He’d opened his mouth to ask if she wanted to take a break when she blurted, “I’m researching my father.”
His back straightened. “What?”
“You heard me.” She crossed her arms defensively in front of herself. “I called up all the college records, and then I searched him online.”
To buttress her belief in the man who loomed so large in her life Troy was chilled by the shadow? Or because she really wanted to know the truth of who her father was?
“You have time to get away? We could go out for coffee.”
She stood with alacrity. “Please. I’d suggest a walk, except—ugh. I wore heels today.”
He waited while she righted her shoes and slid her feet into them. Her feet were dainty, but relatively speaking her toes were intriguingly long, as were her fingers. Troy had no trouble imagining some things she could do with fingers and toes both.
And, shit, that was enough to stir his libido.
In deference to her heels, they took the elevator down, a creaky, slow-moving relic of a midcentury remodel. It stirred some mild claustrophobia in Troy, who was glad when the damn thing finally chose to cast open its doors.
They strolled over to the Student Union, bought cold drinks and carried them back to the duck pond—and the same bench—where they’d sat before. About the time they left the SUB, students poured out of buildings like ants, rushing down the sidewalk or across the field. Troy glanced at his watch. Apparently they were between classes. He wasn’t surprised when, a minute later, the flood of bodies ebbed and Madison and he were virtually alone. They sipped in contemplative silence for a few minutes.
“So?” he said at last.
Madison sighed. “I’m sort of getting the feeling Dad has a lot of enemies.”
Troy watched her, wanting to catch every shift of emotion. “The kind of enemy who would assassinate him if he thought he could get away with it? Or the ‘I wish a mud pie would hit him in the face’ kind?”
This sigh was even gustier. “Oh, probably the second. I mean, nothing is overt. Most people aren’t stupid enough to tweet about how they despise this businessman they’re going to have to keep dealing with.”
“Don’t kid yourself,” he said sardonically.
A quick smile lit her face. “Well, you have a point. But you know what I mean.”
“Why did you start this, Madison? Did you talk to him again? Did something happen?”
She sneaked a peek at him, and he thought he saw shame in her eyes. “No. It’s me. That’s all. It suddenly occurred to me how I see him may not be how other people see him. And yes, I know I sound dumb. I mean, how obvious is that?”
Troy shifted his cup to his other hand and slid an arm around her shoulders. He was relieved when she immediately leaned into him as if her body couldn’t conceive of doing anything else.
“Obvious if you stand back and think about it that way,” he said, “but most of us don’t. Especially not about someone we’ve known all our lives unless it is impossible not to see other viewpoints. I mean, if I’d had a sister who had been at war with Mom for years, no matter how well I got along with Mom I’d have to reconcile my opinion with my sister’s. But...no sister. You’re in the same boat. Nobody to say, ‘Wow, Dad may be nice to you but I think he’s a major jerk.’”
“He wasn’t always nice to me. Why didn’t I see?”
Wrung by pity, he kissed the top of her head. “Don’t you mean, why didn’t you let yourself see?”
“Oh, God. That is what I mean.”
Troy grunted. “I sure as hell never questioned my faith in my parents. For both of us, outside events have forced us to take another look. We probably never would have otherwise.”
She didn’t say anything for a long time. With her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder, he couldn’t see her face. “I think maybe I needed to,” she finally said.
Aching for her and reminded, disturbingly, of his own shifting feelings for his parents, he frowned at the pond and a couple of students sunbathing and studying at the same time on the far shore. “I hope you know it’s not necessarily a bad thing,” he said, and realized he meant it. Not only for her, but for him, as well.
She straightened and smiled at him, although she couldn’t totally hide sadness. “You’re right. You asked what got me started this morning. It came to me that I wanted to know how other people feel about my father.” Her forehead crinkled. “I always knew Mom was trying to stay positive. She’d never say anything bad about Dad. I was never even sure what split them up, except for the yelling. Now that I think about it, I’m in awe that she kept her mouth shut even when I chose him over her.”
