Suspicious Origin

by MacDonald, Patricia

  The waitress arrived at their table, and regarded them with a perky gaze. “So,” she said pleasantly, “how are you folks tonight?”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “There, that’s all arranged,” said Britt, coming into the cramped kitchen with her cell phone in hand. “My flight is this afternoon at three.” She was feeling more like herself, more in control today than she had the night before. During and after dinner, she found herself feeling shaky and constantly fighting off tears. The aftershocks, she thought, of the whole ordeal. Last night she had slept soundly, without dreams.

  Now, Zoe looked up from her seat at the breakfast table where she was sitting knee to knee with her father. “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said.

  Britt smiled. “I’ll be back to visit before you know it.”

  Alec put down the newspaper, with his picture and that of Dean Webster on the front page, and looked up at Britt. “Hopefully, we’ll be in more comfortable quarters.”

  “Are you going to look for another house?” Britt asked.

  Alec shook his head. “I think maybe we’ll rebuild on the old site. It’s a great piece of land. And we’ll need the space if Zoe’s going to have a horse. I’ve already got the barn, so I’m ahead of the game.”

  “Where will you live while you’re building?” Britt asked.

  “We’ll rent something,” he said.

  “Well, make sure it’s got room for me to come visit,” said Britt lightly, avoiding his gaze.

  “We will,” Zoe promised.

  Britt poured herself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter to drink it. There wasn’t room at the table for three people.

  “Take my seat,” said Alec, starting to get up.

  “No, never mind,” said Britt. “I’ve got other calls to make.”

  “It’s a long time until three o’clock,” said Alec. “What are you going to do till then? How about if I take you out to lunch…?”

  It seemed suddenly important to Britt not to spend any time alone with him. “Oh, no, you’ll be busy getting things back to normal at the dealership. And I’ve got stuff to do. I need to get to the airport early and straighten everything out with the new ticket. And by the time I drop off the rental car…”

  “You should have somebody look at that hand,” said Alec.

  Britt suddenly remembered the excuse she had made last night, not to let him take her hand. “Once I get back to Boston, I’ll see somebody…Well, I’d better call the office and tell them I’ll be in tonight.” She took her coffee and the cell phone into the living room and sat down. She dialed the number and, as she waited while the phone rang, she looked around the room, thinking of all that had happened since she’d arrived here. It had been wrenching, grueling really. And yet, when she thought about the fact that she almost hadn’t come, it was hard for her to believe that she had hesitated. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so needed.

  The receptionist answered.

  “Donovan Smith, please. Tell him it’s Britt Andersen.”

  The receptionist hesitated and then said, “One minute, please.”

  There was a moment’s silence and then Donovan came on the line. “Britt,” he said. “What a surprise.”

  Britt felt instantly wary at the tone of his voice. She decided she had better make it brief. “Donovan, I just wanted to tell you I’m coming back to town today. I’ve got a short flight so, weather permitting, I’ll be back in Boston by four. If you like, I can try and make it in for tonight’s show.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said.

  Britt felt a chill. “It’s no problem,” she said stiffly.

  “Actually, I’m glad you called. There have been some changes you should know about.”

  “Changes? What sort of changes?”

  “Well, it didn’t seem…prudent anymore to try to carry on without a producer. And I had somebody I was interested in trying…”

  “Trying for what?” said Britt, her voice rising.

  “Your position, Britt. Don’t pretend to be shocked. You know very well you can’t just walk out and then expect to come back when you please. This is a high-pressure business. I need someone I can rely on. You can’t just disappear every time there’s a crisis in your personal life.”

  Britt couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She hadn’t even had a personal life since she went to work for Donovan. Except, of course, for their ill-fated affair. “You didn’t feel that way when you and I were together…” she reminded him sharply.

