Wakefield College 01 - Where It May Lead

by Janice Kay Johnson

  Troy ran him through what he’d done and seen. He was able to make a good guess as to what time he’d found the body. Running away, he’d been carrying his racquet in his hand.

  “I had my own,” he said simply. Somehow, Troy wasn’t surprised.

  He listed names of some fellow students he’d suspected were also being blackmailed. Only one name was new, and it was a woman. Her gender made her an unlikely killer. He hadn’t seen anyone on his way into the gym that night, had heard voices in the locker room but no one was visible and he thought he’d escaped the building entirely unseen.

  In the end, Troy had no choice at all but to thank him for his cooperation and say that he’d be in touch if he had further questions.

  “Are you returning to Portland today?” he asked.

  “No, I’m staying with Madison tonight. I don’t see her often enough.” A hint of pain sounded in his voice, or maybe only regret.

  Troy hoped for Madison’s sake that her father did feel bad for all the times he’d hurt her. He walked Laclaire out and watched him go, aware of too damn much churning inside him. What rose to the top was something he could only call jealousy.

  He resented like hell the fact that her father was the one who’d be having dinner with her tonight, spending the entire evening with her, joining her at the breakfast table. The one who’d get first crack at cementing the bonds of love and loyalty.

  Troy hated knowing he was capable of feeling something so petty.

  He stalked back to the conference room.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “DID YOU ENJOY wandering the campus?” Madison asked her father.

  They were eating at a bistro she had recommended after he insisted on taking her out to eat, saying it was the least he could do. That afternoon he had stopped by her office briefly, looked around curiously, then waved off her offer to leave work early and said he’d tour the college and maybe town, too, to see how much had changed. “If anything,” he’d said sardonically, which made her roll her eyes.

  Madison now regretted suggesting a restaurant where she and Troy had eaten together. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the table where they’d sat. Had she talked about Dad? She couldn’t remember.

  “It brought back memories,” her father admitted, his expression reflective. “I see they took the wrecking ball to Cheadle.”

  “Yes, I think the whole community turned out to watch.” She certainly had. The great event had happened the week before, and a crew had been stripping the site of bricks and debris ever since. Madison had heard the college was doing a brisk business selling the weather-worn bricks from the demolished building. They were probably destined to pave garden paths and courtyards. “It was sad, in a way.”

  “Sad some idiot architect’s mistake is costing the college a small fortune,” he said acidly.

  Oh, well—that was Dad. She only smiled at him. “Did I thank you for your donation?”

  His face softened. “You know you did. Officially and unofficially.”

  He’d surprised her by giving fifty thousand dollars. He’d surprised her even more when he told her on the phone, “My years at Wakefield were good ones. I haven’t been as faithful in giving back as I should have been.”

  “Did you run into anyone you know?”

  He chuckled. “Old man Wilson. I thought he was tottering toward retirement when I was a student here.”

  She laughed. “By most people’s standards, he probably was. He’s been heard to say he intends to die in his office at the college.” Madison wrinkled her nose. “Which is, unfortunately, in the dank basement of Welk Hall right now.”

  “So he told me.” Her father talked while they ate their salads; he’d seen a few more of his former professors, although none in the English department. “I think Herbert Wilson may be the last who was here when I was,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Several of the current professors have been here a long time, though.” She grinned at him. “It’s just that you graduated an eon ago.”

  “Brat.”

  The waiter brought their entrées and took away the salad plates. When they were alone again, Madison asked about the afternoon’s interview. She tried to hide how tense she was and hoped she only came across as concerned.

  “I gather you know the detective.”

  “Yes.” Oh God, she realized, the moment of truth had arrived. But she’d discovered recently that she wasn’t as great a coward as she used to think she was. And denying Troy felt wrong. Even so, her fingers clenched the napkin on her lap. “Did he tell you we’ve been dating?”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. “No. And neither have you. No, you said the man you’re dating is named Troy. I thought the detective’s name was John.”

