The people at this school were all so nice, Dana felt uneasy about using them this way. If this was what Remy felt when he had been using her, was it any wonder why his gaze had often looked haunted?
Betty Hogan beamed as she paused at the doorway. “Ready?” she asked.
Dana nodded.
The principal strode into the library and clapped her hands for silence. The children who were grouped in a loose semicircle jostled shoulders as they looked up expectantly.
“Boys and girls,” she said, her tone immediately taking on the patented briskness that all school principals seemed to master as part of their job. “This afternoon we have a special visitor.”
Dana forced herself to relax as she listened to the introduction. It was the same as countless other times, in other schools and libraries and bookstores. This was the real payoff of her profession, meeting the children she wrote the stories for. This was how she filled the emptiness that her own lack of children had left in her life.
Only, this time it was different. She wasn’t thinking of the dozens of little faces that turned toward her. She was thinking of one particular girl with a fondness for cups with bunnies on them. She had never seen a photograph of Remy’s daughter, so she wasn’t sure whether she would be able to pick her out of the crowd, but there were many ways to discover which child she was. She could play a name game, or stage a draw for her books and make sure Chantal won. And after that…
The doubts she had tried to push to the back of her mind surged forward. What was she doing? This was her career, the most important thing in her life, and she was using it for what both she and Remy admitted was a long shot. Oh, God. She wasn’t a detective, she was a writer. What made her think she could interrogate a murder victim’s mother? She must be nuts, finally cracked up from the stress of her deadline and all the distractions that had been going on lately and—
Her gaze was snagged by a girl in the middle of the front row. Like the other children, she was sitting cross-legged, fidgeting restlessly as she waited for the story to start. She had black hair, but it wasn’t as deep a black as Remy’s—there were streaks of chestnut, almost auburn in it. Her features were delicate but weren’t really distinctive. Her small nose, her tilted chin and rounded cheeks carried no more than a suggestion of the face she would have as an adult. There was nothing Dana could put her finger on to have attracted her notice.
But then the girl smiled, and Dana couldn’t breathe. It was Remy’s smile, or rather it was how Remy’s smile must have looked before the world had taught him to hide it.
“Miss Whittington?”
With a start, Dana glanced at the principal. Everyone was waiting for her to be D. J. Whittington, to entertain them with the exploits of Mortimer Q. Morganbrood. Yet all she could think of was the dark-haired girl with the beautiful smile.
Her heart pounding, Dana sat in the chair that had been placed at the front of the library. Her usual routine would be to talk about Mortimer, chat with the children a while and then open up her latest book and read through the story.
This time she was going to take a different approach. “Who knows what a pirate is?” she asked.
A dozen hands shot up. “They wear black patches over their eyes,” said a boy with two missing front teeth. “And they have swords.”
“They have big ships,” someone else said.
“Yeah, and treasure.”
“They’re bad. They make you walk the plank and sharks’ll eat you.”
The last comment had come from a chubby blond girl in a striped sweater. Instead of contradicting her, Dana nodded. “Some pirates are pretty scary, all right,” she said. “But sometimes they have a good reason for the things they do. Let me tell you about the pirate mice that Mortimer meets.”
And so, instead of talking about a book the children might have already read, Dana spoke about the book she had yet to finish. The plot had taken so many unexpected twists, she wasn’t sure herself how it was going to end, but it seemed the most appropriate story to choose.
While she made sure to pay attention to as many children as she could, her awareness kept returning to the dark-haired girl at the front. She was no longer smiling. Her expression had taken on a touching seriousness as she listened to the story.
If this was Chantal, would she realize how the tale of the misunderstood mice paralleled Remy’s story? Was she wishing that she could turn to her friends, especially that chubby blond girl in the stripes, and say, “See? I knew it all along. My father isn’t really bad.”
The girl’s gaze met Dana’s, and the dark-brown depths glistened with a hint of sadness that no child that age should know.
Once again Dana had trouble drawing a breath. Logically, she couldn’t be sure who this was, but her instincts were becoming more certain by the minute. Her heart knew, and lately she was learning to listen to her heart. What else could explain this growing desire she felt to scoop the child into her arms and promise her everything was going to be all right? She wanted to tell her what a fine man her father was, and how he was strong and smart and decent, no matter what anyone else might say. She wanted to assure Remy’s daughter that she loved him and would do everything in her power to help him.
Whoa. Wait a minute. She loved him? Dana cleared her throat and reached for the glass of water the principal had placed near her chair. She was in front of a roomful of strange children. This was hardly the time or the place to have a revelation like that, was it? She was just getting used to the idea of believing in Remy. It was too soon to start considering the idea of love, wasn’t it?
But would there ever be a right time?
Would there be any time at all?
She chugged down the water and picked up some of the working illustrations she had brought with her to show the children. “This is the boat Mortimer builds to chase after the pirate mice,” she said, holding it up to make sure everyone saw it. “And here’s the leader of the mice.”
The dark-haired girl took one look at the dashing, mustachioed mouse and broke into a grin. “What’s his name?” she asked.
