Closer Than She Thinks

by Meryl Sawyer

  “The father took the baby to his parents’ farm … outside Oklahoma City.”

  “Okay, so it won’t be hard to find him.”

  “Patrick died almost nine years ago.” The note of concern in Sanchez’s voice disturbed Jake. “The child contracted a rare virus. The doctors couldn’t save him.”

  “Claude Harper knew all this?”

  “Yes. He and Gracie remained close. She stayed in contact with the father as well as Phoebe.”

  “Sounds like she was blackmailing them. Maybe they’re the ones who killed her.”

  “No, not from what Claude said. Gracie never forgave herself for taking the child. She kept in touch with the mother to make sure the baby was all right.”

  “Can we find the father?”

  Sanchez waited a second too long before responding. Something clicked in Jake’s head, and he cursed himself for not having guessed sooner.

  “It’s Max, isn’t it? My father had an affair with Phoebe.”

  “Yes. Your father took the baby.”

  Clay woke up in Maree’s bed, and for once, Dante wasn’t around. He lifted his head off the pillow, then let it drop again. It felt as if someone had buried an ax in his skull. He’d stayed at the party too late and had drunk too much. After his talk with Phoebe, who could blame him?

  Phoebe wanted a divorce, and she wanted it immediately. She knew all about Duvall Imports’ accounting problems, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t willing to give him any more time.

  He kept his eyes shut to block out the shafts of glaring sunlight streaking through the rattan shades in Maree’s bedroom. In his mind’s eye, he could see Phoebe, the way she’d been last night—sitting regally in the downstairs study—telling him to go to hell.

  She’d cost him the woman he loved, made his life miserable for years, and now she was going to ruin him financially. Then it struck him like a bolt out of the blue. She was leaving him for another man. That had to be the reason she wanted a divorce. It was difficult to imagine, given the fact that she’d tricked him into marriage. She’d had numerous affairs over the years—not that he cared. So why would she want to marry this particular man?

  Money?

  Who had enough money to entice Phoebe to leave him and disappoint her family? He couldn’t think of anyone that wealthy except Max Williams. Christ! The man was old enough to be her father. True, she had a thing for older men. But if she wanted Max, why now? He’d been sniffing around for years, always single, and getting richer every day. It didn’t make any sense.

  “Clay … darling.”

  Great, Maree was awake. She’d come in so late last night, after being with Neville Berringer, that Clay had almost fallen asleep before she’d returned.

  “Yes?” Clay opened his eyes and found Maree leaning over him.

  “We’re good together, aren’t we?”

  They had their moments, sure, but he wouldn’t brag about it. He tried for a smile, but it made his head hurt more.

  “We should get married.”

  “I am married, remember?”

  Her dark eyes glittered with something he couldn’t name. “But if you were free …”

  He closed his eyes again and yawned. He didn’t want her to guess his thoughts. He hadn’t told anyone except Alyssa about the impending divorce.

  “What about Neville?” As he said the name, Clay’s eyes flew open. Berringer was rich and eligible. Was he the man Phoebe was involved with?

  “Neville’s nice but he’s gay. He gets me into the right parties. That’s all.”

  “He’s not gay. He was married for years.”

  “So?”

  Maree never lied, forcing him to believe her. Like Phoebe, Maree Winston lived to move in high society. He understood why Maree would use Neville to gain entrée to places she wouldn’t be invited.

  “I know it would cost you a lot to divorce your wife.”

  Clay nodded at the excuse he’d given Maree when he’d first started seeing her. Now, unfortunately, it was the absolute truth.

  “Divorces are expensive, and they’re hard on families.” Clay tried to put as much concern in his voice as possible.

  The doorbell rang, and Maree jumped up, saving him from dodging her questions. Maree was determined to become Mrs. Clay Duvall. Of all the damn luck. Neville Berringer was gay. Clay had been hoping Berringer would take care of Maree for him.

  Maree shrugged into a diaphanous robe and belted it, saying, “It must be Dante. He said he’d be over this morning with beignets from Croissant D’Or. He wants to finalize the deal.”

