Secrets Rising (24 page)

"But you don't get engaged to everybody...do you?"

A sheen of perspiration glistened on Charles' upper lip. "I was never engaged to Janelle. She was a very sheltered, shy woman. Between the fact that she wasn't attractive and the strict way her parents raised her, she didn't get out much. Didn't date at all. Could be she took my friendliness the wrong way. If she ever told anybody we were engaged, I'm afraid that was just the fantasy of a lonely woman."

"I see."

Silence crowded around them as neither man spoke. The plush burgundy carpet beneath their feet swallowed even the sounds of breathing.

Rebecca knew what Jake was doing. It was a technique she'd often used in working with people. Refrain from speaking, and in the ensuing uncomfortable silence the other person would frequently say things he hadn't intended to say.

But this time Jake was wrong. Charles was proficient at his act. He was nervous but he wasn't going to say anything unguarded. He rose from his chair. "I hate to rush our little visit, but I do have another appointment. If there's nothing else I can help you folks with...?"

Jake stood and again shook Charles' hand. "You've been more help than you know."

Rebecca rose, and Jake wrapped one arm about her, supporting her. He propelled her toward the door, but before they could escape into fresh air, he stopped and turned back to Charles.

"Oh, by the way, good luck with your plans to run for Congress."

Charles hesitated only an instant before replying. "Thank you."

"Keep me in mind if you need a private investigator when campaign time gets here. You know, somebody to dig into the past of your opponent, haul out all his dirty little secrets, like they always do in those campaigns."

Blood suffused Charles' face. This time he couldn't hide his discomfort. His voice, however, was still smooth. "I'll be sure and do that."

Jake kept his arm about her all the way outside. If he hadn't, she wasn't sure she would have been able to stand.

"Breathe," he ordered when they stepped onto the sidewalk with the glass doors of the small building swinging shut behind them, separating them from Charles. "Take a deep breath and don't you dare pass out on me."

"I'm fine," she said as firmly as she could.

He opened the passenger door of her car. "Get in. I'll drive."

She didn't argue. She certainly wasn't going to pass out, but so many images were swirling through her mind, she wasn't sure she could focus on driving.

Jake backed out of the parking spot, looked at where they'd been and frowned. "You definitely need to get your oil checked. There's another spot like the one at the park."

"I'll check the oil before I start back to Dallas." An oil leak was the least of her problems right now.

"Do you watch your gauges to be sure your car isn't overheating? Maybe I ought to check to see if that's antifreeze you're losing."

"No. Just drive. If you want me to breathe again, get away from this place. Anyway, that spot could be from the person who parked there before me."

With one last glance at the parking space, Jake put the car into gear and drove down the street.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"We don't have a lot of options. It's either the park, the diner or we could run by Doris Jordan's. Get there a little early."

"Yes. Let's go to Doris' house." That was the only place she could think of at the moment that she really wanted to be.

***

The small, white house with its medley of bright flowers belonged to a woman Rebecca hadn't known a week ago and would probably never see again after today, but as she and Jake drove up, she felt as if she'd come home.

Doris greeted them as though they were welcome guests, as though they hadn't arrived two hours early. "I was hoping we'd have some extra time to visit," she said graciously. "Would you like to sit out here? It's a bit warm inside, but the shade from the trees keeps it cool on the porch all day. Have a seat and I'll go get some iced tea."

The swing, hidden by the trellis of morning glory vines on one side of the porch, lured Rebecca with its seclusion and its promise of soothing, gentle motion. She took one side and Jake, after a moment's hesitation, took the other, beside her but not quite touching. No surprise there.

"You knew Morton was planning to run for Congress," she said, finally able to discuss the visit now that she was in the safety of Doris' home. "That's what you were looking for in all those magazines."

"I didn't know. I suspected from something Lorraine Griffin said.
If somebody doesn't stop him, he's going to spread that dark evil of his over this entire country
."

"I just thought she was being rhetorical."