“John,” Dana decided. “His name’s going to be John.”
Remy was gripping the steering wheel so hard his fingers had gone numb. This was the riskiest thing he’d done since he’d made the decision to go over the fence in the exercise yard. He was courting disaster. A man alone in a truck, parked near a school, could appear suspicious, no matter who he was, and he couldn’t afford to draw unwelcome attention.
Yet he hadn’t considered letting Dana drive into town by herself today. It wasn’t entirely an issue of trust that had brought him with her. Most of it was need. If things didn’t work out the way he hoped—and at this point, it didn’t look as if they would—this might be his last opportunity to see his child.
His heart turned over as the door to the school pushed open. A trio of boys burst out and ran across the school yard, racing each other as they skidded across a patch of ice. A pair of minivans left the parking lot, blocking Remy’s view of the door for a moment. What if she hadn’t been at school today? What if she had caught a cold that evening at the park, or if her ear infection had flared up again?
A woman with a scarf around her head walked briskly past the truck toward the school. Remy didn’t need to see her face to recognize her. There was no mistaking that rigid posture, or the way her nose angled into the air. He’d seen her back view often enough when she’d been walking away from him. It was his mother-in-law, Marjory Haines.
Normally the sight of his mother-in-law wouldn’t make him smile. It did this time, since it meant Chantal must be here after all.
The double doors pushed open again. He saw a flash of red—Dana’s parka. She was being ushered outside by a group of children who were hanging on to her hands. Several clutched what appeared to be rolled sheets of paper, probably some of Dana’s sketches. She had said she was going to give some away, and she obviously had.
The activity around the doors took on
a slow-motion intensity as Remy’s gaze zeroed in on one of the children. She had a new coat, a pink one. Her hat was on crooked, her mittens had come off and were hanging by their strings, but she wore a wide grin as she clutched one of Dana’s sketches. She started toward Marjory, then spun around and ran back to say something to Dana.
For a moment Dana looked startled. Then she leaned over and pulled the child into a firm hug.
Remy’s throat swelled. He had known Chantal would be happy to meet Mortimer’s creator. He hadn’t counted on how seeing them together would hit him like a fist in the gut. Dana pressed her cheek against Chantal’s, her gaze darting toward the truck, and Remy knew the gesture had been for him.
He wished he could freeze the moment. He wished he could wrap them both in his arms and take them far, far away…
A cramp knifed through his rigid fingers. He whispered a curse and reminded himself once more of the reason Dana had come up with this plan. She was supposed to ingratiate herself with Sylvia’s mother, but it looked as if Marjory wasn’t cooperating. Moments later Marjory straightened Chantal’s hat, put her mittens on and took her hand to lead her away.
Remy held his breath as they walked by. They were so close, he could hear his daughter’s voice as she chattered about the new Mortimer story. But they were walking too quickly. Time had sped up once more. These few stolen glimpses couldn’t possibly be enough. What would happen if he turned his head, if he opened the door…
The passenger door swung open with a burst of cold air. Remy tensed, then exhaled harshly when he saw it was Dana. To his surprise she was smiling.
“Chantal is just as wonderful as you’ve always told me,” she said, slamming the door and clicking on her seat belt. “I knew who she was, even before I heard the teacher call her name. She’s so much like you, Remy.”
He looked in the rearview mirror, watching his daughter until she was out of sight. There was so much he wanted to say, to know, but where could he start? “Is she okay, Dana?” he asked finally.
“She’s fine. She liked the new story.”
“I thought she would.” He had to swallow hard before he could continue. “You hugged her.”
“I couldn’t help it. She looked like she needed one.”
“The kids all seemed to like you.”
“I like them. It’s the best part of my job.”
“Is that why you looked so pleased?”
“It’s more than that. She told me something just before she left.” She pried his hand off the steering wheel and chafed his fingers between hers. “Remy, Chantal said she wants to write a book when she grows up, just like her mother.”
“Her mother? Sylvia never wrote anything. She didn’t even like to read.”
“Chantal said she wrote a book. She wanted to show it to me.”
“Why would she say that? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Chantal doesn’t strike me as the type of child who would make something like that up.”
“No, she isn’t.” Remy frowned.
“Whatever it was, Sylvia’s mother changed the subject fast. She left before I could ask anything more about it.”
“She did seem to be in a hurry.”
Dana tugged on his hand until he turned to look at her. “There’s one kind of book that Chantal might have seen her mother write in.” She paused. “Remy, is it possible that Sylvia kept a diary?”
Chapter 13
“A diary,” Remy muttered, pacing across the lobby floor.
“It’s possible, though, isn’t it?” Dana asked. She closed the main door of the lodge and toed off her boots before she followed him. “Do you think Sylvia was the type to keep a diary?”
Remy stopped by the front desk, snatched off his hat and jammed it into his jacket pocket. “I never saw one.”
“From what I’ve learned about your late wife, she enjoyed secrets.”