“You ever think the divorce was her fault and not his?” Troy wasn’t sure why he’d made a suggestion that might upset Madison, but her mother’s behavior struck him as odd. “You had your suspicions. What if she had an affair? She’d have felt guilty because she wronged your dad. Maybe so guilty she thought she had to let you go, that she couldn’t take his daughter away from him, too. That he deserved you and she didn’t.”
Madison stared at him in apparent shock. After a minute she straightened away from him, as if she had to be self-contained to deal with what he’d said. “I did think... But I never...” She swallowed and looked away. “Another weird thing. He was my rock and I was so mad at her, but...in my heart I always believed the breakup was his fault. Dad is...easy to admire, but hard to like. Mom sparkles. She loves to entertain, and to laugh, and to be surrounded by friends. I suppose I thought his coldness had driven her away.”
What would it be like to desperately love someone you also found hard to like? Troy wondered.
“Could be a little of one, a dash of the other,” he pointed out. “Your dad’s level of fault, for lack of a better word, might not reduce her guilt if she met someone else. Ultimately, she’s the one who left. You were a little kid. She not only walked out, she abandoned you. She may have meant it to be temporary, but what does a word like that mean to a kid when mommy is gone with no more than an undefined promise to come back for you eventually?”
“Yes!”
The single, hissed word held pain that cramped Troy’s chest as he watched her. He set his cup down on the ground and reached for her. “Come here, sweetheart.”
She did, burrowing against him and clutching so tight to his shirt her knuckles dug into the muscles around his spine. He was vaguely aware of a few students passing, glancing at them with curiosity and the discomfort most people feel when they see distress they don’t understand.
Madison didn’t cry, though, which didn’t surprise Troy. He didn’t like to think what it would take to make her cry.
God, he thought. Her mother leaving would do it. How could Madison help but have cried then? He could see her waiting until she was alone, tucked into bed, and then sobbing into her pillow because she was being brave for her daddy, who didn’t sound like the kind of man who would have understood a grieving little girl. Oh, yeah, Madison would have cried herself out, and maybe never let herself do it again.
Frowning, he held her and was a little shocked to realize his sinuses burned. Crap. He hadn’t thought he could ever hurt for another person like this. Especially not when the pain was such an old one. There was nothing he could fix. Madison had mostly fixed herself.
She let out a long, ragged breath that he felt on his throat, and then eased herself back. Her eyes were too bright, but a rueful smile curved her mouth.
“Wow. It’s really disconcerting to discover how much I never really dealt with.”
He shook his head. “You grew up into an amazing woman. So you had to bury some pain and disappointment in your parents. As a kid, we’re so dependent on them—we can’t afford to doubt them.”
Her throat moved as she swallowed. The smile shook and she gave up on it. “I’m not sure I really want to revisit all this.”
“I know what you mean.” He wasn’t much enjoying his own experience trying to reconcile the Mom and D
ad he’d thought he knew with the reality.
“I think I need to concentrate on Dad. And what I learned today is that he’s admired, feared, but not much liked. I should probably be surprised, but...I’m not.”
It took real courage for her to untangle how she felt about her father. There was no therapist to help her on the path, only him, and he wasn’t exactly unbiased. No, he was the man who suspected her father of murder. It would have been easier for her to remain defensive, to keep insisting that her dad was honorable and incapable of making mistakes. Instead, she really and truly seemed to want the truth.
Again, Troy had the fleeting, if disconcerting, thought that he liked Guy Laclaire better than he should because he had something to do with Madison’s utter honesty, her willingness to face even an unpalatable truth. Parents had a lot to do with how their kids came out.
Yeah, then shouldn’t you cut your dad a break? And maybe your mother, too?
Something to think about later.
Troy had made a decision sometime in the middle of Madison’s speech to be truthful with her. How could he do any less, after what she’d told him?
