by Meryl Sawyer
Hattie had never physically abused Alyssa. Most of the time she ignored her, but if Alyssa did anger Hattie, she knew how to destroy a child with just a few well-chosen words. Sometimes emotional terrorism was worse than physical abuse. It left scars that couldn’t be seen.
“I’m sorry, so sorry.” Aunt Thee was crying now.
Alyssa stood up and plucked a Kleenex from the bedside stand. She dabbed at the tears streaming from her aunt’s eyes. “Please, don’t cry. You were there when I needed you the most. That’s what counts.”
Slowly, Aunt Thee’s tears subsided, and Alyssa sat down again. Her aunt closed her eyes, and her eyelashes glistened in the dim light.
“Why did you tell me now?” Alyssa asked.
Aunt Thee didn’t open her eyes. “In case I die. You have a right to know the truth.”
“Oh, Aunt Thee, you’re not going to die,” Alyssa assured her. “The doctor said it was a very mild heart attack. Lots of people have pacemakers and lead very normal lives.”
“I hope you’re right.” Her voice sounded weak.
Alyssa slumped back in the chair and stared up at the acoustical ceiling. Phoebe was her half-sister. All those years she must have known. It explained so much.
Oh, my God, she thought. Little Patrick was her nephew! She’d always felt an acute sense of anguish about the baby. Now that feeling intensified when she realized how closely they were related. What could have happed to him?
“Go home,” Aunt Thee said, her voice a little stronger now. “You need your sleep. I’m better now. I don’t want you spending the night in the chair.”
Alyssa hesitated. She’d been hoping Jake would come back, but when she glanced at her watch, she saw it was nearly midnight. “All right. I do need a shower, and my own bed sounds great. I’ll be back first thing—”
“CODE PINK! CODE PINK!” The voice blared into the room from the hospital’s public address system. “CODE PINK! CODE PINK!”
Warning spasms of alarm erupted inside her. Considering all that had happened, the last place Alyssa wanted to be was in a hospital where a baby was missing.
CHAPTER 16
“What’s wrong, dear?” asked Aunt Thee.
“Code Pink. It’s …” She hesitated to use the word “scary,” but it was frightening.
“What is Code Pink?”
“A hospital code like Code Blue. Code Pink means a baby is missing.”
“Really?”
“They’ll lock every possible exit. No one can leave the hospital until Security checks them to make certain they don’t have the baby.” She thought a moment. “If the code had been used when little Patrick was abducted, the tragedy would have been prevented. Other states were using it but not Louisiana. They adopted it a few months after his disappearance.”
“When too much time lapses before the infant is missed, no code procedure can save him.”
“You’re right.” Alyssa tried to imagine losing her own baby. She knew she’d be frantic and her heart went out to the mother whose child was missing.
Two sharp raps sounded on the door, then it swung open. A security guard and a young policeman with a clipboard walked in followed by a nurse. The prickle of uneasiness she’d been feeling intensified.
“We have a situation,” said the policeman. “A baby has been taken from the maternity ward on the floor below this one.”
“That’s terrible,” Aunt Thee said, and Alyssa managed to nod her agreement. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure, ma’am.” His tone implied he knew but wasn’t discussing it.
While he was talking, the nurse peeked under Aunt Thee’s bed, and the security guard checked the small bathroom. Alyssa told herself not to be intimidated. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Have you seen anyone or anything suspicious?”
“No. I haven’t been out of this room in hours,” she answered.
“I’ll need your name for the record.”
She told him, thinking he was too young to have been on the force when the Duvall baby had vanished. He probably wouldn’t recognize her name, but when she told him, his brows drew together. Suddenly, it was impossible to steady her erratic pulse.
“Alyssa Rossi,” he repeated. “Why is your name familiar?”
Alyssa smiled—or tried to—and shrugged.
The nurse, the same surly redhead who’d been on duty for the last two nights, stepped forward. “Ravelle did a piece on her recently.”
“Oh, yeah?” Clearly, he knew who Ravelle was but he must not have seen the broadcast from the party. Alyssa became increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny but forced herself to keep looking directly into his eyes.
“She was involved in another baby’s disappearance. Ask her.” The nurse brushed by the officer and stomped out the door with a belittling huff.
“Is she right?” he asked, looking her over as if she might have the baby under her skirt.
“Yes. It happened years ago.” The metallic taste of fear made it difficult to talk normally. “My cousin’s baby was taken not long after I’d visited the nursery. I had nothing to do with it and no charges were filed.”
“I remember the case,” said the beefy security guard. “The baby was never found.” He moved to block the door, seeming to expect her to make a run for it.
“The police were certain a black market ring took the child,” Aunt Thee said.
The cop studied the tips of his shoes for a moment. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll need to—”
“CODE PINK CLEAR! CODE PINK CLEAR!”
A wild flash of relief ripped through her. She turned her back on the men and walked over to her aunt. The older woman tried to reassure her with a smile, but didn’t succeed. Alyssa clutched her hand like a lifeline.
“Looks like they’ve found the baby.”
“Am I free to go?” Alyssa asked without looking directly at the officer. They’d opened the door and were leaving.
