Ever since her senior year at Duke, when she’d come back to her townhouse and found Byron in bed with Zoë, Kelsey had avoided dating. Yet Devlin Doran acted different. The first time he’d come over, Zoë had done everything in her power to catch his attention, but he’d seemed more annoyed by the overt attention than anything. Could it be that he felt the same way she did and truly didn’t prefer tall women with lush bodies?
While Devlin Doran had always been a complete gentleman, there was little doubt in her mind that he wanted her. If she’d known there were men like him, she would have never bothered with Byron, but at the time, she’d thought Bryon was romance personified. Kelsey ran her fingers over her lower lip. Now, that she had Devlin’s kisses for comparison; the difference seemed enormous.
The house's door opened; a rectangle of light bathed Doran in golden hues. What would it be like to become his lover? Kelsey felt anticipation mix with heated longing.
Doran talked to a blond, tousle-haired man and handed over the drill. Then he was coming back to her, a smile on his face. Would tonight be the night?
If it hadn’t been for the election and the paparazzi’s incredible ability to report scandal, she would have suggested that they register in a motel or go to his townhouse. Heat burned all the way up her neck to the tips of her ears at the uncharacteristically brazen thought.
Chapter Fifteen
Zoë watchfully drove into the rest area and parked her red Porsche in the shadows of a spreading oak, then she waited. The mournful cry of an owl mixed with the rush of traffic on the interstate. During the next ten minutes, her car was the only one at the rest stop. Gooseflesh rippled over her as she remembered the news casts about the string of robberies and rapes, which had occurred here in the past four or five months.
Obviously, she was the only one stupid enough to agree to a meeting here. Zoë rubbed her arms and wished she’d remembered the information earlier.
Something cracked in the darkness. Zoë gulped and locked the car doors. Next, she dug in the depths of her bag, searching for her can of mace and cell phone.
Light flashed off her rearview mirror, as another vehicle turned onto the exit ramp. Zoë held her breath, hoping that the only other person stupid enough to enter the deserted rest stop drove a white Mercedes. The vehicle slowed to a creep at the entrance of the parking area.
Surely the phone call hadn’t been a set up. Surely there was a good reason for the furtive tone. Surely there was some core of maternal love. She wanted to start her car and hightail it away.
The vehicle surged forward and slipped into the slot next to her car, Zoë thought about the call she had gotten an hour earlier. Had it been her mother or someone impersonating her mother? All the traffic noise in the background would have made it easy to fake a voice. Zoë squinted at the driver of the other vehicle, trying to verify that this wasn't a trap, but the dark windows made identification impossible. Was there any reason why her mother would have called from a public phone instead of from Beja Flora? Did she think whomever vetted the phone tapes would give a damn whether Martha Lancaster called her daughter or not?
Slowly, the car door opened. Zoë was so tense, she was afraid she’d pee her pants if the driver didn’t show herself or himself soon. Looking more arthritic than ever before, Martha got out of her car. Instead of getting into the Porsche, she limped to the sidewalk, then stared at her, willing her to get out. A smile would be nice. A smile would show that she was here by her own will. A smile would show that she cared. Clutching her can of mace and cell phone, Zoë opened her car door. “I was beginning to wonder if your call was some sort of cruel joke."
Martha straightened her back and changed from a tired woman to her typical starched nails look. “Do you remember the last time you phoned me saying you had to see me?” Martha asked. Zoë nodded. “Abby and Jenny died that same night."
A chill washed over her. “Surely you can't think I had anything to do with that.” How could her own mother think something so awful of her?
“I pray you didn't, but you're the one who knows for sure.” It sounded like a condemnation.
Zoë blinked back tears. “You always think the worst of me. Why don't you just admit that you love Ramsey and Kelsey, but hate me?”
Martha looked surprised. “I don't hate you.”
