Owen's Touch

by Lee Magner

  He drew her close and folded her in his arms, lowering his head, finding her mouth with his and kissing her one last time before leaving. When he reluctantly drew back, letting her arms slide away from him, he whispered, “Watch your back, Mariana Sands. I’m counting on you to be here when I return.”

  She grinned at him, locked her hands behind her back to keep from flinging them around his neck.

  He sighed and left, checking the door to make sure it was locked after him. Then he went to his car parked in front of the house and drove off to face Judge Hammer’s court.

  Lyn Hemphill took her two kids to school a few moments later. Mariana, saying she felt perfectly safe in the Hemphill home, stayed to drink a cup of coffee and read the morning paper.

  The Hemphills took a local paper, a national daily newspaper, three major city newspapers and an internationally respected financial-news daily. It was a lot to read, she thought, astounded at first by the stack of papers in a floor rack beside the kitchen table. Mariana guessed that Averson Hemphill believed it was important to keep abreast of the major stories in order to be well informed for his clients.

  Mariana poured herself a cup of coffee, added some sugar and light cream and sat down to scan the headlines. She was startled to discover an article on Owen a few pages into the first daily she read.

  Mariana swallowed her coffee before she choked on it, gulping down the mouthful of warm drink in an uncharacteristically unladylike manner.

  Before finishing the story, she picked up another paper. And another. Then another. She was gaping at the last one, still trying to come to grips with the fact that Owen Blackhart’s legal battle with Portia Willowbrook’s nephew was close to front-page news from coast to coast in major newspapers.

  The articles did not just cover Owen’s court hearing today, either. They also resurrected years of society gossip about him and Portia, as well as offering snapshot biographies of both Owen and Portia’s nephew.

  There was an intriguing summary of an earlier court scandal in which Owen had been awarded an unspecified, but apparently large, amount of money for having been libeled. Mariana vaguely remembered Owen’s references to his semiretirement and realized why he could afford to be virtually self-employed if he wanted. He’d been publicly accused of covering up an investigation, destroying evidence to protect a client from being charged with insurance fraud, and obstructing justice. The court fight had been nasty and quite dirty. In the end, Owen had been exonerated, the real culprits identified and punished and Owen recompensed for the virtual destruction of his professional reputation.

  It all was very fascinating to Mariana. Until she saw the photograph. There were several in each of the articles. But one of them riveted her full attention. And it was in every newspaper the Hemphills had.

  It was of Owen and Mariana, having dinner at the café last night. The caption identified her as a friend temporarily staying with Owen at the home whose ownership was being challenged in court. They all made some mention of the fact that Owen had helped save her life and was nurturing her back to full health as she regained her memory.

  Mariana shut her eyes and closed the last paper.

  What if Louie Roualt saw one of these papers? What if he thought she was Maryanice? What if he made good on his threat to enforce retribution if his wife spent the night with another man?

  Mariana folded the papers and put them back. Her hands were shaking as she poured herself a fresh cup of coffee. When Lyn Hemphill pulled into her garage, closing the electronically controlled door with a hand-held device, Mariana hurried to the door to confront her with this new, unfortunate development.

  Lyn put down her purse and removed her coat, laying them both on a kitchen chair. She frowned thoughtfully.

  “My dear, if that’s a problem, why haven’t you already heard from or seen this man you’re concerned about?”

  “Why would we have seen him?” Mariana asked, perplexed. “The papers were just delivered this morning.”

  “Yes, but this was on the television news channels last night.”

  Mariana gripped the back of a kitchen chair and gave Lyn Hemphill a totally stunned look.

  “I suppose you weren’t watching television last night?” Lyn said hesitantly.

  Mariana shook her head. No. They were locking up the house and falling into bed. She bit her lip. Turning on the late news hadn’t crossed their minds. A shiver of fear danced across her flesh, leaving a wake of goose bumps.

  “Did they show my picture?” Mariana asked, afraid to voice the question.

  “Oh, yes. It was a long, telephoto videocam shot. You and Owen were leaving his house yesterday morning, getting into his car.” Seeing Mariana pale, Lyn hastened to her side and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It looked perfectly respectable. I don’t think they mentioned your name, dear.”

