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Conspiracy of Silence
Other Suspense Novels by Martha Powers BleedingHeart
Sunflower
Death Angel
Romance Novels
(written as Martha Jean Powers or Jean Paxton) The Kissing Bough
False Pretenses
The Runaway Heart
Double Masquerade
The Perfect Fiancée
The Grey Fox Wagers
Divided Loyalty
Gazebo Rendezvous
Proxy Bride
S Conspiracy of Silence
A Novel
Martha Powers
IPSWICH,MASSACHUSETTS
Copyright © 2008 by Martha Powers
FIRST EDITION All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-933515-18-2 Published in the United States by Oceanview Publishing, Ipswich, Massachusetts
www.oceanviewpub.com
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA To Matt Powers
Who has given us great pleasure and joy and makes us proud to have him as our son
and To Margaret Szczepaniak Who has brought humor, compassion, and happiness to our family
MIRROR IMAGE
Lights play across the surface of her face She looks within, seeing only flat planes and
deeply etched crevices
The years are there but she cannot define the moments when each line was carved
She thought she would recognize a turning point, a crisis, an epiphany
Baby roundness is gone
Where is her heritage, her past?
Her destiny lies hidden, shrouded in the shadows
Her need to know a deep ache
No answers here
Only more questions
— Jean Christy
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Conspiracy of Silence
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Prologue
Clare Prentice sat on the edge of the examination table, the blue hospital gown tied at her neck. Her fingers folded the edge of the gown in pleats where it lay across her thighs. She shivered as the air vent above her came on, and she pulled the gown closed where it gaped against her bare back.
Although she was in the office for her scheduled physical, she was also waiting to hear the results of the needle biopsy. Ever since she found the lump, all she could think about was the death of her mother two years earlier of breast cancer. She didn’t know how much heredity played in the disease, but she had to admit that there was a leaden feeling in her stomach when she thought about it.
She twisted the engagement ring on her finger, trying to concentrate on happier thoughts, but fear crowded out any belief in the future. She was sorry she had insisted on coming alone after Doug had volunteered to come with her. Perhaps it was her need tofeel in control that had made her refuse his support. In five months they would be married and then she would feel that he should be at her side, but for now she felt her medical problems were her own to solve.
She’d waited a year after her mother died before she accepted Doug’s proposal. He’d been so patient, but now that she had agreed he wanted to move ahead so quickly that at times she balked. She had agreed to the big wedding even though she would have preferred something much more private. His mother had
2 MARTHA POWERS explained, since Clare had no family to provide for her, she and Doug’s father wished to welcome her into the Kitridge clan in great style.
She wondered what her mother, Rose, would have thought of the lavish arrangements. Rose hadn’t been pleased when she started dating Doug. She disapproved of the public lifestyle his family lived, and was clearly upset after Clare’s picture appeared in the newspaper when she accompanied him to some society function. Clare hoped Rose, despite her grumbling, would be looking down on her with approval on her wedding day.
Footsteps sounded in the hall and Clare straightened up as the door opened. Dr. Paula Craig squinted over her bifocals as she bustled into the room.
“You look like the living dead.” Dr. Craig dropped Clare’s medical folder on the desk and settled on the stool. “I don’t mean to make light of this, but I can see you’ve worked yourself into a real panic. I have all your tests here and you’re fine. You’re absolutely fine.”
Clare didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she heard the whistling sound of her exhale. “Are you sure?”
“What kind of a doctor do you think I am?” the older woman grinned as she brushed a hand across her close-cropped gray hair. “Of course I’m sure. I’ve looked over all the reports. Mammogram, ultrasound, breast MRI, and the needle biopsy. You have nothing to worry about.”
Clare sagged, pressing her knees together to keep her legs from shaking. It took a moment before she could speak.
“You’re right, Dr. Craig. I’ve been imagining the worst. I remember what mother went through and I was just plain scared.”
“I suppose you couldn’t help but think about Rose. She died so young. Fifty-seven. But in your case the news is all good.” She reached out and patted Clare’s knee. “You’ll make a beautiful bride and if you keep up your healthy lifestyle you’ll live to be a crabby old lady like me. When’s the wedding?”
“In July.” Clare could feel the joy beginning to seep back into
CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE 3
her body as she thought about the possibility of a full life ahead with Doug. “Five months. That’s good. Before you get married I recommend you do a little research into your family history. It would be good to know if there are any medical issues in your background.”
“That could be hard,” Clare said, biting her lip. “My father died before I was three and I have no memory of him at all. Neither he nor my mother had any family that I know of.”
“I don’t mean your father and Rose, dear,” Dr. Craig said. “You need to look into the medical history of your biological parents.”
