She checked the year again. Her breath caught.
It was the same year Allison Blaine had died.
The golf course was close enough that her father would have commuted from home during the tournament. That meant her family hadn’t been vacationing when Allison Blaine had gone missing and turned up dead as her mother had claimed.
And her father had been right here in Indigo Springs.
IF AT FIRST YOU don’t succeed, try to get the information another way.
That had been Ben’s unapologetic philosophy since he’d started his journalism career. He’d once paid a prostitute fifty bucks to tell him which cops were open to dropping a solicitation charge in exchange for sex. Another time he got a friend to offer a bribe to the head of the city planning commission on a very good hunch the official was corrupt.
He’d never before had a moment’s hesitation about doing whatever it took to break a story.
So the uneasy sensation that ran through him Monday afternoon as he sat on a park bench next to Sierra’s brother came as a surprise. He recognized the feeling as guilt because it was strikingly similar to what he’d experienced last night after dropping a silently fuming Sierra at her home.
Her charge that he’d had an ulterior motive in asking her out was off the mark. He couldn’t deny, however, that he’d jumped at the opportunity to pump her about Quincy Coleman.
Rummaging for information so he could separate fact from fiction was what he did best. It was what he was preparing to do to her brother.
“Hope you didn’t mind meeting here for lunch instead of at a restaurant.” Ryan Whitmore gestured at the park that would soon be named after his father with the hand not holding his turkey club sandwich. Above where they sat on a park bench, the snowy-white blooms of a dogwood tree shaded them from the bright sun. The air smelled of freshly mowed grass and spring flowers.
“Not at all.” Ben couldn’t help thinking Sierra would object, not to the location, but to him meeting her brother. He guessed that Ryan hadn’t shared his lunch plans with her.
“I’m cooped up all day so I like to get outside any chance I can get,” Ryan added. “That river rafter I’m married to isn’t the only one who appreciates the outdoors.”
By the grin that spread across Ryan’s face at the mention of his wife, Ben’s guess was that he was a newlywed. “How long have you and Annie been married?”
“Going on three months,” he said. “Our daughter’s coming to live with us when school’s out for the summer.”
That didn’t compute. “Where’s your daughter now?”
“Outside of Pittsburgh with the family that adopted her.” Ryan waved a hand. “It’s a long story with a happy ending. Lindsey’s fourteen. Old enough to decide she wanted to live with us for most of the year.” He took another bite of his sandwich, then indicated the brown paper take-out bag beside Ben. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“Maybe later.” He was hungrier for information than food. “Thanks, by the way, for being willing to meet.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ben watched two squirrels scamper across the grass and up a tree while he thought about how to answer. He went with the truth. “Your sister thinks I’m trying to tie your father to Allison Blaine’s death.”
Ryan’s neutral expression didn’t change. “Are you?”
“Somebody is. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gotten that e-mail.”
Ryan chewed thoughtfully on his sandwich. Nearby a little boy of about four years old giggled wildly as a man who looked to be his father pushed his swing higher and higher.
“Have you made progress in figuring out who sent it?” Ryan asked.
“Not much,” Ben said. “Any ideas?”
“The only person I know of who disliked my father is Quincy Coleman, but he seems to have had a change of heart now that Dad’s gone.”
“Then you know he suggested the park be renamed?”
“Not until Sierra told me this morning, I didn’t. Surprised the hell out of me.” He indicated a spot fifty feet away. “The signpost’s going up right there, close to the sidewalk where it’ll be most visible.”
“Do you know why Coleman didn’t get along with your father?”
“No particular reason.” A bumblebee flew over to investigate what Ryan was eating. He shooed it away. “They were both prominent citizens. I think it was a case of two top dogs having problems sharing the same territory.”
“Did your father have problems with anyone else?”
Ryan shook his head. “Not that I know of. He was well liked.”
“Can you tell me about him? I mean, what he was really like?”
“Let’s see.” Ryan thought for a few moments. “He was a busy man. He was either at work or volunteering for some organization or other. The Rotary Club. The church council. The chamber of commerce. You name it, he was involved in it.”
“Does that mean you and Sierra didn’t see much of him?”
“I did,” Ryan said. “Who do you think coached my Little League and youth basketball teams? After I got to high school, Dad never missed a game.”
“How about Sierra? Was he as involved with her?”
Ryan didn’t answer immediately, crumpling up the wrapper that had held his sandwich. When it was in the shape of a ball, he tossed it, sinking it into a nearby trash can on the first try. “Has Sierra told you anything about me?”
Ben could have pointed out that Ryan hadn’t answered his question, but figured the other man would get around to his point eventually. He shook his head.
“We weren’t close as kids. As adults, either. We barely talked until last summer when I moved back home to help her out with the practice.”
“Why’s that?”
“I always felt like she was competing with me. Not athletically, but in every other conceivable way. She got higher grades, went to better schools, got a more prestigious residency.”
“Sounds impressive.”
“Sierra is that.” Unmistakable pride rang out in his voice. “She could have gotten a job anywhere she wanted. Except what she wanted was to go into practice with my father.”
“Isn’t that what she got?”
