by White, Karen
Gracie shoved an entire praline into her mouth and then, being careful not to spit too many crumbs, asked, “May I please be excused?”
Jillian nodded, and Gracie leapt up, but first whispered something to Janie, who took Baby out of her pouch and handed her to Gracie.
“I want to show Baby my room.”
All three ladies at the table watched Gracie run from the room. Lessie turned, knowing eyes on Jillian. “She’s a sweet child. I hope none of this business with the body in the tunnel has upset her.”
“Actually, her father—my ex-husband—has volunteered to stay for a week to get Gracie away from all this. I took her out of school, too. Even in first grade, I’m sure the children will have heard something, and I don’t want Gracie to be upset. She’s . . . sensitive.” She took another drink of iced tea, grimacing as a large ice cube hit her front teeth. “I just wish I knew how the news traveled so fast. I’ve had reporters calling me from the Savannah Times-Courier and even the Atlanta Journal-Constitution.”
“Well, actually”—Lessie sent her an apologetic smile—“my room-mate from Agnes-Scott is a staff writer for the AJC and, um, I might have mentioned the story to her when we spoke last.”
Jillian stood to go get Ford out of the swing. It was nearing his nap time and he was starting to fuss. “Well, thanks, Lessie. Then I’ll let you return all the phone calls, okay? Only forty-eight today, but there were fifty-six yesterday. Have fun.”
Janie approached her, her arms outstretched. “Can I hold Ford? I’m really good with babies.”
Jillian stared into the soft brown eyes turned up at her with expectance, and nodded. Carefully, she handed the baby to Janie and watched her sit down with him, her small, girlish hand patting him on the back.
Janie rubbed her cheek against the top of Ford’s head, a small smile playing at her lips. “He smells so good. I remember that smell. It’s like cotton candy and angels, and it makes you never want to let go.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I did, you know. But only because they made me and said I wasn’t smart enough. Sometimes you really do know what’s best for your baby, and you have to fight for them.” Opening her eyes, she drew a deep breath. “I think when that happens is when you become a real mama. It’s like earning a badge.” She giggled and then slapped her hand over her mouth when Ford stirred, his eyes opening drunkenly for a brief moment before closing again.
Lessie leaned forward and patted Janie on the hand. “I think you’re right, Miss Janie. And my mama, with all eight of us kids, would have a suit of patches covering her from head to toe. She’d look funny in it, but I guarantee she’d want to wear it every day.”
Jillian and Lessie laughed, easily picturing Martha Weber in her suit of motherhood patches, but Jillian noticed how Janie’s eyes seemed to glaze over and get teary. Jillian pushed the pralines over to her and put her arms out for the baby.
“I’m going to go put him up in his crib. I’ll be right back.” She took Ford, then watched as Janie picked up a praline and began nibbling it all around the edges, just like Gracie did, the crumbs going everywhere. With a bewildered glance at Lessie, she excused herself and left the room.
She had just finished closing Ford’s door when she heard another knock on the front door. Jogging down the stairs, she peered through the side windows, then hid her disappointment behind her smile. For one brief moment, she’d hoped it was Linc. They hadn’t spoken since their argument out on the beach. Her emotions seemed to be swinging along a clock, stopping at regular intervals on anger, remorse, reconciliation and disbelief. Several times, while stuck in the hour of reconciliation, she’d picked up the phone to call him, but had stopped before she’d dialed the last number. She had a Key lime pie in the refrigerator she’d made for him at two o’clock in the morning. She had carried it halfway to his house at the break of dawn, before coming to her senses and turning back.
Opening the door to Mason, she smiled and greeted him warmly. “I’m glad you stopped by. I made you some crab cakes. They’re in the refrigerator, and all you have to do is reheat them. . . .”
She let her voice trail away when she noticed the grim expression he wore. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, Jillian. I have some news for you, and I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”
“Come in,” she said, motioning him past her and watching as Janie entered the hallway and then began making her way up the steps. “Lessie is in the kitchen and Janie and Gracie are upstairs, so if you don’t want them to hear, you’d best tell me now.”
