Don't Say a Word

by Barbara Freethy

  "Michael told me that you think there's some mystery about who you are," she said with a quizzical look in her eyes.

  "I have some questions," Julia admitted.

  "How can you have questions now?" Liz demanded, her expression filled with hurt. "Our mother just died. Our father is drinking himself into oblivion every night, in case you haven't noticed. And your fiance is upset that you want to postpone your wedding. Don't you have enough on your plate? Do you really need to find your birth father now? After all these years?"

  Liz made some good points. The timing wasn't right. Then again, it had never been right. Which was how Julia had reached the age of twenty-eight without knowing who her biological father was. But he wasn't really the issue. "I'm not trying to find my father," she said. "I just want to know who I am, where I was born. I saw a picture at the museum. It was the spitting image of me. And the little girl had on a necklace just like mine."

  "The one with the swan? That's why you were looking at it?"

  "Yes."

  "Michael said the girl in the picture lived in Russia. How can you think it's you? You were never in Russia."

  It sounded worse Coming from Liz's mouth. "I know it seems crazy. But that photo started me thinking about how I don't have any pictures of me or Mom before she married Gino. Isn't that odd? I thought if I came here, I might be able to find something that would prove I was living in the United States when I was three years old."

  Liz stared at her like she was out of her mind. "Are you having some sort of breakdown, Julia? You're acting like a mad person."

  "No, I'm acting like a person who doesn't know where she came from. It's different for you, Lizzie. You know who both your parents are. I only know about my mother. I don't know about my real father or my grandparents on my mother's side. And I can't remember anything from when I was little, which is also driving me crazy. Why don't I have any memories from that time in my life?"

  "A lot of people don't remember when they're really young. I don't remember much."

  "You don't have to remember, because I can tell you everything," Julia replied. "I was there from the minute you were born. No one that I know besides my mother was there from the minute I was born. And she's gone."

  "All right, fine." Liz perched on the edge of an old trunk. "Did you ask Dad about it?"

  "Not yet. He had a big headache and a hangover. I didn't want to bring it up if I could find something some other way."

  "And that man you were with last night? Is he involved in this search?"

  "He's the son of the photographer who took the picture." Julia didn't explain that Alex was the one who had taken the picture.

  "And he thinks it's you, too?"

  "He thinks it's worth looking into."

  "You're both nuts," Liz said flatly.

  Julia sighed. Liz tended to have a closed mind and could be very judgmental. She was always the last one to try anything new, and she often refused to look at problems in her life. She hadn't been able to accept their mother was going to die until she'd actually died. Up until then, Liz had insisted that their mother would get well, that life would return to normal. Maybe it was her age. She was six years younger than Julia, and she still wanted and needed to be protected. Julia usually tried to do just that, but not this time.

  "Don't you have to work this afternoon?" Julia asked, deciding to change the subject.

  "Not for a while yet. I think you're taking a risk, Julia. You could lose Michael over this ridiculous search that will probably turn up nothing in the long run. Do you want to take that chance?"

  A few months ago, make that a week ago, Julia would have said no, that she was happy with the way things were, but the photograph in the museum had opened up her eyes to the fact that the status quo had changed when her mother died. There was nothing to hold her back now. She could finally ask the questions and find the answers that she needed to fill out the missing part of her life. Michael should be able to understand that and so should Liz. "I'd rather look now than later," she said. "When I get married, I want to do it knowing everything I need to know about myself. If Michael can't give me a few days to figure that out, then he should be the one you're talking to, not me."

  "Are you sure it will take only a few days?"

  "I'm not sure about anything. I'm taking it one step at a time. And while I know you hate it when people don't do exactly what you want, you're going to have to let me do this, Liz, because I'm not willing to stop until I get some answers."

  "Have you considered the fact that you might be better off not knowing, that maybe Mom had a good reason for never telling you about your past?"