Ryan stared off into the distance, where the father continued to make the laughing little boy’s swing arc into the air. “Yeah, but it didn’t happen the way she dreamed it would. My dad was a real jerk to her when she got out of residency. He told her she wasn’t ready to be a partner.”
“Sounds like you don’t believe that was the real reason,” Ben said.
“I know it wasn’t.” Ryan sighed heavily. “I’m a year younger than Sierra. Dad told me he was waiting to offer the partnership to me. Except at the time I didn’t want it. I had this idea about going my own way.”
When Sierra had told Ben about her father, a picture had begun to take shape of a girl who adored her father. Now it crystallized into its final form, of a daughter grasping for her father’s attention. “So Sierra beat you out in everything except what she most wanted.”
“She got the practice,” Ryan said. “We both agreed Sierra should be the one to run it after Dad died. I didn’t come back on the scene until Annie and I fell back in love.”
“Does Sierra know she wasn’t your father’s first choice?”
Ryan nodded. “She does. Hurt her bad, too. But don’t get me wrong. He might not have been the best father, but he was a good man. Ask anyone.”
Ben already had, although he’d been careful of how he’d extracted the information from his sources. Despite Ben’s faults, he was a man of his word. He’d kept his promise to Sierra not to bring up her father’s name.
There were ways around that, of course. Like any good journalist, he could guide a conversation pretty expertly.
Just this morning, a longtime Indigo Springs resident had confirmed the good things he’d been hearing about Dr. Whitmore. Teresa Bradford, a sixtyish insurance agent who had lived in Indigo Springs all her life, had brought up D
r. Whitmore because she remembered him suggesting a second collection be taken up at church to help Allison Blaine’s family. She’d used the words devoted husband, father and citizen to describe him.
“I’d like to talk to Alex Rawlings.” The former police chief was one of the few principle players Ben had yet to track down. “Not necessarily about your father, but about memories of the case.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I can’t find anybody in town who knows what happened to Rawlings. The closest I came was Frank Sublinski, who remembers Rawlings retiring to Florida about fifteen years ago. He can’t remember where in Florida, though.”
“Fort Lauderdale,” Ryan said.
“How’d you know that?”
“Alex came to my dad’s funeral.”
“Then you have contact information for Rawlings in Florida?” Ben asked.
“Nope,” Ryan said. “But I do have an address and phone number in the Poconos. Alex moved in with a daughter who lives maybe an hour from here. I’ll call you with the information when I get back to the office.”
“Thanks.” It didn’t escape Ben’s attention that one of the Whitmore siblings was much more cooperative than the other. “Out of curiosity, does Sierra know where Alex Rawlings is?”
“Oh, yeah,” Ryan said and stood up. “And I don’t expect her to be happy I told you.”
“WHAT DID YOU SAY you did?” Sierra could barely choke out the words past the incredulity that clogged her throat.
“You heard me the first time.” Ryan leaned with his back against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, looking fresh despite the steady stream of patients who’d kept them at work almost forty-five minutes past regular Monday office hours. “I gave Ben Nash a phone number for Alex Rawlings this afternoon.”
“Why would you do that?” She’d been about to sanitize her hands from a dispenser on the wall when her brother approached. She pumped down on the device, and a too-large gob of gel squirted out.
“A better question is why wouldn’t I?”
“I’ll tell you why.” She rubbed her hands together vigorously, using friction to dry up the gel. “Ben Nash is trying to implicate our father in that woman’s death.”
“So what? Nothing will come of it. Mom already told him we were on vacation when she died.”
She stopped drying her hands and avoided his eyes. “He’s not acting like he believes her.”
There was a pregnant pause before he said, “Neither are you. What gives, Sierra?”
When had her younger brother become so perceptive? There was a time not very long ago when he hadn’t known her well enough to tell what she was thinking.
“Do you remember how Dad always played in that charity golf tournament at Lakeview Pines?” she asked.
“Vaguely.” He didn’t have to add that their father had played in lots of charity golf tournaments. “Why?”
“One year a lightning storm took out a bunch of trees and the tournament organizers moved back the date of the tournament.” She swallowed. “That was the only year we didn’t go on vacation the first week in July.”
“Let me guess. That was the year Allison Blaine died.” At her nod, he continued in an incredulous voice, “So Mom lied.”
“Of course she didn’t,” Sierra said quickly. “It slipped her mind. That’s all. I wouldn’t have remembered myself if I hadn’t found an old photo of Dad with the date written on the back.”
“We should tell Ben.”
“No!” Sierra reached out and put a restraining hand on his arm. “We can’t tell him. It’ll make him even more suspicious than he already is.”
“If he finds out on his own, he’ll think we’ve got something to hide.”
“Then he’d be wrong,” Sierra said. “Mom made an honest mistake. Besides, Dad being in town when Allison Blaine died doesn’t change anything. It still doesn’t mean he knew the woman.”
“Then why not tell him?”
Sierra’s hand tightened on his arm. How could she make him understand? “Somebody already sent Ben an e-mail suggesting Dad was involved. We can’t give him a reason to believe that’s true.”