“Don't you?” Her mother looked sincere, but Zoë knew better. “You love Kelsey and Ramsey. You always have time for them, but you never had time for me.” Her throat constricted and she tried to swallow the lump. “Never.”
Martha walked to a nearby picnic bench and sat down heavily. “I was tying to do my job so I could support you.”
Food, shelter, clothing, yes, she’d gotten that, but nothing that she'd ever wanted, or at least not unless Ramsey and Kelsey got it, too. If her mother read them a story, it was never her favorite. If someone had a birthday, her mother arranged wonderful parties and had the cook prepare all their favorite foods, but not for her birthday. She had been lucky to get a ten-dollar-bill tucked in a card.
“Why did you call me?” Zoë bit her upper lip and blinked away tears.
“Why did you come to the house that night? Did you need to speak to me because you needed an alibi?” Venom laced her mother's tone. Zoë felt certain that if the clouds had parted, she’d see fury in her mother’s eyes. "Were you there because you needed to draw my attention away from something or someone?”
Zoë swallowed. What was wrong? Why did her mother seem to be suggesting she had something to do with Ramsey’s accident? “How could you ask that?”
“I had a visitor this morning. Quentin Quinn.”
Zoë stared at her mother. “Am I supposed to know him?”
Martha’s mouth flattened. “He’s Devlin Doran’s partner.”
“And I care about this because-?“
“Apparently Mr. Doran doesn’t trust Beja Flora’s security. Mr. Quinn is some sort of specialist, so he came to inspect the system.”
“Surely you didn’t let him inside?”
“He was very forceful.”
“I’ve seen you block linebackers.”
“Mr. Quinn is a paraplegic.”
“What’d he do? Ride a panzer tank in?”
“This isn’t a joking matter.”
Zoë felt her face heat and was glad of the darkness. “Sorry.”
“I told Mr. Quinn that Mr. Doran had no right to request a security inspection. He then informed me that he was there at Ms. MacLennan’s request and propelled his wheelchair into the foyer.”
“But Kel can’t schedule something like that, can she?”
“Mr. Quinn was very informed about Calhoun’s state of health.” Martha took a deep breath. “He even said, ‘It's my understanding that Mr. MacLennan suffers from Alzheimer’s and the security here hasn't been checked since it was installed.’”
“Unbelievable.” But what did it have to do with the veiled accusation her mother had made?
Martha sighed. “It gets worse. Apparently Mr. Doran and Kelsey informed the guard to expect Mr. Quinn, but when he arrived, the guard did not ask to verify Mr. Quinn’s identity.”
“They didn’t ask for mine, either.”
“But Mr. Quinn was alone and a stranger. The guard simply checked a list, opened the gate and he rolled himself right inside.”
“The guy sounds like a jackass.”
Martha shook her head, a gentle smile on her lips. “Actually, he was quite pleasant. Very intelligent, too.”
“How do you know he wasn’t casing the house?”
“From a wheel chair?”
“Well, why not?”
“Mr. Quinn’s concern seemed focused on his partner.”
“Devlin Doran.”
“Correct.”
“You trust this Quinn-guy to see all the security systems tricks because Devlin Doran said it was okay. Did you give him all the security codes while you were at it?” This was unbelievable.
“Ms. Quinn merely verified
the safety of the upper level so Mr. Doran could get a good night's sleep.”
How could her mother be so trusting? And what did any of this nonsense have to do with the last time she’d gone to Beja Flora?
Martha stared at the passing traffic on the Interstate. “Mr. Quinn’s concerns could be warranted. The MacLennans have been having a bad couple of months. First Abigail and Jennifer dying and us not knowing if Ramsey would live or not and if he did, not knowing if he would walk again. I tell you, the sight of Mr. Quinn in that chair took my breath away.”
“So the fact he was a cripple got to you.”
“I could tell he was a good man. Only a good man would try to help the man who saved his life.”
God, had her mother always been this gullible?
