The Truth About Jane Doe

by Linda Warren

  “I can help, Matthew. I can.”

  “C.J.—”

  Miss Emma strolled in with an armload of files and dumped them on his desk. “Have fun,” she said—a little impudently—and left the room.

  Matthew glanced at the files, then at C.J.

  Her chin jutted at a stubborn angle. “I’m staying, Matthew.”

  “Fine,” he said, knowing it was pointless to argue. Besides, he could use her help. “Start looking for anything that has to do with you or the Townsends. In particular, look for notes Dad scribbled in the margins.”

  For two days they went through file after file, starting with the year she was born and the year after that. They found nothing. His dad had done a lot of work for Victoria Townsend, but none of it pertained to C.J.

  Even his office in New York hadn’t been able to turn up anything on Joyce or Clare.

  C.J. sat in middle of the floor, files all around her. Matthew sat at his desk, files stacked high on either side. Both were tired and frustrated.

  Matthew rubbed his aching neck and looked at C.J. She sat cross-legged, a file in her lap, avidly reading its contents.

  “Listen to this!” she said eagerly, scrambling to her feet and pushing a file in front of Matthew. “There’s some scribbling to the side about Joyce Townsend and a flight to Florida. The date is November of the year I was born. Surprise, surprise,” she muttered. “Joyce wasn’t in Europe, after all.”

  Matthew studied the scribbling and couldn’t make much sense of it, but he knew someone who could.

  “Miss Emma,” he called.

  “What?” she answered impatiently, coming through the door. “It’s getting late. I’m ready to go home.”

  “In a minute,” Matthew said. “I’d like you to look at something.” He gestured at the file on his desk. “Can you tell us what this means?”

  She peered at the writing. “Good God, you’re not asking much. That was so long ago.”

  Matthew thought talking about the Townsends might help jog her memory. “What were Joyce and Clare like when they were growing up?” he asked.

  She blinked at the quick change of subject, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Joyce was the beautiful one with her blond hair and blue eyes. The boys were all crazy about her, but she wouldn’t give them the time of day. She considered herself too good for the local boys. Victoria sent her away to school when she was about thirteen. I didn’t see much of her after that, except on holidays.”

  “And Clare?”

  “She was the sweet one, not stuck up like her sister. Of course she wasn’t as attractive as her sister, either, and people were constantly reminding her of that. So I guess it’s understandable she preferred books to people.”

  He pointed to the margin. “What does that mean?”

  She studied it for a moment. “Flight 202. Joyce Townsend. Miami, Florida,” she read, wrinkling her brow in thought. “Oh, I remember now. Victoria always had your dad handle her problems. Even when he was busy with his judge duties, she’d call him. That year Joyce was studying art in Europe. She must have been in her early twenties. She came home for Thanksgiving and stayed hidden at the ranch, didn’t want anyone to see her. Victoria was worried about her. So your father arranged for her to go to a resort in Florida to get some rest and pampering. Joyce came here in sunglasses and a big floppy coat to get the details from your father. At first I didn’t even recognize her. She’d put on a lot of weight and looked pretty bad. Only time I ever remember seeing her look that way.”

  A spark of excitement ran through Matthew and he could see the same spark on C.J.’s face.

  “Did she come home for Christmas?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Next I heard, Victoria had sent her back to Europe.”

  “Think, Miss Emma. Are you sure she didn’t come home for Christmas?” C.J. asked, unable to stay silent any longer.

  “I can’t be sure. It’s been so long,” Miss Emma shook her head. “Now, I need to get home to Herman.”

  “Wait a minute.” Matthew grabbed a folder he’d put aside. “There was something here about Clare. Dad arranged for her to go to the Golden Light in Dallas the February after C.J. was born. What kind of place is that?”

  “Lordy, Lordy, why do y’all have to dig this up?”

  “Please, Miss Emma, help us,” C.J. begged.