"That was a possibility, but Morton has moved up from being a cop to being Mayor. He strikes me as the type who'd like to go all the way to the top."

Rebecca took a long sip of hers. The cool, clean liquid dissolved the lingering taste of slimy disgust that Morton had left with her. The warm air, cooled by the shade of thousands of leaves, evaporated from her skin the last traces of the refrigerated, foul air of Morton's office.

"Did you know Charles Morton plans to run for Congress?" Jake asked.

Doris leaned back in one of the cushioned, wrought iron chairs. "There's been talk about it. He's a very ambitious man. If he'd had the charisma to match that ambition, he'd have been out of here and in Washington D.C. long ago."

"So you don't think he'll win the election?"

"I didn't say that. Charles may not have charisma, but he does manage to garner influence. I certainly won't vote for him. However, I imagine a lot of people will.

"You knew him when he was young," Rebecca said. "Do you—" She bit her lip then forced herself to continue. "Do you think I look like him?"

Doris set her glass of tea carefully on the porch beside her and folded her hands in her lap, her composure unbroken. "I gathered from all your questions about him yesterday that you were considering him as a possibility for your father. After you all left, I thought about it, about Janelle Griffin and him."

"An illegitimate daughter suddenly appearing out of nowhere, a former lover who committed suicide, those are things that wouldn't help his chances in a political race."

"No, they wouldn't." Doris studied her thoughtfully. "There's a sadness in your eyes that reminds me of Janelle."

The shade seemed to darken around them, and the image of Doris became a little fuzzy. Rebecca realized she was holding her breath. She made herself breathe deeply, bring the world back into focus.

Doris' expression softened, and she smiled. "But that doesn't mean anything. You also have a stubborn set to your jaw that reminds me of my daughter-in-law, Mary, and eyes the same color as Mabel Atherton, my best friend in grade school—we certainly know she wasn't your mother—and a nose that's straight like my Ben's was and hair like—" She frowned then shrugged. "The good news, for what it's worth, is that I don't see any of Charles' features in your face. But I don't like him and I do like you, so that may cloud my vision. Is it really so important to discover your heritage when you may be upset with your findings?"

"That's what I keep telling her," Jake said.

Rebecca drew a finger around the rim of her glass. "I've been thinking about that. In any event, I'm getting out of the middle of it. After dinner, I'll be heading back to Dallas."

Rebecca thought Doris looked disappointed but maybe she saw what she wanted to see in the older woman's expression. "Well, I feel privileged to be included in your last evening here. Any particular reason you decided to leave?"

"We got kicked out of our motel rooms. It seemed easier to go back to my condo rather than try to find a new place to stay." It was an adequate explanation, never mind that
easier
encompassed a world of meanings.

Doris scowled, a vertical line creasing her forehead between her brows. "Why would Wilbur kick you out? He gets so little business, he usually tolerates anything from his customers short of throwing the television sets in the swimming pool or not paying their bills."

Jake gave a short bark of laughter. "The reason he gave us was that he was all booked up for the next month."

"All booked up? Wilbur? Not in my lifetime!" Doris' gaze flickered from Jake to Rebecca. She lifted her glass of tea from the porch, sipped then tapped one side with an index finger. It was the first nervous or impatient gesture Rebecca had ever seen her make. "Then you'll both stay with me for as long as you want," she said decisively. "I have a guest room, and Edgar's office has a long sofa he used to nap on. Or you can both share the guest room if you like. I may be old, but I haven't forgotten what it was like to be young."

The almost imperceptible rocking of the swing increased. Rebecca wasn't sure if it was from her nervous movements or from Jake's. How on earth did everybody in town know they'd been intimate? Did it show on their faces? Was the old shed equipped with a video camera?

"We appreciate the offer," Jake said smoothly, "but we couldn't impose on you like that. Anyway, I've got to get back to Dallas and take care of some things, like getting that broken headlight repaired."