  “Nickname.” She challenged him with raised eyebrows. “And I rarely tell you when I’m dating. You never ask.”

  “Seems like something you should talk about with your mother,” he muttered.

  “If I ever talked to her.”

  “You were never willing to give her a chance.”

  “She left me.” Madison heard how flat that sounded, how unforgiving. She saw his mouth open and shook her head. “No, I know that’s not fair. But at that age, all I knew was that she had abandoned me. And when she came to get me and I saw that she was already pregnant...” She made a face. “I never felt the same about her.”

  “The fault is rarely one-sided when a marriage fails,” her father said—once again taking her aback. He seemed different tonight, perhaps shaken off his usual pedestal by the reason for his visit.

  The thought troubled her, though, and she finally figured out why. No, this was the father she knew. When she went long stretches without seeing him in person, she forgot how the twitch of his mouth and the flicker of expression in his eyes changed how his words affected her. He sounded cold on the phone, but he really wasn’t. Sitting across the table from him, her daddy, it was easier to remember the father who had struggled to French braid her hair because she had desperately wanted to wear it that way, who had buried their ancient tabby cat Calypso in the back garden after Madison found her dead one morning. He’d been wearing one of his fine suits, she remembered, and had sworn to himself as he went upstairs to shower and change after they held their brief service and he held his sobbing daughter. But he’d done it.

  “Why didn’t you remarry?” she heard herself ask.

  He stared at her. “What in God’s name brought that up?” His expression changed to what might be shock. “Detective Troyer. You’re serious about him.”

  She lifted her chin. “Yes.” And braced herself for what she knew would come.

  He set his fork down. “Are you aware I was friends with his father?”

  Madison nodded, eyeing him warily. Wasn’t Dad going to ask incredulously what she could possibly be thinking of to date a lowly cop? She cleared her throat. “Yes, Troy told me.”

  “He looks uncannily like Joe—his father.”

  “I saw a picture of Mr. Troyer, taken not that many years ago. The resemblance is strong.”

  “Joe wasn’t ambitious the way I was.” Dad sounded reflective rather than condemning. “He was smart enough, but too laid-back.” His eyes zeroed in on hers. “This Troy can’t be very ambitious, either, if all he’s interested in is small-town law enforcement.”

  “I’m not so sure ambition and happiness go hand in hand.” Did I really have the nerve to say that to my father? she thought, shocked.

  He dipped his head stiffly.

  Had she hurt his feelings?

  “But I think you’re wrong about Troy,” she continued. “He was with Seattle P.D. for something like eight or ten years, rising to detective. He only came home to Frenchman Lake in the past couple years. It’s good that he’s been here for his mother, after his dad died.”

  Her father gave a one-shoulder shrug in acknowledgment.

  “I have no idea whether Troy is ambitious—whether or not he wants to rise to police chief here
and then move on to a larger jurisdiction. What I do know is that he’s dedicated to his job. He’s smart and stubborn and he doesn’t give up when he sets his mind to something.” She paused. “Like solving the King murder.”

  Again they stared at one another. It felt disconcertingly like two fencers facing off. Madison sensed that, this time, she’d surprised her father.

  And maybe herself.

  “It could be a mistake to underestimate him.” Again Dad sounded thoughtful.

  She stiffened. “What does that mean?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Exactly what I said. He wasn’t quite what I expected.”

  Madison had to ask. “What did you expect?”

  “What I think of as the typical cop mentality. Linear thinking. No subtlety. In his case, young and therefore cocky.”

  She blinked. “So that means you think he’s subtle, capable of complex thinking and the opposite of cocky?”

  His mouth curved in a rare smile. “Possibly. He is certainly very thorough.”

  An involuntary memory of Troy’s lovemaking made her think—yes. It also made her face warm.

  “I won’t ask what you were thinking.”