  Miss Emma leaned in close and whispered, “I don’t want this to get out, but Clare’s had all kinds of problems. Poor thing, the only time I remember seeing her with a boy was Benny Joe Johnson, the blacksmith’s son and—”

  “No,” C.J. broke in, “she didn’t date anyone. I went to the high school and got her year book. I talked to some of her classmates and teachers. They all said the same thing. She was shy, introverted, and like you said, she only had an interest in books. No one even remembered her having a date.”

  “Well, they didn’t see what I saw.”

  “We need facts, not gossip,” Matthew said.

  “Gossip? I don’t gossip,” Miss Emma returned indignantly.

  “Okay.” Matthew sat back. “Tell us what you saw.”

  “Well, I had Ben—Benny’s father—build a big birdcage for the parrot I had then, but one of the rods came loose and I took it back for him to weld. There was no one in the shop, so I went to the little room Ben uses as an office and kitchen. I thought he was eating his lunch. The door was ajar and I peeked in. Lordy, did I get an eyeful. Clare and Benny were on the sofa doing some heavy necking. I immediately went back to the shop.”

  Matthew straightened. “Are you sure it was Clare?” he asked slowly.

  “Yes!” Miss Emma snapped. “I’m not blind. Besides, when I left I drove around back, and there was the white Porsche Victoria had bought her for her birthday, hidden behind some bushes. I saw it parked there a lot of times after that.”

  C.J. threw up her hands. “I don’t believe this. No one remembers her even looking at a boy.”

  Miss Emma shrugged. “I guess they wanted to keep it a secret, but Victoria must have found out, because she sent her off to school in Switzerland a month before school was out. That would’ve been some time the previous April. Martha went with her because Victoria wasn’t well.” She stopped, then added, “When Clare came home, she was a mess. Tried to kill herself that February. Sure did.” Miss Emma nodded. “Took a bottle of Victoria’s sleeping pills. As always, Victoria called your father and he arranged for Clare to get some help at the Golden Light. It’s a private clinic for people with problems. Of course your dad always registered the girls under assumed names, because of John’s political career and all.”

  That was it, Matthew thought. That’s why his firm couldn’t find anything on them. But something wasn’t right.

  “Dad wrote their real names in the margin,” he reminded her.

  “That’s a note to himself, so he could remember who was going where. All the flights and homes were in another name.”

  “Do you know the names Dad used?”

  “Lordy, no. He kept that to himself.”

  Damn. Matthew brought his attention back to the matter at hand. “Clare tried to kill herself the February after C.J. was born?” Matthew repeated, scribbling bits of information on a pad.

  Miss Emma’s eyes narrowed. “I think it was. The date should be in the file.”

  C.J. ran around the desk to look.

  Matthew’s finger pointed to the date.

  “It is!” C.J. clapped her hands together, almost afraid to think what that meant.

  “I’m going home—you two can sort this out,” Miss Emma said, heading for the door. “You know, that pair of old fools have been out there every day, sitting over at the courthouse, talking to people, drinking coffee. They’re starting to get on my nerves. So please take them home. And, young Matthew, remember you have an early call at the courthouse. Joey Barnes, fourth speeding ticket.”

  He frowned. “Is that in the morning?”

  “Yes, but it shouldn’t take
long. Joey’s sixteen, and he has six brothers and sisters. His dad passed away about a year ago and he’s having a hard time adjusting.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  As the door closed on Miss Emma, Matthew turned to C.J. “Pete and Harry don’t have to stay here all day.”

  “I’ve told them that, but they’re getting up two hours earlier to do the chores. Harry goes home during the day to check on things. They’re stubborn. They won’t listen to me.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Must be contagious.”

  “I’m not stubborn,” she denied.

  “Yeah, right.” He grinned and leaned back and stretched his arms. “Time to quit for the day.”

  “No!” C.J. cried. “We’re just getting started. We have to find out more about Clare and Joyce.”

