“No, I wasn’t.”
“Well, then.” Skye slapped her palms on her thighs and got up from the couch.
Sam sat motionless, listening to Skye gather up her things from the bathroom and when she heard the zip of the duffel bag, she forced herself out of the chair to say goodbye.
Skye was standing at the door, her bag in hand. She looked expectantly at Sam.
“Sure you don’t want a ride?”
“Nah. I can grab a cab at the corner.” Skye paused. “I like your hair.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks. I like yours, too.”
“Almost identical.”
“Almost.”
Skye opened the door and suddenly stopped. “I got sidetracked a bit. Meant to ask how that case of yours is going.”
“Case?”
“You know—the boy, his father and the dying mom.”
Sam felt her skin prickle. Trust you to phrase it so casually. “Uh, well, okay.”
Skye leaned against the door frame, obviously in no hurry to leave. “I took some holiday time—I think I mentioned that in my voice mail. If you like, I could give you some help with it.”
Sam looked her sister in the eye. “I’m fine, but thanks, anyway. Case is solved—or resolved.”
“Oh? Father acknowledging paternity?”
“Basically.”
Skye nodded thoughtfully, then said, “Well, that’s good for the kid…I suppose. I’m still curious, though.”
“About what?”
The sharpness in her voice made Skye straighten up. She gave Sam a puzzled look. “About the fraud thing. With the guy’s family’s business.”
Sam waved a hand. “That’s history. The important thing is Danny linking up with his father.”
“Maybe. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless the father could potentially be a felon.”
Sam stared at Skye in disbelief. “No way.”
Skye arched a brow. “You sound so convinced, sis. Is he attractive, this Sullivan?”
“What are you suggesting, Skye?”
“Nothing. Just picking up a certain tone in your voice.”
“Not everything boils down to the simple equation of man and woman,” Sam retorted.
Skye’s gaze traveled across Sam’s face. “You sure about that?” She stepped into the hall, adding, “Anyway, as I said before, I’ve got some time on my hands. Might be worth checking out.” She closed the door before Sam could reply.
Not that she had anything to say. Except for a slow mental count to ten to calm herself. She downed the rest of her wine and pondered her next move. Knowing Skye, she wouldn’t be distracted from her goal. The key was to preempt her somehow. But then, what if Skye was right and Chase Sullivan was guilty of some past crime?
If Emily were in good health, Sam could discuss the problem with her and let her decide. Introduce the man to Danny and take a chance that he wasn’t going to be hauled off to jail, or wait and see. Maybe Skye wouldn’t find anything linking him to a crime. Hadn’t she already investigated the family business—what was it called? Winds something—and ended up dropping the matter for lack of evidence?
Sam took the empty wineglasses into the kitchen and rinsed them. You worry too much, Samantha Sorrenti. That was what Skye always used to say, and some of the time, she’d been right. Yet in her dealings with others—especially her family—Skye herself didn’t seem to worry enough. Chances were this idea of hers would never get off the ground. No point in keeping Danny from his biological father on some whim of Skye’s. Sam reached for the phone to call Emily at the hospital and find out if she’d made a decision about seeing Chase. If things sped up a bit, Skye might backtrack or change her mind. Maybe.
When a young voice answered, Sam almost hung up. Danny. “Uh, could I please speak to Emily?”
There was a brief silence, followed by, “Who’s calling?”
“Samantha Sorrenti.”
“Have you found out something?”
The blurted question sounded both excited and apprehensive. Sam closed her eyes, debating whether to lie or evade. She opted for the latter. Emily could do the lying if it came to that. “I really need to speak to your mother, Danny,” she said in a voice that permitted no argument.
His silence was long enough for her to consider other strategies when Emily abruptly came on the line. Sam heard her telling Danny to please leave the room now.
A few moments passed, then, “Samantha?” Emily sounded tired.
“Sorry. I didn’t think Danny would be there.”
