovertible truth. She drew closer as if to take strength from his presence. No one seemed to be eager to answer his question. The other young woman was biting her lip and shifting from foot to foot, but her defiant expression never changed. She couldn’t seem to look away from Claire either.
He pressed Claire’s hand with as much comfort as he could muster and waited for someone to answer him. “Do you need to sit down? You’re pale.”
She nodded, and dodging decorative balls, he led her to the tan sofa by the fireplace. The other woman hadn’t moved from her spot. If she kept twisting that lock of hair, she was going to pull it right out of her head. She slowly followed and sank onto a chair opposite the sofa.
The Inn at Ocean's Edge Page 18