Dead Man's Image

by Curry, Edna

  “Humph. Shoot is what I'd like to do to him! He's in his thirties, about six feet tall and near two hundred pounds. Brown hair.”

  “License number?”

  He rattled it off, then barked, “Call me as soon as you find out.”

  “Will do. But this may take a while.”

  She hung up, then closed her eyes in frustration. She didn't need to do anything to find out who'd been to see his wife. She already knew the answer--Paul Menns. The description was close enough, and the blue Cavalier's license number had confirmed his identity. She had an excellent memory for numbers and didn't have to look at her notes to verify it.

  Paul must have guessed Nora was his mother, just as she had. What the hell had Paul been thinking to go confront Nora on his own? What if Hal had given one of his spies orders to get rid of his “rival”? She shuddered and her stomach churned at the thought of what might have happened if Hal's paid goons had acted first and asked questions later. When had she started caring so much what happened to Paul?

  What had happened between Paul and Nora today? Hal had said he stayed for a couple hours. That didn't sound like any brief confrontation, like the one they'd had at the cemetery. Had they really talked this time?

  Lacey fixed a sandwich and a cup of tea for her supper, then sat down to eat it, stewing about what she was going to tell Hal. She couldn't give away the secret Nora had obviously kept for many years. The only answer was to get Nora to tell Hal herself. Yeah, right.

  Pushing aside the urge to straighten up the mess the burglars had made in her house because she knew Ben would be angry if she did that before he or his deputy saw it and made out his report, she opened John's notebook.

  She leafed through the jumble of papers inside. She found letters, pictures, newspaper clippings and John's birth certificate. There were even copies of his parents' marriage and drivers licenses. At first there seemed no order to the material, then she realized that everything had something to do with John's search for his roots.

  There was correspondence with the International Reunion Registry, who claimed to have half a million entries, and a couple of newsletters from them. John had also contacted the Minnesota Reunion Registry and even contacted a professional genealogist in Salt Lake City, Utah, to search the Mormon Family History Library there.

  Several newspaper articles were about a man named Harold James, a candidate for the state senate this fall. What could he possibly have to do with the twins? Had John perhaps sought his help with opening some official adoption record that had been sealed years ago? Maybe John had met this man, and thought his influence would help him get the information from the courts.

  The doorbell rang and she answered it to find Paul standing there. Her pulse sped up and her fingers tightened on the door. Think of the devil….

  “Hi. I thought I'd see what you'd been up to this afternoon,” he greeted her.

  She found her voice and stepped back to allow him entrance. “Come on in. Had anything to eat? I just finished a sandwich, but can make more.”

  “Thanks, I grabbed a bite at the Flame. Damn,” he exclaimed, looking around. “You were burglarized too?”

  “Yeah. Guess the guy didn't want to play favorites.”

  “Anything missing?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing I've noticed so far.”

  “Some of my business files were missing at my apartment. Wonder what the hell he was looking for here?”

  “Beats me.” She closed the door and followed him into her living room. “It's not as though I own diamonds or keep a lot of cash around.”

  “What's all this?” He eyed the pictures and clippings spread out on the table.

  “It's stuff from that notebook you took from John's apartment. I found it in my car today. I was just going through it.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “I'm not sure. Come see what you can make of it.”

  He sat down and picked up some pictures of John and an older couple. “These must be of John and his parents.”

  “Yes.”

  “What the…? Here's a birth certificate for him. Does that mean he wasn't my brother after all?” Paul stared at her, confusion written on his flushed face.

  “No,” Lacey said. “Most parents get one of those with a legal adoption. Didn't your adopted parents have one for you?”

  Paul looked away. “I don't know. My mother's sister has the stuff from their safety deposit box. I…I didn't want to go through it after they died.”

  “I see.” So he had demons to get rid of as well as she. What a pair they were. Avoiding feelings, avoiding commitment. “Well, anyway, you have John's parents' names and address, now. When they return from their cruise, maybe you'd like to meet them?”

  “Maybe.” He refused to meet her eyes and concentrated on the papers in front of him.

  She bit her lip. Did she dare just ask him what he'd been up to this afternoon? She had to know, had to risk his anger. “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What did Nora have to say this afternoon?”

  He frowned. “How did you know I went to see her?”

  She let out the breath she'd been holding. She'd been right. “Never mind. I have ways. Did she admit that she's your mother?”

  “Yes. We just talked. But she doesn't want anyone to know.”

  “Why-ever not? After all these years?”

  “Apparently it does matter. Her husband is straight-laced and she cares a lot for their position and reputation in the community.”

  “More than for her son?” Lacey couldn't help the incredulous note that crept into her voice.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Yes.”

  She could hear the pain in Paul's voice and put a comforting hand on his arm. “I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be. I always wondered who my birth mother was. Now I know.”

  He turned back to the papers in front of him and picked up one of the newspaper clippings.

  Taking her cue from his obvious desire to change the subject, she said, “John seems to have concentrated on this man.” She pointed to one of the articles. “Do you think he contacted him for help in trying to open the adoption records?”