  “Please don’t,” she said sincerely.

  He grinned, but ruefully. “I don’t ask about who you’re dating because, I suspect like most men, I prefer not to think of any man relating to my daughter.”

  Her heart gave a funny squeeze. “It never occurred to me...”

  “You thought I didn’t care?”

  This was the strangest conversation they’d ever had.

  “Not that, exactly. I know you love me.”

  He searched her face, then nodded finally, but not as if he was satisfied. “You asked me why I never remarried,” he said abruptly. “I suppose that’s why. I’m not good at intimacy. My own parents weren’t warm people. Being affectionate with you was a struggle for me. And your mother needed something I couldn’t give her. I tried harder for your sake than I did for hers, I’m ashamed to say.”

  Madison’s smile felt crooked. “Because I needed you so much.”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed. “Did she have an affair while she was still married to you?”

  Her father’s face remained impassive. “I’d rather not answer that question. Talk to her. She does love you.”

  Madison crumbled her bread. “Maybe I will.”

  He picked up his fork and began to eat again. She followed suit, although her appetite was MIA.

  “You didn’t answer my question about your meeting with Troy,” she reminded her father.

  He set down his fork again and looked at her. “Because the answer is...I don’t know. I told him what I did and saw. I have no idea whether he believed me. And if he didn’t, what he can do about it. I can’t prove I didn’t kill Mitch King, and your detective can’t prove I did, because of course I didn’t.”

  Madison nodded, relieved to discover that—of course—she believed him.

  “You know he was blackmailing fellow students.”

  “Troy told me,” she agreed warily.

  “I was one of them.”

  “I...suspected. I could hear your bitterness when you talked about him.”

  “I suppose you wonder what I did that justified blackmail.”

  Not a question, but she nodded, anyway. Despite the extraordinary nature of this talk, her anger was alive and well. “I’ve spent a lifetime listening to your lectures on personal standards, on the conduct you expected of me, of how nothing short of perfection was acceptable.”

  He frowned, and she sensed that she had disconcerted him. “I never said that.”

  “That was my take.”

  “Then I’m sorry.” When she didn’t respond, the muscles of his face seemed to sag. It was as if he aged before her eyes. “I cheated in an advanced English seminar,” he said bluntly. “I’d gotten so full of myself, I didn’t think I had to work to get the grades. I procrastinated until I had no time left to write a paper with the quality I needed to get an A. So I stole a paper published in an obscure journal.” Despite the careful lack of inflection, his tone was dark. “I made a hasty decision to do it, and lived to regret it.”

  “Because somehow Mitch King found out.”

  He started to nod, then shook his head. “Because I was disappointed in myself. Shocked, even. Horrified to be caught, yes. Mostly, I discovered I wasn’t the man I had believed myself to be, the man I wanted to be. I’ve tried very hard since to be that man.” His mouth twisted. “Too hard, perhaps. The lesson was a harsh one.”

  “And you wanted to be sure I didn’t have to learn it myself.”

  He watched her closely, as though gauging her reactions. “Yes. I didn’t want you to find out what it’s like to despise yourself.”

  “It would have worked better if you’d told me you screwed up. Why it mattered so much that you never make that kind of mistake again.” She had to say this, if only once. “Instead I was left trying to measure up to a father who presented himself as godlike.”

  The years settled even more heavily on him. “That was never my intention.”

  The best she could do was nod. She believed him. Forgiveness was another issue.

  But he was also the father who had taken vacation so they could go to Disneyland when it was probably the last thing he wanted to do. He’d at least pretended to have fun so she could.

  And poor Dad dealt with her shock and embarrassment when she started getting noticeable breasts well before most of her classmates. A boy had teased her and she’d come home in hysterics. Dad had bravely taken her shopping for her first bra that evening. She was with him when her first period came, too. Mom had prepared her, at least, and made sure she had supplies, but she’d been freaked enough to need to talk to someone, and Dad was there. She still remembered him gravely listening, and talking to her about what being a woman meant. He had even told her stories of how his own body had changed, so she knew the boys’ points of vulnerability and had some defense against them.

