“It’s not like she could just blurt it out.” Especially considering how Mother was handling the news now. In fact, Mother’s response since the denouement was all the evidence needed that Audrey had made the right choice in keeping her mouth shut.
“Nonsense!” Mother snapped when I said as much. “She could have told me anytime at all. Perhaps not while your father was alive. I can understand that. But he’s been gone a long time. She’s had years to tell me.”
“So she was just supposed to blurt it out? ‘By the way, Margaret, I had an affair with your late husband and got pregnant’?”
“Of course not,” Mother said. There were flags of color on her cheeks, and she took a sip of wine, perhaps to cool down. “But Darcy’s parents were killed a few years ago. She could have told me then. ‘Listen, Margaret, I gave up a child for adoption thirty-some years ago, before I knew you. And now her adoptive parents have died. What do you think I should do?’”
Well, yes. I suppose Audrey could have done that.
“I would have been sympathetic,” Mother said. “I would have understood why she hadn’t told me before. And then we could have worked our way around to who the father was.”
“So you’re less upset about the fact that Audrey slept with Dad than that she didn’t tell you about Darcy?”
Mother winced, but nodded. “It was before we were married. I’m sure he might have slept with someone else, too. And it wasn’t like I was a virgin on my wedding night.”
I resisted the temptation to plug my ears and hum. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
“It was the nineteen-eighties, darling. The sexual revolution had come and gone.”
After a moment, she added, pensively, “Not that people didn’t sleep around before the sexual revolution, too.”
Of course they had. But none of them were my mother. “Just don’t talk about it.”
“Don’t be hypocritical, Savannah,” Mother said. “You certainly enjoyed your husband before you married him.”
No argument there. I’d been visibly pregnant walking down the aisle. I just never thought I’d hear my mother—my mother, for God’s sake!—chastising me for being too prudish.
But hey, I could live with it. I grinned. “I did, as a matter of fact. And still do. As often as I can.”
“There’s no need to be crude,” Mother said repressively, and lifted her hand. “There’s Catherine.”
So she was. And since she was—and since my mother was back to herself again—I shelved the discussion.
Catherine slipped into the booth on the other side, next to Mother. “This was a good idea.” She stuffed her purse behind her legs on the floor and grinned at me across the table.
“Rafe’s working,” I answered, “and I needed food.”
“Sure. But it’s nice.” She leaned over to give Mother an air-hug, and then looked around. “Sheila and I used to do this once in a while.”
“Really?” I hadn’t known that. Sheila and I hadn’t been particularly close, and for some reason I had assumed that she and Catherine hadn’t been, either.
Catherine nodded. “Sometimes Mom would come with us, but sometimes it was just her and me.”
“I didn’t realize you and Sheila were close.”
“I don’t know that I’d say close,” Catherine said, “but she was Dix’s wife. We spent time together.”
“That’s nice.”
“Jonathan and Dix would get together to have beer and pizza with the kids—the kids didn’t get beer—and Sheila and I would go out and eat somewhere like adults. I miss that.”
I probably would, too. “I’m sorry I don’t live closer.”
Or actually, I wasn’t. I’d hate to have to live in Sweetwater again. But it seemed like a nice thing to say.
Catherine shrugged. “It’s been a year. I don’t think about it a lot. This just reminded me.”
“Now you have Darcy,” I reminded her, and tried not to notice Mother’s wince. “Do you and she get together?”
“We have lunch once in a while. Mostly when I’m in the office at lunch time. We go down to the Café on the Square and grab something.” She was quiet for a second before adding, “At least we used to do that before I knew she was my sister. We haven’t lately.”
“You don’t mind, do you? About Darcy?”
“I wouldn’t say I mind,” Catherine said. “I mean, I like Darcy. I liked her before I found out who she was. But it’s a little weird.”
It was a little weird. And being here, in Sweetwater, with the constant reminder sitting at the front desk at the law office every day, was probably weirder than being an hour away in Nashville where a lot of the time I didn’t even think about the fact that I had a new half-sister.