  “Well, since you bring it up, that’s another thing,” he said. “I don’t think it was healthy for you, being here, any longer. It has to be difficult for you, day in, day out, dealing with all the…baggage, if you know what I mean…”

  Baggage, she thought. Our late love affair. Britt’s hands were trembling and she was having difficulty maintaining her composure. Part of her wanted to cry out in protest that he couldn’t do this to her. Part of her wanted to argue with him and beg for her job back. It was her life. Her identity, almost. How could he just dump her like that? She blushed, remembering how he had dumped her before, with apparent ease, when he found a younger, prettier girl. But this was different. He had no complaints about her work. She was good at her job.

  And it wasn’t as if she’d gone off on a lark somewhere. This was a mutter of life and death, she thought. He was acting as if she’d left on a whim. She knew she could say all those things, and maybe he would change his mind. She could launch into a tirade, and threaten him with a lawsuit. He kind of liked it when they used to argue. Maybe he just wanted to provoke an argument, to see how much she cared. All she had to do was say…

  “Britt?” Donovan asked.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I’m sure this comes as a shock,” he said.

  She could picture his aging face with that perfect bone structure, his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, his fine, light eyes, probing for a weak spot like a laser.

  “No,” she said at last. “It’s fine, actually. It’s fine with me.”

  “Well, that’s it, then,” he said imperiously. “Speak to someone in accounting about your severance.”

  Britt punched the button to end the call without another word. There was some small satisfaction in imagining him, staring at the phone in disbelief. Expecting her to argue and plead for his indulgence.

  “Britt? Everything okay?” Alec was standing in the doorway to the living room, looking at her with a frown.

  She tried to hide her trembling hands in her lap. “Fine,” she said. “No problem.”

  Alec frowned. “Are you sure? You seem a little upset.”

  “I’m sure,” she said sharply.

  “Well, we’re leaving now,” he said, apparently ignoring her testiness. “I’ll drop Zoe at school.”

  Zoe rushed into the living room and threw her arms around Britt, nearly knocking her over. “Promise you’ll come back,” she said.

  “I promise,” Britt whispered, not trusting her voice. She stood up and walked with an arm around Zoe to the door.

  “Love you,” Zoe whispered, squeezing her.

  Britt felt shocked by the child’s sentiment. “You, too,” she mumbled, caught off balance and unable to form the words.

  Zoe didn’t seem to mind. She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed Britt’s cheek. Zoe smelled fresh, as if everything within her was blooming, and no decay had set in yet. Britt breathed in her scent as if she had been trapped underground and starved for air.

  “Let’s go, honey,” said Alec, nudging Zoe.

  Britt and Alec exchanged a glance. Britt extended her bandaged hand, but Alec did not shake it. Instead, he put his arm around her gently, lightly. “I’ll never forget what you did for me. Have a safe trip,” he said. He released her immediately, almost before she could stiffen. “And come back.”

  Britt nodded and avoided his glance. She murmured good-bye, and watched as they went down the walk to
the car, waving as they looked back at her.

  • • •

  It only took her a few minutes to pack, and then it seemed as if the day loomed interminably ahead of her. She had imagined herself busy, catching up on phone calls, making notes in her Filofax and scanning the papers for possible new guests. Instead, she was looking around her at the empty house which now seemed unbearably dreary. For a moment, she second-guessed her decision to come here. If none of this had happened, she would still have her job, still have her life.

  But even as she thought it, she knew it was absurd. Donovan had seized the first chance to get rid of her. She had been fooling herself into thinking she was important to him. Three years of service—for that’s what it was, she thought—dismissed out of hand. While here, in a week, she had made a difference. She had earned…love. She thought again of Zoe’s simple declaration. Love you. How long had it been, she thought, since someone had said those words to her? Donovan Smith had never said them, she thought bitterly. They had been too sophisticated for messy emotions. Donovan always said that they “enjoyed” each other. And that had been enough for her. That’s what’s embarrassing, Britt thought. She’d thought it had been enough to be enjoyed. To be accorded the same amount of appreciation one might have for a good meal.

