Uncertain Past

by Roz Denny Fox

  She paced the floor in her kitchen and decided that when he brought Alanna over later that morning, she’d find a way to tell him she did want to marry him. But she couldn’t—not until her questions were answered.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Emmy’s newly installed bedroom phone rang a little after six a.m. She knew it had to be Riley. He was the only person who had reason to call so early. She didn’t even get the hello out of her mouth before he began a sexy scolding. “I’m disappointed you left without waking me. I know you don’t want Alanna catching us, but next time I want a chance to kiss you goodbye and also to see you to your door. It may not be far, but things go bump in the night. So humor me, okay?”

  “Riley, last night was wonderful. Better than wonderful—”

  “The feeling’s mutual,” he all but puffed in her ear.

  “You didn’t let me finish. I was about to say but—”

  “There are no buts about it, Emmy. We’re in sync.”

  “Yes, we mesh like . . . like two halves of a locket. But lockets need pictures to be complete. Family pictures.”

  “That’s bunk. Why can’t I convince you? We can get married and still look for your birth mother.”

  “I can’t. The unknown is too . . . too great an enigma.”

  Riley expelled a sigh that sounded both frustrated and helpless. “Sugar babe, I’m trying to understand. Just don’t give up and disappear on me again. I’ll find your answers. I swear.”

  “If you only knew how much I wish a genie would just show up and give me the facts—the truth about my past. I really do,” she cried softly. “But, maybe I’ve let go of looking for answers too long.”

  “It’s okay, Emmy. It’s okay. Do you need the day to run down leads? Alanna woke up not feeling well. I’m not sure if she ate too much pizza last night, or if she’s caught a bug. I called to see if you’d watch her here. If you’d rather not be tied down, I’ll phone a domestics temp agency and get them to send someone out. I need to go into the office for a couple of hours. There’s a brief I have to file in court on Monday.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you in the lurch. I thought I’d phone the records office of the foster care program as well as area hospitals, like Cleon suggested. Let me gather a few things to help entertain Alanna and I’ll be over in a jiffy. Oh, by the way, she noticed my painted toenails while we were buying baskets. She’s dying for me to do hers. If I use a soft color, is it okay?”

  A sudden, vivid memory of how Emmy’s pearly pink toenails had looked in the glow of his bedroom lamp rose up to smack Riley between the eyes. As she’d wrapped her long, naked legs around his waist, he’d caught a glimpse of small butterflies. He remembered thinking he’d ask how long it took to glue them on. The fleeting thought left him the moment she opened like a flower and he buried himself inside her. He struggled to keep mind and body connected, to return to the here and now.

  “Honestly,” Riley heard Emmy saying from a distance. “I understand if you object. She is young for nail polish. On the other hand, girls her age love playing dress-up. I thought after we baked Joleen’s cake, I’d let Alanna indulge in a little make-believe. I have some glittery dresses and heels I wore at the casino. I’ve been meaning to toss them out. Forget the polish. I’ll bring a few bangles and beads to use if she gets to feeling better. It’s one thing Mom Fran and I did on rainy days. Stuff like that’s what good memories are made of . . .” Emmy’s voice trailed off, as if she’d drifted back to her own childhood.

  Riley cleared his throat. “She’ll love you forever. Mrs. Yates never had the imagination or patience for anything like that. Bring the polish. And Emmy, thank you. It’s these kinds of treats Alanna’s missed by not having a mother. I’ve been too closed-minded up to now to see it.”

  Emmy barely heard him say goodbye and that he’d see her shortly. She’d retreated into a comforting memory of Fran dragging out a trunk filled with outdated dresses, floppy hats, shoes and cheap rhinestone earrings. Emmy had spent many an afternoon preparing style shows for a properly appreciative audience. Frannie Granger was also great at having impromptu tea parties with a lonely girl.

  Emmy’s hand shook as she jerked herself from her reverie and hung up the phone. Could Riley possibly have hit on the truth when he’d suggested that knowing her background wouldn’t affect the self-made woman she’d become? Maybe the early years of love and security were what really counted. It was a sobering thought. One that stuck even after Emmy made herself at home in Riley’s house and stood at the window watching him get into his car. Just as she’d do if he were her husband.

