“I believe Deirdre has lent her car to Rosa on occasion.”
“Rosa?”
“Rosa Sanchez, my wife’s housekeeper.”
“Charles? What’s wrong?” a weak voice called from the top of the stairs.
The staircase led straight up from the foyer. Dillon lifted his gaze, following the sound of the voice. A woman stood on the landing staring down at him. Her thin, frail shoulders were stooped, and one clawlike hand clutched the fabric of her robe at her throat while the other clung to the wrought-iron banister.
Like Dr. Robinson, her hair was almost completely gray, but without the rich silver highlights. It was dull and stringy, as lifeless as the eyes that stared down at Dillon.
A chill went through him as the woman’s gaze clung to his. At first, he thought she must be Dr. Robinson’s mother, and then he realized with a shock that this was the once-elegant Deirdre Robinson. In the weeks since Dillon had seen her at Brad’s funeral, she’d changed so much he hadn’t recognized her.
“Go back to bed, Deirdre,” Robinson said wearily. “I’ll handle this.”
“Where were you tonight between the hours of eight and nine?” Dillon called up to her.
Charles Robinson said angrily, “Now see here. I won’t have you badgering my wife. I told you she hasn’t been well.”
Hasn’t been well? Dillon thought. That was a gross understatement. The woman looked devastated. Demented.
“Did you take your car out tonight?” he persisted.
“I’ve been home all evening,” she said in her feeble voice. “Isn’t that right, Charles?”
Dillon glanced at Robinson. Doubt flickered in the man’s eyes. Then he nodded. “She’s been in her room resting.”
“I’ve spoken with Taylor Robinson. She said you threatened her at Brad’s funeral.”
Suddenly the thin string of self-control that had been holding Deirdre Robinson together snapped. She clasped the banister with both clawlike hands as she bent toward Dillon, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation.
“That woman deserves to die,” Deirdre screamed. “She’s responsible for my son’s death. She drove him to do what he did. All those years sharing his bed when the whole time she was thinking about another man. He knew. Do you know what that did to a man like Brad? Do you have any idea the pain that woman caused him?” Deirdre collapsed at the top of the stairs, still clinging to the banister.
“Get out of my house! How dare you come here? How dare you?” she sobbed.
Charles Robinson took the stairs two at a time. Gently he picked up his wife and cradled her spent body in his arms. “If you have anything further to say,” he told Dillon, “you can talk to our attorney. Otherwise, I’ll thank you to get out of my house.” He turned and strode down the hallway, carrying his wife as easily as if she were a child.
FOR THE SECOND TIME that evening, Dillon found himself parked in front of the house on Tamarind Street. He got out, ran up the marble steps and rang the bell. Once again, Miranda Walsh answered the door. She stared at Dillon for a moment, then wordlessly stepped aside for him to enter.
“I need to see Taylor.”
“She isn’t here. She had Carl take her to collect her car.”
Dillon had no idea who Carl was but assumed he was one of Miranda’s flunkies. He turned to go.
“Just a minute,” Miranda said imperiously. “I’d like a word with you.”
Dillon waited.
“Taylor told me what she’s planning. I want you to stop this ridiculous investigation. Have you any idea what my daughter is letting herself in for? How could you, in good conscience, encourage her in this…lunacy?
“I’m not encouraging her in anything,” Dillon said. “I agreed to listen to her because—”
“Because you saw a perfect opportunity.” Miranda’s voice dripped venom as she cut him off. “The beautiful young widow. Vulnerable. Wealthy. And here you come along at just the right moment, telling her exactly what she wants to hear.”
“Let’s get one thing straight.” Dillon lowered his voice. “Taylor came to me because she had no one else to turn to. No one else who would listen to her,” he added pointedly.
Two bright spots of red painted Miranda’s pale cheeks. Her blue eyes glittered angrily. She said through gritted teeth, “We had a bargain. Or have you forgotten?”
