by Linda Warren
“Yeah, and the sheriff was real nice at first. He said if Harry put his gun in the truck, he’d forget all about it.”
“And Harry didn’t?”
“No,” she answered with a grim look. “He said he’d put a bullet in the sheriff’s brain before he’d give up his gun.”
“Oh, God.”
“It took the sheriff and three deputies to put handcuffs on him, and Harry’s probably madder than mad by now. I’d better go.”
“I’ll come with you. He’s going to need a lawyer.”
She turned, a gleam in her eyes. “I can handle this on my own. The sheriff and I will be having a long talk.”
He knew what she meant. It was payback time for all the lies. He didn’t envy the sheriff; when she got through with him, he’d probably be apologizing to Harry.
She planted a brief hard kiss on his lips. “See you tomorrow.”
“C.J.”
“Yes?” She glanced back.
“We’ll find something.”
“Yeah,” she answered, hope gone from her eyes and voice.
GOD, HOW HE HATED that defeated look. He’d felt so sure that either Joyce or Clare had given birth to C.J.; now they had nothing. He sighed and flexed his shoulders. He’d talked to the sheriff, eliminated all the Townsends. Who was left? He snapped his fingers. Doc Haslow. That was it. He delivered every baby in this town.
Matthew drove quickly to the Cober Clinic, where Doc worked, while C.J. was busy elsewhere. It was late, but Doc Haslow’s car was still there. After parking his truck, Matthew hurried through the front doors and to the offices in back.
Tapping on Doc’s door, he felt a moment of relief as he heard his customary “Come in, come in.”
Tall and thin, Dr. Edward Haslow was in his early seventies. Even though his son, Edward, Jr., had taken over the clinic, Doc still helped out part-time. He was a man of boundless energy, and he’d probably work until the day he died.
“Matthew, my boy.” Doc smiled as he stepped into the room. “Good to see you. How’s your mother?”
“She’s getting better every day.”
“Good. I told her it would take time.”
“Yes,” Matthew murmured.
“Have a seat. How can I help you?”
Matthew sank into the chair in front of Doc’s desk. “I’d like to talk to you about C. J. Doe.”
Doc leaned back in his chair. “What about her?”
“I’ve taken C.J. on as a client. I’m trying to find her parents, and I desperately need some help. Do you remember any girls who could’ve been pregnant that year?”
“Not any who delivered at Christmas. I’ve already told C.J. that.”
Matthew nodded. “Still, it’s strange that in a town of less than five thousand people no one knows anything about an abandoned baby,” he mused. “The mother couldn’t have given birth all by herself and then put the newborn on someone’s doorstep in freezing weather. She had help.”
“The sheriff thought so, too,” Doc said, “but no one was talking. It was the biggest scandal that ever hit this town, and all the people here wanted to distance themselves from the baby.”
Matthew shook his head. “There has to be something. That baby didn’t just appear out of thin air.”
“I always thought it strange the baby was left on the Watsons’ doorstep, instead of the Townsends’.”
“Why?”
“The houses aren’t that far apart, and if I was going to give my baby to someone, I’d give it to the richest people in the area. Everyone knew Victoria loved children, but sadly she wasn’t able to have any more after the twins.”
Matthew frowned. “Victoria Townsend couldn’t have any more children after the twins? What about Clare?”
Doc shifted uncomfortably. “I meant after Clare.”
“You’re not a very good liar, Doc.”
“And you’re a very sharp lawyer.”
“So what gives?”
With a wave of his hand Doc shrugged it off. “Nothing. Just an old man’s suspicions that I should keep to myself.”
“I’m up against a brick wall here, Doc, and C.J.’s life is at stake. If you can help me, I wish you would.”
“This has nothing to do with C.J.”
“But it’s about the Townsends, and I think C.J. and the Townsends are connected somehow.”
“Don’t know, but I shouldn’t have made that slip. My mind must be going.”