“A lot of people didn’t like your dad when he was a student, either.”
Madison went utterly still. All she did was stare at him, as if she were in a state of suspended animation. God, he hoped this wasn’t a mistake.
But he’d started, and still couldn’t argue with his decision. Troy went ahead and offered an edited version of what had been said to him.
“Some of it is clearly envy,” he said. “Your dad was the golden boy. Athletic, handsome, smart, quick-tongued. Hard to see how he couldn’t have known it. What he could have done better was hide his sense of superiority.” He grinned crookedly. “In other words, he was cocky. Not the world’s greatest sin, especially given his age when he was at Wakefield.”
Her relaxation was subtle, but it was there. “Yes. You’re right. I had a couple of classmates like that in college. And one in grad school.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste—she still didn’t like whatever idiot she was thinking about. “Some people learn, some don’t.”
He hated to ask, but couldn’t help himself. “Your dad?”
Madison gave his question real thought. “I actually think he did. Isn’t that funny, after what I was telling you about him? Mostly I think he’s disliked now because he’s so aloof. He’s hard to know. That comes across as arrogant, and maybe he is to some extent, but...” She shook her head. “He’s more complicated than that. An arrogant man might think he’s above the rules. My father has never thought that. Some of what makes him rigid and, well, unlikable is his complete refusal to cut himself any slack.” More of that sadness, and a whole lot else, passed over her face. “Or me. Or probably Mom, or his employees or colleagues. It was really intimidating to me. I wish I could be more impulsive, but instead I’m totally conditioned to think, ‘Wait—is this wrong? Will I regret whatever’s about to come out of my mouth?’” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s why I suck at lying, no matter how hard I try.”
He gave her a squeeze. “Not a bad quality.”
Her lower lip got sulky. “I suppose not, but it’s aggravating sometimes.”
Troy laughed at her. “I can just see you someday, trying to teach your kid to lie so she won’t be as lousy at it as you are.”
Madison’s giggle satisfied him. But damn! He’d barely stopped himself from saying our kid. In that moment, he’d even seen her, small, perched on a chair, earnestly listening to her mommy, her chin gently rounded, her forehead a high, curving arch, her eyes big and brown. A little Madison. Not only Madison’s little girl, but his, too.
Maybe he should be freaked, but he wasn’t. Looking at the woman beside him, he wanted her to be his future, his family.
The words I love you almost came out, but somehow he stopped them. He had to be sure all this emotion having to do with their respective parents wasn’t skewing how he felt about her. And then there was the threat that hung over them both.
This wasn’t the first time the fear that he might end up arresting her father for murder and putting him away for years had interfered with the function of his heart muscle. The pain, he suspected, felt a lot like angina, but was untreatable.
“I’d better get back to work,” he said abruptly, hearing harshness in his voice as he bent to grab the cup on the ground in order to miss seeing surprise or hurt in Madison’s eyes.
“Me, too.” Her tone held only dignity as she rose to her feet.
Repentant, he straightened and met her steady gaze.
“Have you talked to your mother yet?” she asked.
He came close to squirming. “Uh...I left her a message the other day.”
“Troy.”
“I’ll stop by tonight to see her. Is that good enough?”
A tiny smile flickered on her mouth as she started out beside him. “Your mother, your conscience.”
“Oh, thanks,” he muttered, disgruntled and feeling guilty that he’d needed a prod.
She laughed, which meant that after they parted at the foot of the wide granite step in front of Mem, he was smiling, but also feeling some more of those twinges in his chest.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BY THE TIME he got out of his vehicle in front of his mother’s house, Troy had added several new layers onto his guilt.
His father would have expected him to take care of his mother. Dad would be disappointed in him, Troy knew. Even shocked because his adult son, the cop, had been too busy sulking to think about what Mom was feeling. Suffering.