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Chapter One
An hour after leaving the expressway for a series of two-lane asphalt highways, Clare Prentice drove through an opening in the trees above Grand Rapids, Minnesota. Accustomed to the bustling life of Chicago, she had been apprehensive about her arrival in such an isolated area. The picturesque view of the houses nestled along the shoreline and the businesses lining the edges of a park came as a pleasant surprise.
She drove slowly down the hill, pulling into a parking space in the center of the town. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she stared through the windshield at her surroundings.
The park was a lovely rectangle facing the lake. A roped off section of water indicated the swimming area and on the sand was a tall wooden lifeguard platform with white slatted chairs, red and white buoys, and a Jet Ski anchored at the shoreline. Brick walkways crisscrossed the park. Benches, a fountain, and a small playground added to a sense of tranquility and peace.
Themain street ran in a U-shape along three sides of the park. At the east end was the City Hall and the police station, combined in a venerable but well-kept building. Beds of red, white, and hot pink impatiens softened the otherwise austere exterior of the beige brick. Stores and office buildings faced the lake and at the west end of the park was the Grand Rapids Public Library.
Clare rolled down the car window,
smiling at the sound of the children playing on the beach. The water looked inviting after her long drive. She’d considered flying but had decided to drive and enjoy the changing scenery as she drove north. When she left, it had been hot in Chicago, but the end of July was much more pleasant in northern Minnesota.
Nothing looked familiar.
Until that moment Clare hadn’t realized how much she had countedon some sign of familiarity, a sense of déjà vu perhaps, which would indicate she had come home. She closed her eyes and focused on the rise and fall of her abdomen as she concentrated on her breathing. Her fingers loosened their grip on the steering wheel and the muscles across her back relaxed against the car seat.
And so it begins, she thought as she got out of the car and stared up at the library. The building was massive, towering over everything else. It was a square, three-story building with triangular front sections on each side. On the second floor, rounded window arches flanked each central section on the four sides. The reddish beige brick glowed warmly in the summer sun and the darker trim between floors and around the windows made each feature stand out distinctly. All in all, a most impressive building.
She brushed the travel wrinkles from her denim skirt as she walked through the park. The early afternoon sun pressed against the blue and white checked blouse. The breeze off the lake was welcome, cooling the sweat on her neck beneath the French braid. Every summer she swore she’d cut her hair, but somehow she put up with the inconvenience.
Doug had loved her long hair.
Her sandal caught on the rough surface of the brick sidewalk andshe stumbled. She settled her purse strap more securely on her shoulder and glanced at her hand. Even though it had been two monthssince she’d broken her engagement, there was still a faint band of white around her finger. Perhaps as the mark faded, so would her misery.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and walked up the stone steps to the wide double doors.
Despite the old-fashioned look of the exterior, the inside was wholly modern. The interior walls had been replaced by glass partitions so that from the doorway, she could see into most of the rooms on the main floor. A wide stairway curved leisurely to the second floor. The loft area was open to view through spindled balustrades. Over the central foyer, mobiles of all shapes and sizes were suspended from the ceiling.
The soles of her sandals slapped softly as she crossed the cream-colored marble floor. A teenaged boy looked up expectantly from behind the information desk.
“I have an appointment with Mrs. Grabenbauer,” Clare said.
The boy opened his mouth, but before he could speak, his eyes darted over Clare’s shoulder. She turned to find a tall, whitehaired woman bearing down on her.
“You must be Clare,” the woman said, extending her hand. “One thirty. On the dot. I consider the courtesy of promptness a reflection of character. We should get along famously.”
Since she knew Mrs. Grabenbauer was well into her seventies, Clare was surprised at the sprightly look of youth in the inquisitive blue eyes studying her. The woman’s hand was softer than calfskin, the handshake firm and brief.
“Your directions left me with little chance to get lost. MapQuest couldn’t have done any better.”
There was a moment of silence as Mrs. Grabenbauer continued to eye her. Then as if satisfied, she turned on her heel and beckoned Clare to follow her toward the back of the library. They passed a row of offices until they came to a lounge area behind a glass-paneled door.
“Perhaps you’d like some iced tea while we chat a bit.” Withoutwaiting for an answer, Mrs. Grabenbauer pulled out a chair beside a small luncheon table. “Sit here and I’ll get it.”
Clare followed orders, grateful to have a moment to observe the woman who would be her landlady for the next few weeks. Although Clare was tall, Mrs. Grabenbauer towered over her. Six feet, was Clare’s guess. Her figure was rather top heavy with wide shoulders, long arms, and a very full bosom. Despite her build, she moved with a stately grace, actions and gestures precise.
“Do you take lemon, sugar, or milk?”
“Just lemon,” Clare said, reaching out for the glass of tea.
Mrs. Grabenbauer carried her own glass and a dish of lemon slices to the table. “Now tell me. How is my favorite niece Gail?”