“Your mind is like a razor,” Matthew said. “So tell me what you suspect.”
“I shouldn’t.” He hesitated, then said, “I guess it doesn’t matter. Victoria’s dead, but I don’t want Clare to get hurt. She’s a sweet lady and does a lot for this town.”
“I’ll keep everything confidential, unless it somehow pertains to C.J.’s parents.”
“It doesn’t.” There was silence for a moment, and Matthew could see the doctor was wrestling with his conscience. Finally he started to speak. “Victoria had a hard time conceiving. She had some female problems and went to see a specialist in Austin. Finally she got pregnant. It was a hard pregnancy, though, and the babies came six weeks early. I had to deliver them. For a while, I thought I was going to lose her and the babies, even after I did an emergency C-section to deliver John Robert and Joyce. But Victoria wasn’t so lucky. She started hemorrhaging and I had all kinds of complications. It was a long night, but she pulled through. I told her she was lucky she had a girl and a boy because she wouldn’t be able to have any more children. The doctor in Austin told her the same thing.”
He paused, thinking back. “The twins were about seven when I met her on the street one day. She said she was pregnant. I was shocked and told her to come to the office. I wanted to examine her. She said the doctor in Austin was handling everything. I was taken aback because she’d had problems before and I thought she’d want me to be in on what was happening, but I could see she didn’t want me involved in the pregnancy.”
Doc drew a deep breath. “About three months before the baby was due, she and Martha flew to a special clinic in California so Victoria could be monitored on a daily basis in case of problems. Then one day I saw Victoria in town with the new baby and I started to believe in miracles.”
“But something changed your mind,” Matthew said.
“Yeah.” Doc sighed. “About two weeks later Victoria’s maid called me. She said Victoria was real sick. I went out there. She was so pale and weak I thought she might he hemorrhaging like the last time, so I examined her. She wasn’t, but I could tell she hadn’t just given birth. I told her as much. She laughed it off, saying I’d made a mistake because she had a baby to prove it. I let it go, because it really wasn’t any of my business. If Victoria had a secret, then it was hers to keep.”
“What’s your feeling? That she adopted Clare?”
“Yeah.” He scratched his head. “Why would the doctor in Austin send her to California? He was a specialist. Seems to me he’d want her in Austin to keep an eye on her.”
“Makes sense to me.”
“I figure the clinic in California was a place for unwed mothers, and Victoria went there to wait for a baby.”
“Why would she go to such lengths to keep an adoption a secret?”
“Probably wanted Clare to feel part of the Townsend family. Some people are funny about things like that. Cobers and Townsends—family name and family heritage is more important to them than anything else on earth.”
Matthew thought of Clare and what she’d said about not belonging. She knew. Subconsciously she knew.
“Do you remember the clinic or the doctor’s name?”
“Not sure of the clinic, but it was in Santa Monica, I believe—and the doctor had a common name. Frank Jones.”
Matthew got to his feet, as did Doc. “Thanks, Doc. This might help.”
“It’s all just doubts in an old man’s head.”
“I think you’re right on target.”
“Sad.” Doc shook his head. “V
ictoria went through so much to get Clare, but then she became so ill she couldn’t care for her. Martha was the one who raised her.”
He shook his head again, as if to free it of the past. “I hope you find C.J.’s parents, son, I really do.”
“Thanks,” Matthew said, clasping Doc’s hand.
“Again, this is all confidential,” Doc murmured.
He nodded. Then he headed for the door, his mind reeling. Was Clare adopted? But what difference did it make? The answer wouldn’t help him find C.J.’s parents.
But he couldn’t shake the ambiguous feeling. It gnawed at him all night. He was missing something; he knew it. He went over and over Doc’s story and could find nothing, no fact or clue. What wasn’t he seeing?
BY MORNING Matthew had devised a plan of action. Or at least a place to begin. With Dr. Frank Jones. Although whether that would lead to any productive information…well, he just didn’t know.