  She had considered that, more than once. "That might be true, but I think the not knowing is worse."

  "I hope you're right about that."

  "So do I."

  "Have you found anything yet?" Liz looked around at the mess Julia had made. "You've certainly been thorough. I still can't believe this is all we have left of Mom's life. It doesn't seem like much."

  "I know. I keep thinking there must be more. Although I haven't come across any paperwork, birth certificates, that kind of thing, so maybe there is more. I remember putting a lot of boxes in Dad's spare bedroom when he moved."

  Liz frowned. "I can't believe he's happier living in an apartment. He should have stayed in the house. Mom loved that house. And I'm still pissed off at him for selling it."

  "The house had too many memories. He couldn't stand it."

  "It's going to be strange this Christmas. No tree in the corner of the living room, no Christmas dinner around the big table. It won't be the same at Aunt Lucia's house."

  "No, it won't." Julia could see how much Liz hated that thought. "But we'll still make it a good holiday. We have each other. That's what matters."

  "I guess. Are you done here?"

  "Almost. I have one more box to go through."

  Liz kneeled down next to Julia as she opened the last large box. Instead of their mother's clothes, they found children's clothes.

  "I remember this outfit," Liz said, pulling out a pink jumper. "I used to love it."

  "And I used to wear this sweater all the time," Julia added, pulling out a blue sweater with embroidered flowers on the front. "I wonder why Mom kept these clothes. She was always doing spring-cleaning. I rescued a few things from the garbage on more than one occasion."

  "That's true, but these were our favorites." Liz dug farther into the pile. "I guess she had a sentimental soft spot after all. Who knew?"

  "There's a lot we don't know about her, Liz. I spent all night thinking about what I don't know about her, like where she grew up and where she spent her summer vacations. Where she went to school. Her friends, her first boyfriend. She never talked about herself. And we never asked. Why didn't we ask?"

  "I guess I wasn't that interested," Liz admitted, the smile quickly disappearing from her face. "I thought we'd have more time."

  "Me, too." Julia touched her sister's hand to comfort. She was still the big sister, and she'd promised her mother she'd always watch out for Liz. "Even though we knew the diagnosis, we couldn't stop hoping. And Mom never wanted to say goodbye. She never wanted to talk about the end, even though we all knew it was coming."

  "You're right. She asked me two days before she died to take her out into the garden so she could decide what to plant in the fall." Liz blinked back a tear, then reached back into the box. "I see something. Hey, what's this?"

  She pulled out a hand-painted wooden doll about ten inches tall. The artwork on the doll was intricate and detailed. A woman's face was painted on the round head, a wreath of white flowers on her dark hair. The larger, cylinderlike body of the doll showed the woman's costume, a white dress with three feathered tiers and a floral pattern that mixed red flowers and green leaves. Along the base of the doll was a circle of swans that glistened in the lacquer finish. Julia's heart skipped a beat. The swans matched the one on her necklace. And she knew this doll. She'd held it in her ha
nds before. "It's stunning," she murmured.

  "I don't remember seeing it before," Liz said.

  Julia took it out of Liz's hand. She opened the top and found another doll inside, then another one, and another. "It's a nesting doll," she said. "It's called a matryoshka doll."

  "What? How do you know that?"

  "I don't know how I know that." Julia looked from the doll to her sister, feeling like she was about to fall over the edge of a cliff. "But I know what it is. It's a Russian doll. And it's mine."

  Chapter 4

  I need to look through Dad's negatives," Alex said to his mother as she ushered him into the living room of her two-story house in Presidio Heights.

  "And good morning to you, too," Kate Manning said sharply. She sat down on a spotlessly clean white couch that took up one wall of the large room, and crossed her arms in front of her. Dressed in a light blue silky pants outfit with a pair of impractical spike heels, she looked very sophisticated. Alex couldn't remember ever seeing her in sweats or tennis shoes, and certainly never without her makeup. She had always been very conscious of her appearance.