“You’re OK with having dinner with her, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Catherine said, glancing around. “Although she’s late.”
“Not that late. And she lives in Columbia. She has a longer way to drive than the rest of us.”
Catherine nodded. “I’ll have a glass of Pinot Grigio,” she told the waitress who appeared next to the table. “And an order of the crab dip while we wait, please.”
She turned back to me as the waitress hurried away. “So what’s Rafe doing tonight?”
“Taking Yvonne to every dive bar in Maury County.” I refrained from rolling my eyes and took a sip of tea instead.
Catherine wrinkled her brows. “Why?”
“He’s hoping that the fact that Yvonne knew the Skinners will loosen people’s tongues. He’s looking for an angle for why someone would have killed them all.”
“I wish he’d asked me first,” Catherine said.
“Why? You didn’t know the Skinners, did you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Savannah,” Mother said, and took a sip of wine.
Catherine shook her head. “I remember Darrell. Barely. But I don’t want her getting mixed up in this.”
“Why not? The hearing’s over. The judge ruled that Beulah was competent. Whatever Yvonne does now, doesn’t matter.” And oughtn’t to have mattered before, either, since it wasn’t her competency in question.
“Tell that to the Odoms,” Catherine said. She dug for her purse. “I have to make a phone call. Don’t eat all my crab dip.”
She walked away before I could tell her that she’d better make it back to the table quickly, in that case.
Nine
When Catherine came back, she had Darcy with her. As they made their way between the tables, I found myself looking at them for similarities.
Dix and I take after Mother’s family, the Georgia Calverts. We’re on the taller side, and medium to fair. Catherine takes after Dad’s family, the Martins, who are shorter and dark.
Darcy... Well, Darcy is tall. Taller than me, and slender. Not much in the way of curves. She gets that from Audrey, who’s also tall and thin. Both of them have the build of runway models. Long and leggy. But where Audrey’s eyes are blue and her skin pale, Darcy almost has Rafe’s coloring. A little darker than Catherine, whose skin is a degree or two darker than mine, with short, black hair and brown eyes.
I’d be more inclined to say she looked like Rafe’s sister, to be honest, than either of ours. I could definitely see Audrey in her, especially now that I knew the truth. Seeing Dad was more difficult. A little in the mouth and chin, maybe...
She gave me a smile, although I could see trepidation in her eyes.
“You’re next to Savannah,” Catherine said, giving her a nudge. “Where’s my crab dip?” She looked at the table.
“I scarfed it down while you were gone, and sent the bowl back,” I told her while I scooted deeper into the booth to make room for Darcy. “You snooze, you lose.”
Catherine stared at me.
“They didn’t bring it yet,” Mother told her. “Hello, Darcy.”
She met Darcy’s eyes for a nanosecond across the table.
“Hi, Mrs. Martin.” Darcy didn’t sound any more comfort
able about the situation.
“Margaret,” Mom said. “Please.”
Now, there was a nice, semi-friendly overture. Not too friendly—“Call me Mom; after all, your father was my husband,”—but just friendly enough. And anyway, Darcy had a mother, so that wouldn’t work out well in either case.
Darcy smiled. It was a little strained, but pretty convincing. “Thank you.”
“It took you a while to get here,” I told her. “Did Nolan call?”
She shook her head. “Car accident on the Columbia Highway. Traffic was stopped for ten minutes while they towed the cars.”
“Oh, dear,” Mother said. “The weather, I suppose.”
Darcy nodded. “It’s slick out there. It didn’t look too bad, though. I didn’t see an ambulance. Just a tow truck. One car was nose first in the ditch. The other looked OK.”
We all agreed that was good. “It wasn’t anyone we know, I suppose?”
“I don’t think so,” Darcy said. “I didn’t recognize either of the cars.” She turned to the waitress as the crab dip descended to the table, surrounded by a ring of toasted baguette slices. My mouth watered. “I’ll have sweet tea, please.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some wine?” Catherine asked as the waitress walked away. “Mother and I are indulging. Savannah can’t, of course.”