Jake was right, but Rebecca found herself desperately wanting to stay in Doris' house, to spend the night in a bed that probably had a floral spread, then wake in the morning to have coffee in Doris' sunlit kitchen from one of her flower garden cups...to immerse herself in the peaceful spirit Doris had found.

Not rational, she knew. She had to find her own peaceful spirit.

"You wouldn't be imposing at all," Doris said. "I'd love to have the company. I'll be upset if you refuse. If your car has a broken headlight, Jake, you shouldn't drive it tonight. You can stay here, get a good night's sleep, then tomorrow you can go back to Dallas or whatever you need to do." She turned to look out to Rebecca's Volvo parked in the street. "Do you both have your luggage here?"

Jake shifted in the swing. "Well, uh, Rebecca's is, but mine's in my car at the park."

"Then why don't you get Rebecca's luggage now, and we can get yours after dinner."

He gave Rebecca a helpless look. She squelched a sudden urge to laugh. This man who maintained control of every situation, whether sparring with Charles Morton, extracting information from Lorraine Griffin, or making love with her, was out of his depth with Doris Jordan.

"My bag's in the trunk," she told him. "I believe you still have the keys."

Jake left the porch, and Doris leaned forward to pat Rebecca's hand. "Being a mother is a big responsibility. I remember when I brought Ben home from the hospital. That was absolutely the most terrifying experience of my life. I had no idea how I was ever going to take care of that baby by myself. If my mother hadn't been there with me, I might have been so terrified, I'd have refused to take him until he got a little bigger. Because your mother gave you up for adoption doesn't mean she didn't love you. It could mean she loved you enough to want somebody to take care of you at a time when she didn't think she'd be able to."

"What are you trying to say?" Had Doris figured out who her mother was?

"I'm not trying to say anything other than what I just said."

Jake returned with her suitcase, and Doris took them inside to show them the guest room. Rebecca smiled when she saw the bed spread and matching curtains with a soft floral print. Like the living room, the furniture, including a wooden bed frame with a tall, carved headboard, a small dresser and large chest of drawers, was old but well cared for. Pictures, music boxes and various paraphernalia were scattered about on every surface. It was part of Doris' home, part of Doris.

"This was Ben's room," Doris said. "I've changed the decorating scheme, of course. He had pictures of baseball players that he'd torn out of magazines and taped all over the walls, a carpet of dirty clothes on the hardwood floor, and he would never permit a spread on his bed. That might have meant he'd have to make it up occasionally. I'm sure you'll be quite comfortable in here. The bathroom is down the hall."

"Thank you. I'll just freshen up and be right out."

Jake and Doris left, and Rebecca stood for several moments, absorbing the stability, the history of the room, of the entire house. The stability and history didn't belong to her, of course, but it was nice to borrow the feeling for a little while.

In a way, it reminded her of the room she'd grown up in. Not that the appearance was the same, or the feeling of history, but she had known stability, a sense of belonging...until that had all been yanked out from under her.

She grabbed her makeup bag and went down the hall to the bathroom.

***

Jake sat in the porch swing waiting for Rebecca to return. He couldn't believe he'd given in to Doris' request that they stay in her house. He wouldn't sleep a wink, wouldn't be comfortable in a place not his own whether by dint of ownership or renting a motel room.

He wasn't really sure why he'd given in so easily. Because Doris has been so insistent? Because he knew Rebecca wanted to stay there?

Or because he didn't want Rebecca to return to Dallas?

That couldn't be it. He had better sense than that. No matter how much he wanted her, he knew, when he consulted his rational mind and not his loins, that it was time for her to go. Past time.

Doris paused in her recitation of the various restaurants in the vicinity and turned to look toward the street. Her fact lit up suddenly, and she rose. "Mary! I'm so glad you dropped by."

"This book you've been wanting to read came in today, so I thought I'd bring it over."

Mary? The woman from the library? Jake couldn't see her for the trellis of morning glory vines, but she certainly didn't sound the same. This woman's voice was soft and warm, a little tired but not low and hard.