A moment of confusion cracked the smile on the young woman’s face, then she recovered. “Oh, I don’t think he’s in just now, but let me check with his secretary.” She reached out to press a button on the console in front of her, then spoke in a low voice into the mouthpiece of the headset she was wearing. The only words Thea caught were “says she’s an old friend,” but the way they were delivered made it sound as if Thea was trying to put one over on them.
Drawing closer to the half wall, Thea drummed her fingers on the surface of the counter.
The young woman frowned at her momentarily and then pasted another simpering smile back on her face. “I’m very sorry, but Mr. Collins isn’t in the office at present. Would you like to leave your—”
“Never mind.” Thea turned abruptly and crossed to the entrance. Outside, she hesitated. Her next move would have to be an attempt to storm the gates of the country club in search of Whit. Then, hearing a car, she turned to see a big black Mercedes pull into the lot and park in the spot bearing his name.
Swooping down the steps, Thea was at the driver’s door before he’d had a chance to turn off the engine. With her fingernails, she tapped on the glass. Whit’s head spun around, clearly startled, and he stared up at her.
Twirling her finger, she indicated he should lower the window.
There was an electronic whirring sound and the window descended halfway. Whit’s brows were crimped together. “Who are—?”
“I’m sure you don’t remember me,” Thea broke in. “Dot Linley. I go by Thea Browne now. I have to talk to you.”
The window came down the rest of the way. “Oh, my God, Dot—er, Thea!” His face broke out in a broad grin. “Hey, it’s great to see you!”
If she hadn’t known it was Whit, Thea would have been shocked to realize that she might have passed him on the street without recognizing him. Gone were the boyish good looks that had once captivated her—and half the girls in her class—and in their place was the face of a middle-aged man. His baby blues were not quite as bright, his once auburn hair was now mostly gray, but as he smiled up at her there was that flash of charm, that charge of electricity. Whoa, girl, let’s not go there!
“Whit,” she said, bringing herself up sharply, “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. I’m here to find out what you saw the day my stepfather went over the cliff.”
The smile slid from his face. “I know. I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised you’re here.”
“What can you tell me?”
Whit looked past her to the red-brick building. “Why don’t you get in my car,” he said. “It’s warmer in here. You’re probably not used to the cold, being from California and all.”
“I’m fine, Whit. Really. Just tell me what you saw.”
He lowered his head for a moment, then raised it to meet Thea’s gaze. “I’d prefer it if you got in my car. Please.”
She glanced back over her shoulder and spotted a couple of faces at the mullioned windows. Aha! Whit wasn’t being mysterious; he just didn’t want everyone at his company knowing his business. “All right,” she relented. “If that’s what you want.” She walked around to the passenger side. By the time she got to the door he had opened it for her, so she slid in across the leather seat and shut it behind her. She felt ill at ease sitting in his car like this, almost like a teenage girl on her first date. She didn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands.
“How’s your mom?” Whit asked. His voice was gentle, kind even, but there was a strange, seductive quality to it as well. Or was she just imagining that?
“Oh, she’s in and out,” Thea said. “Most of the time I think she knows who I am. I’m not sure she realizes what happened to George.”
Whit was silent for a moment, seeming to absorb this. “That must be very hard on you,” he said with some kind of odd intonation that Thea couldn’t figure out.
Then he turned his body toward her and put his gloved hand on the gear shift as if to steady himself. No, it wasn’t her imagination. There it was again: a sexy, smoldering quality to his voice. Was he doing that on purpose? Maybe that was just the way he dealt with women.
“I’m managing,” she said, letting her tone convey to him that this was not the subject she had sought him out for. She turned her face toward him and held his eyes with her own. “Can you tell me what you saw that day?”
Whit’s gaze wavered, then he lowered it. “I saw...two people. They were pretty far off, but they were by the overlook. I could tell one of them was a woman...” His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath. As his eyes came up to meet Thea’s they were filled with pain.
She tensed. “You didn’t recognize them?”
“No, they were pretty far away, and you have to understand that I wasn’t looking at them that much. It was so windy and I didn’t really want to be out there, but—” he let out a sigh, “but my dad wanted to walk and I went with him.”
Thea unclenched her jaw enough to get the words out. “What did you see after you saw the two figures?”
Whit lowered his gaze again. “I didn’t see anything. When I looked again there was only one person at the overlook—I thought it was the woman, but I couldn’t be sure—and she appeared to be walking away toward the parking lot. I kind of wondered what happened to the man, but I just figured he had gone ahead of her and I couldn’t see him. There’re some bushes near the path there—”
“Wait!” she interrupted him, unconsciously reaching out to touch his gloved hand. “You mean you didn’t see her push him?”
Whit stared at her. “No. Where did you ever get the idea that I did?”
She pulled her hand back. “From all the rumors that are flying around town, that’s where!”
A puzzled look crossed his face. “I never told anybody that I saw your mother push George. Never.”
She frowned. “Then what did you say?”