C.J. called and said she was going to be late. A buyer was coming to look at some horses and she had to show them for Pete. It gave him time to clear the doubts in his head; he didn’t want to get her hopes up again.
He called his office in New York. Tom was a computer whiz, and if the answer was in a computer somewhere, Tom would find it. He told him what he wanted, then he waited.
Walking to the window, he gazed out into the alley. There was nothing to look at, only trash cans and a wooden fence. But over the fence he could see the chimney tops of the Cober mansion. What secrets did those walls hold? Was he insane for digging into something that had no obvious connection to C. J. Doe? He had to go with what he had—and he had to go with his gut feelings, hoping for the one piece that would make the whole puzzle fall into place.
The phone rang and he turned to answer it.
“I’ve got it,” he shouted to Miss Emma.
“Yes?” he said into the receiver.
“Hey, boss, you answering the phone now?” Tom’s jovial voice came down the line. “I guess that’s what they mean by a one-man practice.”
“What have you got?” Matthew asked, not in the mood for humor.
“Dr. Frank Jones had a clinic in Santa Monica, all right.”
“Had?”
“The clinic’s still there, but he retired about ten years ago. I’ll fax his mailing address and phone number.”
“Thanks. Did you find out what type of clinic it was?”
“It’s for women with problem pregnancies. Dr. Jones is apparently well-known for his work in helping women who wouldn’t otherwise be able to have children. The clinic catered to wealthy ladies back then—and still does.”
Matthew was dumbfounded. It was just as Victoria Townsend had said. Could Doc be wrong?
“Boss, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m surprised, that’s all. I thought this was a clinic for unwed mothers.”
“No way. It’s very exclusive.”
“Thanks, Tom, I appreciate your help.”
“No problem. Gail said to remind you that jury selection for the Peterman case starts in a few days.”
“Tell her to try and get another postponement.”
“Will do, and hurry home. The place isn’t the same without you.”
Matthew hung up the phone. Home? New York was his home, had been for a long time, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. Coberville was getting into his blood. No, he corrected himself. It was C.J. He’d dated a lot of beautiful women who’d attracted him, mentally as well as physically, but with C.J. it went beyond that. She touched a part of him no woman had ever been able to reach—his heart. Over the years he had guarded it well, not wanting to end up in divorce court like so many of his friends. But with her sweet smile and stubborn pride C.J. had managed to slip through his defenses, and he couldn’t help thinking that he wanted to keep her smiling for the rest of her life.
He heard the fax machine and hurried over to get the information on Dr. Jones. He stared at it. Was it possible that Victoria Townsend had given birth? Could Dr. Haslow be mistaken about something like that?
There was only one way to find out. He went back to his desk and dialed the phone number. This had happened more than forty years ago, but he was hoping Dr. Jones would remember a woman from Texas.
“Hello,” a woman answered.
“Could I speak with Dr. Jones, please?”
There was a moment’s silence, then the woman said, “Dr. Jones passed away two years ago.”
He should have expected this. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware of that.”
“Obviously you didn’t know Frank very well.”
“No—I didn’t know him at all. My name is Matthew Sloan and I’m an attorney from Texas.”
“Texas? What’s this about?”
“I’d hoped Dr. Jones could tell me something about one of his patients.”
“He would never divulge confidential information.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to,” Matthew assured her. “I just wanted to know if this woman actually was a patient of his. It’s very important.”
“I guess there’s no harm in that,” she said. “Maybe I can help you. I was his nurse, not to mention his wife, for more than fifty years.”
Finally a little luck. “I’d appreciate it.”
“What’s the woman’s name?”
“Victoria Townsend from Coberville, Texas. It was in the late 1950s.”
“Oh, I don’t believe my memory’s that good. What did she look like?”
“She was petite and beautiful with white-blond hair and blue eyes.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell, but Frank and I were working on a book about his most difficult cases before he passed away. Recently I decided to finish it, and I have all his files in the study. If you could hold for a few minutes, I’ll check for that name.”
