While Roz, as usual, was more diplomatic. “Could you possibly spare us a few minutes?"
"Of course. I always have time for my constituents." He broke away for a moment to glad-hand a couple of others. Then he turned back to Skelly. “What is it today, young man?"
"Away from here."
Annoyance crossed the politician's face so quickly that Skelly almost thought he imagined it.
"I really can't leave my post. My appearance here has been scheduled for weeks. But I can take a short break." He turned to the hulk and handed him the campaign literature. “Eddie, hold down the fort for a few minutes."
"Sure thing, boss." Eddie's eyes again strayed to Roz.
Only this time, Skelly registered the look he gave her. Rather than undressing her with his eyes as he'd imagined before, he sensed a different kind of tension. As if Eddie were sizing her up, but not in a sexual manner.
His thoughts were broken by Rogowski's “This way."
Skelly wrapped a protective arm around Roz's waist and followed the man around the side of the building to a less trafficked spot. They'd have at least a modicum of privacy, though behind the Old Market House, several floats for Tuesday's parade were being worked on.
Figuring there was no use beating around the bush, Skelly went right to it. “We've been to see Anthony Cavillo."
"Really." Rogowski's expression relayed only a subdued interest. “So you followed up on the zoning thing."
"And learned something even more interesting, something we weren't expecting." He watched the subtle change in the other man's features and wondered what the gubernatorial candidate feared they had learned. “It seems that Frank Sullivan had a penchant for a couple of young girls who worked for him."
"That." Pulling a disgusted face, Rogowski shook his head. “A terrible thing, especially for any man holding the public trust."
"Then you knew about it?" Roz asked, sounding shocked.
"Unfortunately."
"And helped cover it up?"
"You give me more power than I had at the time."
"But you didn't talk," Skelly rephrased.
A flare of something dark subtly colored the man's features. “We all make mistakes."
Roz said, “But it's not too late to correct yours."
"I appreciate your outrage, my dear. But you're referring to something that happened long, long ago. Too long to besmirch the name of a dead man who did this state much good." His temper was beginning to show when he asked, “For pity's sake, can't you two let Frank rest in peace?"
"Sullivan may be dead," Skelly stated flatly, “but his murderer is still free. No matter that she confessed, Lily Lang didn't do it. His molesting underage girls may be the motive we've been searching for –
Rogowski suddenly interrupted. “You're chasing your tail! You'll never get the proof you need. You'll never get anyone to talk to the authorities."
Meaning him, Skelly figured.
"Did my grandmother know about the girls?" Roz asked.
"I have no idea," the politician snapped. “Lily was Frank's friend, not mine."
"They were only friends," she emphasized, “not lovers."
"I never said they were."
The too-easily issued statement jarred Skelly. The last time they'd faced Rogowski, he'd indicated the only enemy he knew Sullivan had was Roz's grandfather. He'd implied Noah Lang had good reason to hate the man he'd considered his rival. And now the politician was backing off.
Wanting Rogowski's thoughts on the subject to be perfectly clear, he asked, “You're saying you don't believe Sullivan and Lily were lovers?"
"It never even crossed my mind, not when I knew Frank was in love with another woman and had been for years."
Skelly was remembering the politician saying that he didn't know his employer very well because of their differences both in age and social standing. And that he'd attempted to distance himself from any special knowledge where Frank Sullivan was concerned. While he was wondering how best to use the conflicting statements, an intense Roz beat him to it.
"The identity of the other woman...who was she?"
"You really don't have any idea?"
"Not a clue. How would I?"
Rogowski gave her a look of pity. “Because, my dear, the other woman was Hilary Lang."
TOO UPSET TO DRIVE, ROSALIND gave over the wheel to Skelly. Thankfully, he respected her feelings enough to give her a few much-needed moments of silence.
Aunt Hilary and Frank Sullivan...was it possible?
In all these years, the woman who'd been more of a mother than her own had never said a word. Not to her. Rather...not exactly.
Hilary had spoken of a man she'd loved with all her heart, though she'd never married him. Frank Sullivan? If that were true, why had she held back his identity, even now? Not that Hilary owed her that. But she did owe Lily. No public records indicated that she'd ever stood up for her own sister-in-law by countering the widow's accusations with the truth.
If truth it was.
Could she believe Walt Rogowski?
Rosalind certainly didn't want to. Acceptance would lead to other, more horrible possibilities. She'd have to consider her aunt a murder suspect. She'd have to believe her aunt could be responsible for the brakes...and her near-fatal fall from the bluff.
She couldn't.
Wouldn't.
And that's all there was to it.
Besides, she hadn't given up on Sullivan's murder being related to his penchant for teenagers. If only they'd gotten the name of the second girl before being distracted by Rogowski's astonishing revelation.
"Anything I can say to cheer you up?" Skelly asked as he parked below Lang House.
"I doubt it." Grandfather's and Mother's cars were in their spots, she noticed, but Hilary's was gone. “Not even one of your exaggerated stories would lighten my mood."
"How about a hug and a kiss and a declaration of my love and support?"
Tears that she refused to shed stung the backs of her eyelids. “I'd like that."
