Cold Comfort (26 page)

"Okay." Claire drained her orange juice and touched her mouth with her napkin. "Tracing Caroline's life after all these years may be difficult. Blanche never talked much about her."

"Maybe." He stood, glancing at the sky once more. "I think the weather will hold. We need to pack and be ready when Jocko gets here." Glancing at his watch, he added, "I wish we had time for lunch at the Crab Pot."

"I'd like to go too, but I want to go home and sleep in my own bed, go back to Mistletoe. I need to feel grounded again."

Riley didn't comment.

They loaded their bags and checked out, then met Ed Killian at the airport. Riley told him about their night, except for the gunshot. Claire sat nearby, trying not to think.

"Claire?"

At Riley's gentle prodding, she opened one eye, yawned, and then relaxed. She must have drifted off again.

"Jocko's here."

A lean man in a worn leather jacket smiled down at her. His eyes crinkled at the corners, giving him a friendly look. Probably from staring into the sun, Claire thought, stifling another yawn.

"My wife and I stopped by your shop yesterday. It's a great place." He chuckled and tapped the wallet in his hip pocket. "I'm sure she'll go back with our girls."

"Was everything okay? Did you see Mary Miller, the woman who runs it?" Fear crowded in on her. Would anyone have gone there?

"All quiet
—
except for about twenty children. We should have gone before school let out." He laughed, shaking his head. "I talked to Mary and Ray. He's a friend of mine."

Riley said, "I asked him to keep an eye on things, but he would have anyway with Mary there."

The two men, one on each side of Claire, carried the luggage out to the twin-engine Cessna.

They flew over water much of the way, with Riley alternately watching the sky and the sea. "See the light coming through those clouds? The way it bounces off the waves? It has a harder quality now than it does in summer, even though the sky's blue. It's tough to capture on canvas, showing it's winter without making it gray or bleak."

Jocko looked over his shoulder at Claire. "Riley did a painting of my old Piper Cub, the first plane I ever owned. The painting's on the wall in my office. Man, I hated to sell that baby."

"From the front, the damn thing looked like a moth. Two big black eyes staring at you." Riley shook his head and looked at the bright sky ahead. "I could take the controls for a while."

"Claire, tighten your seat belt. Riley's learning, but I think his talents lie on land or sea
—
he's a much better sailor. We might have to skirt around the edge of the storm running up 85. Bad weather always seems to follow that highway from Atlanta to Virginia before it moves east."

The weather seemed okay, and Jocko, relaxed and confidant, reassured her. Claire settled back in her seat and closed her eyes. It seemed like mere seconds passed before Riley's voice roused her.

"Wake up, Claire. We're almost there, but the storm caught us. Jocko says we can make it in."

The little Cessna rose and fell, slipped sideways.

Her stomach flipped. "This is better than a roller coaster." Claire watched with interest as patches of landscape appeared through the gray clouds. The airport came into view, and they lined up for the approach. The plane, buffeted by the wind, bounced a couple of times, lurched along the runway, and taxied to a stop.

Jocko reached back and patted her hand. "You okay?"

She nodded and smiled. Riley looked like a proud parent—pleased with his landing, no doubt.

"You did well," Jocko said. "Most people would have been saying their prayers or screaming by now."

"I wasn't worried
—
I knew you'd take over if Riley got in trouble."

Riley laughed. "No wonder. That was Jocko. He took over as soon as the storm caught us."

"Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. Take care, girl." Jocko squeezed Claire's hand and touched Riley's arm. "Watch the shoulder, and if you need me, call. I'm not so far out of things that I can't watch your back. Whoever's behind this must be getting tired of the screw-ups. My guess is they'll bring in the bigger guns now."

Chapter 17

Claire gave Jocko her keys. Riley arranged for him to get the Bronco and the Fiat back to Riley's. He rented a gray Buick Lucerne. "I want something relatively inconspicuous I can get my legs in, and you'll be comfortable."