“Mr. Quinn reminded me that Mr. Doran had agreed to protect Kelsey. He knew for a fact that Mr. Doran would put his life on the line for her. The least I could do was allow Mr. Quinn to check the system so Mr. Doran could sleep at night.”
“Mother, that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. This Quinn must be a primo con artist.”
Martha’s soft expression vanished. She squared her shoulders and glared at her.
“What?” Zoë demanded. “Just because the man can’t walk, he can’t lie? How do you even know he needed that wheelchair? He might have been using the damned thing just to get your sympathy.” Martha shook her head. “Well, he sure got it, didn’t he?”
“Zoë, is there some reason why you’re so upset about the system being checked?”
Her mother was acting like she was the enemy. This was unbelievable.
“Mr. Quinn brought up some good arguments. He pointed out that all the murder attempts had been vehicular sabotage.“
“Not all. What about the bottle of gas someone threw through Kelsey’s window?”
“It was lucky Mr. Doran was there.”
“A little too lucky, if you ask me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it, Mom. Don’t you find it a bit coincidental that Doran is there to save Kelsey from both attempts on her life? I mean, even I’m not stupid enough to miss that detail.”
“You think Mr. Doran is trying to kill Kelsey?”
“Or keep saving her life so he can get close to her for some other reason, yes.”
Martha’s nostrils flared as she inhaled. “But why?” she asked, faintly.
“Why not?”
“Zoë, why would anyone go to that effort to get close to a botanist?”
“Kelsey is a MacLennan.”
“She hybridizes orchids. Surely there isn’t a black market for stolen plant DNA.”
“This isn’t about her damned plants, it’s about the campaign.”
Martha shrugged. “I assumed that when the brakes lines on Ramsey's BMW were tampered with. There was similar damage on Kelsey's mustang, but how could anyone know she intended to run?”
“They couldn’t.” Not even Marv could have guessed what Kelsey would decide. “But she didn’t have to officially run, just give the speeches and keep gaining points in the polls.” Zoë pressed her lips together, afraid that she might have already said too much.
“At least Kelsey made a good choice of protector.”
“Who?" Zoë demanded. "Doran?” Martha nodded. Zoë gave a harsh laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“He saved Mr. Quinn’s life. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Doran, Mr. Quinn would be dead instead of in his chair.”
That, again. She’d always given her mother more credit than to think a guy on wheels could sway her opinion. “How do you know he told you the truth?”
“He seemed sincere.”
Zoë squinted at her mother and wondered just what the guy had done to earn her trust to quickly and completely. “So does any good con artist or actor.”
“Mr. Quinn was much to uncertain of what was going on to be conning me. The man was simply trying to help a friend. I have to admire that.”
Zoë guffawed. “Unless I’m the one trying to help a friend, then, of course, whatever is being done must be something sinister.”
“Mr. Quinn can’t seem to understand why Mr. Doran is choosing to protect Kelsey.” Martha gave a wistful sigh. “I’ve seen the way he looks at her, I think he’s smitten.”
“You call me from a public phone, like this is some top secret thing and asked me to meet you in this God forsaken, rapist infested place to tell me about some damned conversation you had with a cripple and speculate if the ice queen has a boyfriend?” Zoë threw up her hands. “And if that isn’t enough, you demand to know why I chose that particular Sunday to came by and try to make amends.” Zoë blinked back tears.
Her mother visibly swallowed. Unwilling to say anymore, they both stared at traffic on the interstate.
After several minutes, Martha cleared her throat. "I was picking up my car from the repair shop when I decided I couldn't postpone speaking with you."
"What was wrong with your car?"
"Some strange sounds. I've had it in five times since I purchased it and they drive it for hundreds of miles, but never seem to fix it."
Trust her mother to sound more upset about a damned machine than the feelings of her own flesh and blood. Weren’t women supposed to love their kids no matter what? Hadn't anyone told her mother?