Skelly gathered her in his arms, gave her a sympathetic squeeze and stroked her hair. His kiss was filled with great affection rather than the passion she'd come to expect. Exactly what she needed at the moment, Rosalind realized, as if he could read her mind. She did feel better in the shelter of his arms.
Just as she always felt safer.
It suddenly came to her, that while she'd tried to avoid thinking directly about it, she had fallen in love with Skelly McKenna. And now wasn't exactly the moment to tell him so, not when her heart was heavy with other matters. He had to sense desire for each other wasn't the only thing they shared.
And she would tell him that she loved him...at the right moment.
Sighing, she said, “Maybe we should go in."
"Are you going to say anything to Hilary?"
"I'll have to. Eventually. I need a little time."
His head against hers, he nuzzled her hair. “Give her a chance to explain, too, Roz. One thing might not have anything to do with the other."
Meaning the fact that Hilary had been Sullivan's lover wasn't evidence that she'd killed him?
Rosalind nodded. “Of course."
"In the meantime, I'll make some calls and try to find out whether or not Barbara Pohl still owns a Bed and Breakfast in the area."
Skelly kissed her forehead and let go of her long enough to exit the car. Then he held her hand up the walk, fingers intertwined, until they'd entered the house.
"Rosalind?"
She followed the shaky voice to the front parlor where her grandfather sat staring down at the floor. More specifically, at the spot where Frank Sullivan had died. A shiver ran through her until Skelly moved close behind her, fingers gripping her upper arms. Drawing strength from his touch, she leaned back into him, glad for his support.
"What's wrong, Grandfather? “
"I must speak with you. Alone."
"Whatever you have to tell me...you can do so in front
of Skelly."
Sitting half-hidden in the afternoon shadows, he appeared shrunken, less imposing. And though she could sense rather than see his eyes, she knew they were focused inward rather than meeting hers.
"What is it?" she asked when he didn't immediately respond. “Are you feeling well?"
"No."
Alarmed, she pulled free of Skelly's grip and made for the rear parlor. “I'll call the doctor."
He held out a staying hand. “I don't need medical attention."
"But if you're not feeling well.“
"I need you to promise me that you'll stop. Both of you. Now."
Her heart thundered in her breast. She didn't have to ask what he meant. A glance at Skelly assured her that he would let her handle this.
"We can't stop, Grandfather. Not until we get to the truth. That's what you want, isn't it? To clear Lily's name after all these years?"
"The truth." His laugh stung with irony. “You don't understand. The truth is part of a house of cards waiting to tumble. Pluck it out and..." He lifted his gaze to her and finally focused as if seeing her for the first time. “I warn you, Rosalind, if you persist, you'll destroy everything you ever cared about."
A sick feeling welled inside her and her throat didn't want to work. “What do you mean?"
Without answering, he rose and shuffled past Skelly toward the stairs, for once looking every bit his age.
"Grandfather?"
Useless. He didn't so much as glance her way.
"What could he have meant, Skelly?" she whispered.
He took her in his arms as if to brace her, then said what she already knew in her heart.
"That he's been hiding the truth from you all along."
Chapter Twelve
AFTER A MUTED DINNER, ROSALIND announced the first thing that came to mind, that she and Skelly were heading for nearby Appleton. He'd learned the location of Barbara Pohl's Bed and Breakfast. Not that they were actually headed there. They left the house with three sets of accusing eyes following them.
A conspiracy?
Anything was possible, a disillusioned Rosalind now knew. Therefore, she and Skelly had worked out a plan based on her suspicions. Not that she'd explained all to him. For once, he hadn't plagued her with questions or arguments. He'd chosen to cooperate blindly, to trust that she knew what she was doing, and for that she was grateful.
She drove the Thunderbird down the street, but once out of line of site of Lang House, pulled over and parked. The weeping willow overhead would help camouflage the distinctive car. That and the creeping dusk.
"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" she asked, nerves twisting and turning.
"As long as it takes."
She felt hollow inside and who could blame her? Her grandfather had turned her world upside down.
...if you persist, you'll destroy everything you ever cared about...
"Why did he go along with my plan?" She been asking herself the same thing over and over and only one answer came to mind. “Why didn't he tell me to forget it?"
"Now that would have worked," Skelly said dryly.
She could hardly miss his sarcasm. “But I did this for him."
"Did you?"
"All right, for them. Grandfather...Aunt Hilary...Mother." When Skelly didn't respond, she asked, “Why else?"
"How about for yourself?"
"I never even met Lily...” Rosalind decided she owed Skelly the truth. “...though she did write to me a few times."
"She what?"
"During my debutante season, she saw my photograph in the society pages and wanted me to know how proud she was of me. The letters came about once a year and always from a different part of the country. I felt her love...and her underlying sadness...” she said, remembering how those missives had always touched her.
"Nice of you to let me in on all the facts."
"I didn't trust you to begin with, remember, and it's not like I could have told you anything that would have helped," she added defensively. “The last time I heard from Lily was right before I started graduate school."
"That was what? Four years ago?"
