The Truth About Jane Doe

by Linda Warren

  “Mrs. Joyce Brown, please,” he said politely.

  “Do you have an appointment?” she countered stiffly.

  “No, but I’m Matthew Sloan, an attorney. I recently handled a case for the Townsend family.”

  “Come this way.” She escorted him to a large marble-floored foyer. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. To the right was a grand living room with an identical chandelier, and he could see a staircase winding to the top floors.

  She showed him into a small sitting room with antique chairs, sofas and a stone fireplace. “I’ll tell Mrs. Brown you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” he replied, glancing around the austere room. Everything in it must have dated back to Jeremiah Cober and his mistress, Nora Babbish. The old story was that after the deaths of their two daughters from cholera, Jeremiah’s wife lost her mind. He found solace with an actress from Boston; he moved her to Texas and built this house for her. Various Cobers had occupied it over the years. He remembered his mom saying Clare used it as a residence when she was in town.

  A painting caught his attention. William Cober. Jeremiah’s grandson. He was unmistakable with his blond good looks.

  “Rob resembles him, don’t you think?” Joyce asked from the doorway. She was dressed in an elegant outfit of beige loose-fitting slacks and blouse that had Paris written all over it.

  “Yes, he does,” Matthew replied. “And so do you.” Since they were twins, Joyce and Rob had similar features.

  Joyce ignored the compliment. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss family portraits,” she said.

  Right to the point, with a chilling tone to boot. Clearly he wasn’t welcome here.

  Matthew also got right to the point. “I’d like to talk with you about C. J. Doe.”

  A look of impatience flashed across her face. “I thought that was settled.”

  “Not quite. Someone’s still trying to kill her.”

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with us.” She waved a hand angrily. “Why can’t you people believe us? That detective’s been hounding us day in and day out. We left the city to get some peace. Now you show up.”

  “C.J.’s life is at stake. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “After what she did to this family?” Her blue eyes flared. “I have very little sympathy for her.”

  “What did she do?” he asked, his expression one of pained tolerance. “She gave back the land and money in exchange for one small favor, which turned out to the Townsends’ advantage. I fail to see any hardships she’s caused.”

  “You don’t understand,” Joyce said quietly.

  “All I understand is that you seem to hate a woman you hardly know.”

  “What do you want from me?” she exclaimed.

  “Some answers.”

  “I can’t help you.” She turned abruptly and headed for the door.

  He had to call her bluff on a hunch; it was all he had. But he’d learned a long time ago that when you threw something unexpected at people, they reacted instinctively. He was hoping Joyce would do the same.

  “What happened to the baby you had at twenty-three?”

  “What?” She whirled to face him.

  “You heard me.”

  She glanced nervously around, then quickly closed the door. “How did you find out about that?” she asked in a vicious tone.

  Inside he felt a moment of victory, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “I have my sources,” he said.

  Walking to the window, she twisted her hands together. “Nobody knew but my mother and me. How could you have found out?” she asked, almost to herself.

  “What happened to the baby?” he probed, feeling as if his very life hung in the balance.

  “What?” She looked distractedly at him.

  “The baby, Joyce. Where is the baby?”

  Her eyes darkened. “None of your damn business.”

  “I’m going to find out, so you might as well save yourself and your family a lot of pain by telling me.”

  “My family,” she echoed in distress. “They don’t know! You can’t say anything to them.”

  “Tell me about the baby, Joyce.”

  She turned back to the window. “I was studying art in Paris and met this Italian count. I fell head over heels in love, but he forgot to tell me one small detail. He was married and already had a family. I got pregnant and I didn’t know what to do. At my age I should have known better.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  “I was almost seven months pregnant before I came home. Everyone thought I’d just put on a lot of weight, eating all those French pastries, but Mother figured it out. After Thanksgiving she made arrangements for me to go to an exclusive home for unwed mothers.”

  She paused and he waited, almost afraid to ask, but he had to. “Is C.J. your daughter?”

  She swung around, her eyes enormous. “My God, is that what you think? That I’d abandon my own child?”

  “Is she?”

  “No! How dare you even suggest it!”

  “What happened to the baby?” he tried again.

  “My baby died,” she said quietly. “And it wasn’t a girl. It was a boy with dark hair and eyes. He came early and had a congenital heart problem and…” Her voice broke and she started to cry.

  “What was the name of the home? And what name did you use?”

  Angry tearful blue eyes flashed, “You don’t believe me?”

  “The name.”

  She hurried over to a small desk in the corner and scribbled something on a piece of paper. Shoving it into his hand, she said, “Go ahead and inquire for yourself, because I can assure you I am not C. J. Doe’s mother.” She glanced down at her hands, then back at him. “Please, don’t tell my husband,” she begged. “He doesn’t know anything about it, and if it got into the papers it could ruin his political career.”

  “If this checks out, no one will hear it from me.”

  “Thank you,” she said, then quickly left the room.

  Dammit. He’d felt sure she was C.J.’s mother. How could his instincts be so wrong? For a brief moment he’d tasted victory, felt rejuvenated. Now he was back to square one.

