The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Puzzled, she swung open the heavy wooden panel. “Rosalind, did I forget you were supposed to be here tonight? Your father's not home."

  "No, Mother, we didn't have anything planned."

  Claudia offered her cheek for her daughter's kiss. “I must look a fright."

  "You look wonderful, as usual."

  Nevertheless, Claudia fingered a few loose strands of the light brown hair precision-cut into a youthful style and wished she'd changed out of her leggings and knee-length shirt after working out. Not that she wasn't proud of her figure, as slim as a girl's. She merely liked to be presentable, especially when meeting a stranger.

  "And who might this young man be?"

  "His name is Skelly McKenna."

  Rosalind made the pronouncement as if she should recognize the man. Claudia didn't even know any McKennas. “A new beau? How nice."

  "No, Mother, he's not. We need to talk to you about something important."

  Frowning, Claudia looked back on the work that was her life these days. She supposed she could spare a few minutes for her daughter.

  "Well, let's sit for a moment, then."

  Larger than the dining room, the living room was L-shaped and divided into three distinct seating areas. Claudia led them to her favorite, a grouping of couch and two chairs right outside the conservatory whose myriad plants provided her with some distraction from her more important daily pursuits. She sat in one chair and noticed that her daughter made a point to take the other. The young man settled in the middle of the couch.

  Curiosity piqued, she asked, “What is it, then?"

  Rosalind exchanged glances with her companion. “Skelly is a television reporter, Mother. You know what day today is, don't you?"

  The word reporter sent Claudia into a tizzy. Her breath quickened even as her head went light. Of course she knew what day it was. She wasn't senile. Not that she wanted to be reminded.

  "You know I try not to think of anything unpleasant," she snapped at her daughter. She glared at the dark-haired young man. “And I do not speak to reporters."

  "Then talk to me, Mother," Rosalind begged. “The Whole Story did a segment on Lily's escape from Dwight, but Skelly has agreed to do a follow-up. Something more favorable. But he needs some information."

  "How would I know about her escape?"

  "Not the escape, “the reporter said. “The murder. The circumstances surrounding Frank Sullivan's death."

  Her blood ran cold. “I couldn't tell you anything even if I wanted to."

  "Wouldn't you like to see your mother's name cleared?"

  "But she confessed."

  "The case was never investigated," Rosalind reminded her.

  "And your daughter feels there's some doubt as to her grandmother's guilt."

  The room began closing in on her. Claudia tried not to panic.

  "I cannot help you. I don't remember anything." She aimed an accusatory glare at her daughter. “You know that. I've told you that many times before."

  "But, Mother–“

  "How dare you bring this jackal into my home? Haven't I suffered enough?" Claudia's pulse was racing. She could feel the panicky rush throughout her body. “His kind doesn't care about the truth."

  "You don't know me well enough to generalize," the reporter interrupted. “I don't make up my stories. I don't tell lies, at least not purposely. If there's more to know about the murder – something that will put things in a new light for Lily Lang – then I want to set the record straight."

  "You prey on the weak. On the young, who can't defend themselves!"

  "Mother!"

  Claudia realized she was on the verge of ranting. She tried swallowing, but her throat muscles didn't want to cooperate. Her heart was banging painfully against her ribs...just like it did every time she thought about that horrible night more than thirty years before. And she'd broken out into a cold sweat.

  This wouldn't do. Wouldn't do at all.

  Claudia took a deep, slow breath and visualized as she'd been taught to do.

  Mere seconds later, under control, she said, “I'm sorry, Mr. McKenna. If Rosalind vouches for you, then of course you must be above the crowd." Though her breath was still shaky, she was feeling a bit better. More like herself. “But I simply have nothing to tell you."

  He persisted. “Perhaps if we re-created the events leading up to that murder...”

  Claudia's laugh was brittle. “A well-known psychiatrist prodded and probed, but he couldn't get inside my head. You're an amateur, my dear." Phantoms racing through her mind, pretending as if nothing were wrong, she stood. She gave her visitors her most practiced smile, her smoothest voice, both meant to assuage.” I am sorry, but I must get back to my work. Now. Be Kind to Kids is holding a fundraiser next month and I'm in charge."

  "Of course you are." Her expression blank, Rosalind rose and gestured for the reporter to do the same. “I'm sorry we bothered you, Mother."

  But Claudia's thoughts had already drifted back to the dining room and her proposal. She had to keep focused. Keep in mind who she was and what she was about.

  Then she would remain safe from the demons of the past that had for so long threatened to smother her.

  "I DID WARN YOU MOTHER WOULDN'T be able to tell you anything," Roz said shortly after they drove away from her parents' Winnetka property.

  "That you did."

  Though Skelly wasn't certain that her mother had been completely truthful with them. In his experience, a person often buried what he or she didn't want others to know about. And from the physical signs – changes in her respiration, pupils and skin tone – Claudia Lang Van Straaten certainly had been hiding something from them.

  Not that he would say as much to Roz. Not now. He needed her cooperation if he was to delve straight into the past for a journalist's dream of a story...and to get closer to the woman herself. He was beginning to think both objectives were equally important. His interest in the thirty-three year old murder was piqued...as was his growing attraction to Roz herself. He didn't want to put her off by sharing suspicions that might have no basis.

