“I e-mailed him.”
Noah shook his head incredulously. Only Aaron would e-mail his son to tell him that he was married. He probably hadn’t bothered to inform him that he’d been half dead a month ago, either. Still, for the atypical family that they were, it was not strange behavior.
“You planning on being back in New York for that stockholder’s meeting?” Aaron asked.
“Yeah. Are you planning on weaseling out of it again?”
“Of course. Pomp and boardroom bull are your forte.” Aaron closed the laptop. “Any word on that Comoros Island deal?”
“I think we’re going to get the contract, but Salazar won’t work with Dalton or me. He told me he’d wait for you before he signs.”
Aaron frowned. “Meaning I’ll have to fly down there and hold the little rodent’s paw.”
“Better you than me, my man. I don’t have much tolerance for rodents. The seamier sorts all take a shine to you.” Noah moved toward the door and then hesitated. “Aaron, I realize this contract is important to you, but no need to jump on it right away. Salazar has waited this long, another week won’t hurt. You just got married and you and Val deserve some time together.”
When Aaron said nothing, Noah decided to take the man’s silent response as positive. At least he hadn’t brushed off the suggestion in his usual offhand way.
***
“Hello, is this…may I speak to Valerie Redmond?” an unfamiliar and very indecisive female voice said.
“You’re speaking to her,” Valerie said, trying to temper the sleep-hazed irritation in her tone. The caller sounded way too unprofessional to be heralding disaster, so she did not immediately react with alarm, even though it was almost midnight and she was in bed.
“I…I’m sorry if I caught you at a bad time. I mean, I tried to get you earlier, but I couldn’t. I know it’s late, but this is kind of important.”
Valerie sat up straight. The stranger on the other end definitely had her attention now. “What is it?”
“I’m a friend of…well, not really a friend, but related to Carolyn Allard. She asked me to call you, but I’ve been really reluctant to do so until now.”
The woman sounded as if she were either intoxicated or on the brink of tears. Valerie’s irritation and resentment levels rose, but she remained calm and continued to listen.
“You probably don’t know it…or don’t want to know that Carolyn has died. She hung herself in prison.”
A wave of vertigo swept Valerie, and she gripped the receiver tightly as the feeling gave way to confusion tinged with anger. “I’m sorry to hear that, but who are you and why are you telling me this?”
“Umm…my name is Martha Cates, and I’m the grandmother of Carolyn’s son, who is living with me.”
“Grandmother? Son? Mr. Allard never mentioned a grandson.”
“I don’t believe the old man knew about him, not that it would have mattered. But I’m telling you the truth. My grandson’s name is Brandon, and he’s eleven years old. Carolyn and my son were a couple when they were young. My son is…my son is in jail for life.”
Valerie took a deep breath. “Ms. Cates. I’m sorry about all this. Really, I am. But I still don’t see how any of this is my business.”
“I’m sorry. I understand how you feel, and I really didn’t want to call you but I had to. It was the last thing Carolyn asked of me. And…and maybe she would still be alive if I’d done it sooner. She told me that her grandfather left you some things that were supposed to be hers, including a large sum of money, and she needed those things for her son.”
“Oh, I get it now. Of course this is about money. Why didn’t Carolyn’s grandfather know about the boy?”
“Carolyn said she never told him because he wouldn’t accept him. You see, Ms. Redmond, we’re African-American, which makes Brandon biracial. Carolyn told me that her grandfather was a racist.”
“That can’t possibly be true,” Valerie said, her voice rising. “I’m African- American, too, and I knew Mr. Allard for a few years. He never once gave me such an impression. Sure, he was solid conservative when it came to politics and…” She stopped. Why was she defending Mr. Allard to a complete stranger who could very well be lying? The whole story didn’t sound kosher. “Listen, Ms. Cates. You need to understand that I cannot have this conversation now. If you give me your number, maybe I will call you sometime tomorrow.”
The moment of silence on the line indicated that the woman was disappointed, but she did give a number and an address.
Valerie scribbled the number and address down on a notepad. “Thank you. If I don’t call you, do not call me again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, but—”
Valerie put the receiver down quietly. Oddly enough, she did not feel threatened by the intrusion, just disturbed and saddened…saddened over Carolyn’s death and all the events and bad choices that had led to it.
Aaron was coming home to her place tomorrow, and she wondered if she should call him in Belize and tell him what had happened. After toying with the idea for a while, she decided that it could wait.
***
In the morning, after checking and responding to most of her backlogged phone messages, Valerie stared at the notepad where she had written down the information about Martha Cates. She had decided that she would not call her, but already her admittedly morbid interest in the tragic case of Carolyn Allard was out of control and her finger was itching to key in the number. It also didn’t help that she still had no real idea what to do with the money that was stashed away in a safe at Jasmine’s fortress home.
Valerie shoved the notepad aside. Right now there were plenty of other things to do, and her husband was her priority. She pulled on a thick down coat and stepped out into the frosty February air to take a trip to the supermarket because Aaron had said he would meet her at her apartment in the evening. He had given her the keys to his penthouse in Manhattan, but he was aware of her dislike for the city and hadn’t insisted that they stay there.