  He stared at the paper in his hand. He was positive she wouldn’t lie about something like this. But he’d check it out all the same.

  As the maid showed him to the door, it opened and Clare Townsend came in carrying a stack of books. She was in town, too. He hadn’t expected this, it would save him a trip to Austin.

  He hurried to help her, taking the books from her and setting them on the entry table.

  “Do you need any assistance, ma’am?” the maid asked Clare.

  “No, thank you, Della,” she answered. “I can manage now.”

  When the maid left, Clare smiled tentatively at Matthew. “Thank you, I didn’t realize they were going to be so heavy.”

  She wore a simple long brown dress with a high neck. Her hair was in its usual cropped-off style, close to her head. She didn’t take much time with her appearance, and he wondered why. He had a feeling her plainness was deliberate.

  “No problem,” he said.

  She lovingly touched the books, which were more than a little ragged. “I’ve been to the library and I promised Mrs. Tate, the librarian, that I’d take these to Austin and get them repaired. It’s a shame what some people do to books.”

  “Yes,” he answered, knowing this was his chance to ask her about the past. The task didn’t hold much appeal. She wasn’t strong like her sister and might crumble right before his eyes, but he had to keep probing.

  “Could I speak with you for a minute?”

  Her blue eyes widened. “What do you want to talk to me about?” she asked as she walked into the sitting room.

  “C. J. Doe,” he replied, following her.

  She sat in a chair, her back straight, hands folded in her lap. “Have they found out who’s trying to kill her?”

  “No, not yet.”

 
; “That poor girl. It must be awful for her.”

  Matthew was taken aback at her response. Sympathy from a Townsend. That was unusual. Although he recalled a glimmer of compassion on Clare’s face that day of the revelations in Dr. Ryder’s office.

  “Yes, it is awful, and I’m trying to help her.”

  “How?”

  “By finding her parents.”

  “Really?” She looked surprised.

  “Help me,” he implored.

  “How can I help you?” she asked in disbelief.

  “I was hoping you’d fill in some blanks.”

  “About what?”

  He chose his words carefully. “That spring before C.J. was born. You were sixteen and seeing Benny Johnson.”

  Her eyes narrowed, but that was her only reaction.

  He waited.

  “So what?” she finally said.

  “Why did your mother send you away a month before school was out?”

  “She wanted to break us up,” she answered immediately. “He was a working man’s son and not good enough for a Townsend.”

  She squeezed the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles were white. She was lying. He knew it, and he realized she wasn’t going to be as easy as Joyce. He’d been wrong; Clare wasn’t weak at all. There was a lot more to her than met the eye. He had broken tough witnesses before, but he hated pressuring her like this. For C.J. he had to.

  “Wasn’t there another reason?” he dropped into the silence.

  “Like what?” she countered, not giving an inch.

  “Like an unwanted pregnancy.”

  Her eyes defiantly met his. “You’re reaching, Mr. Sloan.”

  “Am I? I don’t think so,” he said, holding her gaze. He knew he had to pull out all the stops. “I’m sure Benny wouldn’t think so, either.”

  She lowered her eyes and folded her hands in her lap again. “Have you talked to him?”

  He hesitated, wondering how to answer that question. Obviously it was important to her. “Not yet.”

  “Please don’t,” she entreated.

  “Give me a reason, Clare.”

  There was complete silence as she resumed studying her hands. He knew he was close to getting her to admit the truth. He had to keep up the pressure.

  He put his hands on the arms of her chair and leaned toward her. “Tell me what happened to that unwanted child.”

  “I wanted—” She stopped, obviously realizing what she’d said. Not raising her eyes, she said, “I can’t. I promised, and you don’t know anything.”

  “But I can find out. I’m a good lawyer and I can find out all the sordid little details.”

  “Please leave me alone,” she whispered.

  With one hand he lifted her chin and stared into her stubborn blue eyes. “Help me, Clare. Tell me what happened to your baby.”

  “I can’t.” Her bottom lip trembled and she quickly caught it between her teeth. “She’ll be so angry with me.”

  “Who?” he asked, straightening a fraction.

  “Aunt Martha,” she replied angrily. “Oh, I just don’t care anymore! It happened so long ago.”

  He wasn’t quite following her, but he knew she was ready to talk. “Why would Martha be angry with you?”

  “Because I promised never to talk about it again.”

  “Tell me,” he urged.

  She linked her fingers together, watching their movement as if mesmerized. “You’re right, I was pregnant. I was so in love it didn’t seem to matter. Then I found out Benny wasn’t in love with me but with my money. I was devastated and wanted to confide in my mother. But somehow Aunt Martha found out and she said I couldn’t tell Mother. You see, Mother was sick a lot and Aunt Martha said she couldn’t take the news. It would make her worse.”

  When she stopped talking, he asked, “What happened next?” He could hardly wait for the words to come out of her mouth. Would they be the words he wanted to hear?

  “Aunt Martha handled everything. I was so scared, but Aunt Martha said no one would ever find out, not even the family. We flew to Houston and—” she paused for a second “—she made me have an abortion.”

  Matthew drew in a sharp breath. This wasn’t at all what he’d expected. “Who was the doctor?”

