Cherise opened her palms, fingers stretching wide in supplication. “Look, there's been a lot of bad blood in the family and it's gone back generations, we all know that, but it's time to put a stop to it. I mean, when I heard that Marla had almost lost her life . . . I just fell down and prayed. Something like this really puts things into perspective.”
Donald clasped his hands and let them fall between his knees. On his left was a wide gold band proudly pronouncing he was a married man, on his right was a signet ring of some sort and another on his pinkie where a large diamond flashed. “Cherise and I think that this is an opportunity for the family to come together, that when tragedy strikes, or nearly strikes, it's important to put the past behind us and look forward. To take God's hand and walk with Him, thank Him for all the blessings he's bestowed upon us.” Donald's smile was placidly serene and phony as hell.
Cherise reached over and squeezed Marla's hand. “You and I, we were always close. I thought of you more like a sister than a cousin, or an in-law. And I know Monty, he was always fond of you. Is fond of you.” Her eyes were round, sincere, but there was just a hint of something more in their amber depthsâsomething dark and sinful. “We're here to see that the rift that seems to have widened between us in the past couple of years is bridged.”
What the devil was this all about? Marla wanted to escape from the saccharine and goodwill and idealistic, shopworn phrases that rang false in her ears.
The front door opened and Nick, wearing his scarred leather jacket, jeans and wary expression strode in. The corners of his mouth pinched at the sight of Cherise and her husband.
“Cherise,” Nick said, nodding at his cousin. He stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. His gaze skated over his cousin's upturned face to land full force on Marla. Stormy blue eyes bored into hers. “So, how's it goin' today?”
“Better,” Marla said, refusing to think about last night in the living room and how his body felt against hers. “Lots better. I think I'm starting to feel human again.”
“Jaw still hurt?”
“A little.”
“A lot, I'd wager,” he said, unzipping his jacket.
“I'll deal with it.”
“I imagine you will.” One edge of his mouth lifted a fraction, then he turned to Donald. “You must be Cherise's husband.”
“I'm sorry,” Eugenia said and made quick introductions as the Reverend rose and extended a big hand over the coffee table. “I've heard a lot about you,” he said to Nick.
“Not all bad, I hope.”
Donald smiled. “Nah. Cherise thinks you're one of the good guys.”
Nick snorted and sent Marla a look that could sear through stone. “Then she's a distinct minority.”
Donald laughed, Cherise blushed and Eugenia's frown deepened. Nick grabbed a cup of coffee and settled one hip against the window ledge, his long, jean-clad legs stretched in front of him.
In the ensuing small talk, Marla learned that Donald had once been a pro football player, a running back, one of those Christian athletes who prayed before each game. But all that was before God had decided that a three-hundred-fifty-pound linebacker would tackle Donald, crack three of his ribs and break his ankle in two places, thus ending his short, though seemingly awe-inspiring, career.
“. . . So the man upstairs thought I needed to lead a congregation rather than a team,” he said with a smile, then set his cup on the table. “And that's one of the reasons we're here.” He reached toward his wife and she, like a trained dog, linked her fingers through his. His other hand smoothed the worn leather binding of his Bible. “Cherise has been concerned that the family is splintering. Her parents are both gone now. Nick, you took off years ago and your father, too, has passed on.”
Where was this leading? Marla wondered.
“Recently we've had so many problems within the family that there have been ugly accusations slung in all directions. Words have been spoken in anger. Words that most of us regret.
“Cherise . . . well, I think I speak for Montgomery as well, has been very upset ever since the accident that nearly took her cousin's life. When she tried to contact Marla, she was treated as if she were an outsider.” Donald's big shoulders slumped. “We were hoping that we could all start over, that the fractured parts of the family could come together and we could put our differences behind us. That Marla lived was a miracle, most certainly God's work. It wasn't time to call her home yet.
“Now let's use His example and heal the rifts in our family.” Donald's somber eyes met Nick's. “Let's be a team again.”
Nick studied the preacher with a jaundiced eye. “I don't remember being a part of any team.”
“Certainly. The Cahill Family Team.”
Marla thought she might get sick. Was this guy for real?
“You're serious?” Nick said. “The Cahill Family Team? Kind of like the Trapp Family Singers?”
“Don't be so snide.” Cherise pursed her scarlet lips and managed to appear wounded. “Of course we were a team. Years ago. When we were kids.”
“That was a long time ago,” Eugenia pointed out.
“I know but I'm enough of an idealist to think we can get it back again,” Cherise insisted as her husband stood and drew her to her feet. “No matter what has happened, we're all family.”
Donald said, “We're inviting you to the church, for services this Sunday. Afterward we'd like to have all the family to dinner at our house.”
“Please come,” Cherise insisted and hugged first Nick, then Marla. She took Eugenia's hand in hers. “Bring Alex, Cissy and the baby.”
I'd rather share a rat with a python,
Marla though.
“Will Montgomery be there?” Nick asked, and Cherise's smile faltered a bit.
“I'll invite him of course. With Monty you sometimes don't know. I really wanted him to come today, but unfortunately he had other plans. I'll try to talk him into coming over to the house on Sunday, though.”
“We'll see,” Eugenia said frostily but Cherise didn't seem to notice.
They were about to take their leave when Nick asked, “Was Pamela Delacroix a member of Holy Trinity?”
Donald's spine stiffened slightly. His expression, beneath his calm exterior, shifted slightly. Warily. “Yes,” he said, his eyebrows knotting. “It was a great loss for the congregation.”