  He turned the conversation away from her mother. “I seem to remember someone else was staying in the Galena house. Your Aunt Hilary."

  "She wasn't home at the time of the murder."

  "So she said."

  He could feel Roz's gaze bore into him when she asked, “Are you naturally suspicious?"

  "Suspicion is a key weapon in a journalist's arsenal."

  "A famous quote?"

  "A personal observation. “Skelly waited a mere beat before pressing the issue. “So tell me about your Aunt Hilary."

  "She's a warm, kind woman. A bit eccentric but completely loyal." Roz sounded defensive. “She's devoted her life to this family."

  Giving Skelly the impression that she was devoted to Hilary Lang in return...and making him wonder exactly how close they were. Family loyalty. His cousin Keelin had it. So did Roz. Another thing he'd missed out on.

  "So Hilary took care of your family rather than having one of her own?"

  "Not every woman wants to marry and have children."

  "What about you?"

  "We're not talking about me."

  "We are now."

  He glanced at her. She was staring out the side window as if inspecting the properties they were passing. Too dark to see anything beyond the pools of golden light cast by the old-fashioned street lamps. He'd pushed her buttons and she was avoiding an answer. Because she didn't know? Or because she didn't care to share anything of herself with him.

  He couldn't help himself.

  "So, what about you, Roz?" he prodded, vaguely aware her answer was more important to him than it should be to an almost- stranger.

  "I haven't decided."

  "What's the hold up?"

  "I have my reasons."

  "Now you're really making me curious."

  "Not suspicious?" she asked, her gaze finding him in the dark once more.

  S
kelly glanced her way with a rueful smile. “They do go hand-in-hand." He wasn't going to wring any personal confessions out of her at the moment, so he got back to business. “Where does Aunt Hilary say she was when Frank Sullivan died?" For, if he'd come across the information in his research materials, he hadn't retained as much.

  "She was out for a walk."

  "At midnight?"

  "Frank Sullivan died before midnight," she reminded him.

  She was splitting hairs. “How long a walk did she take?"

  Roz was beginning to sound a bit exasperated when she said, “You'd have to ask her."

  An invitation he was eager to accept.

  "Good idea. She doesn't claim any lapses in memory, does she?" He didn't have to look Roz's way to sense her immediate displeasure. “I was only asking."

  "I'm sure Aunt Hilary will be happy to tell you whatever she can. She's a night owl, so we could call her when we get back to the city."

  "I was thinking about talking to her in person."

  "That's impossible. She lives with Grandfather in Galena, at least a three hour drive."

  "I didn't mean tonight. But I can get away tomorrow, as soon as I'm done taping. As luck would have it, I'm free for the entire holiday weekend."

  "I don't know.”

  He swept through her half-hearted objection. “Galena is the murder site, after all. Investigating long distance could prove...unrewarding."

  He could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea. Was she afraid of what he might learn? Or was it the thought of being alone with him so far from home. The second option both titillated and amused him.

  "So what about it?" he prompted.

  "You're not thinking of taking a camera crew, are you?"

  "Not now. Not until I'm certain there's reason. For the present, it'll just be you and me. “To lessen the impression that he wanted to spend some time alone with her, which of course he did, he added, “Unless your mother wants to come along," perfectly aware that Claudia Van Straaten would never agree.

  Roz seconded that notion. “I'm sure she won't. Though I will call and tell her what we're doing. After which, I'd best call Grandfather. He would pitch a fit if he was the last to know what was going on. I, uh, don't know how he'll feel about a reporter coming to stay."

  "Even if he knows my intentions are to help you clear his darling Lily's name?"

  "That might make the difference," she admitted.

  To devil her, he said, “Then, again, we don't have to stay at the family homestead."

  "That's right," she returned smartly. “You could get a motel room."

  Touché.

  "What's the matter, Roz...does being around me make you nervous?" he teased.

  "Of course not." Her voice was tight. “Irritable, perhaps, but not nervous."

  Skelly laughed. So he did have some effect on her. “That's a start."

  "For what?"

  "A promising relationship."

  "You must be joking."

  "Working relationship," he clarified, gratified when she shifted in her seat. “Although you never know what could come out of it. Take my friend Gary. He was partnered on an advertising campaign with the last woman in the world he wanted to work with. He and Cynthia had been rubbing each other the wrong way for months."

  "And their supervisor didn't notice?"

  "Their boss was taking a chance those sparks would electrify the campaign," Skelly explained. “He was absolutely correct." He thought to pull Roz's leg a bit and see where it got him. “And in the process, Gary and Cynthia found some personal electricity, as well."

  "Sounds like a recipe for disaster."

  "Not in their case," he fibbed. “It's five years and two kids later and they're still in love."

  "What's the point?"

  "That sometimes you find the unexpected in the least likely places."

  Roz smothered a choked sound but didn't come up with a return. Having finished the story with a whopper – Gary would kill him if he ever learned how he'd been defamed, for he still detested Cynthia – Skelly grinned, content to keep silent as they whipped along.