"And this car is heavy and low. The Mercedes won't get under us this time." Claire walked beside him to the Buick. "I need to get on with this. My life's on hold. I can't go to the shop, I can't drive my car, I can't even stay in my own home."

"John, my reporter friend, should have something from South Carolina soon. We need to reconstruct Caroline's last years."

"And you need to see a doctor about your shoulder. That's first." Claire watched him load their bags into the trunk with his right arm. He didn't seem to be terribly sore, but she wanted a real doctor to treat his wound. "Chester's salve might be like his liquor
—
numbs you so you don't feel the pain. What if the wound's not healing properly?"

"It's okay. I've had enough experience to know."

"Riley." She ground out his name.
Stubborn to the point of stupidity
. "You need a doctor. Now. Before anything else."

"I'll stop on the way home. I know somebody who'll take care of it without making a fuss."

The storm hit full force as they left the airport, and they drove through heavy rain to a house in a wooded area near the airport.

"Is this man a medical doctor?" A witch doctor wouldn't surprise her.

"Yes, just not a man. She doesn't practice anymore, but she has degrees all over the place."

A small woman with snow-white hair stepped out on the porch when Riley stopped in front of the house. Claire held her coat over her head and dashed through the rain and up the steps. The woman looked around mid forties, fit, with the kind of tan that came from long hours outdoors. Claire guessed her hair turned prematurely.

The woman held the door open and motioned them inside. "Hello, Riley. Jocko said you might stop by. Come on in and let me see it." She led the way to the kitchen, speaking over her shoulder. "You must be Claire."

Riley introduced them. "Yes, Claire, and this is Jordan, my favorite doctor."

"Only because I don't ask questions." She turned to Claire. "What shape are you in?"

"Hello, Jordan. I'm good."
Thanks to makeup and a shower with real shampoo
. Claire sat quietly while the woman examined Riley's shoulder. Jordan could be her first name or her last. Neither friendly nor unfriendly, she maintained a detached, neutral manner Claire found disconcerting.

Riley seemed at ease, his usual self, while she unwound the sheet strips and examined him.

Jordan cleaned the wound, then sniffed at the little container. "I'd like the recipe for this salve. Except for the sulfur, I can't tell what's in it, but it and the swamp water did the trick. You're good to go. Keep using the salve. I don't have anything better. You know the drill." She applied more salve and put a large bandage high on the back of his shoulder. A smaller one covered the hole in front. She turned to Claire. "What about those scratches on your face?"

"They're okay, but thank you." Where did he find these people? He seemed to have one for every occasion.
Need a plane? I'll call Jocko. Need information in South Carolina? I'll call John. A doctor? Jordan.

* * *

"I can't believe Mother didn't tell me about this." Claire shook her head. Blanche always met issues head-on. What horrible secret stopped her over Claire's birth? Something connecting her to the Mafia? Maybe she was John Gotti's illegitimate daughter. Then she'd be a Mafia princess, she thought, recalling Riley's story about Elton Burley. But why kill her, especially now, after he'd died? She shook her head. Enough nonsense. She had to start thinking constructively. "Some of Mother's old papers are in the attic—family stuff. I've never been through them. I only went up to get Christmas decorations. Maybe there's something about Caroline."

"All right. Let's get anything you have
—
photo albums, papers, old letters. You can pack some stuff, and we'll raid your kitchen, take it back to my place." He tapped her head. "You duck and keep out of sight while I circle the block in case anyone's watching your house. I'll park in Hal's driveway. It's a little obvious, but so far the opposition has exhibited the IQ of a stray bullet." Riley drove slowly along the street toward Claire's house.

"I'm sure you've noticed the student rental house. You can park there
—
the neighbors are used to odd cars at all hours." Her customary position provided a depressing close-up of her knees, but she twisted her head and saw gray sky marked by occasional bare treetops. The rain tapered off.