  “C.J.” He pulled her onto his lap. “Everything’s closed for the day and we need to get some rest. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Matthew, tomorrow’s so far away,” she complained. “Just think about it. Joyce mysteriously comes home at Thanksgiving and Clare has a secret boyfriend. There has to be something in all of that. It’s just too many secrets.”

  His hand smoothed her hair. “We’ll find out, I promise.”

  “I thought I could find out, too, but everyone lied to me.”

  He lifted her hair away from her neck. “I know, and I’m sorry about that, but now things are starting to happen. We’re going to find your birth mother.” As he finished speaking, he kissed the hollow of her neck.

  She moved against him, unable to think when he touched her like that. “Matthew,” she breathed. Her lips grazed his jaw, then his chin and lingered on his mouth.

  His arms encircled her waist and brought her closer, and he kissed her long and hard. So long and so hard she had trouble catching her breath.

  “We haven’t been together since…” he whispered into her neck.

  “I know,” she answered on a ragged breath.

  “Let’s lock the door and—”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  Before either could move, they heard the front door open.

  “Damn,” Matthew cursed.

  “It’s Pete,” she moaned. “I’d better go.”

  She gave him a brief kiss and slid off his lap. At the door she blew him another kiss.

  He caught it in his hand, thinking that wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.

  “HAVE YOU TOLD HER?” Stephanie asked John as she massaged his legs. After a vigorous swim in the pool he sat in his wheelchair, relaxing.

  “Now, Steph, don’t start,” he said.

  “You promised to tell Martha we’re getting married. You said you’d do it as soon as the Doe thing was over with.”

  “That was a big day.” His lips twisted into a cynical sneer. “Victory was so sweet, and that little nobody got exactly what she deserved.”

  Stephanie eyed him closely. “Yes, she did.” She put an arm around his neck. “Now let’s talk about us. I’m tired of being treated like dirt around here. I want to be your wife.”

  “Rob’s election is coming up and I have to concentrate on that,” he said, running a hand up her arm. “Why don’t we buy you that sports car you’ve been wanting? I believe red is your favorite color.”

  “I don’t—”

  “John.” The sound of Martha’s voice stopped her, and she quickly removed her arm a moment before Martha Cober came through the door.

  “There you are.” Martha smiled at John. She was dressed for horseback riding, in jeans and boots. Even in her seventies she was still an ardent horsewoman. “How are the exercises coming?”

  “Fine, just fine,” John answered.

  “You’re getting so much stronger.”

  “John has something he’d like to tell you,” Stephanie said, breaking into the conversation.

  “Oh?” Martha glanced at her disdainfully.

  “Now, Stephanie,” John intervened.

  “John and I are getting married and we wanted you to be the first to know,” Stephanie blurted.

  Martha’s blue eyes narrowed on John. “Is this true?”

  John scowled at Stephanie before looking back to Martha. “Nothing is settled. My first priority is getting Rob into the senate, but yes, Stephanie and I have talked about marriage.”

  “I see.” Martha suddenly looked feverish. “Well, I only want your happiness.”

  “I can make him happy,” Stephanie said.

  Without another word Martha turned and stormed back into the house.

  Stephanie smiled with satisfaction and tried to climb onto John’s lap, but he pushed her away, saying, “I don’t like being manipulated, especially by a woman. Since you’re always talking about leaving, maybe it’s time you should.”

  Stephanie paled considerably. “Johnny,” she cooed, “I only did it because I love you.”

  “You love my money, Stephanie, and we both know it.”

  “Johnny.” She slid onto his lap without any problem.

  “I can make you happy and you know it.” She wound both arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

  “Steph…”

  WHEN MATTHEW GOT BACK from the courthouse the next morning, C.J. was sitting on the curb outside the office. Pete and Harry were sitting in the truck with the doors open. He greeted them, and C.J. followed him inside.

  “Now what?” she asked, her eyes bright with anticipation.