  Alex sat down in the antique chair across from her, sensing this would not be the easy visit he'd hoped for. Time had not mellowed his mother's attitude, and he was reminded of why he rarely chose to visit her. If he wanted to get anywhere with her, he better backtrack and Start over. "Sorry, Mother. How are you?"

  "I'm fine, not that you care. It's been months since we've spoken."

  "We saw each other last night."

  "Before that. Don't get cute with me, Alex. You don't return my calls. You don't answer my email, and you couldn't be bothered to remember my birthday."

  "I sent you a card."

  "Three weeks late."

  "I was in a remote jungle in Africa. The mail Service wasn't good."

  "You always have an answer to everything," she said with a wave of her well-manicured hand. "Just like your father."

  Alex sighed. How many times had he heard that phrase? Just like your father. Well, he was proud to be just like his father. But that wasn't an issue he intended to discuss with her. "Do you still have Dad's negatives?"

  Her mouth drew into a tight frown. "I might. Why would you want them after all these years?"

  "I'd like to take a look at something."

  "At what? Are you here about that photo taken in Moscow? The one you were asking about last night?"

  "Maybe." He saw something flicker in her eyes, and he couldn't help wondering what it was.

  "Your father was very upset after that trip," she murmured. "Or maybe it was later—when the photo was published in the magazine. I overheard him yelling at Stan about it. He never told me what the problem was." She paused, a question in her eyes, a question he still couldn't answer. When he didn't speak, she added, "Then it was too late to ask. Your father was gone, and you were so angry with me, you wouldn't look at me—not even at the funeral." Her voice caught, and he saw an expression of pain in her eyes. "When you did speak to me, you told me I'd broken up the family. But that wasn't completely true, Alex. I didn't do it alone."

  "I don't want to get into our family history," he said quickly.

  "Then you shouldn't be digging up the past. Your father had a lot of secrets. That last year of his life—he was different. I didn't know what caused the change. Maybe it was his job. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was another woman," she said with a bitter edge to her voice.

  "You don't have any proof there was ever another woman." He couldn't refrain from defending his father. He'd heard her make the comment a number of times, and it irritated the hell out of him.

  "I may not have proof, but I know something was off. Charles used to get calls from a woman late at night. I heard her voice more than once. He said she was a business associate, but he was a freelancer, and there were no female editors working at any of the magazines."

  "You can't be sure of that."

  "Oh, I am. I checked." She paused, her mouth tightening in a hard line. "I'm not sure I ever told you this, but I spent most of my childhood watching my mother turn a blind eye to my father's cheating. I swore that I would never do the same. I wouldn't allow your father to turn me into a pathetic, hopeless, helpless woman like my mother, who was suddenly shocked to realize the whole town knew her husband was cheating on her."

  Alex had known his mother wasn't close to her parents, but he'd always thought it was because she was ashamed of their blue-collar roots. Her father had been a plumber, her mother a waitress. Apparently there had been more to the story.

  Kate drew in a deep breath, a frown on her face now, as if she were sorry she'd said so much. "I just want you to leave the past alone, Alex."

  "It's funny that you would say that. You're the one who is throwing a Spotlight on Dad's work every chance you get. You hated his job, and you probably hated him, too, yet here you are acting like the tragic widow, and it's been twenty-five years and two marriages since you were with him."

  "I'm not acting like a widow. That's what I am. You'll never understand the relationship I had with your father or how I felt about his work," she said hotly. "But I know what it was, and I have every right to make sure his photographs continue to be recognized. I'm even negotiating a possible book contract."

  "Really." He studied her thoughtfully, not liking the way she avoided his gaze. "Why? Do you need the money?" Her home was beautifully decorated, her clothes expensive and well made. She didn't look like she was short of cash, but he had no idea where she stood with her personal finances. Her last two husbands had not been rich, but very comfortable. And if he knew his mother, she'd gotten her fair share in the divorces.