  Paul picked up the article and began to read it. “He's only running for the state senate. He's not a senator yet, so how could he help?”

  “True.”

  “Maybe John thought he's our birth father.”

  “Could be. I could see what else I can find on him,” she offered.

  “All right,” he said. He picked up the notebook of information and followed her back downstairs to her office, where he spread the papers on a table. “Where are the other albums? I'd like to compare some of these pictures.”

  “I'll get them.” Going upstairs, she looked in the living room where they'd been looking at them last. They weren't there. She called Paul and they searched everywhere without success. The albums had disappeared.

  “I wonder why anyone would want those albums?” Paul said. “That seems like a strange thing to take in a burglary.”

  “No stranger than taking your business files,” Lacey returned. They went back to her office.

  She took a couple of letters from the notebook and sat down at her desk, using the information John had found as the basis to search for more detail on Harold James.

  Since he was running for office, reporters had already been digging into his background and she found several articles devoted to him and his campaign. “He's been a farmer a good many years,” she told Paul, reading from the screen. “Then he decided to rent out his land and go to law school. He set up an office on his own and wants to be a state senator. Seems to have some big money backers, too.”

  “Maybe he has some secrets to hide. The question is, how bad does he want to hide them?”

  Lacey nodded. “What are his limits? Would he draw the line at murder? Running us off the road? Burglary?”

  “Oh, I don't know, Lacey. That's pretty far-fetched even for a p
olitician. Maybe we're on the wrong track. Is he married?”

  “Yes, with two daughters and grandchildren living in California.”

  “How long has he been married? How old are the daughters?”

  Lacey frowned. “Why do you want to know that?”

  “To know if those facts jibe with what Mrs. Munson told me. That might help us decide if he's really my birth father.”

  “What did she say about your father?”

  “Just that he was married and so she'd had to give us up for adoption. She was still a teen.”

  “He's been married thirty seven years, according to a newspaper story, so that fits, Paul. It didn't say how old the daughters were, but he goes to see them and their children for several weeks every winter.”

  “Sounds ideal.”

  “Yeah. You don't need to sound so angry about it.”

  “Sorry. I'm a little keyed up over this, I guess. It's not every day a guy finds his birth parents, then finds out his father might be the one trying to kill him off.”

  “We don't know that.”

  “I think there's a good chance it's true.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Did you find anything else in those articles?”

  “Not much, Paul. There's the usual mud slinging by his opponent, though. Something about accusing James of agreeing to take kickbacks in return for favors. They claim there are already rebates on various farm products manufactured by a friend of his, and large donations to his campaign by the participants.”

  “Hmmm. Money is the root of all evil.”

  Lacey glanced at him. “I think that's 'The love of money is the root of all evil.'”

  “You're a Bible reader, too, eh? Is there anything you can't do?”

  Lacey's mouth twisted. “Yeah. Apparently I can't please you, no matter what I do.”

  Paul stared at her, then pushed the papers aside and got up. He crossed the small room and came up behind her as she sat at her desk. Resting his hands on her shoulders, he said softly, “That's not true at all, sweetheart. You please me all right. I'm tied up in knots wanting you.”

  Swallowing, she tipped her head back to meet his gaze, unable to answer. She'd been trying to hide her feelings. Was it possible he cared for her, too?

  His hands slid to her arms and he pulled her up to stand in the circle of his arms. Reaching a hand up, he caressed her face, smoothing back a wayward curl. Cupping her face in his hands, he leaned forward and kissed her lips. He started with little nibbles, then, as she eagerly responded, increased the pressure to claim them fully.

  After a long moment, she ended the kiss and leaned back to look at him. “Really?” she managed through dry lips. She ran her tongue over them in an effort to return them to normal. Her voice hoarse, she asked, “You want me?”

  “Really,” he whispered. “I dream of you, waking and sleeping, I want you so much. I'm scared to death you don't feel the same way.” He tightened his arms around her and kissed her again. “I don't want to ever let you go.”

  “Paul,” she said softly, “don't be scared. I want you, too.”

  He backed to the easy chair he'd been sitting in, pulled her down into his lap, and resumed his kisses. The room seemed to fade away around them as she concentrated on the wonderful feelings his mouth and hands were creating for her.

  Unbuttoning her blouse, he trailed kisses down the side of her neck, then kissed each inch of bare skin as he uncovered it, sending little shivers of longing running through her body.

  His hands caressed her breast. He slid her lacy bra away and bent his head to taste the dark peak. Shuddering in pleasure, she undid the top buttons of his shirt so that she could enjoy the feel of his bare skin.

  He met her gaze, his eyes silently asking the question which hung between them. Would she stop him this time?

  How could she refuse him again? Her mind was beyond caring about the silly rules she'd made for herself. Nothing mattered but that the ache he'd created be satisfied.

  She snuggled tighter into his arms, giving him her answer with her heated response rather than words.

  With a smothered groan, he gathered her into his arms and carried her upstairs to her bedroom.

  Once there, he allowed her to slide slowly and sensuously down his body until her feet rested on the floor. Keeping his arms wrapped around her he smothered her with kisses.