  Emmy weighed heavy on Riley’s mind as he climbed the stairs to his office and searched for his key. He couldn’t rid himself of a picture stamped on his brain—how much he liked seeing Emmy puttering around his kitchen this morning. In spite of not feeling well, Alanna had perked up the minute Emmy set foot in the house. She belonged there, dammit.

  He stepped right on a plain white envelope that lay on his reception room floor. It looked identical to the earlier warning. This time he took greater care picking it up. He shook out his clean handkerchief and lifted it by one corner. The only lab he knew in town had close ties to the sheriff, and he wasn’t ready to include Logan. He wondered what made him think the person sending these notes was even known to Fielder.

  A lawyer’s instinct?

  Exhibiting the same care with which he’d retrieved the envelope, Riley sat at his desk, opened and read the note. Letters cut from magazines staggered drunkenly across the page.

  Pay attention, Gray Wolf. Accidents befall nosy people.

  A childish-looking skull and crossbones had been drawn at the bottom of the page.

  Gray Wolf.

  Riley had been Gray since opening his practice in Uncertain. The composer of this tripe had known Riley when he was younger. And whoever had sent this warning must have thrown it together in anger and haste, forgetting that he’d shortened his name.

  Riley leaned back and swung his chair from side to side, as he did whenever he had a tough problem to solve. His money was on Joleen Berber. The old girl was batty. Or cagey, the voice of reason nagged.

  He snapped forward in his chair, picked up the phone and called Jed’s lawyer. “Thorny—Riley Gray here. How are you, sir? Glad I caught you at home.”

  Riley listened to the prominent attorney’s greeting.

  “I’m not calling regarding Jed,” he explained. “Far as I know, he’s still Logan’s target. The sheriff’s got a lot riding on this case. He’d like to retire before the next election. I doubt he wants to go out with an unsolved murder on his record. I’m calling about another matter.”

  While he gazed savagely at the crude warning, Riley explained how he’d received the two pointed notes. “My prints are all over the first one,” he admitted. “I’d like to ship this cleaner one off to a lab. Since the sender seems informed about Emmy’s and my investigative probes into her background, I’d rather have this handled out of our area.”

  The man at the other end of the line rattled off a technician’s name and his laboratory address. Riley scribbled it down. After he hung up, he booted his computer and typed up the request. He had no reason not to trust Marge, but he wanted this kept quiet. He wouldn’t even mail it locally.

  Marge didn’t come in on weekends. Riley put together his package, closed the office and got back into his car.

  Operating on a hunch, he stopped at Joleen’s house. Several minutes of pounding on her door finally roused her.

  She looked ghastly and sounded worse. “What do you want?” she croaked. “I’ve had the flu since the day you were here. I told you, I can’t help the girl—Emerald,” she added after a fit of coughing. Joleen gathered her robe under her wattled chin and began closing the door.

  “Wait. Have you seen a doctor?” Riley asked politely.
He really wanted to know if she’d been out of the house. If so, she could conceivably have gone by his office and delivered the warnings.

  “I phoned my doctor. He said it sounds like I have a virus that’s going around. Nothing to do except push fluids and sleep. I’ve been doing plenty of that. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to bed. I get vertigo if I stay up for more than a few minutes.”

  “I’m sorry,” Riley muttered. “Emmy plans to visit you again. Meanwhile, is there anything you need from the store? Tea? Juice? Chicken soup?”

  The old woman raked a liver-spotted hand through untidy hair. “Just tell her to stay away. You young folks think you’re invincible. A body lives a long and healthy life by keeping to herself and not doing anyone any favors.” Although she looked as if she’d topple any minute, she shut the door quite firmly in Riley’s face.

  He gazed at the weathered wood, mulling over her parting statement while considering the information he’d been handed. It was clear she was in no condition to leave the house, let alone tackle the stairs to his office. Her odd advice puzzled him, though, as it had come on the heels of his saying Emmy intended to visit.