  "I'm surprised you would ask, Alex. You've never shown any interest in my personal well-being."

  "That's not an answer. But it's your business." He got to his feet. "Where do you have the negatives?"

  "They're in a box in the hall closet. I want them back, though, Alex. I may need them for the book."

  "Fine."

  "Wait. Don't go like this," she said, holding up her hand in a plea for him to stay. "I don't want to fight with you."

  "We've never done anything else," he said with a shrug.

  "Because you've always seen your father as the hero and me as the villain. That's not the way it was."

  "Mother, it's over. It was over a lifetime ago. I've moved on."

  She shook her head. "If you've truly moved on, leave the negatives here."

  "I can't do that."

  She gave him a searching look. "Why do you care about that photo?"

  He debated for a second, not wanting to confide in his mother, but he had to give her some explanation, so he said, "I want to know more about that girl."

  "After all these years? Why now? Has something happened?"

  "No, nothing has happened," he lied, preferring not to get into the subject of Julia. "I've always wondered whether that photo was cropped, if something important was left out of it when it was published in the magazine."

  Her eyes narrowed. "Why on earth would you wonder that?"

  "I'm curious, and I have some time before my next assignment."

  "I don't believe you, Alex." Her eyes turned reflective. "You know something you're not telling me. Your father knew something about that picture, too. He was so upset when it was published. The night before he died, he stopped by here to give me a check, and I could see that he was afraid of something." She took a breath. "I've never said this to you, Alex, but I'm not sure that car crash was really an accident."

  Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had to force some air into his chest so he could breathe. "What? What are you saying?"

  She gazed straight into his eyes and said, "I think someone deliberately ran your father's car off that road."

  His mother's words were still ringing through Alex's mind when he entered his apartment an hour later. His father's car hadn't been deliberately run off the road. The car crash was an accident. It had been raining. The ro
ads were slick. The other car was simply going too fast when it sideswiped his father's car. His father lost control and drove off the edge of a cliff into the Pacific Ocean. That's what everyone had said and what he'd reminded his mother of a short while ago. But as he stared at the box now resting on his coffee table, he saw his father's face the day before his death, the fear in his eyes when he'd made Alex promise never to tell anyone about that photo or that girl. Were the two events somehow tied together?

  They'd never recovered his father's body. The currents were too strong. He'd been swept out to sea.

  Was that true… or a convenient explanation to cover up something more sinister?

  His mother had no proof of her suspicions. She said she'd mentioned her doubts to Stan, and Stan had told her that the police report was clear that it was an accident.

  They'd never found the other driver. There had been no witnesses.

  Dammit. He hated all the doubts suddenly racing through his mind. Why had she brought it up now, after all these years? Just to throw him off? To create a mystery where there wasn't one? To make her widowhood even more dramatic? To get a bigger book deal?

  His phone rang, and he reached for it, hoping it wasn't his mother calling him back with another bombshell. "Hello?"

  "Alex, it's Julia. I found something in my mother's belongings. I want to show it to you."

  "Where are you?"

  "I'm at work right now. Can you meet me at my apartment in a half hour? It's in North Beach, 271 Lexington, apartment 2C."

  "What did you find?"

  "I don't want to get into it over the phone, and I just have a minute before I have to go back on the air."

  "On the air?" he echoed.

  "I host a radio show on KCLM 86.5. I've got to run. I'll see you soon."

  Julia was a disc Jockey, Alex thought as he hung up the phone. That surprised him. He walked over to his Stereo and turned on the radio, just in time to hear her beautiful, sexy voice.

  * * *

  "You're listening to 'World Journeys with Julia'," Julia said into the microphone. "Next up is Paolo Menendez, who brings us a delicious blend of reggae, calypso, and Caribbean rhythms from Cartagena on the Caribbean Coast." Julia flipped off the microphone and pushed the button on the Computer to Start the next set of songs.