“Just exactly what I told you now. We were too far away to really see anything besides a couple of figures standing by the overlook and it was so damn windy my dad and I both had our heads down and we were fighting to keep our balance. We were only out there for a few minutes; I made my dad turn around and go home.”
“You never saw anybody else there?”
“No.” He hesitated before sending a speculative glance at Thea. “Unless...”
“Unless what?”
“There’s that stone monument at the overlook, you know. It’s big enough to hide somebody standing behind it.”
“Are you saying that you saw somebody there?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see anybody, it’s just...”
“What?”
“It’s just an impression, but now that I think of it there was something about the way the man and woman were standing.” He frowned. “It was their body language. As if they were looking at someone standing behind the monument.”
She jumped on this. “You mean they were talking to someone standing there?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Whit shrugged. “It could have been a stranger. Some weirdo or a homeless guy just hanging around out there. Maybe George told him to move along or something and he got angry.” He looked to Thea for her reaction to this theory.
“A stranger.” Thea fell silent for a moment. “I never thought of that.”
“Really? What did you think?”
“That maybe it was one of George’s political enemies, somebody he went there to meet that day. There was an argument and...” She left the last words unsaid.
“Huh. Well, I guess that could be, too. George did have a few people around town that he didn’t see eye to eye with. Whether or not you could call them ‘enemies,’ well, I’m not so sure.”
“What about your dad?”
“What about him?” There was a defensive note in Whit’s tone.
“Maybe he saw something you didn’t. Could I talk to him?”
“I don’t know. I’ll ask him, okay?”
“Oka
y.” She sank back in the seat, sorting through what she had just learned. Could it have been a stranger who pushed George to his death? Or maybe there really was nobody else there and it had been an accident, as everyone had originally thought. Or was it possible that he had lost his balance in the wind? Then what about the handprints on his chest? Could Mother have left the prints there as she tried to pull George back from the edge?
“Does this help you?” Whit asked. Thea got the impression he was doing his best to make his voice sound full of compassion.
She wasn’t buying his concern. More confused than ever, she reached for the door handle. “Damned if I know.” Avoiding his gaze, she slipped across the leather seat and out of his car.
CHAPTER 10
Thea could see Whit in her rearview mirror as she drove out of the Collins parking lot. He was standing by his car, staring after her, his expression unreadable, closed off. It was an expression she was getting used to in this town.
Her intention had been to go straight back to the house where she knew Beryl would be waiting for her. Impatiently, no doubt. Instead, she turned the wheel in the opposite direction, but it was only when she found herself making the turn onto Rivercliffs Boulevard that she realized her subconscious was guiding her to the place she really needed to see with her own eyes.
The entrance to the park was only blocks away. Rivercliffs Park had been a fixture when she was growing up, but the walking path wasn’t built until after she’d left town. On one of her last visits home while her dad was still alive, she had gone with him for an extended bike ride along the path. She was astounded that her stuck-in-the-1950s hometown had the vision to build such a forward-thinking site for its citizens.
Today, unlike the day George died, quite a few of those citizens were out jogging, walking, and rollerblading along the path. It was still a chilly March day but there was no wind to speak of, and the sun was warm enough to bask in.
Wishing she had worn her sturdy walking shoes instead of her Ferragamo loafers, she set out along the path to the overlook. She started out with her coat buttoned up all the way, but after a couple of minutes she undid the two top buttons and removed her leather gloves.
When Thea reached the overlook, she was glad to see she had the place to herself. She wanted a quiet moment as she contemplated the enormity of the tragedy that had befallen her family in this spot.
Bunches of wilted, faded flowers and a few candles had been placed by the guardrail, and Thea realized that someone, perhaps George’s friends or possibly even strangers, had fashioned a makeshift monument for him. She had to wipe her eyes as she stood staring down at the sad little souvenirs that marked the spot where her stepfather had fallen.
Leaning against the guardrail, Thea strained to see over the edge of the rocky cliff, but the hip-high rail prevented her from seeing down to the rocks and the river below. Still, she had to see the spot where George had fallen. She knew it was precarious, but it was still something she felt she had to do.
Hiking up her coat, she poised herself on the top rail and swung her legs over. It was only a few feet to the edge, but she knew she had to step cautiously. The rocky surface was smooth and slippery, and one false step could pitch her over the edge
Tucking her coat underneath her, she dropped into a squat and used her hands to give her four-point balance. Only then did she dare peer out over the edge to the rocks below. Adrenaline flooded her body, making her heart pound.
Thirty—or maybe even forty—feet down was a pile of rocks and a couple of larger boulders that must have fallen from the crag above sometime in the past. There were no marks, no traces of blood that she could see, but Thea was certain this was the very spot where George had died.
“Bless you, George,” she whispered. “Wherever you are. I miss you so.”
Her hope was that he had died instantly. She hated to think of him lying down there, staring up at the cliff and the sky above it as his life ebbed away.
She pulled back from the edge and remained crouched, taking slow, cautious steps across to the guardrail, and hoisted herself over.
Thea was immediately startled to see a bearded man in a wool cap and a jogging outfit standing on the path near the monument. How long had he been there? His chest was rising and falling in a rapid but steady cadence and he was staring at her.