Dillon gazed down at her in distaste. The sight of Miranda Walsh’s anger no longer had the power to intimidate him. Nothing about the woman intimidated him anymore. She merely disgusted him. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said quietly. “I’ve never forgotten.”
“Then stay away from my daughter. I’m warning you. Don’t encourage her in this investigation. I could make things very…unpleasant for you if you do.”
Dillon’s eyes narrowed on her. “What are you so afraid of, Miranda? Are you really worried that Taylor will get hurt, or are you scared of what she might find out if she digs too deeply? You are on the board at the Westcott Clinic, I understand.”
The color in Miranda’s cheeks deepened. “How dare you?”
“I dare,” Dillon said coldly, “because I know you. I know better than anyone what you’re capable of.”
TAYLOR STOOD at her bedroom window and stared into the darkness, too restless to sleep. The night was very still with a waxing moon just rising over the treetops. Her backyard lay in deep shadow, shapes indistinguishable in the blackness, but she could smell the roses. The scent was nostalgic, haunting, reminding her of summers past.
And love lost.
Memories rushed through her. Angry voices echoed inside her head. After all these years, she could still remember almost every word of the fight she and Dillon had that night, could still see the hurt and disillusionment in his eyes.
It had seemed like such a small thing at the time, but Taylor had been young, barely twenty. She hadn’t understood the depth of Dillon’s pride.
She’d lived such a privileged life, had always gotten everything she wanted, and so when the subject of the Christmas dance at the country club came up and Dillon informed her that he’d agreed at the last minute to work that night, the most natural thing in the world for Taylor to say was, “I’ll pay you not to work.”
In all these years, Taylor had never forgotten the stricken look on Dillon’s face as he gazed down at her. They had just made the most glorious, tender, passionate love, but suddenly there was a gulf between them.
“I can’t believe you said that. What do you think I am?” He got up and started putting on his clothes.
Taylor reached for him, but he shrugged off her hand.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she cried. “What’s so wrong with what I said? I just want us to be together, Dillon. I want you to come to the dance with me. I want us to have fun.”
He turned and glared at her coldly. “Don’t you think I want that, too? Don’t you think I’d give anything to be able to take you to that dance?” He picked up her cashmere sweater from the floor and crushed it in his fist. “It kills me that I can’t buy you nice things like this. That I can’t give you what your mother can. But I won’t take money from you, Taylor. Not now, not ever. If you can’t accept that, then we may as well call it quits here and now.”
The argument had accelerated from there. He’d called her selfish and spoiled, and she’d retorted that his stupid pride meant more to him than she did. She’d stormed out of his dingy apartment, knowing she was in the wrong but too stubborn to admit it.
That stubborn streak had allowed her mother to talk her into going to the dance with Brad that night. The Robinsons and Walshes had been friends for years, and Brad had always been like a big brother to Taylor. He was eight years older and a resident at Mercy General Hospital.
She wore her new white Valentino gown and the diamond bracelet her mother had given to her for Christmas. Her blond hair was swept up and back, her head was held high, and she knew she looked fantastic.
But the moment her eyes met Dillon’s, Taylo
r felt only shame. He wore a white shirt, black slacks and a black bow tie, the same as all the other waiters and bartenders wore.
He would be working for hours, on his feet well into the morning, trying to earn money for his last year of law school, while Taylor and all her rich, spoiled friends would dance the evening away.
But Dillon had more character than any of Taylor’s friends. More honor and integrity than anyone she’d ever known. And what had she done? She’d tried to take it all away from him.
In that split second when their eyes held, Taylor realized what she had done. Suddenly she couldn’t stand the sight of the expensive dress that clung to her body, or the cold diamond bracelet that encircled her wrist like a chain.
But most of all, she couldn’t stand the sight of herself, reflected over and over again in the dozens of mirrors lining the ballroom.