“It’s okay. Not your problem. He keeps forgetting I’m still his mother.” There was a weak laugh. “I think we’ve reversed roles a bit these past few weeks.”
“I guess that’s understandable,” Sam said, “and I suppose he’s been anxious to hear some news.”
“Mmm.” A pause, then Emily said, “I feel bad, you know? I’ve been kinda lying to him. I tell myself they’re important lies to protect him, but I’ve decided I can’t do it much longer. If you hadn’t called me, I was going to call you and tell you to go ahead.”
“Go ahead?”
“You know, tell Daniel—I mean, Chase—that I’d like to see him.”
Sam hesitated, wondering if she ought to tell Emily about Skye and what she was thinking of doing. But Emily had enough to deal with right now—keeping Danny from finding out about Chase until Emily had a chance to meet with him first. “Okay. I suppose that’s a good idea.”
“You sound doubtful.”
Sam sighed. How to explain that contacting Chase Sullivan again was the last thing she wanted to do? “Not about him seeing you.” She paused, knowing there was no way out of this one. “I guess I could call him for you.”
“Would you mind? I’m not good with phone talk—especially for something emotional. And I don’t think they’re going to give me a day’s leave to visit him.” There was a sharp cackle of laughter mixed with the dry, uncontrollable cough that often overcame her.
When the horrible hacking finally stopped, Sam asked, “Meanwhile, what will you tell Danny?”
“That he’ll just have to be patient.”
Right. He’ll really buy into that. “I’ll get back to you then,” Sam said.
When she hung up, she sank into the chair and dropped her head into her palms. Was this ever going to end?
“HE’S NOT OPEN YET.”
Sam turned to the fiftysomething woman watering the flowers in the window boxes of her souvenir shop.
“Ten,” the woman said, gesturing with her free hand to a sign on the door that Sam only just noticed.
Sam checked her watch. It was barely past nine and she was already regretting her decision to see Chase Sullivan, instead of calling him. On the ferry ride over, she’d wondered why the impulse had struck her at all. Hadn’t she found the man totally irritating the last time she’d been on Bainbridge? Furthermore, she had to get back to the city in time for a noon phone call from an East Coast client. Perhaps she wanted to see his face when she told him Emily wanted to meet with him. She didn’t have to be a real private investigator to know you could tell a lot from someone’s face, especially at an emotional moment.
The woman stepped closer to the knee-high picket fence surrounding her tiny storefront and said, “If it’s really important—and I know Chase can use the business—he’s down the street having his morning coffee. Make a right just before you hit the main intersection. A few doors in from the corner. The Primrose Café. He’s there every morning.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” As she headed for her car, the woman called out, “Easier to walk. It’ll take ten minutes and parking in that section can be a hassle.”
“Okay, thanks again.” Sam hitched her shoulder bag higher and walked briskly toward the central shopping and tourist area of Winslow, the island’s official town.
The short walk brought back memories for Sam, when she and her sister came here on school visits and, sometimes,
with Nina and out-of-town guests. The community, with its arts-and-culture focus, pretty marinas and tourist shopping was a convenient thirty-five-minute ferry ride from the Seattle docks and many people who lived on the island commuted into the city to work.
Until yesterday, Sam hadn’t made the trip to Bainbridge in more than fifteen years. The noticeable changes were along the main drag, with a profusion of tourist shops competing for space with longtime stores that provided the basic necessities. If Bainbridge was bigger, Sam guessed the big-box stores would start sprouting up as they had on the mainland. Perhaps they already had, somewhere beyond the central area. Still, she could see why someone with artistic talent and a penchant for a quieter life might opt to live here. Or perhaps someone with a past he wanted to forget.
As soon as she spotted Primrose Café, Sam stopped to think about how she was going to tackle the meeting. He’d be surprised of course, and not pleasantly. So he’d either take the offensive right away and try to get rid of her as quickly as possible, or he’d refuse to speak to her altogether. Her best strategy would be polite insistence. Besides, he didn’t seem the type to make a scene in a public place.
