Cold Comfort (27 page)

"I've been the one climbing up to get things and put them away for at least ten years." Staring at the little trunk, she wondered if Blanche climbed the steep stairs during those last months. Whatever the reason, it must have been both secret and important, or she would have asked Claire to do it.

"Not now," Riley said, drawing her attention from the trunk. "We'll do it at my place."

They were moving the boxes and the trunk to the back door when the phone rang. Riley answered. "It's Jason. There's a car coming down the street now. This is the second time it's passed."

Claire, standing beside Riley, heard Jason's excited voice and turned toward the window. She whirled at Riley's sharp words into the phone. "Don't even try! Stay out of sight."

Claire knew concern for the boy caused his tone, but she laid her hand on his arm and shook her head.

He nodded and added more gently, "The car's probably stolen or at least the plates are, and we may need your help later. I don't want them to recognize you. If they think anyone's watching, they may decide to investigate. Good thing you're paying attention."

Riley listened, asked a few questions, and hung up. "The car's gone. Smart kid. He left the curtains open, figuring no one could see in with the lights out. This time, it's a silver Lexus. Two heads, looked male, but he couldn't identify them. He wanted to get the plate number."

Another fifteen minutes passed before Riley felt confident the men weren't coming back immediately. He and Jason loaded the boxes while Claire grabbed more clothes.

What a miserable way to live, she thought, stuffing things into a grocery bag. At the last minute, she stopped in front of Blanche's picture. Impulsively, she shoved it into the bag.

* * *

Riley insisted on exchanging the car. "Maybe someone got tired of Fortunato's bumbling and upgraded. I would have noticed a different car next door to a house I was staking out."

The man behind the Avis counter couldn't understand why he didn't want the red Chrysler. "We've only got two of this model. The black one just came back, and it hasn't been cleaned up yet. The red one's ready to go."

"Black."

The agent looked up from his computer screen at Riley's face. "Yes, sir. No problem
—
I'll have the black one brought around right now."

Claire glanced at the bill.
I'll have to sell the house before this is over
. Tomorrow she'd withdraw some money from savings. She couldn't keep letting him pay for everything. It was just one more way of not facing the problem. Okay, she wasn't who she'd thought. She needed to put aside her emotions and deal with practicalities, start thinking instead of feeling, acting instead of reacting.

On the way to his house, Riley tested the car, causing Claire's stomach to lurch more than once. "Not bad," he said. "I hope they keep the Lexus for a while."

"This is beginning to sound like a contest."

"Not exactly, but I want to know I can hold my own if they get frisky again." He braked hard and made a sharp U-turn.

"What is it?" Alarmed, she scanned the road for the Lexus.

"Chinese restaurant. Let's get something to go." He whipped into the parking lot and was out of the car before her pulse returned to normal. "Don't turn on the light. I'll be right back," he said, locking the doors.

She leaned against the headrest and let her mind drift. When would this be over? She needed some time to herself to sort things out.

A tap on the window brought her back with a start. It seemed he'd just walked away, but there he stood, holding out a plastic sack.

"Here," he said, handing her the bag filled with cardboard cartons. "We'll be home in a minute."

Spike met them at the door, winding around their ankles and tripping them as they brought in the boxes and the little trunk. Two bags of groceries sat on the floor, right where Riley left them. Neither she nor Riley commented. She threw out the milk and frozen food and put the cans in the cabinet. The bread was still good.

While she found plates and opened the cartons, Riley lit the fire. "It'll be warm in a minute."

They ate in silence. The trunk drew Claire's gaze like the scene of an accident. She tried ignore it, fearing what she'd find, but she couldn't.

"Go on, open it. I'll clean up." He put the trunk on a box beside his desk. "If you need anything, speak up."

It wasn't locked. She popped the latches and, holding her breath, lifted the lid. On top she found a picture of herself several years younger, though she couldn't remember seeing it before. Hardly giving it a thought, she put it aside, her attention focused on the letters, albums, and papers.

"That isn't you." Riley's voice came from above her. He held the picture in front of her. "Look again."

"Caroline?" She blinked. Her vision blurred.
Her mother?

"Here's your purse. Don't you have a mirror?" He plopped the big leather satchel on the desk.

Shaking, she reached into a side pocket, found her compact, and flipped it open, compared the face in the little mirror with the one in the picture.

Riley traced the features on the photograph with his finger. "The nose, mouth, and shape of the face are almost the same
—
even her hair style's similar."

She brushed at the tears filling her eyes, covered her mouth with her hand, and whispered, "I really do look like her, don't I?"

"Very much. I don't know how accurate the color is, but your eyes are larger, a brighter blue. Hers are light." Gently, he took the picture from her hands and put it back in the trunk. "Keep it safe, and I'll have it framed for you."

Claire sat at Riley's desk, her back to the roaring fire he'd built. The warmth didn't touch the chill in her heart.

Riley reached into the trunk, came up with a sealed envelope. He handed it to her and sat back in his chair. "This is addressed to you
—
it probably slid to one side when we moved the trunk."

"This is Mother's writing
—
Blanche's." Her hands trembled as she slit the envelope. The first page held a heavily printed, boxed warning.

Do not share this letter with anyone. This information must be kept secret. Trust me.