  Looking at her, his mind veered in a completely different direction, but he quickly masked his feelings, knowing there was little chance of their being alone.

  He made a sweeping gesture at the files. “We start putting all these away. I’m sure that would make Miss Emma happy.”

  “Shouldn’t we check out Clare first? There has to be a reason she tried to kill herself.”

  “All in good time, C.J. Be patient.”

  “I can’t,” she told him. “We’re too close to finding something.”

  He saw the eagerness on her face and hoped, for her sake, they were. “I have to call New York to ask about a few things.”

  “I’ll start with these.”

  “Good,” he said, as she carried a box into the storeroom.

  After his phone call, he helped her with the files. They worked side by side in silence, and Matthew was amazed at the peace he felt just being with her.

  As he gathered files from his desk, Miss Emma bustled through the door. She was late, she explained, because she was having problems with Herman. “How’d it go at the courthouse this morning?” she asked.

  “Got him a year’s probation with a restricted license. He can drive to school and with his mother in the car.”

  “I’m sure his mother was pleased.”

  “Yes,” he answered absently, his mind on other things.

  “Are you still interested in Joyce?”

  He glanced up. “Yes, why?”

  “I saw her big Cadillac at the Cober mansion in town, and the maid was getting suitcases out of the trunk.”

  “Does she always stay at the place in town, instead of the ranch?”

  “Usually, especially if her husband’s with her. He and Martha don’t get along.”

  “Thanks,” he said thoughtfully, picking up a pencil and doodling. He didn’t have a lot to go on, just a gut feeling.

  “Joyce,” he wrote. “Gained weight. Thanksgiving. Clare. From spring to Christmas, nine months.”

  Could both Joyce and Clare have been pregnant that same year? What were the odds?

  Hearing the conversation, C.J. came out of the storeroom. “So Joyce is in town,” she breathed. “What a break.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I think I’ll pay her a visit.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  He grabbed her before she could reach the door. “C.J., I have to do this alone.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s not going to say anything with you there.”

  “Why not?”

  He sighe
d heavily.

  “If you think you’re going without me, you’re sadly mistaken,” she told him.

  “C.J.—”

  “Don’t you understand? I have to confront her.”

  “With what?” he asked patiently.

  “I don’t know, but I want to look her in the face and ask her if she’s my mother.”

  “And you expect her to tell you—” he snapped his fingers “—just like that?”

  “Maybe,” she answered, angry pride filling her voice.

  The pain in her eyes twisted around his heart. But he had to convince her that confronting Joyce couldn’t possibly lead to the completion of the quest.

  “C.J., I know how important this is to you, but we have to be careful. We have no facts, just some scribblings and Miss Emma’s memory about what happened all those years ago. If Joyce knows anything, it’s going to take some finesse and tact to get her to admit it. Let me do this. One on one. Joyce and me. It’s what I do for a living. I’m good at questioning people.”

  C.J. bit her lip, hearing his words but not wanting to accept them. “Matthew,” she said intensely, “I have to know. She—”

  “Yes, I hear you, but Joyce isn’t going to tell you anything.”

  “It’s all so frustrating,” she murmured in a small voice.

  He cupped her face with his hands. “I know,” he whispered, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. “But think about this. If Joyce is your birth mother, she’s not going to admit it without some pressure.”

  “I suppose,” C.J. mumbled, knowing he was right, but hating to give in.

  “Will you let me do this?”

  She swallowed her pride. “All right,” she murmured without enthusiasm.

  He kissed her softly. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  C.J. nodded, then watched him leave with a frown on her face. Would she ever know? She was beginning to think the secret was buried so deep they’d never be able to unearth it.

  THE COBER HOUSE was the biggest house in town, covering most of a block. An impressive three-story building of white limestone, it was fronted by large Ionic columns. The fence around it was white wrought iron with stone corners.

  Matthew pushed open the gate and walked up the stone path to the front doors. A maid in a starched black uniform answered the door.