“Yeah. Sneaking around gave her a thrill.”
“I suspect she kept many things secret from you,” Dana said carefully.
“You’re right.” He raked both hands through his hair distractedly. “A lover, a pregnancy, an abortion. What’s a diary compared to that?”
“I’m sorry if it hurts you, Remy, but we have to consider the possibility. It could be the break we need.”
He scowled. “If she kept a diary, if she wrote down the name of her lover, if she recorded something that could implicate him in her murder, and if we can get our hands on it, sure, it would be great.”
She checked the answering machine behind the desk, saw that there were no new messages, then stopped in front of Remy. She eyed his rumpled hair and reached to smooth it down. “Where do you think it would be?”
“If it had been in our house, it would have burned up in the fire.”
“I think it must still be around. Otherwise, why would Chantal know about it, and why would your mother-in-law be in such a hurry to change the subject?”
He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing an absentminded kiss to her knuckles. “Good point.”
Encouraged, Dana continued with her line of reasoning. “If you were right about Sylvia’s mother knowing about her affair and wanting to cover it up, then she’d be doing the same thing with the diary, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t have been able to bring herself to destroy it because it was her daughter’s, but she wouldn’t want to let anyone see it, either.” She paused to think. “Oh, but then how would Chantal know about it?”
“Chantal’s an active, curious five-year-old. She has some kind of built-in radar when it comes to the birthday and Christmas presents I would stash around the house. If her grandmother had tried to hide something, Chantal would have found it.”
“Then she might be able to get it for us. We could give it to the police and—”
“I’d sooner break into the Haines house and look for it myself.”
“Remy, no! That’s way too risky.”
“It was bad enough involving you. I don’t want to involve my daughter.”
“I can be subtle about asking for it. Or now that I’ve met Marjory Haines, I can invite myself to her house and try to distract her so I can snoop around—”
“Dana, for God’s sake, this isn’t one of your stories.” He tightened his grip on her fingers, squeezing almost to the point of pain. “Don’t you realize what you’re risking? If you’re caught in the act of helping me, there’s no way the police will believe you were forced. You could go to jail.”
“It worked out okay this afternoon.”
“You were lucky.”
“We were both lucky. I’m surprised no one reported you lurking around the school yard. You shouldn’t have insisted on coming with me.”
“I had to come.”
“Well, I have to help you.”
“The door’s still unlocked. You can walk away anytime.”
“What’s the matter with you?” she cried. “I told you I’m not leaving. Why can’t you believe that?”
He dropped her hand. “It’s not a matter of belief.”
“Sure it is. You want me to trust you, but you don’t want to trust me. You don’t want to trust anyone. Not really, not deep down inside where it matters.”
He didn’t respond. Silence fell between them, heavy with the echo of Dana’s words. She wanted to call them back. She wasn’t being fair. He had already demonstrated his trust by giving her the keys. What more did she want?
She wanted the impossible. She wanted his heart. She wanted him to love her the way she loved him.
There it was again. Love. For the second time today, the word just popped into her head from nowhere. First in a classroom, now in the cavernous entrance of a deserted lodge. Not exactly the romantic moment she might have dreamed of, was it?
Okay, so she was in love with Remy. Definitely, thoroughly, hopelessly in love. There. Now what? A dramatic declaration? A tender moment of sharing?
Oh, damn. He was right. This wasn’t one of her stories, and there wa
s no guarantee of a happy ending. Blinking hard, she spun around and headed for the stairs to continue her rounds of the lodge. She had just checked the bathroom in Derek’s top-floor suite when she heard Remy approach.
“Dana, I’m sorry,” he said. He stood in the bedroom doorway, his gaze steady on hers.
She waved her hand. “It’s okay. I’m just…stressed. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“I do trust you.”
She knew he was talking about matters of the law, not of love. “Sure. I know.”
“I appreciate your help.”
“Right.”
“I don’t want to argue.”
She started to brush past him to get to Derek’s living room. “We’re not arguing.”
“You’re angry with me,” he said, snagging her arm before she could go by.
“No, I’m angry with myself.”
“Why?”
Why? Because she had gone ahead and done something as stupid and hopeless as falling in love with a wanted criminal. “I should have tried harder to get information out of your mother-in-law,” she said, seizing on an excuse. “That would have made things simpler.”
He leaned back against the door frame and pulled her into his arms. “Dana, there is nothing simple about this entire situation.”
She sighed. “You’ve got that right.”
“Except for one thing.”
“What?”
He dipped his head, pushed aside her sweater with his nose and lightly bit the base of her neck.
She trembled at the reaction that pulsed through her veins. “Remy…”
He pressed a line of hot, moist kisses up her throat.
“We should finish checking the lodge.”
“We will.” He nibbled teasingly on her earlobe. “Later.”
She turned her head, breaking the contact. “Remy, we can’t do this here,” she said breathlessly.
He braced his legs and leaned back against the door frame, lifting her from the floor. “Why not? I thought about it, Dana. When I was staying here, I imagined how it would be.”
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