“Dillon!” She called his name, but it was too late. He’d already turned and left the room. Taylor started to follow him, but Brad caught her arm.
“Don’t go after him, Taylor. He isn’t worth it.”
She paused only for a moment. “You’re wrong,” she said. “I’m the one who isn’t worthy.” Then she turned and ran after Dillon.
She caught up with him in the parking lot. “Dillon, wait!” she cried. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for everything.”
He gazed down at her coldly. “You’d better get back inside, Taylor. Robinson’s waiting for you.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care about anything but you!”
He shook his head in disgust. “You certainly have a strange way of showing it.”
Taylor caught at his arm. “Dillon, listen to me. Brad doesn’t mean anything to me. Not the way you do. He’s just a friend. I only came here with him because Mother asked me to. And to make you jealous,” she admitted, hanging her head in shame. “I’m so sorry, Dillon. Please forgive me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s too late for that. Look at you. You look like a princess. You and Robinson—you’re two of a kind. You come from the same world. You and me…we were just never meant to be, Taylor,” he said sadly.
“Don’t say that,” she pleaded. “I love you, Dillon. Please don’t leave me.”
But he was already getting into his car. He sat there and stared at her for a moment, as if fighting his own resolve. Then he started the engine and drove off.
Taylor was devastated, but Brad was there to take care of her. To take her back to his apartment and let her cry herself to sleep. In the days that followed, when it seemed that Dillon had disappeared off the face of the earth, Brad was the only one who understood Taylor’s torment.
A few weeks after the dance, Taylor found out she was pregnant. She knew she had to get in touch with Dillon somehow. He had a right to know about the baby. Their baby. Decisions had to be made.
But she couldn’t quite bring herself to call his family’s home in Mississippi. She knew Dillon’s parents had never approved of her. They thought she was a spoiled, rich brat who would end up ruining their son’s life.
Dillon was the first of the Reeves children to go to college. They were all enormously proud of him, all had high expectations for him. Taylor wondered what they would all think of her when they found out she was pregnant with his baby.
Dillon was an honorable man. She knew he would insist on doing the right thing. She had no doubt he would marry her, but she also knew what that meant. He wouldn’t accept help from her mother and so he would have to drop out of law school and go to work full-time to support her and the baby. All his dreams of becoming a lawyer would be destroyed because of her.
Dillon’s family would be proven right. Taylor would have ruined his chances for having a better life. And one of these days, he would come to resent her for trapping him.
For once in her life, Taylor wanted to do the right thing, wanted to think of someone other than herself. But as the days and nights dragged on and she still had no word from Dillon, she became desperate. What if something had happened to him? What if he was sick or had been in an accident? What if he needed her?
Finally gathering her courage, Taylor called his parents’ home only to have Dillon’s older brother, Caleb, inform her that Dillon had left town and he wasn’t coming back. Ever.
As the memories flooded through her, Taylor shivered, gazing out into the darkness. She put her hand to her cheek and wiped away a stray tear. It had been a long time since she’d cried over those memories.
She’d been to blame for a lot of things that had gone wrong in her relationship with Dillon. She’d been spoiled, selfish and insensitive. She hadn’t understood Dillon’s fierce sense of pride, and it had cost her dearly.
A moth fluttered past her cheek and Taylor started to bat it away, then froze. Out in the garden, a shadow moved. The hair on her nape prickled.
Absently she rubbed the back of her neck as she gazed at the spot in the darkness, wondering if she had imagined the movement. And even if she had seen something, there could be any number of explanations—like a tree limb blowing in the breeze.
Except the breeze had died away.
There was nothing in the air but a kind of waiting silence. The calm before the storm.
You’re being crazy. Paranoid. There’s no one out there.
But even as she tried to convince herself there was no need to worry, something Dillon said earlier came back to her.
If your suspicions are true and Brad was murdered, then the real killer is still out there somewhere. If you start asking a lot of questions, he might come after you. In fact, he might already have done so.
