Don't Say A Word (8 page)

    "Then you shouldn't be digging up the past. Your father had a lot of secrets. That last year of his life- he was different. I didn't know what caused the change. Maybe it was his job. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was another woman," she said with a bitter edge to her voice .

    "You don't have any proof there was ever another woman." He couldn't refrain from defending his father. He'd heard her make the comment a number of times, and it irritated the hell out of him.

    "I may not have proof, but I know something was off. Charles used to get calls from a woman late at night. I heard her voice more than once. He said she was a business associate, but he was a freelancer, and there were no female editors working at any of the magazines."

    "You can't be sure of that."

    "Oh, I am. I checked." She paused, her mouth tightening in a hard line. "I'm not sure I ever told you this, but I spent most of my childhood watching my mother turn a blind eye to my father's cheating. I swore that I would never do the same. I wouldn't allow your father to turn me into a pathetic, hopeless, helpless woman like my mother, who was suddenly shocked to realize the whole town knew her husband was cheating on her."

    Alex had known his mother wasn't close to her parents, but he'd always thought it was because she was ashamed of their blue-collar roots. Her father had been a plumber, her mother a waitress. Apparently there had been more to the story.

    Kate drew in a deep breath, a frown on her face now, as if she were sorry she'd said so much. "I just want you to leave the past alone, Alex."

    "It's funny that you would say that. You're the one who is throwing a Spotlight on Dad's work every chance you get. You hated his job, and you probably hated him, too, yet here you are acting like the tragic widow, and it's been twenty-five years and two marriages since you were with him."

    "I'm not acting like a widow. That's what I am. You'll never understand the relationship I had with your father or how I felt about his work," she said hotly. "But I know what it was, and I have every right to make sure his photographs continue to be recognized. Fm even negotiating a possible book contract."

    "Really." He studied her thoughtfully, not liking the way she avoided his gaze. "Why? Do you need the money?" Her home was beautifully decorated, her clothes expensive and well made. She didn't look like she was short of cash, but he had no idea where she stood with her personal finances. Her last two husbands had not been rich, but very comfortable. And if he knew his mother, she'd gotten her fair share in the divorces.

    "Fm surprised you would ask, Alex. You've never shown any interest in my personal well-being."

    "That's not an answer. But it's your business." He got to his feet. "Where do you have the negatives?"

    "They're in a box in the hall closet. I want them back, though, Alex. I may need them for the book."

    "Fine."

    "Wait. Don't go like this," she said, holding up her hand in a plea for him to stay. "I don't want to fight with you."

    "We've never done anything else," he said with a shrug.

    "Because you've always seen your father as the hero and me as the villain. That's not the way it was."

    "Mother, it's over. It was over a lifetime ago. I’ve moved on."

    She shook her head. "If you've truly moved on, leave the negatives here."

    "I can't do that."

    She gave him a searching look. "Why do you care about that photo?"

    He debated for a second, not wanting to confide in his mother, but he had to give her some explanation, so he said, "I want to know more about that girl."

    "After all these years? Why now? Has something happened?"

    "No, nothing has happened," he lied, preferring not to get into the subject of Julia. "I’ve always wondered whether that photo was cropped, if something important was left out of it when it was published in the magazine."

    Her eyes narrowed. "Why on earth would you wonder that?"

    "Fm curious, and I have some time before my next assignment."

    "I don't believe you, Alex." Her eyes turned reflective. "You know something you're not telling me. Your father knew something about that picture, too. He was so upset when it was published. The night before he died, he stopped by here to give me a check, and I could see that he was afraid of something." She took a breath. "I’ve never said this to you, Alex, but Fm not sure that car crash was really an accident."

    Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He had to force some air into his chest so he could breathe. "What? What are you saying?"

    She gazed straight into his eyes and said, "I think someone deliberately ran your father's car off that road."

    His mother's words were still ringing through Alex's mind when he entered his apartment an hour later. His father's car hadn't been deliberately run off the road. The car crash was an accident. It had been raining. The roads were slick. The other car was simply going too fast when it sideswiped his father's car. His father lost control and drove off the edge of a cliff into the Pacific Ocean. That's what everyone had said and what he'd reminded his mother of a short while ago. But as he stared at the box now resting on his coffee table, he saw his father's face the day before his death, the fear in his eyes when he'd made Alex promise never to tell anyone about that photo or that girl. Were the two events somehow tied together?

    They'd never recovered his father's body. The cur-rents were too strong. He'd been swept out to sea.

    Was that true… or a convenient explanation to cover up something more sinister?

    His mother had no proof of her suspicions. She said she'd mentioned her doubts to Stan, and Stan had told her that the police report was clear that it was an accident.

    They'd never found the other driver. There had been no witnesses.

    
Dammit
. He hated all the doubts suddenly racing through his mind. Why had she brought it up now, after all these years? Just to throw him off? To create a mystery where there wasn't one? To make her widowhood even more dramatic? To get a bigger book deal?

    His phone rang, and he reached for it, hoping it wasn't his mother calling him back with another bombshell. "Hello?"

    "Alex, it's Julia. I found something in my mother's belongings. I want to show it to you."

    "Where are you?"

    "I'm at work right now. Can you meet me at my apartment in a half hour? It's in North Beach, 271 Lexington, apartment 2C."

    "What did you find?"

    "I don't want to get into it over the phone, and I just have a minute before I have to go back on the air."