She wondered exactly what locality they would eventually call home. She did know for certain that she wanted the house to be in the New York/New Jersey metropolitan area, maybe not far from Jasmine and Noah. Whatever the case, it was comforting to know that money would not be an issue.
While meandering down brightly lit produce aisles and dodging other shoppers with loaded carts—not one of her favorite ways to spend a morning—she realized that she didn’t even know what Aaron’s favorite foods were. Why hadn’t she asked him last night over the phone? Here she was married to the love of her life and left with only her imagination to figure out what would appeal to him. Well, she did at least know that he liked beer. As for brand, she was clueless because they didn’t sell the same type as in Belize, so she selected a German import because she liked the design of the bottle.
After purchasing enough to feed a small nation, she returned home and immediately set to work making pot roast, potatoes, vegetables, and a salad so the meal would be ready and she could heat it up in the microwave. She had decided to give her husband a break this time, but later she hoped to be able to cajole him into a healthier diet, meaning no red meat.
At noon, she took the fifteen-minute ride to Teaneck for an impromptu visit with her aunt, hoping to catch her alone. Aunt Marilyn had long since remarried after her divorce from Denise’s no-count gambling-addicted father. Frank, her current husband, was a calm, amiable sort who had no destructive vices.
“Valerie, I’m glad you’re back. How was your vacation?” Aunt Marilyn asked, hugging her the minute she stepped into the living room. “Frank’s working and Denise is away.”
“My vacation was great,” Valerie said, secretly pleased that her cousin wasn’t home and aware that her aunt knew zilch about the circumstances surrounding that vacation and very little about Aaron.
Marilyn was what most people would call a handsome woman who bore no resemblance to her daintily pretty sister Ruth Ann. In fact, anyone seeing them together wou
ld never think they were even related. Marilyn was much taller, browner skinned, and fuller bodied. If anything, Valerie thought she resembled her aunt more than she did her own fragile mother.
As they sat sipping tea in the sunny kitchen of the modest split-level home, Valerie let her aunt do most of the talking. Most of the conversation was about going-ons in the church and Denise and her so-called plans for a wedding.
“So, are you still intending to stay with private practice, or are you going back to the hospital to work?” her aunt asked.
“I definitely won’t be going back to work for any hospital,” Valerie said slowly. “Private duty is less restrictive. Actually, I may not have to work ever again, but I’ll probably choose to.”
Aunt Marilyn clinked her spoon in her teacup. “Surely you can’t be serious. You’re much too young to retire.”
And at that point, Valerie informed her aunt that she was married. Aunt Marilyn reacted with surprise, of course, but she had learned that she couldn’t control her own daughter, let alone her niece, who’d always had a sound mind and usually knew what she was doing. She told Valerie that Aaron sounded like a real catch and that she was happy for her and couldn’t wait to meet him.
After leaving her aunt, she went to the nursing home to visit her mother, insuring that she and Aaron would have the whole evening uninterrupted.
As she got out of the car, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck against the arctic air, she had the strange feeling that she was being watched. Puzzled, she looked around, but nothing seemed unusual. She shrugged off the feeling and entered the building through the wide-swinging automatic doors.
Once on the third floor—the one she referred to as The Twilight Zone—she settled down for another dead-end conversation with Ruth Ann, who wasn’t knitting this time but sitting in the solarium with two other women. One was muttering to herself, and the other seemed to be staring in a stupor at the large screen TV where a talk show host was cheerfully introducing her next guest.
Valerie had been sitting there for almost an hour when there was a tap on the open door. Expecting to see an aide, she gave a start when she saw Aaron framed in the doorway. Dressed in a belted black leather jacket and black pants, he appeared as tall and impressive as ever.
“Aaron,” she exclaimed, the shrill timbre of her own voice surprising her as she rose immediately and went to him. They embraced, she without reserve and he in his cool way. She sensed by his quick release that her husband was not too keen on public displays of affection.
“Mother, this is Aaron, my—”
Valerie stopped in mid-sentence because her mother had turned away from the TV and was actually getting out of her chair. Not only was she getting out of the chair, but also her eyes were alive and gleaming. “Joel!” she cried. “Joel, where have you been?”
“Mother,” Valerie said, mortified at what was transpiring. Until now, her mother had never, ever mistaken any male visitor for her husband. In fact, since she’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she had never even mentioned his name. “Mother, that’s not Joel, that’s my husband, Aaron.”
“I’ve got so much to tell you,” Ruth Ann blabbered on obliviously, addressing Aaron as though Valerie were invisible. “Come talk to me.”
“Valerie,” Aaron said patting her shoulder, his voice tight and controlled, “it’s all right.” He embraced her mother quickly. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Redmond,” he said, and then guided her carefully back to her chair as one would a toddling child. When she was seated, he knelt to her level.
“My name is Aaron. Valerie and I were married two weeks ago.”
“I have to tell you about Valree,” Ruth Ann said. “You must talk to her. She’s liking this white boy, and you know she’s way too young and that boy doesn’t care about her. He’s only going to make a fool out of her and throw her away.”