Troy was ashamed to admit it had been all about him. His way of handling grief was to ignore it. But she’d become lost in it. He had to wonder, in retrospect, if he hadn’t been oblivious to what was happening with Mom because he’d become impatient with her. She’s getting groceries delivered now? Great. One less thing I have to do. How else could he have missed seeing something so obvious?
How long had it been since she’d stepped foot off her property? Three months? Six? Since Dad’s funeral? Troy didn’t know.
He rang the doorbell and waited on the doorstep, uneasy. How often did Mom even see other people? Talk to them? She could have a heart attack herself—she could kill herself—and no one would notice for one hell of a long time.
He grabbed his key ring and was about to let himself in when he heard her fumbling with the lock and then the door opened.
“Troy!” His mother’s hair was disheveled and she looked older than he was used to seeing her. Because he hadn’t given her warning, and therefore she hadn’t fussed with makeup. “I didn’t expect you.”
“Sorry, I should have called,” he said, without meaning it. “Are you okay, Mom?”
“Of course I am. I was just waking up from a nap.” She hesitated then smiled tentatively. “Would you like to come in?”
“Thanks.” Scraping clean soles on the mat and stepping over the threshold, he felt uncomfortably like a guest. This was home. Why did he ring the doorbell in the first place instead of letting himself in?
No easy answer came to him. It had something to do with losing Dad, but he couldn’t delve into any more emotional crap of his own right now. This visit was about Mom. He thought about Madison, her clear-eyed truth and compassion, to give himself confidence. Troy was a little surprised to find it worked.
“I haven’t started dinner yet,” his mother began.
“Why don’t I order a pizza? We haven’t done that in a long time.”
Her face brightened. “I could put together a salad.”
“Excellent.” He smiled, took a long stride to her and kissed her cheek. “I was a jerk last week. I’m sorry,” he added simply.
Tears filled her eyes. “You had reason to be upset with your dad and me. I understood.”
He nodded. “No reason to talk about that anymore.”
Her eyes narrowed on him, and he was reminded that she was his mom. “That doesn’t sound like you. When you think you’re right, you nev
er quit.”
Troy laughed. “I’m not quitting. By God, I’m going to find out who killed Mitchell King.” Until he heard his own unyielding voice, he hadn’t realized how determined he was, although he shouldn’t be surprised. Stubborn was his middle name. In this case, though, he’d been so focused on his initial goal—finding out whether Madison’s dad had anything to do with the crime—that he’d missed the moment he shifted to a larger goal. He didn’t even know why he was so damn determined. King wasn’t likable, as far as victims went. In fact, he was a sleaze. The killer had reason to be enraged.
In general, the crime wasn’t so different from most urban murders involving drug dealing or gangs. Nobody was sympathetic. A detective didn’t need to like anyone to do his job.
This one was different, though, and Troy knew why without digging deep. It was his father’s involvement. Dad had known the victim. Been good friends with Laclaire. As a senior, he’d have known almost everyone with whom Troy had so far spoken.
More than that, Troy wanted to know that Dad’s choice of friendship over citizenship hadn’t allowed a murderer to walk free. Too many people had been haunted by the unsolved murder. It was time to lay it to rest.
He ordered the pizza and watched as Mom made a salad that was fancier than anything he would have bothered with at home. He got out a soda for her and a beer for himself, because it was there, the brand he bought on the rare occasions when he drank, and he realized she’d been keeping it in the refrigerator for him.
They started on the salads while they waited for the pizza. Mom asked about Madison, and he told her more than he’d actually intended, about the sad girl she’d been and the charming, brave, smart woman she was.
“I can show you a picture,” he offered. “I took one with my phone the other day without her noticing.”
He pulled it up and handed his phone over the table so his mother could see. He’d gotten lucky, capturing Madison smiling at someone else. She was in profile, her dark hair tucked behind her ears, that tiny dimple beside her mouth in evidence.
“Oh, she’s lovely,” his mother said softly.
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