Pearl of Great Price (20 page)

Her hair and swimsuit dripping, Rennie careened across the brick patio and lurched into the kitchen. “Mama, stop it! Leave her alone!”

Mama grasped Jenny by the shoulders as the frightened child squirmed on the red vinyl stepstool. A Tupperware container of skinny permanent rods sat on the table. The floor was strewn with small white tissue squares of end papers. The house reeked of ammonia.

“Jenny-baby, it’s okay, Rennie’s here now.” She shoved her mother out of the way and swept her sobbing sister into her arms. The poor thing’s face was beet red—whether from crying or the stinky permanent solution, Rennie couldn’t tell. She wet a dishcloth with cool water from the sink and dabbed Jenny’s forehead and temples. “She’s too little for this, Mama. Why couldn’t you wait till she’s older?”

“What do
you
know?” Mama sounded crazed, hoarse. Her eyes held a wild look. “You run around here all day looking like a ragamuffin, not caring a whit about how you look, how it reflects on me and your daddy. I’m so
ashamed
of you, Renata Louise. You’re an
embarrassment
to me. You’re a pariah, an ugly, worthless, lazy
wretch
.”

Rennie’s skin crawled. She felt like she could throw up. “Mama, did you take your pills—”

“And heaven only knows what goes on between you and that MacDonohoe boy. I’ve seen you out there on the lake, your heads together like you’re plotting something. Against me, no doubt.”

Tears threatened. Rennie’s voice climbed an octave. “Mama,
please
! People can hear you clear across the lake.” She found the box of grahams in the pantry and broke one in half for Jenny. The treat temporarily quieted the little girl. “And there is nothing going on between me and Micah. How can you say such a thing? He’s only a kid, Mama!”

Except right now he was her only connection with sanity.

Oh, God, why can’t I get someone to see what’s happening here!

But God didn’t answer, and Daddy acted oblivious. Either he wouldn’t allow himself to see how much worse Mama had gotten since Jenny was born, or the resort kept him too busy to notice. He spent all his time keeping the books or staying on top of the never-ending cottage repairs.

If only Aunt Geneva would step in and do something—but she’d just started a new job as a nursing home dietician, and she and Uncle Burt were trying to have a baby of their own. They sure didn’t have time for Rennie’s problems. And the grandparents were no help, Mama’s parents a thousand miles away in Boise, Daddy’s folks retired to a beach condo in Florida.

Rennie had never felt so alone and helpless. She had to think of something, and soon.

C
HAPTER 23

Present Day

“The DNA results are back.”

At the sound of Felicia’s clipped words, I jerked my head sideways and almost slipped off the top step of Renata’s huge, kidney-shaped pool. I grabbed for the edge and hoped Felicia hadn’t noticed my momentary panic. “That was fast.”

She shot me a squint-eyed smirk. “Thought you’d like to know in case you’d like to start packing. Howard Kirby will be here at two-thirty.” Turning brusquely on her sensible size-4 gray pumps, she marched back inside.

I shaded my eyes to peer at the ceramic clock on the cabana. Already almost two. Glued to the top step, I’d kept my lower half cool in the naturally purified, chlorine-free water, but the rest of me had grown hot and clammy despite frequent splashing. A shower was definitely in order.

And I wanted to look my absolute best when I watched Ms. Felicia Beaufort get her comeuppance. People like her, acting so smug and superior, they flat made me crazy. Grandpa would have a word or two to say about my attitude, I’m sure, but—

Are you Julie Pearl Stiles or Jennifer Susan Pearl? You
cannot
have it both ways.