  “They wouldn’t have to,” Mariana murmured fatalistically.

  Louie Roualt didn’t need her name. He wouldn’t have believed it, anyway, if they’d used her real name. He probably would have assumed she’d taken an alias to conceal her identity. But a photo of her with Owen...

  “Maybe you should sit down, Mariana,” Lyn said, concerned by Mariana’s sudden pallor. “Do you feel faint? Maybe you should lie down, instead of sitting....” Lyn put her hand under Mariana’s elbow in a gesture of support.

  Mariana smiled wanly and shook her head. “I’m not going to pass out,” she assured her, struggling to put as much of a smile on her face as possible. “I promise. I just wasn’t expecting this kind of exposure. It’s...a shock.”

  Mariana paced back and forth across the kitchen, thinking hard. But with Owen tied up in court and still no word on the whereabouts of her twin sister or her agent, she wasn’t certain she could do anything but wait.

  And then the telephone rang.

  Both women looked at it. Then they looked at one another.

  The phone rang again.

  Lyn reluctantly lifted the receiver and said, “Hello?” She stared at Mariana, listening to the caller. Her expression relaxed a little, but she looked as if a whole new set of questions was occurring to her. “Yes, she is, Sergeant Lefcourt. I’m sure she’d like to hear this from you herself.”

  Lyn Hemphill handed the telephone to Mariana and leaned back against her kitchen counter, curiously waiting for the next act of the drama to unfold.

  “Sergeant Lefcourt? This is Mariana Sands.”

  “I’m glad I caught up with you, ma’am. I imagine you know how much publicity you and Blackhart’ve gotten in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, it’s helped you with one problem, I’m happy to tell you.”

  “Oh?” Mariana felt her breath catch. “Which one?”

  “Locating your sister and your agent.”

  Mariana’s whole body unclenched, and her eyes brightened as she glanced at Lyn. “Where are they? Have you talked to them? Do you have a number—”

  “Whoa,” Lefcourt interrupted, chuckling. “They went to Las Vegas, intending to look up an old friend of your agent’s who’s a retired police officer turned private investigator. They told him you were missing and they were scared something’d happened to you. They also said they were afraid to make a public missing-person report until they’d checked out as much as they could...’cause they were afraid of your sister’s husband and what he might be up to. If he were responsible for your disappearance, they didn’t want him to locate them. And if he had nothing to do with it, they wanted to find you before he caught on to what had happened.”

  Mariana felt a wave of relief. “They’re all right, then?”

  “Right as rain. They’d just talked to this private investigator a few days ago. When the national news started broadcasting photos of you, they had no trouble figuring out where you were. The investigator called me to explain who they were, and to find out what he could from us about her husband. That didn’t take long,” Lefcourt said with a short
laugh. “The man hasn’t been around, doesn’t know what’s happened, as far as we know.” He hesitated. “That’s still correct, isn’t it, ma’am?”

  “So far....” Mariana said, without a great strength of conviction that it would be true for much longer. “Where are Maryanice and Cryssa?”

  “The investigator said they’re catching a plane this morning for Washington.”

  “They’re on their way here?”

  “That’s right. They should set down at Dulles International late this afternoon. They have to change planes in Chicago, and that’s slowing them down some.”

  “Thanks, Sergeant,” Mariana said, feeling a little dazed. “Do they have Owen’s phone number?”

  “No. Uh, I was going to ask you about that....”

  “Are you sure this investigator is the real thing?” Suddenly, she remembered that it could be prudent to be suspicious.

  “Yeah. We checked him out. And we also confirmed the hotel reservation at one of the airport hotels for Cryssa Roberts for two people. Want me to give him Blackhart’s number?”

  “Please do, Sergeant,” she asked fervently. “And Cryssa or Maryanice, too, if they should contact you.”

  “Happy to ‘blige ma’am,” he said with a good-humored drawl. “I’ll leave a message at Hemphill’s office down at the courthouse about all this.”