“You might want to sit down.”
“I’m fine,” she said, wishing everybody would stop treating her as if she were a lone sea oat on a windy dune. She’d learned over the years that bending in the wind kept you from breaking in half. “Tell me.”
He pursed his lips. “Dental records taken from Dr. Nordone’s office were a match. We can now positively identify the body in the tunnel as that of Lauren Mills.”
Jillian clenched her jaw, softening the blow. She’d known the truth already, but hearing the verification of it was like going to the same funeral twice. It still hurt.
“Have you located her parents yet?”
“Not yet. We’re still trying.” He looked somberly into her eyes. “There’s more, but I really think you should be sitting down before I tell you.”
She knew he was only being kind, but she wanted to push him away, to make him leave. “No, just tell me.”
He paused for a moment, his head nodding slightly to an unheard beat. “We also found the remains of an infant. Looks to be almost full-term—as far as the medical examiner can determine with what was left.”
She sat down hard on the bottom step and put her head in her hands, hearing Lauren’s voice again from that long-ago summer. None of my bathing suits fit me anymore. I’ve gained some weight. “I wasn’t expecting that. Oh, God. No, I wasn’t.” She took several deep breaths before looking back up at Mason. “The baby—how did it die?”
“So much of the physical evidence is gone that it will be almost impossible to come to a definite conclusion. There’s a chance that it could have been expelled postmortem from Lauren’s body.”
She didn’t ask him to elaborate. Resting her elbows on her thighs, she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Poor Lauren. Poor, poor Lauren.” The tears were warm and wet in her palm.
Mason squatted in front of her. “Look, Jillian, this casts a strong light of guilt on Linc. They were seeing each other before her death. I know she broke it off with him, and he was upset. Considering she had no other enemies, that’s a pretty strong motive. Especially if she was pregnant.” He paused, as if to let his words resonate in her brain. “You might be in danger. Do you understand that?”
She shook her head several times, not even able to put her objections into words. “No,” was all she managed.
He stood, brushing imaginary lint from his uniform pants. “Without a confession, we don’t have enough to hold him—for now. But I wanted you to know that he’s our number one suspect, and you need to be careful.”
Jillian clenched her eyes, seeing in her mind’s eye Linc and Lauren dancing in the sand. “No,” she said again, her voice sure.
She felt Mason’s hand on her shoulder. “I want you to think about moving you and the children over to my mama’s. She’s extended the invitation to you, if you think you’d feel safer. But it’s up to you—you just let her know. And I strongly encourage you to take her up on her offer.”
He let his hand fall from her shoulder and stepped away toward the door and avoided looking at her. “One more thing. Your father called my office. He was looking for my daddy and got me instead. He said he’s been trying to reach you for several days but keeps getting your answering machine. He saw the story about Lauren in the Atlanta paper. Said he thinks Linc’s guilty and is also concerned about your safety. He and your mama are on their way to Pawleys. Should be here by tomorrow.”
Jillian rested her hands on
her drawn-up knees and stared at the familiar blunt fingers and her grandmother’s ring, finding the strength there to continue to breathe in and then breathe out.
She stood. “They won’t be staying here. If they find you first, direct them to the Pelican Inn.”
He nodded, and she knew he understood.
“And I have a lot more to fear from them than I ever would from Linc.” She leaned against the banister, the solid oak newel post digging into her back and keeping her grounded.
Anger flashed across Mason’s face. “How can you be so sure of him? All of the evidence is against him, but you don’t seem to have any doubts. Why, Jillian? After all this time, why?”
She moved away from the newel post and fingered her grandmother’s ring, feeling it warm beneath her touch. “I’m not sure. I just think that long ago I figured the best way to get through life was to find something to believe in. It’s like the new star I look for every night. It keeps me believing in possibilities.”