"Nearly five. Suddenly, there were so many changes in my life. “Like Tim, another subject she was reluctant to broach, though Rosalind knew it was inevitable. “Grandfather had his heart attack and retired. Aunt Hilary insisted they move back to Galena. Father took over Temptress and planned for me follow in his footsteps even before I had my M.B.A." Not for the first time, she wondered if she'd done what she wanted with her life or what had been expected of her. “I didn't think much about Lily until your broadcast. And then I couldn't think about anything else."
"So you wanted to clear Lily's name because she touched you in those letters."
"Partially, yes."
Though deep inside, she was looking for explanations, Rosalind realized. And justifications. And hope for the future. She didn't want to inherit some cursed gene, to find unhappiness in love, to be cut off from her deepest emotions as were the other women in her family. Lily. Hilary. Mother. She didn't want to continue the self-destructive pattern she'd started with Tim. She'd been looking for another chance at love and life and she'd found it.
With Skelly.
Before she could put any of those feelings into words, he said, “Here comes a car."
She glanced into her rear-view mirror and confirmed it. “Grandfather."
Aunt Hilary had told her about his frequent disappearing acts. Having a good guess at his activities, Rosalind had figured he would steal off at the first opportunity. Well, he'd kept his secret long enough. She gave him a head start, then followed. At the highway, he turned west. Fifteen miles out of town, he crossed the Mississippi and drove through Dubuque.
She was beginning to wonder if he would keep going straight through Iowa when he turned north on an unlit county road. Fearing she would lose him in the dark, she sped up to close the gap between them. Several more miles and he turned again, this road gravel. Stomach knotted as rock spewed around them, she kept him in sight until he swooped onto a long asphalt drive, a lit house at its end.
"A farm," Skelly noted.
"Nothing else out here."
"But who...?"
Rosalind cut her lights and coasted onto the property. Nearing the house, she brought the car to a stop. Her heart was racing. She sat and stared at the neat white building, wondering if all her questions would be answered inside.
"Maybe I ought to check things out first," Skelly said.
But a rush of adrenaline was already urging her out of the car. Her long-legged stride quickly ate the distance to the house. Skelly flew up right behind her even before she rang the bell.
"What is it you expect to find here, Roz?" he murmured, tone ripe with suspicion.
Breath caught in her throat, she fought a surge of nerves as the door opened to reveal an older if lovely woman with stylish chin-length silver hair, pale blue eyes and a mole decorating the corner of her mouth...
Her grandmother, Lily Lang, in person.
LILY'S HEART NEARLY STOPPED. “Rosalind. “Without hesitating, she wrapped her arms around the unresisting young woman who could have been her reflection thirty years before and took measure of the man who was staring at her, looking decidedly unsurprised. “And you're Skelly McKenna." She released her granddaughter and stood back from the door. “Come in, both of you."
Rosalind seemed rooted to the spot, as if she didn't know how to act around her. Who could blame the child?
"Why couldn't you leave it alone?" Noah ground out. He gripped the arms of his chair and stared accusingly at his granddaughter.
As Skelly drew Rosalind into the living room, Lily softly said, “Noah, please. She had a right."
"He has no rights," her husband said of Skelly. “He wouldn't care what really happened unless he could squeeze a sensational story out of it."
But Lily sensed something more between her granddaughter and the young man who held onto her so posses
sively.
"Please, sit." She indicated the couch. “I was about to make a pot of tea."
"No tea." Rosalind spoke at last, and when she faced Noah, it was with a sad face. “If you didn't want me to investigate in the first place, why didn't you just say so?"
Swallowing hard, Lily was the one to answer. “You can stop now," she said, hoping. “Return to Chicago, content knowing that I am at peace."
"People believe –“
"I don't care what people think."
"But you didn't kill Frank Sullivan," Skelly stated, no doubt shading his voice.
"It doesn't matter any more."
"It does," Rosalind insisted. “If the authorities ever got wind of your being here, you'd be back in prison in a flash. Why did you lie? Who are you still protecting?"
And Lily knew that the secret was not hers to keep any longer. Hers and Noah's. Rosalind did have a right. And something in her granddaughter's fearful expression told her that the girl already suspected. Not knowing would eat at her, and in the end, she would force the issue because she was who she was. Her and Noah's grandchild – her looks, his temperament.
Aware that she had no choice, Lily took a deep breath and sat on the arm of her husband's chair, clasping his hand for courage. She would tell all.
Then their granddaughter would have to decide what to do with the truth.
"I was getting ready for bed when I heard a gunshot," she calmly began...
THE TORTURED SOUND OF CHOKED SOBS filtered through the wooden panels as, hands shaking, Lily slid open the parlor's double doors to a horrific sight...
"Claudia!"
The soft light from a table lamp illuminated her thirteen year old daughter, who stood over a body. Blood streaked her nightgown, her hands and the gun she awkwardly held.
"Claudia, what have you done?" Lily cried, rushing to the man's side.
He lay face down, perfectly still, a pool of blood seeping from beneath his chest over the floorboards. Only when she was on her knees did she recognize him. Frantic, she checked his vital signs.
There were none.
Frank Sullivan, her lifelong friend, was dead.
The McKenna Legacy Trilogy Page 37