“Since she’s my best friend,” Clare said, “I also know she’s your only niece.”
“Busted.” Mrs. Grabenbauer let out a deep throaty chuckle. “I’m sorry my brother didn’t have a dozen more like her. Bright, articulate, and full of fun.”
“Despite Gail’s working too many hours at the clinic, she still manages to out-party me on the weekends. I hope she told you that she’s leaving next week for a vacation in Hawaii.”
“Yes. We had a lovely talk on the phone.” Mrs. Grabenbauer spoke briskly as if she’d decided it was time to end the social chitchat and get down to business. “I hadn’t heard from her for a while and then she called to say she had a friend who needed a place to stay for a week or two and wanted to know if my guest cottage was empty. I’d had several offers this summer, but no one I felt comfortable renting to.”
“I really appreciate your letting me take it on such short notice. Gail’s pretty hard to resist when she gets an idea.” Clare grinned. “I hope she didn’t badger you on my behalf.”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” The dry tone was in sharp contrast to the twinkle in her eyes. “She said you had gotten an interview with our local recluse Nate Hanssen. How did you manage that?”
“I work for a literary magazine in Chicago. Mr. Hanssen was the featured author at a fund-raiser for literacy that my editor attended. Apparently they hit it off and, even though he usually refuses to do interviews, he agreed to do this one.”
“So that’s why you’ve come to Grand Rapids?” she asked. “Somehow Gail made it sound more mysterious than that. I realize she has a tendency to be dramatic, but she said you’d explain everything when you got here.”
For a moment Clare was silent, wondering what to say. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Taking a deep steadying breath, she tried again.
“I need your help to find out who I am.” Clare could understand the surprise on Mrs. Grabenbauer’s face because she was just as stunned by her own words. “I’m sorry for blurting that out. That’s not what I intended to say.”
Clare sat quietly as the older woman took a drink of her tea, studying her over the rim of the glass. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks and knew that she was blushing. The awkward silence was broken when Mrs. Grabenbauer set her glass down with a sharp tap on the wooden table.
“First of all, Clare, I’d like it if you would call me Ruth. Since we will be neighbors for a while.” She smiled at Clare’s nod of acceptance. “Sometimes it is difficult to explain things and blurting them out, as you put it, is the best way. Since I now have an idea where we’re heading perhaps you’d like to start at the beginning.”
“My mother died two years ago.” Try as she might, the emotions that she had experienced in the last several months surged. She swallowed several times and then she said, “Five months ago I discovered I was adopted.”
Clare thought she had gotten used to the idea, but her throat closed and she was unable to continue. She took several sips of tea while she pulled herself together. Ruth leaned across the table and patted her arm.
“You had no idea?”
“None.” Clare shook her head. “The doctor who told me thought I knew, since it had always been in my medical file. My mother, Rose, told the doctor when she first brought me to see her.”
“Strange that your mother would tell the doctor and yet not tell you.”
“Rose was thirty when I was born. I never questioned the fact that she loved me, but she was not a demonstrative sort of woman. Very private.”
“But after she died, you must have had access to all her papers.”
“Yes. There was the house and her will. Everything came to
me. My name was on everything. Mother kept a very Spartan household. I used to tease her that we could be packed and out of town at a moment’s notice.” Clare laughed but it was not a humorous sound. “Now I begin to wonder if that wasn’t partially true.”
Although there was a question in Ruth’s eyes, she didn’t ask for an immediate explanation. “Birth certificate?”
Clare pushed her chair back and rose to her feet. She walked across to the window and looked out at the park. It was still hard to talk about something that hurt so badly.
“I had one. There were several notarized copies in her safety deposit box. It said I was her child. If she had adopted me legally in Chicago, the official birth certificate would show that she was the mother. When I began checking the details, I couldn’t find verification for any of the information on it. The hospital listed had no record of my mother and none of my being born there. On the day listed as my birth date, three children were born. All three were boys.”
“Well, that bites.”
The slang term amused Clare and she turned back toward Ruth. She could read the empathy on the older woman’s face, and smiled through a sheen of tears.
“You’re damn right it does.”
“Anger is good, my dear. As the shrinks say, ‘it’s all a process.’ Oftentimes there’s truth in the most banal of psychobabble. I’m assuming there were no adoption papers.”
“None.”
“Could you trace back through your mother’s information?”
Clare shook her head. She paced to the sink and back again. Shefelt better moving around. Her emotions about what had happened in the last few months had been bottled up. It was strange how comfortable she felt speaking to Gail’s aunt.
“My mother’s name was Rose Prentice. The birth certificate listed her date of birth and said she was born in Park Ridge, Illinois. When I checked into that, I couldn’t find any record for that dateor name. It was as if neither my mother nor I existed.”
“Extended family?”
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