  She rushed out of the room, and Clay forced himself to get up. He staggered into the bathroom, the blood pounding in his temples like a jackhammer. He heard Dante’s voice coming from the living room.

  Of course, Dante hadn’t been around last night. A woman with Maree’s looks could finagle her way into a society party on Neville’s arm, but Dante would never be welcome. Clay smiled despite the haggard face he saw in the mirror.

  He liked having something on Dante. The Bahamian thought he could own anyone just by discovering their weaknesses. Once this deal was over, Clay intended to cut his losses and get rid of both Maree and Dante.

  CHAPTER 28

  Clay put on his trousers and found one of his polo shirts hanging in Maree’s closet. By keeping some clothes here and having sex, he was encouraging Maree to believe they had a future together. He’d be smart to move back home, especially with Phoebe staying with her parents.

  “We saved you a few beignets, mon,” Dante told Clay the second he walked out of the bedroom.

  The aroma of the bits of dough deep-fried, then tossed in powdered sugar, a favorite of Maree’s, usually made Clay’s mouth water. Not this morning. His stomach was queasy and the handful of aspirin he’d downed hadn’t improved his headache.

  He sat down opposite Maree and Dante who were side by side on the couch drinking coffee and sprinkling even more powdered sugar on their beignets.

  “I’ve made de arrangements,” Dante said. “The heroin will be loaded on your boat in Singapore.”

  “They’ve hidden it in containers filled with children’s toys.” Excitement punctuated every syllable Maree spoke.

  “Wait a minute! I haven’t contacted my people here. Asking them to sign off on invoices is one thing. Heroin smuggling is another.”

  “Look, mon. For de right price, anyone will turn his back.”

  “True, but the Port Authority is using drug-sniffing dogs now.”

  “Dante’s thought of everything,” Maree informed him. “The packages are wrapped in cloth doused with formaldehyde. It throws off the dog’s scent.”

  “I see,” he responded.

  What he really saw was the need to talk to Phoebe again. It was her connection who originally put him in touch with the men on the dock who were willing to sign off the invoices—for a price. He’d never asked who she knew or how she knew them. Back then, when they first started their little scam, his only concern had been saving Duvall Imports.

  Phoebe had a thing not only for older men but also for the lowlifes who inhabited the dark underbelly of New Orleans. Drugs and crime of all sorts were rampant in the city. This was going to take someone more influential than the guys who checked cargo containers’ invoices.

  “Clay, Clay, are you listening?” Maree asked.

  “Yes. I was just thinking when to make arrangements at the dock.”

  “Don’t you be worrin’. I take care of it.”

  Dante was studying him with a strange expression on his face, one that made Clay edgy. A sickening thought hit him and make his queasy stomach lurch. Had Phoebe found out about Dante?

  It was possible, he decided, upset that he hadn’t thought of it sooner. That might account for Phoebe’s decision. He didn’t know anyone more prejudiced than Phoebe. She hid it well, of course. She sat on too many committees where it would have been unthinkable to voice her true feelings. She would never understand about Dante.
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  Jake sat across from his father in the sunroom, overlooking the garden in the mansion where Max had recently thrown the party. After hearing what Sanchez had to say, Jake had come directly here. He’d found his father reading the paper and having coffee.

  “Something wrong?” Max asked.

  “You were Patrick Duvall’s father, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Max replied, his tone flat. “How did you find out?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Considering Gracie Harper had been murdered, Jake wasn’t sure he should trust his father. “Did you try to frame Alyssa for what you’d done?”

  Max shoved his chair back and stood up. He walked over to the French doors that opened out onto the garden. “I didn’t know a thing about it until it was over.” His back was to Jake, but his shoulders were hunched forward, and he suddenly seemed much older. Max slowly turned and looked directly at him with the same brown eyes Jake saw whenever he bothered to look in the mirror. “Phoebe did it to protect me. She thought if there was another suspect, the police would be thrown off.”