  “I’m forever expressing gratitude, it seems,” she stated in tired amusement. “But my thanks are as sincere as can be....”

  “Don’t mention it. I like bein’ the bearer of good tidings, and frankly, ma’am, I don’t get to do it as often as I’d like.” He paused. “Uh, since you’ve got your memory back, the police investigating Fred Lowe’s death are mighty interested in talking to you.”

  “Oh. Of course.” Mariana smiled faintly. “I’ll tell them what I know.”

  “They’ll probably be callin’ soon. I gave them Blackhart’s number, Hemphill’s office number and the Hemphills’ home number.”

  Mariana swallowed. The police were obviously quite anxious to see her. “Do they have a suspect yet, Sergeant?” she asked.

  “Not officially. But I think they’ve got a real short list and a name at the top they’d like to build a case around. Uh, I’ve got to go now, Miss Sands. You take care.”

  They said goodbye and hung up. Immediately, Mariana dialed the courthouse number that Hemphill used to collect messages when he was at court. She left a message on his voice mail, explaining to Owen about Cryssa and Maryanice...and the police’s intention to question her about the late Fred Lowe. When she hung up the phone, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Mariana looked at Lyn.

  “My sister and my agent are coming to see if I’m still in one piece! They were hiring a private detective to find out what happened to me.” Mariana laughed shakily. “I guess my newspaper notoriety did serve some good purpose.”

  Lyn came forward and hugged Mariana briefly.

  “I just know things are going to work out for you,” she said fervently.

  Mariana’s smile firmed. She was encouraged by this recent turn of events. However, she wasn’t as sanguine as Lyn Hemphill that her life was about to smooth out. After all, Louie was still unaccounted for. And he could be a formidable obstacle. That thought sent a light shiver of apprehension across her skin.

  “How ’bout another cup of coffee?” Lyn suggested, curving her elegantly shaped brows upward in a question.

  Mariana nodded.

  “While I’m making us a fresh pot, I’ll tell you all my favorite tales about Portia Willowbrook. You never met her, did you? Well, she was one of a kind, I’ll tell you. And it was obvious that she loved Owen. Not in a lustful way, of course, but like a...well, almost like a long-lost prodigal son that had miraculously come back to her fold. By the way—” she glanced over her shoulder at Mariana and smiled dryly “—did you know I witnessed the signing of her will?”

  Mariana shook her head, her eyes wide in surprise.

  “I was in Averson’s office the day she came in to sign it. I was between errands, and the person they’d been planning to use as a witness was stuck in Washington with a stalled car. So I became a witness. And I can tell you she was tickled to death to be spreading her estate around the way she’d decided. She even asked me if I thought Owen would enjoy the people here and settle down when he discovered he’d inherited the house and lands on Algonquin Road....”

  “What did you say?” Mariana asked curiously. How would Owen have felt about it? About the town?

  “Oh, I told her he might think it slow and uneventful after such a full life in busier, bigger cities, but by the time Ms. Willowbrook passed to her reward, I expected he’d be more appreciative of the riches found in our calmer, more relaxed environment here.”

  “Poor Owen. He may never have the chance to find out, if the court rules in the nephew’s favor.”

  Lyn Hemphill gave Mariana a curious look.

  “You really care for him, don’t you?” she asked in sympathy. She patted Mariana’s hand and poured them each a cup of freshly brewed Kona coffee. “Don’t you worry just yet. I think Averson can cut that out-of-town lawyer off at the county pass.” She grinned and sat down. “Virginia isn’t just for lovers, you know,” she declared, scrambling the state’s advertising slogan. “Our lawyers are pretty sharp. And Averson drew up that will for Portia. Averson’s shrewd, even for our lawyers. As his wife, I would know if he weren’t too bright, now wouldn’t I, Mariana?” she asked, laughing softly, her eyes glimmering with amused wisdom.

  “Surely you don’t expect me to reply to that?” Mariana demanded, struggling not to choke with laughter.

  Lyn shrugged that it made no matter, and she smoothly continued, letting Mariana off the hook for a reply.