  The silence had stretched. Dad’s eyes were veiled by his lashes as he slowly turned his wineglass around and around. Madison’s heart hurt.

  “I love you,” she blurted out. “Sometimes I’m mad at you, too, but...I do love you.”

  His smile held all the complexity of the emotions she struggled with herself, but it was a good smile. Warm. Without giving herself time for second thoughts, Madison stood up and went around the table to hug the difficult man who was her daddy.

  He swiveled in his chair and his arms closed around her hard. Despite the awkwardness of her position and the fact that they were in the middle of a restaurant, they stayed like that for a long time.

  * * *

  TROY DIDN’T EXPECT to hear from Madison Friday night, although he would have given a lot for a brief phone call. All she had to say was, I know it’s weird with Dad here, and you probably can’t tell me what he said, but...I wanted to hear your voice. He would have felt better.

  But okay, he understood why she didn’t call. The situation was awkward, given the reason for her father’s visit and Troy’s adversarial relationship with him. But she didn’t call Saturday, either. And that’s when he realized he knew exactly what his problem was.

  Before, when he’d claimed her father was always there with them, he’d been speaking metaphorically. That had made him uneasy enough. Now, Dad was literally here. In Madison’s house. His actual, physical presence had Troy’s doubts biting deep. A part of him was thinking, Crunch time. Madison had to make a decision.

  And the longer the silence continued, the more he feared she had made it already.

  Troy finally gritted his teeth late in the morning on Sunday and phoned her.

  “Oh, hi.” Madison sounded less than enthusiastic to hear from him. Imagination? He didn’t know. Her voice was low, almost a murmur. “Um...Dad’s still here. This isn’t a good time.”

  Troy’s eyes narrowed. She hadn’t said his name. So Dad doesn’t know who
she is talking to?

  “He stayed the whole weekend?”

  “Yes. Yesterday we toured wineries and we’re just heading out the door to have brunch at Cordray.”

  Cordray was the fanciest—and priciest—restaurant in town. Troy hated to think how much even brunch there would run.

  “I won’t keep you then,” he said.

  “Dad’s been really opening up to me.” Nearly whispering, she sounded awed.

  He wondered what he was supposed to say to that. How nice? When what Troy was thinking was that the timing of Dad making nice was suspicious, given his curiosity about the investigation. Troy wanted to say, yeah, that’s great, but why didn’t Dad open up to you twenty years ago, when you really needed him? Or even ten years ago?

  Angry and frustrated and yes, damn it, jealous, he still managed to clamp his mouth shut. After a minute, he said, “I’m going to be out of town the next day or two.”

  “Oh?” But she didn’t sound very interested. In fact, he heard a murmur, as if she’d momentarily covered the phone. “Listen, I really have to go now,” she said into the phone.

  Troy had to work to get any words past the ball in his throat. “See you” seemed enough. He ended the call without waiting for a response. Small of him, but, goddamn it, his hands were shaking.

  His worst fears had just come true. With Daddy here, “opening up” to her, Troy might as well not exist. He hadn’t heard even a hint that she’d missed him, had been thinking about him. Nothing.

  He’d been afraid all along that he couldn’t compete with the asshole of a father who filled her world.

  So now I know.

  Despite everything, Troy was stunned. Sick. Hurting.

  After talking to Madison, he went out to his garage-studio with the intention of sitting down at the wheel for the first time in weeks. But instead he looked blindly around and knew he wouldn’t throw any pieces worth firing.

  For the first time, he got a genuine glimmer of what his mother had been going through, why Dad’s death had completely wrecked her. Grief was one thing; this was something else. If a buddy, devastated by a breakup, had said to him, “I can’t live without her,” he would have considered it romantic drivel.