  Once back in the city, he said, “I'm not a mind reader. You'll have to give me your address unless you want me to leave you at a bus stop."

  Her reluctance to comply was palpable, as if he would have power over her merely because he knew where she lived.

  "Don't worry," he assured her, “I'm not the type of guy who drops over whenever he feels like it."

  "You wouldn't get past the doorman if you did.” A short pause and she said, “Sheridan and Diversey."

  "We're almost neighbors."

  Roz ignored the observation. “Tomorrow, I'll drive."

  "Uncomfortable with me at the wheel?"

  "There's nothing wrong with your driving. I know the route. I know the town. I'm being practical. So I'll pick you up at the station at one sharp."

  Practical, his Aunt Fanny. Biting back a retort, Skelly let her have her way. It was obvious that Rosalind Van Straaten, cosmetics heiress, was used to control, and he'd bet that trait wasn't limited to her professional life. He had a strong feeling that she didn't like surprises much. His enthusiasm for the long weekend growing, Skelly decided he'd have to teach her different, hoping that all the surprises would be pleasant ones for her, of course, and therefore pleasant for him.

  He'd never met anyone quite like Roz. Not that he hadn't been with his share of beautiful women. Smart ones, too. But something more – her complexity, the challenge she represented – set her apart from the others. And then there was the family loyalty that reminded him of Keelin.

  Enough reasons to want to know Roz better, Skelly decided, even if the investigation turned out to be a bust.

  Chapter Three

  "YESTERDAY, WE UPDATED YOU on the thirtieth anniversary of The Blonde Temptress's escape from the Dwight Correctional Facility for Women," Skelly said at the close of Friday's show. “As a result, I received a tip that, contrary to her voluntary confession, Lily Lang was innocent of State Senator Frank Sullivan's murder."

  He turned to his close-up camera.

  "I plan on investigating this claim first-hand. If there's a story, I'll find it," he promised. “And whatever I learn about Frank Sullivan's untimely death, you'll get it here, on The Whole Story, next week. Stay tuned."

  Skelly froze until he got the all-clear signal from the floor director. The first taping of the morning complete, he relaxed. The show would air early that afternoon. He'd already be on the way to Galena with Roz.

  A sound man removed his wireless microphone, and as Skelly rose, he stripped off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He'd have to change for the second program. As was typical in the industry, he never wore the same clothing on camera twice.

  "Good show, people," came the director's voice over the studio speaker. “Go mainline some caffeine."

  Knowing he had an hour before they began taping Monday's show, Skelly headed for his office where he could relax in private and do some thinking about the long weekend ahead. He hadn't been able to get Roz out of his mind for more than a few minutes at a time. He grinned when he thought of her reaction to the nickname that suited her better than the prissy-sounding Rosalind. Truth be known, he'd been walking around with a smile all morning. He couldn't remember when he'd looked forward to seeing a woman with such enthusiasm, even though this one wasn't exactly under his spell.

  The challenge definitely excited him.

  "Hey, Skelly, wait up."

  The research assistant he'd grabbed first thing that morning ran after him, waving a sheaf of papers.

  "Results so soon? I'm impressed."

  An attractive young woman right out of journalism school, Heidi was more ambitious than most. Skelly could always count on her to get what he needed.

  "Frank Sullivan wasn't exactly a retiring politician," she said. “He seemed to thrive on photo ops. I found more than a dozen articles covering his political activities in the months before
his death." She handed him the fruits of her research. “Hope this helps."

  "It's a start. I'll probably need more."

  "I'm with you. I'll be in town all weekend. My business card's right there," she said, indicating that she'd clipped it to the top of the stack. “I scribbled my home phone

  number on the back. Feel free to call any time."

  Skelly had the distinct impression that Heidi would welcome his call...business or not. “I may have to take you up on that."

  Before he could retreat, she said, “Hey, congratulations on the prime time spot."

  "I don't have the inside track yet."

  "You will. I have a feeling this story is going to push you right over the top. And, uh, when you do get the promotion, I assume you can hand-pick your staff..."

  "If any of this happens, I'll keep you in mind."

  "Thanks." With a thousand-watt smile, Heidi backed off, her gaze glued to his face.

  Skelly turned away, his mind already on the possibilities in hand.

  A few minutes later, settled in his office, sucking up some thick black coffee, he scanned the headlines, looking for any topic that might jump out at him. Sullivan had been involved in the usual stuff.

  Budget...school crisis...zoning.

  Heidi had been right about the photo opportunity thing. Sullivan's good-looking mug highlighted nearly every article. One picture particularly caught Skelly's attention – the state senator accompanied by one of his aides, who looked oddly familiar. Skelly remembered using a similar shot of the two of them in yesterday's broadcast. But the sense of recognition went beyond that.

  Skimming the story for a name to go with the youthful face, he did a double-take when he found it: Walt Rogowski. No wonder the young aide looked so familiar. Having been a state senator for more than twenty years, Rogowski had retired from politics a while back, supposedly to concentrate on his law practice. No one had been much surprised when he'd announced his candidacy for the upcoming gubernatorial election.