She saw him as soon as she stepped inside. He was sitting in a corner booth, facing the door and reading the Seattle Times. She hesitated, reminding herself that she was here for Emily and Danny, not to score points in the game of getting the last word. And if she managed to keep the talk polite, she might even find out something about his past. Something she could use to persuade Skye to leave the man and his family alone.
He didn’t look up from his paper for a full thirty seconds while she stood in front of him. When he did, his expression of shock was immediately followed by apprehension. No, thought Sam, more like fear. He thinks I’m stalking him. Although the notion amused her, she didn’t dare smile. Instead she got right to the apology.
“I’m really sorry to bother you again, Mr. Sullivan, especially here in the middle of your…uh—” she glanced down at the half-filled coffee mug and plate of crumbs “—breakfast, but I spoke to Emily Benson last night and she’s changed her mind.”
He frowned, but said nothing.
“She would like to see you, after all, as soon as possible.”
His face remained impassive, though she noted a slight tightening around his jaw. He folded the paper and set it on the bench beside him. “You came all the way here to tell me that?”
Sam shrugged. “Unfortunately I neglected to get your phone number yesterday.” It was almost the truth, she told herself.
“Getting the facts must be lesson one in the private eye’s manual,” he said.
She forced a smile. “Probably, but like I said, I’m not a private investigator. Mind if I sit?”
“Suit yourself, but I have to open up at—”
“Ten. That gives us forty minutes.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“The woman who runs the store next to your place.”
“Ah, that would be Marjorie.”
“Very helpful,” Sam said as she sat on the banquette seat across from him.
“Our local neighborhood watch,” he muttered. He was about to say more when a waitress appeared to ask Sam if she wanted coffee.
“Chase?” She turned away after getting Sam’s order. “More coffee?”
“Sure, Laura.” After she left, he placed his elbows on the table, intertwining his fingers while studying Sam. “Why the sudden change of mind from Emily?”
He was getting right to the point—and beating her to it, as usual. “She can’t put Danny off much longer. Plus, she doesn’t like deceiving him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He doesn’t know about you yet. I mean,” she added at the confusion in his face, “he doesn’t know that I found you.”
He frowned. “This is all very very strange. Almost disorienting. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up to find it’s all been a…”
“Bad dream?”
“Yes. And I don’t mean because my life has suddenly been turned upside down or that I’m afraid to accept responsibility for a foolish act when I was younger—none of that. Just that I don’t have a clear picture of any of this. I don’t know how or where it started.”
The dark circles under his eyes and his sober, unshaved face said it all. The man was suffering and, unexpectedly, Sam felt sorry for him. Until she wondered how Emily would react to the description of Danny’s conception as a “foolish act.”
“Look, Mr. Sullivan…”
“Make it Chase. We may not be friends, Miss Sorrenti…”
“Samantha. Or Sam.”
He nodded. “Samantha, but it’s apparent you know much more about me than the average acquaintance.”
And maybe more than you think, Chase Sullivan. “Not really,” she lied, “but you’re right. I should start from the beginning. I think I told you when we first met that I have this business—I find things for people—and Danny found my Web site when he was searching for local private investigators.”
“And he persuaded you to help him.”
“He’s a pretty persuasive kid,” she said. The waitress came then with a mug for Sam and the coffeepot. Sam thought he looked grateful for the interruption. Chase insisted on paying and after she left with the money, Sam went on to say, “Once I met Emily, I couldn’t refuse. They were both so desperate for…for something to hang on to. Some hope.”
At that, she busied herself with her coffee. She didn’t dare look up, fearing he’d think she was trying to pull his emotional strings. But when she risked a peek, she saw that he was still stirring his coffee, staring into the mug.
After a long moment, he raised his head and asked, “So how did you manage to find me so quickly? I’m not in the phone book.”