Mason regarded her silently for a moment. “That’s either the smartest thing I’ve ever heard or the dumbest. Either way, I hope you’re right—for your sake. Otherwise, I wouldn’t give a damn if Linc Rising rotted away in jail for the rest of his God-given life.”
He pushed open the door, but she grabbed his arm. “Mason, wait. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that things couldn’t work out with us. But see, even when we were younger, you never had enough faith in me. You thought you could be my salvation—just like my ex-husband did. But neither one of you believed that I was strong enough to survive on my own.” She shrugged, not really knowing what else to say. Finally, she said, “Linc always did. He still does.”
She put her hands on either side of his face and stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good friend, Mason. I hope you always will be.”
He looked away from her, then nodded before passing through the door and leaving. He didn’t look back once as he walked toward his truck and drove off.
Jillian closed the screen door gently and walked toward the kitchen. Something caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she looked up the stairway and saw Janie and Gracie sitting next to each other and holding hands. Janie was crying, and Gracie was patting her on the knee with her free hand.
Jillian walked up the stairs toward them and sat down on a lower step. She touched her daughter’s cheek lightly before turning her attention to the older woman. “What’s wrong, Janie? Were you listening to what Officer Weber was telling me?”
Janie nodded as she wiped away strands of hair that had stuck to her wet cheeks.
“Was it about the baby?”
She didn’t respond, but sniffled loudly and closed her eyes. Jillian had to lean forward to hear her when she spoke.
“I’m afraid.”
“What are you afraid of, Janie? Tell me. Maybe I can help.”
Janie’s brown eyes darkened as she scooted forward on the step. “They’re coming. They’re coming to take the baby.”
“Who, Janie? Who’s coming to take the baby?”
“They are. They’re coming, and I’ve got to keep the baby safe. Poor Lauren’s baby. Nobody’s going to take that one. Poor Lauren. She used to visit me, you know. She was my friend.”
A cold breeze ran up Jillian’s spine as she patted Janie’s hand. “Yes, she was. She was my friend, too. I know you miss her as much as I do.” She heard Lessie join them in the downstairs hall but didn’t acknowledge her. “But who’s coming, Janie?”
Janie leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “You know.” Janie began to look around frantically. “Where’s Baby? Where is she?”
Lessie called from below. “Gracie must have left her in her bedroom. I’ll go get her.” She came up the steps, squeezing by them.
Jillian grabbed Janie’s shoulders to calm her down. “See? Baby’s safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Lessie retrieved the doll and ran down the stairs to put it in Janie’s waiting arms. “I’m going to take Janie home now. I think there’s been too much excitement this afternoon.”
Gracie crawled onto Jillian’s lap as they watched Lessie help Janie down the stairs. Jillian closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deeply of her daughter’s scent of baby shampoo and sweat. Who’s coming, Janie? She squeezed her daughter harder. You know.
She took a deep breath. “I know who Lauren is, Gracie. And I do believe you’ve been talking to her. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you at first.”
Gracie put her finger in her mouth and sucked on it, just like she’d done as an infant. Jillian felt a stab of remorse that she’d forgotten that, and so much more about Grace’s babyhood. She shoved the regrets behind her, mentally locking them in a box, and tried to think of the future. It would be different, and if she believed that, then it would happen.
She rested her cheek against her daughter’s head. “Has Lauren said anything else, Gracie? Anything that might help us know how she got hurt?”
Gracie shook her head, pressing against the sand dollar necklace Jillian wore. “She’s gone now. She said she’d be back, but that you didn’t need her anymore.”
Jillian’s eyes stung with tears. “She said I didn’t need her? Is that all?”
Gracie’s words were muffled as she spoke around the finger in her mouth. “And she said that you didn’t need to be afraid of the dark anymore.”
Jillian bit down hard on her lip, stifling the tears that threatened to spill. Nothing was making any sense, and she still felt chilled by Janie’s words. Who had she been talking about?