  Maybe it was just that, being a retired nurse, Joleen thought people who’d willingly expose themselves to her flu bug were stupid.

  “Hellfire!” Riley stomped back to his car.

  Now he didn’t even have one good lead as to who wanted Emmy’s background to remain a blank. He considered his options. They’d arranged to do the barbecue at Jed and Gwyn’s tonight. Next weekend, his mother would arrive. Neva might be able to help, he suddenly realized. Somehow, without raising Emmy’s suspicion, he had to find a way to tap his mom’s memory. Uncertain hadn’t been large enough thirty years ago for illicit affairs and illegitimate babies to be successfully hidden. And someone was nervous about the prospect of Emmy finding her birth mother. It could only mean that in so doing, she’d expose something the note writer would go to great lengths to keep under wraps. As before, the big question remained: to what lengths was the perpetrator willing to go? All the way to murder? Did these notes tie in with Fran’s death?

  Riley wrangled with the problem while he drove to Jefferson and back. All roads seemed to lead to the unexplained death of Emmy’s foster mother, and that worried him. But short of bringing the notes out in the open, involving Logan Fielder and scaring Emmy half to death, he didn’t know what to do. At this point, the notes were cowardly but not dangerous. At least, that’s what he hoped.

  Back in his office, he elected to wait a while longer—to wait and watch. Maybe take a second look at the computer search program. There wasn’t any reason he couldn’t devote a few more days to the search without involving Emmy. Anyway, all the warnings had been aimed at him.

  The grounds, patio and surrounding rose gardens of Beaumarais were glorious to behold on a summery eve. Riley had hired a sitter for Alanna, who still wasn’t feeling completely well. He and Emmy decided they needed a rare night in the company of other adults. Tall, citronella torchers flickered at the lake’s edge and at strategic points on the patio to ward off mosquitoes, which tended to move into the region after the spring monsoons abated.

  Riley stood next to Jed at the barbecue, holding a long-necked brew. Both men had worn khaki shorts and navy cotton pullovers. Gwyn teased them about looking like twins.

  Jed aimed a smack at her butt and missed. Grinning like a man in love, he turned the steaks and took a sip from his beer. “Why don’t we do this more often?” Jed’s eyes darkened with regret. “We never used to let work and everyday responsibilities interfere with our good times.”

  “Careers and family place demands on a man.” Riley leaned an elbow on the brick wall that separated the patio from the fragrant flower garden.

  “I’m spending an unbelievable amount of time thinking about Frannie’s case. A case that shouldn’t even involve me, except as a family member of the victim,” Jed said. “An unofficial family member. Hey,” he added, brightening, “Gwyn tells me Emmy is planning to track the whereabouts of some thirty baby girls born in the county on or about the date Frannie listed on Emmy’s quasi birth certificate.”

  “Yes. What I find amazing is how many there were.” He gazed moodily across the patio to where the women sat at an umbrella-sheltered table.

  As Riley watched them laughing and chatting, Gwyn topped off their glasses with a fine red wine.

  “So you identified all girl babies born in the area around the time you were found?” Gwyn asked as she returned the wine battle to its terra cotta cooler.

  “Next week I’ll try to contact them, or someone who knows where they are now. It’s the best lead I’ve got so far.”

  “Hmm. A little while ago, you said you were going to question Joleen Berber about the Caddo pearl and emerald brooch.”

  “I had to put that off. She’s been ill with that awful flu. Riley heard it somewhere. From Marge, probably. That woman has all the poop on everyone in town. Except she hasn’t got a clue in my case, of course.”

  “The thing is, you need information to get information, and you have almost nothing to work with. Speaking of that, we haven’t heard jack from the military as to whether Will joined up or not.”

  Emmy released a sigh. “Darn. Nothing’s coming together. I combed my memory for every detail I can remember about that brooch. I drew a facsimile based on what I recall of her descriptions. Riley’s going to copy it and we’ll send a flyer to all the jewelry stores from here to Canton. There are a lot more than you might think.”

  “Can’t you phone and weed out the ones that haven’t been in business thirty years?”

  Emmy perked up. “That should eliminate some.” Her smile faded. “By the same token, I wonder how many have gone out of business since I was born?”