Now comes the tricky part, thought Sam. Keeping Skye out of the equation. “Well, I Googled ‘Winston Sullivan’ and got your father.”
His coffee mug stopped midway to his mouth. “Why that name? Emily knew me as Daniel Winston.”
“Why the alias?” she countered.
His face took on a faraway look. “It’s a long story,” he said, sipping his coffee. When he set it down again, he checked his watch. “And there’s no time for it today, I’m afraid. You’ve got fifteen more minutes to fill me in.”
Sam felt a surge of annoyance. “And likewise mine is a long story. Let’s just say I have some connections.”
That got his attention. “Oh? What kind of connections?”
Sam decided the talk had taken a wrong turn. “Is that really important right now? The fact is that Emily would like to see you and time is running out.”
He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t really know what she expects, other than child support. And if Danny is my son, of course I’ll pay it. Somehow.”
She recalled the neighbor’s comment about how Chase could “use the business”. Still, the man must have some money if he was paying for his mother’s care at Harbor House. She watched him fidget with his spoon. He seemed nervous. But then she pictured Emily, pinning her hopes on this man.
“I think Emily’s not worried too much about money, though I’m sure her medical bills are huge.” Sam leaned forward, stressing the point she wanted to make. “I believe she and Danny are more interested in father support.”
He looked up, his dark brown eyes large in his drawn face. “Father support. Yeah, I can relate to a kid wanting that.” Then, as if he’d said too much, he finished off the rest of his coffee and stood up. “I have to go.”
Sam followed him out of the café. His stride was long and brisk and she trotted at his heels like a puppy. “When do you think you’ll be calling her?”
He stopped. The look on his face made her add, “Just that she’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
“What’s your stake in all this?”
The question took her aback. She wasn’t sure she could even explain. “I just…as I told you…I was touched by both of them.” She stepped aside for a woman
pushing a stroller and when she turned her face to him again, something in his eyes made her blurt, “I don’t know why. I can’t seem to let it go.”
He nodded. “Well, that may be the first honest thing you’ve said to me this morning.” He resumed walking.
Sam was speechless. She slowed her pace, not trusting herself to say another word, assuming that was even possible. A few feet shy of the shop, Chase halted again. His neighbor, Marjorie, was sweeping the sidewalk in front of her store.
He waited for Sam to catch up to him and in a low voice asked, “What floor at Our Lady of Mercy?”
“Ten. The palliative-care unit.”
“Thank you,” he said, and marched up to the front door of his shop. Marjorie said something to him while he was unlocking the door, but Sam could tell he wasn’t interested in making small talk. He nodded at her and stepped inside, closing the door.
Sam stood on the sidewalk, feeling as if she’d been ditched on her high-school dance floor.
Marjorie looked her way and smiled brightly. “Changed your mind?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Sam frowned. “Oh…er…yes.”
“That’s a shame,” the woman said. “He does wonderful work.”
“I’m sure,” Sam murmured, and headed for her car, catching a glimpse of Marjorie’s curious face as she did.
CHASE PAUSED in the open doorway. Emily was lying propped against two pillows and watching something on the small overhead television. He took in the oxygen tank at her bedside, the tangle of translucent plastic tubing and the solitary plant perched on the windowsill. A confusion of emotions overwhelmed him. Thirteen years ago I would have hightailed it. It was a shameful admission, but he also knew he was no longer that self-centered young man. He’d made amends in many ways. This was just one more.
Inhaling deeply, he tapped lightly on the door frame. Emily’s head slowly swung his way. Her face paled even more. Chase cleared his throat. “Hi, Emily,” he said, and walked toward the bed.
Her blue eyes were huge in the sunken cheeks of her face. Chase stood staring down at her, at a complete loss for words. Then he pulled a chair closer to the bed, sat down and gently lifted her hand from the bed, wrapping it tenderly in his.
A Father for Danny Page 7