  “Dr. Giles. Then we flew to Switzerland and I spent the summer recovering. Aunt Martha said I’d forget about it, but I couldn’t. I even tried to kill myself to stop the guilt. The nightmares. But nothing stops them. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think about my baby.”

  He dragged a hand through his hair, feeling the pain of defeat surge through him. She wasn’t lying. Clare Townsend was not C.J.’s mother.

  As if reading his mind, she said, “You thought I was the mother of C. J. Doe, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” he admitted frankly.

  “I wish I were,” she shocked him by saying. “Then my child would be alive and I wouldn’t have this empty feeling inside.”

  Her sincerity was unmistakable, and he didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you,” he finally murmured.

  A fleeting smile brushed her lips. “I hope you find her parents. It has to be terrible not knowing who you are and feeling like you don’t belong. I sympathize with her. I know who my parents are, but I still feel like I don’t belong. Everyone in my family is so beautiful and I’m so…different.”

  “Hey, beauty’s only skin-deep.”

  She laughed, and it made him feel better. “I haven’t heard that line in years.”

  He smiled. “Benny Johnson was a fool.”

  “And you’re a charmer, Matthew Sloan.”

  His smile broadened. He liked this woman. Life hadn’t been kind to her, and he now understood her a little better. She’d been suffering from guilt for years, punishing herself for a teenage mistake. He wished only the best for her and told her so before he left.

  WHEN HE GOT BACK to the office, he expected C.J. to meet him at the door, but she wasn’t anywhere around; neither were Pete and Harry. He felt a moment of apprehension.

  “Miss Emma, where’s C.J.?”

  Miss Emma looked up from the letters she was proofreading. “That girl was about to drive me crazy. Back and forth to the window, waiting for you. Finally I told her to take those bothersome men to the diner for something to eat. She said she’d be right back and, believe me, she’ll be right back.”

  He went into his office, glad for a few minutes to sort out his thoughts. What was he going to tell her? He’d gotten her hopes up for nothing and now he’d have to disappoint her. Again. Damn. Damn. Damn. How could everything go so wrong? He swung his hand, knocking folders to the floor.

  Miss Emma eyed the mess from the doorway. “I take it things didn’t go well with Joyce.”

  “No, they didn’t,” he snapped, glaring at her. For the first time he noticed the color of her eyes. Green. She had green eyes. The realization struck him like a bolt of electricity.

  “You have green eyes.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken the thought aloud until he saw the expression on Miss Emma’s face.

  “So? A lot of people have green eyes,” she said, then caught the question lurking behind his remark. “Don’t even go there, young Matthew,” she warned. At his silence, Miss Emma added, “If she was my daughter, do you think I’d be a lonely old woman with only a parrot for company?” She stepped closer, her eyes holding his.

  “If you get any more absurd ideas like that in your head, I’m gonna put you over my knee and spank you like I should’ve done when you put that frog in my purse years ago.”

  A grin spread across Matthew’s face. What was wrong with him? He’d known her all his life, and she had to have been in her late forties when C.J. was born. Anyway, she certainly couldn’t have hidden a pregnancy from his father or mother. God, he must be losing his mind!

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’m just a little crazy right now.”

  Miss Emma studied him for a moment. A small smile curved her lips. Th
en, as quickly as the insanity had started, it ended.

  She bent to pick up the scattered papers.

  “Leave them,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Straightening, she said, “Suit yourself. If that’s all, I’ll be heading home. It’s suppertime for Herman.”

  “Fine,” he said absently. He scooped up the papers on the floor and slapped them on top of the filing cabinet. Where were the answers? he kept asking himself. Both girls pregnant and yet neither of them C.J.’s mother. How could that be? He’d had it right in the palm of his hand and now he had nothing.

  Picking up the phone, he called his office in New York. He gave his legal assistant, Tom, the added information about Joyce and Clare Townsend, but he already knew what he was going to find. Still, he couldn’t just take their word for any of this.

  He had to have proof.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  C.J. RUSHED THROUGH THE DOOR. “What did she say?” she asked, her voice filled with excitement.

  This was the hard part, telling her. He got to his feet and described his visit with Joyce and Clare.

  She backed away. “No, no!” she cried. “That can’t be! Both pregnant that same year and neither turns out to be my mother? One of them’s lying.”

  “They’re not,” he said.

  A defeated look glazed her eyes. “But how is that possible, Matthew? That leaves us with nothing.”

  “I know, but I’m not giving up. Dad knew something about you and I’m going to continue searching until I find it.”

  Her eyes cleared. “Yes, he did.” She glanced around the room. “Where do we start? The files again?”

  “No, not tonight. I need to think a few things through. Get Pete to take you home and—”

  She clapped a hand to her face. “Oh, no! Pete—I forgot. I only came in here for a second to see you. I’ve got to go. Pete and I have to bail Harry out of jail.”

  “What? What’s Harry doing in jail?”

  “He carried his gun into the diner and someone called the sheriff.”

  “Why did he carry a gun into the diner?”

  “He wanted to be ready in case anything happened.”

  “Didn’t the sheriff realize he was only protecting you?”