  Stop beating yourself up, she thought. You were in love. It was Donovan who had insisted on the distance. And as for the job…You’ll find another job. There are lots of jobs for someone with your experience.

  For one reckless minute, she thought of the TV station, here in Coleville. They’re missing a reporter, she thought wryly, thinking of Dean Webster. For a minute she indulged in the idea of living here, being Zoe’s aunt, her surrogate mom, even. Being needed, every day. Getting to know Alec better, a man who clearly had hidden depths. But no. She shook her head. What a ridiculous thought. She was a single woman. She had to live somewhere with opportunities and culture. And eligible men.

  Stop feeling sorry for yourself, she thought. Get going. She pulled her coat out of the closet and picked up her bag. She’d wait at the airport. Some place impersonal. Some place that reminded her of her own life. Cool, detached, all business. Britt closed the door behind her and didn’t look back. She went down the path to her car, and got inside, shivering. She turned on the heater, and looked at the clock. There were still hours before her flight.

  Maybe, she thought, I’ll make one more stop. There was one person she hadn’t said good-bye to. For a moment, she wasn’t sure where to say those good-byes. There was no cemetery plot, no headstone. Greta’s body hadn’t even been returned for cremation yet. Britt thought about it, as she sat in the idling car. She could go to the funeral home. It had a generic little chapel where she could sit. But somehow, that didn’t seem fitting for Greta. Greta’s world had been about her home and her family and her garden.

  And a life that had ended in despair and tragedy. Immediately, Britt understood where she needed to go to say good-bye.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Yellow tape was still looped around the perimeter of the remains of Greta’s house, but the fire investigators and the police were gone for now and the site looked derelict. Britt got out of the car, and walked up to it, carrying a bouquet of flowers which she had stopped to buy from the local florist in Coleville. Even though she was jobless now, she had requested the most exquisite, expensive bouquet the florist had been able to create. There were roses and lilies, baby’s breath and stephanotis in shades of salmon, white and cream. The flowers looked fresh and dazzling against the ferns and greens they were arranged with. The florist had tied them together with a white bow.

  You’d like these, Britt thought, silently addressing her sister. You always did love flowers. For a moment she recalled the accusing look in Alec’s eyes when he had said, “You didn’t know her.” He had been right, of course. Britt had preferred to see the polished surface rather than the complex soul of her sister. She had never understood the depths of Greta’s suffering, and how hard she had tried to overcome it. Greta’s wonderful daughter and her husband’s devotion were a testament to how well she had succeeded, in spite of her overwhelming heartache.

  Britt walked around the house, searching for the right place to lay the flowers. Somehow the front of the house didn’t seem right. Zoe had described the house to her in great detail, sketching the rooms out on a pad, trying to re-create that image of home for Britt, so she would understand all that had been lost. The living room, the dining room, the formal, social part of the house was not the real Greta. Britt knew that Greta’s kitchen had been part of a great room around the back. That was where she had cooked and sewed and arranged the flowers from her garden. That was the real Greta. Trying to make a cozy, indestructible home, a fortress against her own broken past.

  Eventually, she had failed, given up. It was a house built on sand. Angry tears rose to Britt’s eyes. How cruel for you, she thought, addressing her sister. “I’m sorry,” Britt said aloud. “It was so unfair.” She leaned across the sooty tiles of the floor and laid the flowers down at the foot of the cast-iron woodstove which was now freestanding in the space that had been Greta’s kitchen. Britt looked around at the jagged, blackened struts that remained. I still can’t picture you doing this, Britt thought. Setting fire to it. I know you were depressed, but even so…

  Britt turned away from the sight, and looked at her watch. She still had hours to go before her flight home. She jammed her hands into her coat pockets, and felt her cell phone, resting in the bottom of the right-hand pocket. Maybe I should call and see if they have any cancellations on the earlier flight. There was no use in hanging around here any longer. But then, she reminded herself, what’s the hurry to get back? No job to go to. No one waiting to see you. She stood in the driveway and looked back at the barn. Zoe’s stable-to-be. It was a hundred yards behind the house, far enough away to have escaped destruction from the showers of sparks which had rained down during the fire. The roof of the barn was gray with ashes, although the stone walls had been gray to begin with and so, showed no evidence of the fire.