She remembered what Linc had said the last time she’d seen him, and felt her heart skip a beat. Your father’s name is Mark, isn’t it, Jillian?
Gently moving Gracie from her lap and forcing her voice to stay calm, she said, “I’ve got to go find Linc. First, I’m going to call your daddy and tell him I’ll drop you off at the inn. And then I’m going to see if Mrs. Weber can watch Ford for me for a few hours.” She stood and pulled Gracie up with her.
The little girl looked up at Jillian. “And then what?”
“And then we’re going to finally find the star that I’ve been looking for all these years.”
CHAPTER 24
LINC RAN HIS HANDS OVER THE SMOOTH PLANES OF THE OLD DOOR that was laid flat over his worktable. Layers of paint had finally given way to its hidden treasure of solid mahogany after nearly a week of meticulous stripping. As Linc had already discovered, the best things life had to offer were the hardest won.
He stepped back, wiping away the sweat and paint chips from his cheeks, letting his gaze roam around the beautiful high-ceilinged room with the water-damaged hand-painted wallpaper. When he’d seen the house on Tradd Street, in Charleston’s historic district, it had called to him in a way he couldn’t explain to anyone—even his business partner. There was something about taking something old, damaged and unwanted and breathing new life into it. He’d done it with his own life, and found it to be his calling to do the same to this house.
He heard the sound of the large brass lion knocker against the front door, and threw his T-shirt over his head as he went to answer it. He pulled open the door and stared at Jillian in surprise.
“Hi, Linc.” She gave him a tentative smile. “I called your office and they told me you’d be here. I hope you don’t mind.”
He shook his head, then stepped back, allowing her to come inside. She stopped on the black-and-white marble-tiled floor and looked up at the floating stairway, a hallmark that had clinched the sale of the house for him. Silently, she moved to touch the newly stripped mahogany banister and the termite-eaten rosettes that crowned each spindle.
He studied the tilt of her head, the curve of her cheek and the openmouthed wonder as she looked about her. She had always understood his elemental need to create beauty where most only saw dirt and neglect and raw ugliness. The two of them had always seen the core of things that existed under all the surface flaws. He imagined they both regarded people in the same way.<
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“It’s . . . beautiful.” Her voice vanished in the empty foyer. “It’s like the inside of an oyster shell, isn’t it? Not many would bother to pick up the ugly shell to see what’s on the inside.” She swept her hand over the smooth swell of the curved plaster of the stairwell, her fingers brushing at the heart of him.
“Thank you,” he said, moving closer. He waited for her to speak.
She turned around and pressed her back against the wall, creating more space between them. “Mason came to see me today. He said that Lauren was pregnant when she died.”
For a terrifying moment, he thought he might throw up. He raked both hands through his hair, searching for something to grab hold of. He reached for Jillian and grabbed her arms, pulling her to him. She felt stiff under his fingers. “You think I killed her? Because she was pregnant?”
She pressed her forehead against his chest, and he didn’t move away. “No, Linc. I don’t. And that’s not why I came here.” Pulling her head back, she gazed directly into his eyes. “I wanted to know why you asked me about my father.”
He pushed away, and returned to the supine door and picked up a square of sandpaper before putting it down again. “You don’t want to know. Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
Jillian crossed the room in three angry strides. “Yes—I do. I will not allow you to dismiss me again. I love you, Linc. And I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. But being in this position makes me care a great deal about what happens to you, and I don’t want to see you sent to jail for a crime we both know you had nothing to do with. So I’m asking you why you had to know my father’s name. And I need you to trust me that I can handle it.”
He looked at her with narrow eyes, feeling torn between the desire to shout at her or to kiss her senseless. He felt her impenetrable strength and knew there was no going back. He said nothing and moved to the far side of the foyer to a tall door and went inside. From his back pocket, he pulled out a key and unlocked the bottom drawer of the desk that had been pushed in front of wide French doors. He stared at the familiar letters for a full minute before deciding to take them out and show them to Jillian.