Marla couldn't believe her ears. “You
knew
her?” she asked. Finally, a connection.
“Not personally, no, I'm ashamed to say. She wasn't a regular, but she did attend services once in a while.”
“What about you? Did you know her?” Marla demanded, her eyes fastened on Cherise.
“Not at all. I mean, I wouldn't even have known what she looked like,” Cherise said quickly. “The Reverend was right, she came a couple of times a few months ago, but she didn't join any of the groups we have available. We offer Bible study several times a week, and a woman's focus group and even singles counseling, but she didn't join in.”
“Then how did you know she attended?” Marla asked. “Did she tithe with a check?”
“No . . . after she died one of the women who teaches an adult Sunday school class mentioned it. She'd seen Pam's obituary in the paper and we started our prayer treeâthat's a telephone chain within the congregation, so that everyone could pray for her and her family.”
“Did you meet her family? Her daughter?” Marla asked.
“I didn't even meet Pam,” Cherise reminded her, but she seemed uncomfortable, suddenly eager to leave, as if there was something about the conversation that made her nervous.
Nick cocked his head to one side. “You didn't mention that you had any connection with her when you stopped by the hotel the other night.”
“It slipped my mind.” Cherise shot back. “So sue me.”
Her husband sent her a sharp look and she instantly softened. “Sorry. Yes, I should have said something when I came by the hotel,” she admitted, avoiding the censure in her husband's gaze. “It just slipped my mind.”
Donald made a point of checking his watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I've got an appointment with the church treasurer in half an hour.”
Marla and Nick escorted the guests to the front door. Carmen, as if she'd been listening to the conversation, hurried to the closet to fetch Cherise's cape.
“It was good to see you again.” Cherise gave Marla a hug as Donald shrugged into his jacket. A handshake or two later they were out the door, their arms linked, the picture of Christian fidelity and love.
“What the hell was that about?” Nick asked.
Eugenia lifted a tired hand. “Just another way to wheedle back into the family's graces. They're after money, Nick. They can whitewash it with all sorts of euphemisms and terms such as âfamily solidarity' or âGod's work' or âbeing a part of a team' or whatever, but the bottom line is, Cherise is trying to cozy up to the family fortune.” Eugenia cast a quick glance at Marla. “Don't get me wrong, she probably was concerned about you. Cherise isn't a bad sort. Just self-involved. And that husband of hers . . . well, he can pray until he's blue in the face, he's still got his problems. Alexander hired him at Cahill House and it turned into a horrid scandal.”
Wearily Eugenia picked up her tea cup and placed a raspberry scone on a small plate. “Couldn't keep his hands off one of the girls.” Her lips tightened and she broke off part of the scone. “I wouldn't have been surprised if her condition wasn't because of him. She never did say who the father of her child was, and she'd attended services at Holy Trinity. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.” Eugenia took a small bite of her scone. Coco, lying at her feet, watched her greedily. “Needless to say, Alex had to let him go. The scandal did so much damage. It's amazing that Donald's parish kept him on, but then he always swore that the girl was lying, that he hadn't touched her. In the end the girl dropped the charges.”
“This just gets better and better, doesn't it?” Nick said sarcastically. “All part of the Cahill family history.”
The phone jangled loudly. Nick strode into the front hall, snatching the receiver by the second ring and said, “Nick Cahill.” He carried the receiver back to the sitting room, his eyes focused on Marla. “Yeah, she's right here. Just a sec.”
“You're on,” he said, handing her the phone. “Detective Paterno.”
“What does he want?” Eugenia demanded.
“I called him earlier,” Marla explained and took the police officer's call while her mother-in-law regarded her as if she'd gone mad. For privacy's sake, Marla headed up to the library, all the while telling Paterno about the night when she'd ended up in the clinic and what she could recall about the accident that killed Pamela. “. . . I don't remember all the details, but I know someone was in the middle of the road that night and he was lit up like a Christmas tree, the lights blinding. I swerved to miss him and the truck did the same. I can't say for sure what happened to him, but he jumped out of the way of the truck and ended up on the opposite side of the road from me,” she said. Paterno had a few more questions for her then asked her to come to the station to make a statement.
She hung up promising to call him if she remembered anything else, then returned to the sitting room.
Eugenia appeared stunned. “Nick says you remember the accident.”
“Yes.” Marla nodded. “Most of it.”
“But you don't recall why you were going to Santa Cruz?” Eugenia set her plate on the floor and Coco inched forward, sniffed and gobbled the tiny piece of scone that was left then licked the plate for extra measure.
“No,” Marla said, rubbing the back of her neck. “Nor why I was with Pam, or how I knew her.”
But I'm going to,
she thought.
One way or another.
A door slammed in the back of the house and footsteps hurried along the corridor. Coco barked, then quieted as Fiona, her face so red her freckles were barely visible, hurried through the foyer and into the sitting room. “Sorry I'm late,” she said, apologizing all over herself. “Little James, is he all right?”
“Sleeping,” Marla said, and the girl didn't wait for any other instruction, just hurried up the stairs, her raincoat billowing behind her.
“Flighty thing,” Eugenia observed, her gaze following Fiona's path. “I really don't know if she's right to look after James.” She patted her jacket pocket and scowled. “Have either of you seen my keyring?”
“You've lost it?” Nick asked.
“Misplaced, I think.” Eugenia's face folded in concentration and Marla felt like a criminal, the keys suddenly so heavy she was certain they would jangle as she moved. “Strange,” Eugenia said. “I remember having them this morning.”