“Are you okay?” he called out.
She waved him away. “I’m fine.”
He took a couple of tentative steps toward her. “Are you sure? You know, you’d better be careful. A man died in this very spot a few days ago.”
“I know,” she said, wishing he would go away.
“What were—?”
“He was my stepfather!” Maybe that would cut off any further conversation.
“Oh, my God.” The man pulled off his cap in what looked like a gesture of respect. “I knew him. George Prentice. We were on a couple of committees together.” He extended his hand to Thea. “Bob Rutledge. I’m so sorry about George.” He was smiling at her in that polite-but-pained way she’d seen too much of lately.
She was forced to shake his hand. “Thea Browne. Did you know George well?”
The smile seemed to freeze in place. “Well, we weren’t close friends or anything. But like I said, we traveled in the same circles. It was a great loss to this town.” He hesitated, as if he were uncertain as to what else he should say in this situation.
“Well, thanks for telling me that,” she said, hoping her tone conveyed that he had done his duty and she really didn’t expect any more out of him.
He started to put his cap back on over his gray hair, but hesitated. “What were you doing out there?” His gun-metal eyes reflected worry. “Paying your respects?”
She realized he was reluctant to go because he was uncertain as to her motives. “Yes,” she said. “I needed to see it for myself.”
He nodded, squinting at her. “You know, you shouldn’t have gone out there alone. There’s been some erosion on these cliffs and the footing is really treacherous.”
“Erosion, huh?” She glanced back at the cliff’s edge.
“In fact, that’s probably what happened to George,” he volunteered, “but I don’t understand why the guardrail didn’t save him.”
“Gee, I guess you don’t pay much attention to gossip.” She didn’t bother to hide the bitterness in her voice. “The police think my mother pushed him.”
He blanched. “What?”
She felt bad that she had shocked this perfectly nice man who had simply stopped to help her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “She’s got Alzheimer’s and has temper tantrums. The police think she pushed him over the edge when she was in a snit.”
He cocked his head at her. “Look, I know something about Alzheimer’s—my uncle died from it—and that doesn’t sound like anything I saw him do.” He pointed toward the cliff. “It must have been an accident. George lost his balance somehow.”
“I wish that were true,” she said with a wistful sigh, thinking about the two marks on George’s chest.
A look of puzzlement crossed his rugged features, but Thea didn’t want to explain. “Look, Mr. Rutledge, thank you very much for stopping. I wasn’t going to jump, you know.”
He started to shake his head, but that was clearly what he had been thinking. He muttered something that she couldn’t quite make out, but was suddenly eager to get out of there. “Thanks again,” she said, slipping past him and walking rapidly away.
It was only after she’d gone about thirty steps that she realized she’d missed a golden opportunity. She should have asked Bob Rutledge if he’d been out there jogging on the day George died and what, if anything, he might have seen. Turning around, she looked for him, but he was already well down the path, running at a pace that was much too fast for her to catch up with him.
When Thea returned home she found Beryl lying on the sofa in the den. Mother was asleep in the recliner, snoring. The TV was on, but the sound was off. Beryl had a Vogue mag
azine propped up in front of her, but her eyes were glazed over and she appeared to be lost in her thoughts. Thea took advantage of the moment to observe her sister. She looked tired, drained even, and Thea realized that as much as Beryl put up a good front, she was probably worried sick about Mother.
There was a three-year age difference between the two sisters and an even larger gulf of personality. Thea was quiet, deliberate, and not inclined to care a lot about other people’s opinions of her; Beryl, on the other hand, for all her brashness, was ruled by the Midwestern laws of decorum. It really mattered to her what the neighbors thought.
Like her girlhood role model, Elizabeth Taylor, every man Beryl went to bed with she ended up marrying. Although, now that Thea thought about it, maybe one or two hadn’t quite made it to the altar. Each husband had been increasingly wealthy; this last one, Roger, was a multi-millionaire. But as the money had gone up exponentially, so had Beryl’s unhappiness. Thea had watched her change from a lovely, blushing, twenty-something bride in her first marriage to an embittered harpy in this most recent one.
Thea cleared her throat, and Beryl’s eyes darted to her. “Oh, thank God, you’re back,” she muttered.
“Why? Did something happen?”
Beryl sat up, her chunky gold bracelets clinking together, and put the magazine on the coffee table. She kept her voice down, “No, nothing worse than usual.” Her eyes searched Thea’s face. “Did you find Whit?”
“Yes.”
A flash of irritation in her eyes. “Well? What did he say?”
Slipping off her coat, Thea plopped down on the couch. “Not what Betty and Veronica told you.”
Beryl blinked at her. “What do you mean?”
Thea gave her the blow-by-blow account.
When she was finished, Beryl dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Oh, my God.”
“What’s the matter with you, Bear? He didn’t see Mother push George, don’t you understand?”
Giving her a scornful look, Beryl said, “No, it’s worse. Much worse. Everybody in town has heard it by now. They all believe it’s true, so nobody will ever believe that it didn’t happen that way.”
What Has Mother Done? Page 7