  Gwyn patted her hand. “I didn’t say it would be easy.”

  “One break is all I ask for.” Emmy threw out her arms in a dramatic gesture. “The more time Riley and I spend together, the closer I’m getting to Alanna.” She inspected her fingernails. “To say nothing of him.”

  “Anyone can see how crazy they both are about you, Emmy. Not that I’ve known Riley long, but Jed says he hasn’t been this happy in years. It’s none of my business, I realize, but couldn’t you guys get married and then work to find your birth parents?”

  “Riley asked that very thing.” Emmy pushed a lock of hair away from her face, sad eyes straying to where Riley lounged against the wall. “He’s also made no secret of the fact he wants more children. Siblings for Alanna.” Emmy turned back to Gwyn, her expression anguished. “I love Riley too much to subject him to all the unanswered possibilities in my background. Look at everything he’s had to deal with from his first wife’s family. Mine could be way worse.”

  “Or not,” Gwyn was quick to say.

  “But if there’s something bad, what then? If my mother turned out to be a common whore and my father some sleazy John, you think it wouldn’t affect Riley’s professional life once the gossip circulated around town? What if either of my parents had some mental or physical infirmity or some inherited disease? What if my mother was raped by a serial rapist who’s now spending his life behind bars? Can anyone guarantee news like that wouldn’t be thrown back on Alanna at school?”

  “My parents are filthy rich. They’re on every list of who’s who in the world of money. They’re cold, unfeeling and probably unethical. I happen to believe that I learned from what I saw and rose above it. When Jed and I get ready to have a baby, I won’t spend one second worrying whether they’ll be anything like my mother and father.”

  Emmy kept shaking her head. “Money has a way of whitewashing a host of other sins, Gwyn.”

  “Not from my perspective. But it’s your life, Emmy. There are people who can’t understand why I married Jed with the murder hanging over him.”

  �
�That’s different. He’s innocent, and you know it.”

  “What I know is that I loved him too much to wait until this mess is resolved. It could drag on for years. Think of the time we’d have wasted.”

  Again Emmy’s gaze drifted to Riley. She’d loved him since they were kids. Right now her heart turned to ice as she considered the possibility of her search taking years. “Life’s so unfair,” she managed to choke out.

  “Is it? Or is it anything we make it?” Gwyn’s tone remained light, but with enough steel underneath for Emmy to study her again. She unabashedly admired Gwyn for her strength and her courage in standing by Jed.

  The men walked over, saying the steaks were done to perfection. Riley set a pan of foil-wrapped grilled new potatoes in the center of the table. Gwyn jumped up to go inside for the salad Emmy had brought, effectively ending their conversation. Talk turned to other things. Gwyn’s recent trip to Austin, Riley’s reunion with Josey. His mom’s upcoming visit. They avoided unpleasant topics like Logan Fielder’s investigation and Emmy’s failure to learn anything of relevance in her ongoing search.

  During a break in the conversation, after they’d eaten their fill and Emmy had helped clear away the plates, Gwyn said lazily, “June concocted this absolutely decadent, totally sinful chocolate layered dessert. I put decaffeinated coffee on to perk when I went into the kitchen earlier. I hope everyone saved room.”

  Jed nabbed one of her auburn curls and playfully tugged her toward him for a fast brush of their lips. “Chocolate is Gwyneth’s big weakness—maybe her only weakness outside of me,” he announced, winking at the others. “Now, I’m guessing the only reason she didn’t share that tidbit before we overindulged on meat, potatoes and salad, is she figured to save more for herself.”

  She batted his hand away. “Shame on you, Jed Louis. You watched June pop that into the fridge. He’s the chocoholic in this family. Not me.”

  Emmy sat forward, drawing away from the arm Riley had thrown casually around her shoulders. “Boy, does she have your number, Jed. I used to hate it that you could consume a huge chocolate bar every day without gaining an ounce. Every time I begged so much as a bite from you, I added a pound and my face broke out. In the name of vanity, I stopped asking. At night I tried to figure how I could weight the scale you stepped on every morning of your life.”