    "On the air?" he echoed.

    "I host a radio show on KCLM 86.5. I've got to run. I'll see you soon."

    Julia was a disc Jockey, Alex thought as he hung up the phone. That surprised him. He walked over to his Stereo and turned on the radio, just in time to hear her beautiful, sexy voice.

    "You're listening to 'World Journeys with Julia,' " Julia said into the microphone. "Next up is Paolo Menendez, who brings us a delicious blend of reggae, calypso, and Caribbean rhythms from Cartagena on the Caribbean Coast." Julia flipped off the microphone and pushed the button on the Computer to Start the next set of songs.

    She sat back in her chair, staring at the
matryoshka
doll. Since she'd discovered it in her mother's belongings, she'd been racking her brain trying to remember where it had come from. She remembered holding on to it really tightly, and for some odd reason she had the vague feeling that someone had tried to take it away from her and she'd started crying. She hadn't stopped until the person had given it back. Unfortunately, that person was just a dark shadow in her mind. It must have been her mother. It couldn't have been anyone else.

    As she was putting the doll into her large brown leather handbag, the door to the control room opened, and Tracy Evanston walked into the room. A twenty-six-year-old African-American woman with dread-locks and a nose ring, Tracy hosted the three-to-five show featuring the best of jazz music.

    "Hey," Tracy said. "I love this guy you have on now. Any chance we could get him to perform at the concert?"

    "He wasn't available," Julia replied. "Believe me, I tried." It had been her job to book musicians for a special charity concert the Station was Sponsoring in the fall, and she'd been fortunate enough to get a good list of talent. They were hoping to raise enough money to fund music programs in the local schools, one of her pet projects.

    Julia inwardly sighed at the mention of her wedding. "I don't know yet. I'll work it out."

    "Why don't you take some time off? I'll happily take over some of your work. My little sis is off to college next year, and I want to help her if I can. So keep that in mind if you need to take off a few days. I can use the extra money."

    "I will."

    Tracy suddenly straightened, glancing out the glass window that led into the production room. "Oh, my. Who is that nice piece of work?" she asked.

    "His name is Alex Manning," Julia replied, feeling unsettled by Alex's sudden appearance. She'd told him to meet her at her apartment, not here where she worked. She didn't want to bring up her past in front of Tracy, who wouldn't be shy about asking a lot of questions that Julia didn't want to answer.

    "And how do you know him?" Tracy asked with a mischievous smile. "Is he the reason you've been stalling Michael on setting a wedding date?"

    "Don't be ridiculous. I just met him yesterday."

    "Well, he is fine. Don't tell me you haven't noticed."

    Of course she'd noticed. But she wasn't interested in him on any sort of personal level, which meant her palms should not be sweating and there shouldn't be a shiver running down her spine, but there was, especially when Alex tapped on the window and smiled at her. She was definitely attracted. A normal response, she told herself. As Tracy had said, Alex was a good-looking man. Maybe she was just noticing because she was engaged, and she wasn't supposed to want anyone else.

    What was she thinking? She did not want him. He was just the means to an end, a person to help in her search. That was it. The whole story.

    "Julia, ten seconds," Tracy said, motioning toward the microphone.

    "Oh, right." She flicked on the microphone, watching the computer screen in front of her count down the seconds. "You've been listening to 'World Journeys with Julia.' Join me again tomorrow from one to three, when we'll take a musical tour through the Congo. Next up is jazz specialist Kenny Johnson." She punched the button to play the string of commercials that separated their segments. "Have a good show," she said to Tracy as she stood up.

    "You have a good-whatever," Tracy said with a sly smile. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

    "That leaves me a lot of options."

    "Just remember you're not married yet. You can still change your mind."

    "That won't happen." Julia picked up her bag and walked into the production room where Alex was waiting. "You were supposed to meet me at my apartment."

    "I thought I'd check out where you work. I didn't picture you as a DJ," he added with a smile, "but you sound good on the radio. You have a great voice."

    "Thanks." She wasn't surprised he didn't see her as a disc jockey. Most people thought DJs were wacky people, which might be true for some, but not all, especially not at KCLM, which played a wide variety of music. "I'm also a producer for some of our other shows. We're a small station. Everyone wears more than one hat." She waved her hand toward the massive collection of CDs in the room. "I'm a music fanatic, in case you were wondering."

    "Then it sounds like you have the right job."

    "It's perfect for me. Do you like music?"

    "I play a little guitar," he admitted. "When I'm home, which isn't often. What about you?"

    "I play the piano, the drums, and a little saxophone. I'm pretty much mediocre at them all," she said candidly. "I would have been a musician if I'd had any talent. Instead I play other people's masterpieces."

    "Exactly."

    "I enjoyed hearing Paolo Menendez," Alex added. "I saw him perform in Cartagena. He played an acoustic guitar solo that was out of this world."

    "You saw him play?" she echoed, feeling extremely envious. "It must have been amazing. I would kill to hear him in person, but he never travels to America."

    "Maybe you should go to Cartagena."

    "That's a thought," she replied, but she knew it was impossible. There was no way she'd ever get Michael to Cartagena.

    "Does your fiancé share your passion for music?" Alex asked curiously.

    She shook her head. "Not really. Michael likes pop and rock, but he listens mostly to sports radio. Anyway, I wanted to show you this." She reached into her handbag and pulled out the
matryoshka
doll.