“Tea is fine.” Darcy smiled, but it was the kind of smile that didn’t invite to further conversation. I thought I knew why. Her parents had died in a traffic accident a few years ago. I have no idea whether alcohol had played any part, but it was possible. And she had just driven past another car accident on the way here. It probably brought back memories. And she’d be driving herself home after we ate. It made sense that she’d be a little extra careful.
“We better decide what we’re going to eat,” I said, and reached for my menu. “The waitress will ask when she comes back with Darcy’s tea. We might as well be ready. I’m starving.”
“Have some crab,” Catherine said. “You too, Darcy.” She nudged the bowl an inch in Darcy’s direction, without taking it out of Mother’s or my reach.
“Thank you.” Darcy took an obligatory baguette piece and an obligatory scoop of crab dip. Hopefully she actually liked crab, and wasn’t just doing it to be polite.
If the whole situation sounds awkward, it’s because it was. Clearly Mother was uncomfortable with Darcy, and equally clearly Darcy knew it, and it made her uncomfortable, too.
“I’m thinking about the salmon,” Catherine said, with her eyes on the menu.
I nodded. “I’ve had it before, and it’s good. What do you think, Mother? You’ve probably eaten here more than the rest of us.”
“The salmon is usually excellent,” Mother said. “So is the veal.”
Of course.
Catherine and Darcy choose the salmon, Mother the veal. I bucked the system and had the mushroom pasta I’d had on a previous occasion. It had been good then. It would probably be good now.
Once the food arrived, things got a little easier. We were all eating, and too well brought-up to speak with our mouths full. Darcy hadn’t had Mother drilling manners into her as a child, of course, but I was happy to see that her own mother must have done the same thing, since she was thoroughly unobjectionable. Not that I’d expected anything different, but Mother might have, and it was nice that Darcy didn’t give her an excuse.
We talked about Yvonne and the hearing into Beulah’s competency, and then we talked about the Skinners and possible motives for the murders. Since neither of us had any recent experience with the Skinners, all we could come up with were wild theories with no basis in fact, but it was interesting. Catherine remembered Darrell as being a ladies man, even in high school, which coincided with Rafe’s memories and Yvonne’s story. The entire family was shocked and appalled when I told them that all three Skinners had beat the crap out of Rafe once in high school.
“We drove him home,” I said, “although nobody was happy about it. He ended up in the backseat with Dix and Charlotte, and ruined their plans for necking the whole way home. And Todd was upset because Rafe was bleeding on his new leather interior.”
Mother straightened on the chair. “You never told me this.”
“Because I knew you’d have a fit. Rafe wasn’t exactly on the approved list back then. Just the fact that I’d breathed the same air he did would have set you off.”
There was nothing Mother could say to that, so she didn’t try. “Dessert?” she asked instead, brightly.
I’m never one to turn down dessert. And although Mother often tells me to be careful what I put in my mouth, since I’ll have to get rid of it again once the baby is born, this time she didn’t.
So I had cheesecake. Catherine, perhaps in an effort to at least sound like she was watching her weight, had the carrot cake. Mother picked at the Crème Brûlée, and Darcy devoured a piece of pie. Of all of us, she had the least to worry about when it came to gaining weight.
And after that we went home. Catherine to her husband and kids, Darcy to her empty house in Columbia, and Mother and I to the mansion.
It’s a quick drive from downtown Sweetwater to the Martin Mansion, and neither of us spoke. It wasn’t until Mother had parked the Cadillac in the old carriage house and we were on our way to the back door that she opened her mouth. “I wonder if one of us should say something to Darcy about the dangers of tanning beds.”
I turned to arch my brows at her. “Why?”
“Because it can’t be good for her skin. If she’s not careful, she’ll start to look old before her time.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I said, while Mother unlocked the back door and ushered me in. “I know all about how the sun gives you wrinkles and makes you look old.” Mother is a living, breathing testament to the opposite. She hardly ever goes out in the sun, and her skin is lovely. “What does it have to do with Darcy?”