I felt a little rip in my heart, a physical pain. I could only pray that once those results were announced, my way would finally be made clear.

~~~

Shades of Monday, minus the lab tech. Renata sat in the same fancy armchair, looking serene and elegant in iridescent-green silk slacks and matching sleeveless sweater. Felicia was her usual businesslike self in a tailored ice-blue pantsuit. For once I was grateful for clothing options other than my vintage flea market apparel. I thought I looked the picture of style in the navy slacks Isabel had hemmed to capri length and a bold, patriotic-print tunic top. I struck a confident pose against the antique limestone mantel.

Apparently the effect was lost on Felicia. “Aren’t we a bit early for the Fourth of July?”

I ignored her as Howard Kirby, seated on the sofa, cleared his throat, reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat, and removed a sealed envelope. “Renata, are you ready?”

She stalled for about three centuries while examining an enameled fingernail. In the meantime, nervous sweat trickled down my spine. “Howard,” she said softly, “I trust you have abided by my wishes?”

“Of course.” The stout attorney pressed his lips together. “As you instructed, no one other than the lab technician, including myself, has seen the contents of this envelope.”

“Good.” Catlike, Renata rose and stood before Kirby, hand extended. He laid the crisp white envelope in her palm. “That’s all we need from you today, Howard. Thank you so much for your assistance.” Pinching the envelope between her thumb and index finger, she gave a dismissive nod.

As Kirby rose with a confused frown, Renata turned to Felicia. “Please have Martin bring the car around. And fetch my purse and cell phone, will you, dear?”

“But, Mrs. C—” Renata’s personal assistant looked even more flustered than the attorney, and despite my own confusion, I couldn’t help relishing that fact. Felicia’s leather soles scuffed across the Oriental carpet as she rushed toward the foyer to catch up with Renata and the attorney. “Wait, what about the test results?”

Renata paused and gave Felicia a look that I can only describe as utter serenity. I edged closer, and Renata’s placid gaze drifted to me. I shivered under its coolness. “I have no intention of looking inside this envelope,” she said. “I am going right now to lock it away in my safe-deposit box, and there it will stay.”

Kirby and Felicia both stared at Renata, their jaws practically dragging the floor.

“Renata, this is stupidity!”

“No, Mrs. C, you can’t be serious—”

“I am
deadly
serious.” She looked from one to the other as if daring them to argue. Then her eyes locked with mine once more, and she smiled. “I have no need for a piece of paper to tell me what I already know is true.”

Five seconds after Renata left, Felicia stormed through the house slamming doors, drawers, and phone receivers. I had no idea who all she called, or what all that banging around was intended to accomplish, but I had to admit, her loyalty to Renata was impressive.

And I had to wonder about it.

I mean, why should my true identity be such a big deal with Felicia, a mere employee . . . unless for some reason (maybe her faithful service and devotion?) she expected a sizeable bequest from the childless Renata Pearl Channing?

Talk about gold diggers!

I followed the din to a third-floor office suite. Felicia stood with her back to me between a burnished bamboo desk and tall windows framed by built-in bookcases. She yammered away on a cordless phone. “Larry, I mean it, you
have
to do something. You can’t let her get away with this. It’s absolutely outrageous!”

Larry?
As in, Lawrence Eugene Channing?

I sauntered into the paneled room and plopped my rear into a thickly padded armchair. The slick, bronze leather felt cool against my back—probably just what I needed to lower my temperature a few degrees before I laid some heated words on Ms. Beaufort.

“No, next week is
not
soon enough.” Her tone became wheedling. “I
need
you, Larry. Please, you’ve got to put a stop to this nonsense before—”

My loud “A-
hem
” got her attention in a hurry. Spinning around, she pressed the phone against her abdomen. “How long have you been sitting there?”

I lifted an accusing eyebrow. “Long enough to hear you whispering sweet nothings to
Larry
.”

If I’d thought she looked flustered earlier, now I read sheer panic in her darting glance. She recovered quickly with another of those haughty looks she was so good at. “I don’t know what exactly you
think
you heard, but you’d do well to keep your meddling nose out of it.”

“That sounds mighty like a threat.” I did my best imitation of Renata calmly inspecting her manicure. “Seems to me, someone with nothing to hide wouldn’t be so nervous about what she’s
not
hiding.”

She lifted the phone to her ear and muttered, “I’ll call you back,” before pressing the disconnect button and laying down the phone.

I stood and rested my fingertips on the polished expanse between us. “So tell me, Felicia, what exactly
is
going on between you and Renata’s husband? Are you the reason their marriage is on the rocks?”

She stiffened. “What gave you the idea the Channings’ marriage is in trouble?”

“Larry’s never around, Renata hardly mentions him, and when she does, the look in her eyes . . . well, let’s just say it doesn’t take Dr. Phil to interpret the signs.”

I could hardly bear to look at the scheming hussy. A Blue Delft vase of fading yellow roses adorned the corner of the desk. I plucked a wilted petal and crushed it between my fingers. “Hmmm, seems I’m not the one Renata needs to be worried about.”

With the musky scent of decaying roses filling my nostrils, I turned to leave.

Before I’d taken three steps across the carpet, Felicia grabbed my arm. The panicked look had returned full force. “Where are you going? What are you planning to do?”

I jerked my arm free. “Don’t worry, I’m not running to Renata to expose your little secret. She’s smart enough to figure it out on her own, if she hasn’t already.” With a shudder, I made another move toward the door. “And you had the nerve to accuse
me
of deception.”

“Mrs. Channing may be convinced you’re her dear departed sister returned from the dead.” Venom crept back into Felicia’s voice. “But I know your type—poor white trash looking for an easy way out of the gutter.”

I mimicked her stance of crossed arms and nose in the air, mine hovering a good eight inches above hers. “Tell me, Ms. Beaufort, what gutter did
you
crawl out of before you latched onto the Channings?”

She opened her mouth to respond and then froze, her staring eyes fixed on something beyond my shoulder. She sucked in a tiny, sharp breath. “Mrs. C.”

I spun around to see Renata standing in the doorway. She set her hands on her hips. “What on
earth
is going on here? I could hear the two of you shouting all the way downstairs.”

“Mrs. C, I—it’s just that the DNA results—” Felicia’s arms jerked like the forelegs of a nervous spider.

Renata released an exasperated huff as she stepped forward and lightly touched Felicia’s cheek. “I appreciate your concern, darling. But my decision in this matter is final.”

She turned to me. “And you, Julie dear, try to get along with Felicia. She’s been my assistant for almost nine years now, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. There are . . . things you don’t know, things you don’t need to bother yourself with.” She cast Felicia a strangely sympathetic look.

As if I weren’t confused enough already. Larry? Renata? Felicia? I had to wonder what more there was to know.