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll hold.”
He tapped his fingers on the desk, waiting, hoping for an answer that would make some sense of this strange situation. If Victoria Townsend had been a patient and given birth to Clare, then Doc had made a big mistake. But Matthew felt sure he hadn’t….
“Mr. Sloan.” Mrs. Jones was back on the line.
“Yes.” He sat up straight.
“I found it. Victoria Cober Townsend.”
Matthew frowned. “She was a patient, then.”
“Yes, and I always made notes on each one. I vaguely remember the case. Her sister came with her, and they were completely different.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Something’s not right.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said Victoria was beautiful with blond hair.”
“Yes.”
“We keep a photo of each patient and her baby, that’s not the woman I’m looking at.”
Matthew gripped the receiver. “It isn’t?”
“No, this woman has brown hair and is rather plain. My notes say she was obnoxious and mean, especially to her sister. Yes, I remember now. Her sister was the beautiful one.”
“Wait a minute,” Matthew said. “Let me get this straight. The plain one gave birth to a baby girl.”
“Yes, and had a relatively easy pregnancy.”
“Why was she there?”
“Back then, to keep the clinic open, we also catered to wealthy women who liked being pampered in the last stages of pregnancy. She was one of them. Oh, dear, I’ve probably said more than I should.”
“No, you haven’t. I appreciate your help. You’ve solved an old mystery. Thanks, Mrs. Jones.”
As he hung up, the truth stood out clearly in his stunned mind. Martha Cober was Clare’s mother. Doc was right, but no one had ever guessed, and the Townsends had gone to great pains to keep it a secret. Why? Because Martha was unmarried? Maybe she couldn’t face the scandal; at that time it wasn’t as accepted for unwed women to have babies.
Fast on the heels of that thought came another. Who was the father? Even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. John Townse
nd. He’d bet money on it. But why would Victoria agree to raise the child resulting from an adulterous affair between her husband and her sister? Did she want another child that badly?
He rammed frustrated hands through his hair. God, what did all this have to do with C.J.? Suddenly he sat bolt upright. How old was Martha when C.J. was born? Fifty? Could she still have children? It happened occasionally, didn’t it? Could she have gotten pregnant again, and this time Victoria refused to bail her out? Could Martha Cober be C.J.’s mother? Was it possible? Was this the piece of the puzzle he’d been looking for?
NOW WHAT? HE ASKED himself. He needed time to decide what to do next.
Miss Emma knocked on the door.
“Not now, Miss Emma, I’m busy,” he said irritably.
“Well, pardon me.” She poked her head into the office and set a plastic bag on the floor. “This came from the hospital. Do you want it or not?”
“What is it?”
“Your dad’s briefcase. Belle picked up everything else, but she forgot the case.”
He got to his feet. “Thanks, Miss Emma.”
Lifting the bag, he pulled out the briefcase and set it on the desk. He ran his hand lazily over the fine leather. On the front were his dad’s initials. He tried the latch, but it was locked. He went to the filing cabinet and slid his hand along the bottom and found the spare key. In a second he had it open. The scent of cigars filled his nostrils; an open pack lay on top of some court papers. In a side pocket were pictures of his mom and him. In another were clippings of all his legal victories in New York. Suddenly tears stung Matthew’s eyes and he sank into his chair. Until that moment he’d never realized how much he missed his dad. He could always depend on him for solid advice and, God, did he need it now.
He cleared his throat and started to close the case when something caught his eye. A small book, a journal of some sort.
Opening it, he recognized his father’s handwriting. Excitement raced through him. This was what he’d been looking for; he felt sure of it. Quickly he scanned the first few pages—notes and more notes about old cases. Toward the middle of the book, he noticed a scribbled notation:
“Victoria adamant about money. Wants C.J. to have an education she says—doesn’t matter who her parents were. Wish V. could trust someone besides me. Problem too big for her to handle. Should let it be.