“Well,” Mother said reasonably, “she must go to a tanning salon to keep herself looking so...” She hesitated before landing on, “...healthy.”
I shrugged out of my coat and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen island stools. “I think that’s her natural complexion.”
“Oh, no,” Mother said, shaking her head, “that’s not possible, darling.”
“Why not?”
She stared at me. “Well, her mother is Audrey, isn’t she? And your father was her father?”
I nodded.
“Well, no offense, darling, but then she shouldn’t look like your husband, should she?”
“No offense taken,” I said, although I’ll have to admit to a little. “I like the way my husband looks. I like the way Darcy looks, too, for that matter. She’s pretty.”
Mother agreed that Darcy was attractive. “But her coloring, darling...”
“She’s only a little darker than Catherine,” I said. “And this stuff can lay dormant for generations before it pops up again. Maybe there’s some mixed blood in Audrey’s family, too, a few generations back. That would explain it.”
Mother stared at me. Apparently it explained nothing for her. And a little too late, I remembered that my mother didn’t know what I had gotten used to taking for granted: the fact that during the War Against Northern Aggression, while her husband was away defending the gallant South against the damn Yankees, my great-great-great-grandmother Caroline had had an affair with one of the grooms and gotten pregnant.
“Oops,” I said. “You know, forgot I said anything. I’m going to bed.” I headed for the door.
“Not so fast,” Mother said, and stepped in front of me. “What did you mean, ‘too’?”
I avoided her eyes. “Nothing. It’s not important. Forget I mentioned it.”
“It’s a little late for that,” Mother said, putting her hands on her hips.
It was. But that didn’t stop me from trying to squirm out of telling her. “You know, it isn’t really my place to talk to you about this. You should call Aunt Regina. She was th
e one who told me.”
“Told you what?” Mother wanted to know.
“About great-great-great-grandmother Caroline.”
“What about great-great-great-grandmother Caroline?”
I sighed. I’d gone this far; I might as well go the rest of the way. “On Christmas Eve last year, Aunt Regina and I were talking about Rafe. I was here, remember, for the party?”
Mother nodded. “And then Rafael showed up.”
He had. A bit later. “Before he came, Aunt Regina and I were talking. And she told me about great-great-great-grandma Caroline.”
“What about Caroline?”
“She was the Mrs. Martin during the Civil War. I’m not sure who she was married to, but whoever he was, he went off to fight the Damn Yankees, and left her in charge of the plantation.”
In case I haven’t mentioned it, the Martin Mansion was a working Southern plantation at the time, with fields and slaves and all the usual things. The fields are gone now, and so of course are the slaves. All that’s left is the mansion itself, a couple of outbuildings, and an acre or two of grass for them to sit on. Plus a few trees and an old family cemetery.
“Caroline was here, and what’s-his-name was gone. And I guess she got lonely. Or maybe he died, and she got lonely after that. Either way, she took up with one of the grooms.”
Mother stared at me, her mouth half open. If it had been anyone else, I’d have said she was gaping. Since she’s my mother, and extremely elegant, I’ll just say she stared. With her mouth open.
“Apparently she got pregnant, and the result was great-great-grandpa William.”
Mother closed her mouth. And opened it again. “There’s a picture of him in the hallway upstairs.”
I nodded. That had been my first reaction, too. I’d seen great-great-grandpa William’s face my whole life—so long, probably, that I didn’t even notice it anymore. But it had never crossed my mind that he looked black. Not until I spoke to Aunt Regina. “If you look closely, you can see it.”
For a second, neither of us moved. Then Mother swung on her heel and hurried down the hallway. I grabbed my purse and coat and followed. If we were going upstairs, where my room was, I might as well bring my things. That way I wouldn’t have to come back down for them.
Bad Debt (Savannah Martin Mysteries Book 14) Page 10