Valerie wished the floor would open up and swallow her. Never had she imagined that her mother would behave in such a way. She had expected the usual vacant expression and lethargic apathy, but this was a most humiliating and embarrassing first introduction.
“Aaron, please don’t humor her. She’s babbling. She’s way back in the past and she thinks you’re my father.”
“I know,” Aaron said quietly, but he didn’t move from Ruth’s side.
“I’ll speak to Valerie about it,” he said. “I’ll do everything in my power to protect her. Is there anything else?”
“Tell Greg not to be angry at me. Try to make him understand.”
“I’ll tell him.” Aaron squeezed her hand lightly and stood up. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Please come back,” Ruth Ann said.
“I will. I promise.”
Aaron nodded at Valerie. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
Chapter 15
“I didn’t expect you until later,” Valerie said as they stood in the parking lot of the nursing home.
“I decided to catch an earlier flight. I was in Manhattan pretty much all morning.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
“I had business to take care of. Anyway, I’m here now.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Aaron walked her slowly to her car. “Took a wild guess. I went to your place first, and when you weren’t there, I assumed you’d probably be visiting your mother.”
Valerie flinched without even realizing it. “Welcome to Friedland Manor and Ruth Ann’s world. I’m sorry for that display. Imagine her thinking that you’re my dead father. You don’t even look anything like him. If…”
“Stop apologizing. It’s nothing to get upset about. You told me ahead of time what her condition was.”
“I know.” Valerie sighed. “I’m overreacting. I suppose I wasn’t prepared for your first meeting with her to be like that.”
As he opened her car door, a slight twinkle appeared in his eyes—his dark eyes. He was wearing the black contact lenses again. “Are you going to tell me who the white boy was?”
“We were both twelve and that’s not funny,” Valerie said, kissing him and then sliding into the driver’s seat.
“I’m not letting you off the hook,” Aaron said, charming her with a rakish wink. “When we get to your apartment, you will tell me.”
“Or else?”
“Or else you’ll be sleeping alone.”
“I’ve done that for the past ten or so years. Another day won’t hurt.”
He stepped back as she closed the door. She didn’t turn the key in the ignition, but watched him not just walk, but stalk to his car—a sleek, black Lexus. The man’s movements were silent, swift, lethal, and sexy, and he was now in her territory, coming to her apartment. How cool was that? Smiling sappily, she was jolted from her hypnotic state when she realized that he was waiting for her to back her car out first.
When they finally stood at the doorway of her apartment, Valerie good-naturedly elbowed Aaron in the side. “Well, aren’t you going to carry me over the threshold?”
“No. This isn’t our home and that’s a ridiculous tradition.”
She laughed. “In that case, maybe I should carry you, since I have nothing against ridiculous traditions.”
Apparently Aaron didn’t find her remark particularly funny because he followed her inside with a blank expression on his face—blank perhaps to the eyes of someone who didn’t know him. He was casing the surroundings and wasn’t missing a thing, not even the dust mote settling on the end table.
After they hung up their coats, and she showed him around in what took roughly five seconds, he washed his hands, went to the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator, selecting—no surprise at all—a bottle of beer.
Valerie wished Aaron would make some comment about her humble but cozy little apartment, yet she did not feel miffed that he didn’t. She had adjusted enough to his persona to realize that she would be foolish to take offense with a man who always used words sparingly and mostly reserved those few for impor
tant issues, not gentility and social etiquette.
“Supper will be ready in a couple of minutes,” she told him. “I hope you haven’t eaten already.”
“No. I haven’t.”
He didn’t even bother to ask what she was serving. He pulled a chair up to the table and sat, picking up a newspaper that she’d abandoned there. She shrugged and busied herself attending to the microwave while at the same time inhaling the subtle, wonderful scent of his cologne, which reminded her of something far more sensual than food. This is so bizarre, she thought. Yes, she had gotten used to him in Belize, but here in this tiny kitchen in her own familiar environment, his presence seemed so foreign, exotic, and surreal.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, noting that he was much cleaner shaven than she’d been accustomed to and that he wore a black crew-necked sweater, black slacks, black shoes. Was that the only color in his wardrobe?
The microwave pinged and she painstakingly filled two plates and set one before him, resisting the urge to laugh because Aaron barely looked at it. He shoved the paper to the side as she handed him a knife and a fork. After seating herself, she conspicuously made a show of saying a quick blessing over the food, ignoring his shark-eyed stare. Then they ate in silence.
Well, he’s eating. And he’s not complaining, so I guess my cooking isn’t too appalling. She’d never been much of a gourmet, but it was a relief to know that she wasn’t the worst cook around. Still, it would have been nice to hear a compliment.
“Anything interesting happen since you’ve been back?” Aaron asked, still focusing on what was left of the meal.
“No. Things are pretty much the same.” She suddenly remembered the phone call from Martha Cates. “Actually, something did happen.”
“Tell me.”
Of course she had his undivided attention now as she told him the whole story about the midnight caller and the fate of Carolyn Allard.
“Why didn’t you call and tell me this last night?” he asked, a tinge of annoyance in his tone.
“It was late and you’re hard to reach,” she said, sounding defensive and feeling slightly stupid.
The Sea of Aaron Page 13