  “Furthermore, it’s hard to disregard the wording of a will in our courts. Around here, people don’t often overturn the wishes of the deceased. We still have respect for the dead.”

  For Owen’s sake, Mariana fervently hoped so.

  Mariana spent the rest of the morning talking with Lyn about life in the small town and raising children and the challenges of love and marriage. She found Lyn Hemphill to be a gracious, honest woman. She was a little older, and she was definitely more settled down and burdened with domestic responsibilities. Still, there was a vibrance and sense of humor in the lawyer’s wife that warmed and illuminated everything she did or said.

  “Your husband’s lucky to have you, Lyn,” Mariana said as they cleared away their lunch dishes.

  Lyn laughed, but she gave Mariana a measuring look. “I’ve been thinking that you and Owen seem to have found a lot to be thankful for in your recent friendship.” She ignored Mariana’s ambiguous smile and discouraging silence. “I would say you’ve made a big impression on him.”

  Mariana murmured something noncommittal. Maybe they had made a distinct “impression” on one another. But how lasting would- that impression be? she wondered. Cynically, her anxious fears tried to smother her gossamer dreams of love.

  Mariana had just agreed to help Lyn clean away some of the last fall leaves cluttering her backyard gardens when the phone rang.

  Lyn answered it and turned to Mariana a moment later, looking completely dismayed. “Yes. Of course. Tell the judge I’ll be there as soon as I can drive over to the courthouse. Of course I’ll bring Mariana with me!” she exclaimed tartly. She glared at the phone as she replaced it on the receiver. “As if I’d leave you on your own.”

  “Do they need you in court?” Mariana asked.

  “Apparently Judge Hammer wants me to testify in front of him regarding Portia’s state of mind when I witnessed her will. Averson warned me that I might be called at some point, but normally, it wouldn’t be until things were a little further along.” She grinned as she put on her coat. “I can’t say that I’m surprised. Judge Hammer always had the highest respect for my mother and father, and his middle son was my steady beau in high school. I spent many a Sunday afternoon playi
ng poker or pinochle or bridge with the Hammers and staying for supper.”

  Mariana tried to cover her laughter behind her hand. “No!”

  “Oh, yes indeed, honey. If you ask me, he’s just hunting for some good solid reasons to send that money-grubbing, never-mether-didn’ t-know-her nephew out of town with a one-way ticket on the next bus.”

  Amid Mariana’s laughter, Lyn telephoned a neighbor whose children attended the same school that the Hemphills did. After a few moments of explanation, Lyn had arranged for the other parent to pick up her children and keep them until the Hemphills had returned from court.

  Lyn sailed through her kitchen door that connected to the garage, pressing the remote-control device to lift the garage door. Mariana, still struggling into her coat sleeves, grabbed her purse and hurried after her.

  Everything went just fine until they got to the courthouse. There was no place to park. It was a small town, with very few parking meters and no parking lots. People normally parked along the curbs. Today every curb was lined as far as the eye could see.

  All the media interest in the trial had stirred up local interest. More journalists had arrived in town to cover the court proceedings, and they all apparently had driven a car and parked it downtown. It looked like a huge overnight population boom had swamped the place.

  After the third time around the courthouse and the eight adjacent blocks, they saw Averson’s law-student intern standing on the courthouse steps, madly waving his arms at them. From the urgent way he was gesturing for Lyn to come inside and the terrified look on his face, it was obvious Judge Hammer was losing patience.

  “You go. I’ll park the car,” Mariana said firmly.

  “No!” Lyn exclaimed in alarm. “We’re trying to protect you.”

  “What could possibly happen to me in broad daylight, driving in a car near the courthouse?” Mariana asked reasonably. “I’m scared of him finding me in places that have been mentioned...or tracking me down at Owen’s house on Algonquin Road in the dark when I’m alone. This is not a problem, believe me,” Mariana insisted confidently. No one in his right mind would assault her or kidnap her off a public street in broad daylight. “Go on!” she urged Lyn. “Hurry and tell the judge what he wants to know. Maybe you can speed up Owen’s escape from this headache.”