“But what if Dad was involved?”
“What?” She stared at him openmouthed. “You know what Dad was like. How could you believe he killed somebody?”
“I don’t,” Ryan said quickly, “but there’s obviously something suspicious about Allison Blaine’s death. Maybe Dad knew what it was.”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this! Dad’s about to be honored for his charity work. He deserves better, especially from his own son.”
“What about Allison Blaine’s family? Don’t they deserve to know what happened to her?”
“They already know. She had an accident,” Sierra asserted even as a niggling doubt gnawed at her. Would Ben Nash be going to all this trouble if it were as simple as that?
“Excuse me, but is it okay if I leave now?”
At the sound of the familiar singsong voice, they both whirled to find their receptionist standing not fifteen feet from them. How long had Missy Cromartie been there? How much had she heard?
“You don’t have to ask permission to leave, Missy,” Ryan said evenly.
“I know. But my car’s parked out back and I didn’t want to interrupt.” Her face was flushed, as though from embarrassment, confirming Sierra’s worst fears. She’d heard everything. “I wouldn’t be here at all if I didn’t need to finish up my paperwork.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Ryan said, signaling the end of the conversation when they’d yet to settle anything.
Alone in the office, Sierra fumed silently while she wondered and worried exactly what kind of information Ben Nash would try to pull out of Alex Rawlings.
Making a snap decision, she headed in the direction her brother and Missy had just taken.
There was one sure way to find out.
ALEX RAWLINGS was a woman.
A tall woman with a sturdy build, a florid complexion, gunmetal-gray hair and a dislike for her given name of Alexandria. Ben put her age in the mid-seventies.
He’d been at her daughter’s modest ranch house long enough to get settled on a back porch with a view of the wooded lawn, and he was still disappointed it hadn’t occurred to him Alex was a female. It made him wonder what else about this story he wasn’t seeing clearly.
“Toughest time of my life,” she said in response to his question about her tenure as police chief. “People weren’t as open-minded back then. Only stayed in the job a few years until I moved on.”
She’d been nearly sixty by then, she explained, and ready to pack her badge away in a drawer. Yard sales had always lured her like an addict to crack so she’d jumped at the chance to help a friend peddle department store castoffs at a flea market outside of Fort Lauderdale.
“How long have you been back in Pennsylvania?” Ben asked.
“Since my heart started acting up.” She sounded seriously peeved. “Doctor said if I don’t take it easy, it could give out entirely. I don’t believe him for a second, but Denise does.”
Denise was her daughter, a younger but no less reserved version of Alex.
“Now what can I do for a hotshot like you?” Alex asked.
The screen door to the porch banged open. Ben had been half listening for it, the same way he’d been expecting the visitor who was trailing Denise. Sierra claimed she’d keep tabs on him. He was discovering she was a woman of her word.
“Sierra! What a surprise!” Ben’s tone was just theatrical enough to let her know he meant the opposite.
She gave him a cool look, which matched the ice-blue color of the short-sleeved blouse she wore with a belted, matching skirt. She’d swept her long hair off her neck and secured it with a barrette. If she hadn’t shown him her hot temper last night, he might buy into the frosty image she was trying to portray.
“Hey there, stranger.” Alex Rawlings had a bum knee in addition to her weak heart, which had made her slow trek
to the rocking chair difficult to watch. The injury didn’t prevent her from standing to greet Sierra.
“Hello, Mrs. Rawlings,” Sierra said.
“Mrs. Rawlings? Why don’t you just call me old lady. It makes me feel just as ancient.”
“Alex, then,” Sierra said.
The older woman perched her hands on her hips and glowered. “Would you look at her, Denise. I haven’t seen her since her father’s funeral and I don’t get a hug.”
“You better hug her, Sierra, or you won’t hear the end of it,” Denise advised, a laugh in her voice.
A corner of Sierra’s mouth lifted. She embraced Alex, the warmth of the act a marked difference from the frigid look she’d shot Ben when she arrived.
“That’ll shut her up,” Denise said. “But not for long.”
“What kind of way is that for a daughter to talk to her mother?” Alex complained with a shake of her head.
“You know I love you, Mom.” Denise blew her a kiss. “Why else would I be making you lemon chicken for dinner?”
Alex thrust out her lower lip unhappily. “I’d rather have lasagna with loads of cheese, but you mean well so I’ll let the sassy talk slide.”
Denise laughed again. “If you’ll all excuse me, I need to see to dinner. You two are welcome to stay, if you like. I always make enough so we have lots of leftovers.”
“Thanks,” Ben said, “but I was planning to take Sierra to dinner after we’re done here.”
Sierra directed another glacial look his way. This one qualified as a glare. “Since when?”
He withstood the chill and winked at Denise. “As you can see, I haven’t gotten around to asking her yet.”
Denise cupped her hands to her mouth and spoke in a stage whisper. “If she says no, the offer of dinner stands. That way you might still find yourself sitting across the table from her.”
“I think I love you,” Ben told Denise.
“I’d be more fond of you, Denise, if you weren’t trying to help Ben get his way,” Sierra quipped.
An Honorable Man Page 9