~~~

Over the next couple of days, Felicia and I kept our distance. I decided neither her doubts about my identity nor her sordid personal secrets were worth getting myself in a snit about. And anyway, Renata wasn’t leaving me much time to think about such things. She kept me pretty well occupied helping her finalize arrangements for the big Fourth-of-July bash she’d been planning for this weekend.

“It’ll be your coming-out party, in a way,” she said on Friday morning as we lingered at the breakfast table poring over lists and schedules.

I laughed nervously. “Coming out of
what
?”

“It’s just an expression, sweetie.” She signaled Lindy over to refill her coffee cup, and when she didn’t offer the timid girl even a nod of thanks, it felt like a tiny death inside me.

“A coming-out party,” Renata continued, as if explaining complicated social graces to an illiterate hillbilly, “is a traditional rite of passage for a debutante, an occasion to introduce her to society as an eligible young woman. Usually it’s a formal dinner and dance—ball gowns, tuxes, string quartet. And of course every handsome unattached young man in town is on the guest list, but—”

I shoved my chair back. “If I’d known
that’s
what you had in mind—”

Her laughter echoed off the high ceiling. “I promise it’ll be nothing nearly so formal. But I do want everyone to meet you. My gracious, I want the
whole world
to know my sister is alive!”

An image of that sealed white envelope flashed through my mind. I fingered the hem of a mauve linen napkin. “Are you sure it’s a good idea? I mean, do you really want to make an announcement like that without knowing for certain, without . . . seeing those DNA results?”

She sniffed. “I’ve already told you, I don’t need test results to convince me. You’re here, and that’s all that matters.”

“But people are bound to ask questions—how you found out about me, what proof you have. The last thing I want is all your friends thinking this is some prank, that all I want is your money.”

“I am beyond caring what other people think,” she said, and her tone gave me chills.

The thing is, I cared a lot—more than I wanted to admit. It was why I came here in the first place—the need for authenticity, the need to understand where I fit into this whole crazy, mixed-up world. It wasn’t enough that Renata accepted me. Felicia didn’t believe I was Jenny. Howard Kirby clearly had his reservations. And unless Renata could show positive proof that I was her sister, doubts would linger in the minds of everyone she introduced me to.