  “I’m not buying it. Phoebe was jealous of Alyssa. She still is.”

  “You’re in love with her.”

  “Yes. I do love her.” He saw no point in denying it. For some time, he’d suspected he’d fallen for her. Last night had cinched it.

  Without commenting, Max returned to his seat. “Then you’ll understand how I felt—still feel—about Phoebe.”

  “The woman is a nutcase. She’s shallow and self-centered. Alyssa is talented and intelligent and—” He stopped. This was getting him nowhere.

  “Phoebe’s a little troubled.”

  Troubled? Yeah, right, and he was as pious as the Pope.

  “If you were willing to take the baby, why didn’t you marry Phoebe?”

  “I wanted to, believe me. The minute she found out she was pregnant, I told her I’d marry her. Hell, I’d asked her to marry me way before that.”

  Jake thought he knew what was coming next, but he let his father say it.

  “Phoebe felt she had to marry someone from her own circle of friends.”

  “In other words, you weren’t good enough for her.” Jake could just imagine how upset Hattie LeCroix would have been about Max. Not only was he not part of their circle of friends, Max’s parents were “stone” Okies. Dirt farmers with no education at all. Jake had met them a few times and liked them, but Hattie would have died before she would have introduced them to her friends.

  Max gazed at Jake with a bland half-smile. “When Phoebe became pregnant, I was on my way, but I hadn’t made the kind of money I have now.”

  Jake wondered if things had changed. He’d told Alyssa that Phoebe wouldn’t divorce Clay without some other sucker in the wings. It had never occurred to him the sucker might be his own father. “Are you two getting together now?”

  “Lord, no. We’ve stayed friends over the years, but Phoebe will never leave Clay. I’d do anything for her, but I’ve given up on convincing her to marry me.”

  Jake decided the divorce bit might be a ploy to get at Alyssa somehow. Phoebe was more than just a little nutty. In his opinion, she was dangerous.

  “Alyssa’s life was nearly ruined.”

  “I’m sorry. I truly am. I took Patrick to my parents’ farm and stayed until he was settled. I didn’t know what was happening back here. When I returned and found out, Alyssa had left for Italy.”

  “You could have cleared her name.”

  “I could have,” he admitted, “but I didn’t. They would have taken my son away from me.”

  The impact of the emotion in his words immobilized Jake. His father hadn’t just taken the child out of duty. He’d loved the little boy.

  Something else Sanchez told him unexpectedly took on new meaning. Patrick had died almost nine years ago. That was about the time Max had suddenly appeared in his life.

  “You didn’t have a heart attack, did you, Max? Patrick was going to be your heir, then he died. That’s why you came to me.”

  With a sweeping gesture, Max waved his arm. “Yes, but I had my reasons for not having been part of your life sooner. Your mother didn’t want me around you. She sent back every support check. She refused to let me see you.”

  “The courts could have forced her.” Jake detected the bitter edge of cynicism in his own voice. “But you didn’t think of that, did you?”

  “I considered it, but I didn’t follow through. I was focused on my business, and you were living far away.”

  Jake told himself he was too old to be hurt, but he refused to lie to himself. He’d spent almost nine years doing his damnedest for a man who’d been too busy to make an effort to be a father. Well, what did he expect of a man who could fall in love with a woman like Phoebe?

  Jake had been an accident. His mother never hid that fact. It was the reason he was so cautious when he had sex. No child of his was going without a father.

  Jake started to get up. He wanted to get as far away from Max as he possibly could.

  “Son, wait.”

  Jake was tempted to hit him. What right did he have to call him son?

  “I know you think I’m a lousy father. I can’t deny it. I came for you because I’d worked a lifetime building TriTech. I wanted someone to carry on after me. I thought it was going to be Patrick. I didn’t expect you to be as bright and savvy as you are.”

  Once Jake would have taken this as a compliment, but it didn’t matter to him now. He’d take the next plane out of New Orleans if it weren’t for Alyssa.