  The bulge between them told her how much he wanted her. When she wriggled, trying to free herself from his embrace, he resisted until he realized that she was only struggling to free her hands enough to frantically finish unbuttoning his shirt. Smiling, he released her and quickly helped her out of her clothes as well.

  When at last they were bare, he held her away from him to feast his eyes on her body. She blushed under his gaze, immediately feeling self-conscious, until he whispered, “You're so beautiful.”

  She smiled in gratitude for his reassurance, then admitted, “You're very attractive, too.” Her eyes dropped shyly to the stiff evidence of his need for her.

  With a hearty laugh, he threw back the handmade quilt and blanket, easing her body between the sheets and cuddling his own body against her. “Umm, there's nothing like skin to skin contact,” he murmured, sliding his hand approvingly up and down her curves.

  He held her against him for a long moment, then began teasing and tasting her all over. Tremors ran through her body, as he seemed to find every sensitive spot.

  She returned the compliment, until she could wait no longer, begging, “Please, Paul, now!”

  Entering her gently, he watched her face as if worried he might have hurt her. When she lifted her hips to accept him more fully, and clasped him to urge him to move with her, he began a smooth joy-filled rhythm. Soon, an incredible burst of pleasure brought cries of satisfaction from both of them.

  They fell asleep in each other's arms.

  ***

  The next morning Lacey woke to the delicious aromas of coffee and bacon.

  Stretching, she untangled herself from the sheet, thinking, Ye gods, how lucky can I get? He's not only great at sex but can cook as well.

  Quickly she showered and dressed in a soft yellow shirt and jeans then went down the hall to the kitchen.

  He was wearing a pale beige shirt, which set off the brown in his eyes and dark hair perfectly. His hair was still damp from his shower, and she pushed away the urge to go slide her fingers through it. He was standing at the stove, with a fork in one hand and potholder in the other, turning golden brown strips of bacon.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” he said, giving her a grin. He put down the potholder and fork, and came forward to wrap his arms around her. “Sleep well after that sleeping pill I gave you?”

  “Like a log,” she answered, laughing. “I think that's the first time I've heard that description of sex!”

  “Well, it certainly put me to sleep,” he said smoothing back the hair from her temple.

  “Me, too.” She said, raising her lips for his kiss.

  Warm memories of their lovemaking washed over her, and she wanted to stay in those arms forever. So much for her rule of not getting involved with a client. Somehow that rule no longer mattered.

  “Hungry? I've got eggs and bacon all ready. I heard your shower running, so figured you'd be right down.”

  “Mmm. It smells delicious.” She went over to drop slices of bread into the toaster and then stuck her head into the refrigerator and found the butter and jam.

  They devoured it all in short order.

  “I'd like to follow up on this information John found on Harold James. Maybe we could just drop in on him at his law office,” Lacey said, refilling their coffee cups.

  “Good idea,” Paul said. “But what if he really is my birth father? What do I say, 'Hi there, Dad'?”

  She tossed him a warm smile. “I've heard worse lines.”

  Paul shrugged. “I don't know, Lacey. Maybe we should wait a bit, and see if we can find out any more from the genealogist J
ohn contacted in Utah. He might be able to tell us more.”

  “Whatever you think, Paul. There's also the possibility that, if he is involved in the stuff that's been happening, that he won't want to see us.”

  “Or that it might be playing into his hands to go there to see him. I don't like it, Lacey. I don't want you hurt.”

  “That's sweet of you, Paul, but I'm the professional here, remember? I can handle myself.”

  “I still don't like it. Another thing, when I had coffee at the Flame yesterday, Kerry told me a man had been there asking about me.” He repeated the description she'd given him. “I'd like to try to find out who that was, if I could.”

  “Any ideas?” she asked, stacking dishes into the dishwasher.

  He nodded. “It may have been Hank, one of my drivers who's been doing some runs for me. Maybe he couldn't call me for some reason and was trying to find me.”

  “Wouldn't he have your address? I mean, why would he need to ask at the restaurant?”

  “I gave the guys my card. But he could have lost it and only remembered the name of the town.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I need to check up on whether some loads I had scheduled got delivered on time before we do anything else. If the sheriff doesn't let me go back on the road soon, I may not have a business to go back to.”

  She put out a comforting hand to cover his. “I'm sorry about that, Paul. I'll do my best to get to the bottom of this.”

  “I know you will.”

  The doorbell rang, and she went to answer it, standing there speechless when she saw who it was.

  Sheriff Ben and Deputy Tom stood there in full uniform, looking grim.

  “Do you know where Paul Menns is?”

  Lacey swallowed and wet her lips. Dare she lie?

  “I'm right here, Sheriff,” Paul said taking the decision away from her. “What's up?”

  The sheriff and his deputy shouldered their way into the living room. “You're under arrest, Menns.”

  “Wha…t? Has the birdwatcher changed her mind about testifying again?” Paul asked.

  “Not likely. She ain't gonna say anything now. We picked her off the rocks in the park last night.”

  Lacey gasped, remembering the police cars and ambulance she'd seen at the park the day before. “That was Mrs. Hendricks? What happened?”