  I’m glad they’re going to rebuild here, Britt thought, gazing at the surrounding woods, and the jagged, mountainous horizon. It’s so beautiful here. And it will be so great for Zoe to have a horse to love and fuss over. Britt had always dreamed of that herself when she was a child, although it had never been within the realm of possibility. But here, it really was. Zoe had explained to her how the land behind their house led to trails that crisscrossed Mt. Glace. The foothills were heavily forested and not suitable for downhill skiing, but there were riding trails and it was a favorite area of hunters and riders and cross-country skiers. It was somewhere up there that Alec had taken Britt out on the snowmobile. At the time, she had refused to see the beauty of the land. She had been so determined to condemn Alec and his choices.

  But, now she had to admit that Alec and Greta had chosen this property well. It was surrounded by a splendid landscape and still accessible to town. Britt picked her way through the ruts and tire tracks filled with dirty snow in the direction of the old barn. Since she had time to kill, she figured she would take a look. That way, when Zoe called and told her about the horse and the barn he was stabled in, she’d have a mental picture of the whole thing. She knew where there was an equestrian store in Boston. Maybe she could buy Zoe some riding paraphernalia for Christmas this year. A check in the mail wouldn’t do anymore. This Christmas might require wrapped presents, and a visit.

  The thought made her heart feel lighter. They wouldn’t be moved back to this property by Christmas. But there was no harm in planning for the future. She looked inside the darkened barn through the crack in the doors. Enough light filtered through the ash-covered windows so that she could make out the outline of piles of hay on the floor. She pushed the door open a little ways and, saw, to her surprise, that there was a furry creature sitting there, facing her. A gray cat. The cat stared at Britt with its yellow, glittering gaze.

 
“Kirby?” Britt said. She couldn’t help feeling a little concerned. Vicki had seemed so determined to take the cat with her. She might have been cavalier about the baby, but she had seemed fiercely devoted to the cat. “What happened?” Britt tugged at the barn door which opened about a foot, and then got caught in a rut. Britt gazed in at the dumb creature. “Did you get left behind? Were you hiding or something? Well, that’s what you get for hiding from people.” She expected the cat to bound out through the opening, but it sat still where it was. “Come on,” said Britt, “get out of there. Come on, you dopey cat,” she said. She tried to pull the barn door open wider but it was stuck in the frozen tire tracks. I’ll have to lift it, she thought, and then, as she braced herself against the door to lift it free, something she had scarcely noticed before registered on her consciousness. Tire tracks? she thought.

  And at the same moment, the door rode over the tracks, swung open, and flooded the shadowy barn with weak gray light. Britt saw that a car was parked inside. Even in the gloom, its cherry-red finish seemed to glow.

  Britt stared at the car. There was no mistaking it. It was Vicki’s Toyota.

  Britt felt a strange unease looking at the car. What was it doing here? She thought Kevin said they’d left town. Britt could imagine Vicki leaving her baby, and even the cat. But the car? That car represented blood money to Vicki. There was no way she was going to leave without it. Besides, they had no other vehicle. No other way to leave.

  Even as she thought all these things, she was advancing slowly on the car, and there was a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. Why was it hidden here, in the Lynches’ barn? she thought. Her heart was beating a tattoo. She looked into the car, and though it was difficult to see inside, she could make out that it was empty. She walked around to the drivers side and opened the door. The overhead light went on and she could see clearly into the front and the back seats. There was no one in the car. It didn’t appear to be packed with stuff. It was simply parked.