She glanced at Riley and carefully placed the envelope on the desk between them. "She probably thought I'd find this right away. I knew she'd left papers in the attic, but I put off going through them. A kind of denial, I guess
—
if I didn't sort through her things, she wasn't really gone."

He squeezed her shoulder and nodded.

Suddenly desperate to understand the bold warning, she opened the envelope and slid the pages out.

Chapter 18

Claire unfolded the letter, smoothing the pages flat. She traced the words with trembling fingers. Her mother's handwriting, the woman who'd raised her, loved her, made sacrifices for her all her life. Her eyes filled, and she wiped away the tears to clear her vision.

She cleared her throat and read aloud.

My Dearest Claire,

As I write this, you are at work. I know I don't have long to live, and I must do this. I have debated with myself many times about telling you, and always I've found an excuse to put it off. Believe me when I tell you not to share this with anyone. It's a difficult story to tell, and it will have a profound effect on you. Prepare yourself, my dearest girl. First, I love you. You have been my life since the moment you were born. I could not have loved you more under any circumstances.

Claire stopped briefly to clear her throat and wipe away fresh tears.

Let me begin by telling you about my sister.

Caroline, a beautiful, trusting girl—so warm, funny, and bright. She hardly had time to be a woman. I know I never talked much about her—it hurt too much and it frightened me. I feared you'd repeat any stories at school or to your friends, and it seemed safer and less painful for both of us if we didn't talk about her until you were old enough to understand. By then, I'd kept my silence too long and couldn't bring myself to break it.

After our parents died, Caroline accepted a job with Congressman Lendon Jeffers, an old family friend. Daniel and I lived in a military community off the base in Virginia, and this would put her closer to me. She thought Washington and politics would be exciting. It was—far more than she expected. Jeffers served on the House Select Committee on Crime. The Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act, which you will know as RICO, passed a short time before, and the committee pursued Organized Crime with the enthusiasm of new converts. Caroline went with Lendon to the hearings, where she saw a number of mobsters and other criminals. Some of them tried to meet her. I think she tried to avoid them, but I don't know everything that happened. You'll see from her letters. I kept them all.

Claire's head throbbed. The word "mobsters" set her pulse racing. What had happened?

Riley handed her a handkerchief and wrapped his arms around her, holding her until she regained control, at least partially.

She couldn't read aloud anymore and held the letter so Riley could read it with her.

What I'm getting to is that she fell in love with someone she met during those hearings. She never told me his name, even after she came to live—"hide" is more accurate—with me. It's an old story. She got pregnant, he was married. She knew he had a wife from the beginning. I couldn't imagine her having an affair with a married man, but all she would say is there were problems.

Claire, you must be wondering where this is leading. You can probably guess, even if you don't want to. There's no easy way to say it. You're Caroline's child. But even though she gave birth to you, you've always been mine.

The handwriting was shaky. A few spots marred the paper. Claire touched one with her forefinger. "Tears." She wiped at her own eyes, unable to read the words, and handed it to Riley.

He began reading. "She says something frightened Caroline, and she came to live on base with her. Caroline felt safe there."

No amount of pleas or threats could make her tell me anything. She just said it would be safer for us both if I didn't know.

Claire wiped her eyes and took the letter back, picking up where Riley left off.

Then Daniel died. He knew about her pregnancy. I was writing to him about Caroline's coming to live with me when two soldiers came to the door.

We helped each other get through that awful time, both of us focusing on the coming birth—you were all we had.

Once we went into town to see
The Godfather
. The film had some brutal scenes, but nothing that explained her reaction. She sobbed all the way home and went immediately to bed, but as always, refused to talk about it. She was afraid someone would find her. Her fears were contagious—we looked over our shoulders constantly, even though I didn't know why or who to watch for. The Mafia, I supposed. And how would I recognize them? Did they wear trench coats and hats pulled low? Would guns show beneath their coats? It must sound completely insane to you now, but it was real enough at the time. News reports featured the Mob and their brutal killings every other day.

You were due the middle of January. We planned to go to an old friend, a doctor we could trust, who'd recently moved to McClellanville. He found a place for us to stay until the end of January. We made no plans beyond your birth, although I sent out several teaching applications. We left the base on Christmas Eve—we thought we could spend the holidays, which neither of us wanted to celebrate, setting up in the little house at McClellanville. Caroline kept looking over her shoulder the whole way—she thought someone was following us. Oh, how I wish I'd believed her. But what could we have done? We couldn't stay on the base forever.

By dark, we were almost there, but we drove into a storm. We kept going, thinking we could make it to the house. Caroline was right. The storm worsened, and a dark car pulled up beside us. We could see two men. During a flash of lightning, they looked over at us and dropped back behind us again. Caroline was terrified. "Go, Blanche! You've got to get away from them—he said he'd kill me if I got in the way." Those were her words. I don't know what she meant—how could she be in anyone's way? She'd left Washington and severed any ties there. I didn't have time to question her. I drove as fast as I dared, but there was nowhere to go. We came to a curve, and the car rammed us from behind, knocking us off the road and into a tree.

When I came to, a black man was carrying me into a house. How fortunate the family heard the crash. They'd already moved Caroline inside. She went into labor immediately. The storm knocked out the phones, so a young man from the house went for Dr. Clary. An old woman and a girl delivered you before he got there—I wish I could remember their names, but that night remains a blur.