“Of course. Sorry about the mix-up.”
The second the door closed, Alyssa collapsed into the chair beside the bed. “For a moment there, I thought I was going to be blamed again.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“Thank you. It’s important to know someone cares.”
Even though Aunt Thee was smiling, sadness lingered in her amber-brown eyes. “I couldn’t love you more if you had been my own child.”
“I love you, too. What you told me tonight doesn’t change anything between us. It’s shocking. Actually, it’s disgusting to know Gordon LeCroix is my father.”
“You favor your mother. Not only do you look like her, you have her brains and artistic talent.”
“I hope I’m not—well, how can I put it?—emotionally detached like Gordon LeCroix. I want the people I love like you to know I care.”
“You’ve always been a very loving person. You’ll make a wonderful wife and mother. Don’t worry about it.”
Her aunt closed her eyes for a moment, and Alyssa knew she’d overexerted herself.
Aunt Thee opened her eyes saying, “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’m going to sleep myself.”
Alyssa stood up and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
Out in the hall, she saw a group of policemen at the far end of the corridor. The exit was the other way, and she walked off as quickly as possible without attracting attention.
Why was she so jumpy? They’d found the missing baby. Thank heavens, it was not a repeat of what had happened to Patrick Duvall. The incident had frightened her and had made her feel young and vulnerable, the way she’d been years ago.
She wondered how Phoebe had felt when her baby had been kidnapped. She’d assumed—perhaps mistakenly—that Phoebe had been involved. There was something strange about the whole affair, but it was possible Phoebe had nothing to do with it.
Knowing Phoebe was her half-sister, not her second cousin, made Alyssa more sympathetic. She decided P
hoebe had known all along Alyssa was her father’s illegitimate daughter. That would account for her contemptible behavior.
Should I try to talk to her?
Alyssa crossed the deserted lobby and walked outside. Going from the air conditioning to the warm, moist air caused pinpricks of moisture to pepper the back of her shoulders, then begin to creep downward.
Should I talk to my father?
It was an even bigger question. Part of her wanted to confront him and make sure he knew she had found out the truth. What good could come of it? If he’d wanted to have a relationship with her, there had been enough opportunities. Maybe she should go on pretending she knew nothing.
It certainly would be easier.
She told herself that she wasn’t hurt, and it was true. Long ago, the LeCroixs had lost their power to hurt her. She was grateful she hadn’t known the truth when she’d been living with them. She’d been devastated by the loss of her parents. If she’d realized Gordon was her father, the way he acted could only have been interpreted by a child as the worst kind of rejection imaginable.
She didn’t know what she felt, what she should do. Entering the nearly empty parking lot, she decided a good night’s sleep would help. She’d like to talk to someone about this. Not just anyone. Jake.
He would understand because he’d been rejected by his father. At least Max had finally decided he wanted a relationship with his son. She doubted Gordon would ever feel the same way. He didn’t seem connected to anyone in his family. Even though he accompanied his wife to numerous social functions, it was obvious he lived for his career and golf.
“Alyssa,” called a male voice from the shadows of the parking lot.
“Jake, is that you?”
“No, it’s not Jake.” Clay Duvall walked forward.
She was so tired her nerves throbbed. The last thing she wanted to deal with was this man and the reminders of their past.
“Are you all right?” he asked before she could speak. “You look upset.”
Something clicked in her weary brain. Clay had been at the hospital on the day his son was born, and he was here tonight when another infant had vanished. Could he, would he have done something so terrible?
She halted a few feet from her car, then moved aside so the light from the overhead fixture illuminated Clay’s face. “Tell me the truth. Do you know what happened to your son?”
“I have no idea. None. I’ve asked myself a thousand times what could have happened, but I don’t have an answer except I know you weren’t responsible.”
If he was lying, he deserved an Academy Award. His low-pitched voice contained an edge of concern as well as sympathy for her.
“Why?” He put his hand on her shoulder.
“Tonight there was a Code Pink here. They just located the baby.”
“No wonder I couldn’t get in. There was a policeman guarding the entrance. I assumed some celebrity was visiting—” His hand tightened on her shoulder and the warmth in his voice vanished. “Hey, you don’t think I had anything to do with it, do you?”
She was completely honest. “I’m so exhausted. I don’t know what to think.”
He put his arm around her. “Let me drive you home.”
She wanted to tell him to leave her alone, but she was too overwhelmed by all that had happened in the last few hours. She started to refuse, then decided this was an opportunity to ask Clay a few questions.
Clay’s arm circled her shoulders, and he guided her to his low-slung Masarati. It was fire engine red, but definitely not built for a woman as tall as Alyssa. Inside, her head almost touched the ceiling.
He drove quietly through the nearly empty streets, and she was conscious of her shoulder brushing against his. Handsome and sophisticated, Clay would appeal to most women, the way he’d appealed to her years ago.
“Clay, what has Phoebe told you about me?”
“Let’s get some coffee and talk.”
She almost insisted he take her home but changed her mind. There were questions Clay could answer without her having to contact any of the LeCroixs. They were near Frenchmen Street, and he drove the Masarati fast, its engine roaring like a caged tiger.