"We just passed it, and I didn't see anyone. Stay down until I tell you it's okay. I'm turning into Hal's driveway. Four o'clock. Will anyone be home?"

"I don't know. I'm never here at this hour. Maybe Jason, if he came straight home from school. If he's there, Goodyear will be inside
—
you'll know the instant you open your door."

"Okay. Don't move." He opened the car door.

Before his feet hit the ground, Claire heard a muffled bark, followed shortly by louder barking and Jason's voice.

"Be quiet, Goodyear. It's Mister Riley." The boy sounded excited. "Claire's alarm went off last night, and Dad called the police. It's lucky you gave him a key
—
Dad gave it to one of the officers, and they went in and checked everything and Dad turned the alarm off and reset it when everyone left. One of the living room windows was broken, but the police don't think they got in. We put a piece of plywood over it."

Riley nodded solemnly at the long recital. "Nice work, Jason. Do me a favor. Look up and down the street and tell me if you see anything that doesn't belong
—
cars or people. I don't want anyone to know Claire's back."

"Is she in the car?" He stood on the porch and checked the area. "No. It's the same as always
—
the green Honda belongs to Hannah MacDougal's boyfriend. He's just a dumb jock. He's there
every
day."

Claire, peeking over the lowered window, thought he sounded a little envious.

"And Mrs. Gerson's Taurus
—
there, at the yellow house
—
she's the only one who stays home during the day, but people will start coming home from work soon."

"You're a good man, Jason." Riley appeared at the car door again. "Come on, Claire. Hurry."

Gratefully, she straightened and slid out of the car. Once inside the Beck's house, she stopped and arched her spine, rolled her head on her neck. "Maybe I should ride in the back seat after this. At least I could stretch out if I have to hide."

At Jason's back door, Riley stopped. "How about letting Goodyear out? If anyone's watching the house from the woods, he'll let us know. And you might watch for cars or anything unusual. Call us at Claire's if you see anything."

When they entered her kitchen, Claire reached for the light switch.

Riley's hand closed over hers. "No lights. If you can't see, I'll hold the flashlight. I don't want to attract any attention we don't have to. If they've got two brain cells between them, they'll be watching this place. They should be checking it regularly even if no one's staking it out."

"I need to get those boxes out of the attic. There's just a single bulb up there, no windows, so no one would be able to see it from outside." She took a clothes hanger from the front closet and mounted the stairs to the upper hall. In the fading afternoon light, she could barely see the ring on the pull-down stairway.

Riley hooked the ring with the coat hanger and lowered the creaking stairs, sneezing into the particles drifting down. "I doubt if it's been opened recently."

"I haven't been up there since Mother died. I didn't feel like decorating for Christmas, so there hasn't been any need."
Not when I knew who I was
, she thought, climbing into the cold attic with Riley behind her. She tugged at a string, and the single bulb came on, illuminating a circle in the center of the floor.

"Here." She stared at three taped cartons. Her pulse raced. Would Blanche have left something for her in those dusty boxes?

Riley handed her his flashlight and shoved the cartons across the plywood floor to the stairs. "Why don't you go down, and I'll hand them to you. I'll take them to the car when it gets dark."

"All right." Claire glanced once more at the items accumulated over years and pointed to a pile of storage containers and misshapen plastic bags. "That's all Christmas stuff. Let's go." She turned, placing her foot on the top step. As she swung the flashlight around one last time before descending, a dim shape caught her eye. "Look, there's a trunk under the eaves. I don't remember seeing it before."

"It's been pushed out of the way. Everything else is close to the stairs where there's light. Maybe you weren't supposed to notice it." He took the flashlight from her and aimed it at the trunk, at the flooring in front of it. "There are footprints in front of it, but they aren't new. The top's quite dusty, but the latches are less so. I think someone's opened it, but not recently. Probably your mother." He hunched under the low eave and dragged the trunk out into the light.