THE PHONE AWAKENED Taylor in the middle of the night. The alarm clock next to her bed read 2:13 in icy blue neon. She stared at the phone, not wanting to answer it, afraid that it would be another hang-up. The sound of nothing but soft breathing on the other end of the line was particularly disturbing in the middle of the night.
But as the phone pealed again, something inside Taylor made her reach out and pick it up. She didn’t want to give in to the cowardice inside her. Didn’t want Deirdre—or whoever was on the other end—to know that she was afraid.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Robinson?” said a female voice.
“Yes.”
“Did you get my messages?”
Taylor’s heart tumbled as she recognized the woman’s Spanish accent. “Messages?”
“The newspaper articles.”
“Yes, I got them.” Taylor gripped the phone so tightly she could feel her knuckles whiten. “But I’m not sure I know what they mean.”
“Of course you know what they mean,” the woman said impatiently. “Your child is alive.”
Taylor gasped. “How do you know? Who are you?”
“Someone who wants to help you.”
“Why?”
“Because your husband was murdered. He knew what I know, and I don’t want to be next.”
Taylor’s hand was shaking so badly she could hardly hold the phone. “Then why don’t you go to the police? Tell them what you know?”
“Because the police won’t listen to me. They’ll listen to you. You’re somebody important. I’m counting on that.”
“Who are you?” Taylor asked desperately. “Tell me your name.”
Silence.
“Who killed my husband?”
Silence.
Taylor swallowed a cry of frustration. “Please,” she said. “Where is my child?”
“Close,” the woman said. “Closer than you realize.”
Taylor’s heart slammed against her chest. “Please,” she whispered. “Oh, please, tell me, is he all right—”
“Check the records,” the woman said. “It’s all in the records.”
Then the phone clicked in Taylor’s ear as the woman hung up.
Chapter Nine
“Thank God you’re home.”
“Taylor?” Dillon roused himself and stared at the clock. It was after two in the morning. An alarm jo
lted through him. Something else must have happened. He sat up in bed, swinging his legs over the side. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” Her voice sounded shaken. He could almost see her pressing her fingertips to her lips. “She called me, Dillon.”
“Deirdre Robinson?” He reached for his jeans.
“No. Her. The woman at the cemetery. The one who’s been sending me the messages.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“She spoke with a Spanish accent. She said…oh, God, Dillon…she said our child is still alive.”
“Hold on. I’m coming over.”
TAYLOR MET HIM at the front door. She was wearing a paisley print robe trimmed in blue satin over white satin pajamas. Even with no makeup and her hair all tousled from sleep, she looked incredibly beautiful.
Dillon followed her into the living room. They both sat down on the sofa and Taylor turned to him, her eyes shining with excitement.
“What time did the call come in?” Dillon asked.
“It was 2:13. Exactly. I looked at my clock.”
“I don’t suppose you have caller-ID?”
Taylor sighed. “I wish. I thought about getting it when I was receiving all those hang-up calls, but I assumed Deirdre was behind them. Now, I’m not so sure. I’d give anything to know who placed that call tonight. She said our child is still alive, Dillon. She said he was close. So close—”
“Hold on,” Dillon said. “Slow down. Tell me everything you can about the conversation, in the order that you remember it.”
Taylor complied, her brows drawn together in a frown as she concentrated. When she finished, she put her hand on Dillon’s arm. “Don’t you see? This is what we’ve been waiting for. Now they’ll have to reopen the investigation into Brad’s death. After what happened to me last night, and now this…we have proof he was murdered.”
Dillon hated to burst her bubble, but she had to face facts sooner or later. “We don’t have any proof, Taylor. The police department gets anonymous calls like this all the time. Most of them never pan out.”
“But…this is proof.” Her voice rose in frustration. “What more do you want? What else can I say or do to convince you?”
Amanda Stevens Bestseller Collection: Stranger In Paradise/A Baby's Cry Page 29