Bourbon Street in the French Quarter was very much like Times Square in New York, she thought. Frenchmen Street was a smaller version of Greenwich Village with its hip clubs being the heart of the music scene in the city. She hadn’t been here since her days at Tulane, and she was too exhausted to appreciate its quaintness now.
They rocketed down the street and screeched to a stop in front of Check Point Charlie, one of the better known clubs. The parking valet rushed out to take his car. Ever the gentleman, Clay quickly came around and opened the door for her. The smile on his face disconcerted her, and she wondered if she’d made a mistake by coming here.
They walked inside the club where the waiter escorted them to a table in the corner at a distance from the stage where a rock band was playing. She marveled at how the club managed to pack the house even though it was midweek. It wasn’t a quiet place to talk.
“Why are we at a club? There are lots of great places for coffee.”
“Not much is open this late and we were close. The best new talent opens here.”
“Clay—”
“Hi, I’m Mindy Jo,” interrupted a blond waitress in red leather shorts and a bustier. “What can I get for you?”
They ordered two cappuccinos, then he asked, “Go on, what were you saying?”
She hesitated a moment. What if Phoebe didn’t know they shared the same father? Did she want her to find out? Suddenly discussing this with Clay seemed like a terrible idea. She rolled the dice, hoping she wouldn’t regret it.
“Phoebe … I was wondering if—”
“If I knew she was a nymphomaniac—”
“Are you serious?” Alyssa couldn’t quite believe it. Phoebe had always been flirtatious to the point of being obsessed with men, but was her sister addicted to sex?
“Yes. I’m dead serious. Phoebe couldn’t resist men—especially older men like her father.”
Her father. Alyssa stared at Clay, wondering. Had Phoebe groveled for her father’s love only to discover he couldn’t care less? Was that why she enjoyed seducing older men? It was twisted, but from what she’d read, women who felt rejected by their fathers, often went for older men. They were subconsciously searching for a father figure to add meaning to their lives.
“Are you implying one of those men was the father of the baby?”
“Possibly. She was seeing Bubba Pettibone on the sly.”
“The mayor?”
“Back then he was a councilman, but Bubba was married. There were others, too. Ask Wyatt, he’ll tell you it’s the truth.”
“Phoebe was crazy about you. Everyone knew it.”
“True,” he responded without a trace of conceit. “We’d dated in high school, but she liked to run on the wild side and meet older men. I’m not denying I had sex with Phoebe. The baby could have been mine.”
The anguish in his voice startled Alyssa. At least he was being honest, she thought as the waitress arrived with steaming mugs of cappuccino topped with a mountain of whipped cream and chocolate shavings.
“It’s over between us. I’m getting a divorce.”
He’d told her this the last time she’d seen him. Alyssa spooned the delicious whipped cream off her drink and didn’t comment on his marital problems.
“Has Phoebe ever told you anything about my parents?”
“Your parents?” He said the words tentatively as if testing the idea. When she nodded, he added, “You mean about your father?”
She realized he knew and wondered how long he’d known. “Yes.”
“You’re Gordon’s daughter. Phoebe claimed you didn’t have a clue.”
“I found out recently. Phoebe’s known for a long time, hasn’t she?”
“At your parents’ funeral, Gordon spoke with your aunt. Since she was your closest relative, people assumed y
ou would go live with her.” He drank a little cappuccino before continuing. “Gordon went home and confessed the truth to Hattie.”
“Knowing Hattie, there must have been a real blowup.”
“No question about it. Gordon stood his ground and insisted on bringing you to live with them. There was so much shouting that Phoebe and Wyatt overheard their parents. They immediately knew you were their half-sister. Hattie swore everyone to secrecy.”
“She didn’t want to be embarrassed in front of her friends.”
“Exactly. She kept you out of sight and out of their lives as much as possible.” He shook his head. “I thought there was something wrong with you because you never appeared at family parties. Like I told you, a lot of people thought you might be retarded.”
“I know. Even though I went to public school, where most of the children’s parents weren’t in the same social circle with the LeCroixs, word got around.” She masked her inner turmoil with a deceptive calmness. That part of her life was over, thank God. “Clay, why didn’t you tell me about Gordon? We were close … once. You could have told me.”
He leaned forward and covered her hand with his. “I cared about you too much to hurt you. After the way the LeCroixs treated you, I thought you’d be crushed if you knew about Gordon.”
She withdrew her hand, thinking that young, vulnerable girl might have been devastated to learn the truth. But she wasn’t that girl any longer. She could handle the truth now.
“Clay, do you think I ought to talk to Phoebe?”
“About what?”
His incredulous expression was her answer, but she told him anyway. “About being her half-sister.”
“There’s nothing you can say or do to make Phoebe like you. Trust me.”
“She doesn’t have to like me. I just think we should talk.”
He leaned closer, his handsome face grave. “Look at it from Phoebe’s point of view. Hattie always made a big deal about your good grades. When you got into Tulane on a scholarship and Phoebe was rejected, Hattie pitched a fit.”