Lights washed over them, as a car pulled into the lot. Zoë gripped her mace and hurried to her car, but her mother blocked her from opening the door.
A mini van pulled into a slot near the restrooms. Then, a woman carrying a squalling child hurried inside. Zoë stared after them, remembering the last time she’d been in a public facility and shivered. How anyone could go use such an awful place. “I hate public piss pots.”
Martha stared at her. “Do you use crude words for attention?”
“No. Are you going to get out of my way?”
Martha shook her head. “We still need to talk about the night you came over to speak to me.”
“Get out of my way."
“Why did you really come out to the house?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“I don’t think so. I think you needed an alibi.” Martha glared at her as if she wished she'd never borne her.
“You think I was part of Ramsey's accident.”
Her mother gave her ‘that’ look. Oh, God, it was true!
“I wasn't.” Zoë’s vision blurred with unshed tears.
“Then you were an accessory.”
“How can you say that?”
“I saw the silhouette.”
Zoë burst into tears.
“I'd like to tell you everything will work out, but I stopped believing in happy endings years ago.” She’d never heard her mother sound so tired. “You have to tell someone what you know.”
“Who?” Zoë laughed. It sounded harsh and condemning. “The sheriff?”
Martha’s smile was bittersweet. “Sheriff Botts would be a good person to ph-“
“Botts! A good person?” Zoë’s emotions burst forth in a flood of tears. It felt like she was disintegrating. “Oh, God, Mother! Jake would be the last person I'd talk to.”
“Zoë, what's wrong with you?”
“Jake was the silhouette you saw,” Zoë said.
“Jake!” Martha’s trembling fingers covered her mouth. She stared a moment then began pacing.
Zoë tried to swallow the lump of misery in her throat, but it only grew. “Jake told me he'd had a tip that someone intended to assassinate Ramsey but he wasn't sure of his source, so he wanted to get into Beja Flora to check things out.” Zoë swallowed hard. “Mom, I thought I was helping Ramsey.” He’d helped her so many times in the past; it had been her way to repay him. If Jake had messed with those brake lines, then her mother was right; she was an accessory to murder. Scalding tears poured down her cheeks and she wished she’d died, instead. “I thought." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter what I thought.” Zoë buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
/>
Gentle hands caressed her back as they maneuvered her back to the picnic table. “It always matters why you do things.”
People could be so deceitful.
Zoë cried harder.
Why did she always believe lies?
Her ribs ached.
Why did she love liars?
Why didn’t someone just shoot her?
Why was she so worthless?
She should never have been born.
Her mother caressed her back until she shed all her tears and dry sobs wracked herm then Martha pulled her close and hugged her. It felt wonderful to be held for no other reason than that someone cared. To know that they cared no matter what they thought you’d done.
“You can see the motives," Zoë whispered. "I can't.”
Martha sighed. “Not always.”
“I’m so damned stupid." It was no wonder her mother couldn't love her. No wonder Ramsey hated her. No wonder Marv refused to commit to her or be seen in public with her. “I’m worthless.”
“No you aren’t.”
“You always see people for what they are.”
“Not when I was your age." Martha sighed. "Believe me, I know how easily one can get mislead.” Martha smoothed her hair and her voice took on a dreamy tone. “If someone is handsome, smart and a good talker they can make a girl believe she's the woman of their dreams and that they want to give her the world on a golden platter.” Martha sniffed.
“Mr. Quinn?”
Martha shook her head.
“My father?” It had been a taboo subject for her entire life, so it was difficult to believe her mother was finally ready to tell her about her love affair with Winston. How difficult it must have been when he married Jacqueline. Had her mother known she was pregnant before the marriage? Had Winston known? Had a powerful man duped her mother, as she had been duped? Zoë tried to focus on her mother’s feelings instead of her own sense of complete worthlessness. “You believed he'd marry you.”
“No. He was married.”
“But-“ Why hadn’t anyone told her she was a preemie? “I always assumed.”
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