  “I’m proud of you. That’s why I bowed out of the business. I wanted TriTech to be yours. You’ve earned it.”

  “You can take it back.” He stood up and walked away. “I don’t want it.”

  Max followed him across the room. “I’ve tried to make it up to you, to be friends with you, but you insist on keeping a wall between us no matter how hard I try.”

  Jake spun around to face his father, and Max nearly collided with him. “I guess my sixth sense told me that I was second choice.”

  “You wouldn’t have been if your mother had allowed me to get to know you.”

  There was no denying the sincerity in his voice. They were the words of a desperate man. Suddenly, Jake saw Max for what he was—an old man who’d wasted his life pursuing money and loving the wrong woman for her beauty and social connections.

  “Did you have Gracie Harper killed?”

  “No,” Max said without hesitation. “I read about it in the paper. It was probably a botched robbery attempt. The nurse’s death sent Phoebe into a tailspin. She thought the case would be reopened, and the truth would come out.”

  “It wouldn’t have done your political career a helluva lot of good either.”

  Max studied him with wary eyes. “True. It’s something I’ve always known. The past has a way of coming back to haunt you.”

  What was there left to say? Jake started toward the front door again.

  “You’re not walking out on TriTech, the opportunity of a lifetime, are you?”

  “Damn right, I am.”

  “You’re just like your mother—stubborn like an Arkansas mule.”

  Jake could have reminded Max—yet again—he was just as stubborn but didn’t bother. He wasn’t certain how he felt about his father, but he refused to be drawn into an argument over the mother who’d loved him.

  Max caught up with Jake in the two-story entry hall where a massive Baccarat chandelier hung from the domed ceiling. Sunlight streamed in through the beveled glass windows and bounced off the prisms of crystal like a rainbow.

  “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to attack your mother.” Max put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “JoBeth was a wonderful woman in many ways, but when she made up her mind about something, there was no changing it.”

  It was the truth, and Jake couldn’t deny it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. His mother had her faults, but she loved him with all her heart.

  “Jake, what ca
n I do to make it right between us?” The expression in his father’s dark eyes seemed to plead with him.

  Go to hell, was on the tip of Jake’s tongue, but he stopped himself. Get over it! There was more at stake here than Jake’s ego.

  “You could tell the truth and clear Alyssa’s name.”

  The corner of Max’s mouth twisted with exasperation. “She means that much to you? Enough to see me go to prison?”

  “You won’t go to prison. I doubt if they’d even bring charges considering you were the father.” He studied Max for a moment, attempting to measure his father’s sincerity. Did he really want to salvage their relationship? “The truth might be a death knell for your political ambitions.”

  “It’s not that important to me. It was something to do after building TriTech.” He lowered his voice, adding, “I don’t know what this will do to Phoebe.”

  “Why do you care? It’s crazy. Phoebe wouldn’t marry you. She’s used you for years.” Jake told himself to calm down. He was yelling now. “What kind of a woman gives her baby away—even to its father?”

  Max shrugged, but didn’t say one word in Phoebe’s defense.

  “Was Phoebe the one who arranged to have the second baby stolen to implicate Alyssa?”

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Max responded. “And I don’t know anything about the man who attacked Alyssa either.”

  “What man?”

  “I don’t know. Last night, she made me dance with her. I’m telling you, Alyssa is one tough broad. She threatened to cut my heart out if I sent anyone else to hurt her. I said I didn’t know a thing about it, but she didn’t believe me.”

  Someone had threatened Alyssa, and she hadn’t told him? Why not? The answer came as soon as he’d asked himself the question. She thought his father was responsible, and she didn’t want to cause trouble.

  “There’s something else I need to ask you,” Jake said. “You insisted on buying Duvall Imports because of Phoebe, right?” When Max nodded, he continued. “You knew it was defrauding the government.”

  “No. It’s shaky financially. I figured you could turn it around.”

  Max sounded sincere. If anything, he seemed beaten down, his eyes world-weary and his shoulders stooped.