Season of Secrets (12 page)

“That's not quite the word I'd pick,” he said drily.

She fought the longing to jump out of the car. “I've done a great job of protecting myself since Annabel's death, you know. Keeping everything on the surface, never letting myself look too deeply. I told myself that was my way of dealing with grief.”

It hadn't just been the grief. She was beginning to see that now. It was her relationship with other people, with her job, even with God. One thing to recognize it, but another to figure out what to do with it.

“I just want you to know—”

“Don't!” His voice was harsh enough to make her wince. “Look, Dinah, we both know we can't be anything to each other than what we were.”

She hadn't expected anything more, but his bluntness hurt more than it should. She swallowed the pain.

“I know that. But I'd like to think we can still be friends.”

He wasn't looking at her. He was staring out the windshield, as if he saw something fascinating out on the moving water. “We'll always be friends, Dinah.”

That sounded like a farewell. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Friends.

Court came darting toward the car, his face excited. Maybe the boats had appeared. She could leave the car and put some space between herself and Marc.

“Dad, hey, Dad.” Court wrenched the door open. “I saw him, that gardener guy you showed me the picture of.”

Marc was already out of the car before she had a chance to react. “Where? Are you sure?”

She slid out her side of the car and hurried around to them.

“Over that way,” Court pointed toward the crowd. “Sure, I'm sure. I looked at the picture, didn't I?”

Marc exchanged glances with her. “Let's have a look. You two stay together, will you?”

“Dad—”

“I want someone with Dinah,” Marc said quickly.

“Oh. Right.” Court subsided.

This time she didn't protest. Marc's expression had told her this was as much for Court's sake as for hers.

“Show me where you saw him.” She refrained from taking Court's arm. He wouldn't appreciate that.

“This way.” He plunged into the crowd, squirming through enthusiastically.

She followed with a bit less enthusiasm. Court was still a child, although he'd resent that furiously. He didn't remember his mother's death, and this whole business was more like a treasure hunt to him than anything else.

She grabbed his jacket to slow down his progress. “If you knock someone into the water, you're going to be extremely unpopular.”

“He was standing right here.” He nodded to the low railing that separated the walkway from the river. “Do you think he knows we're after him?”

“That could be.” Carr was being awfully elusive, for someone who'd hinted he had information to sell. “What was he wearing?”

The act of putting a description into words would blur the image of the man in Court's mind, but that couldn't be helped. It was the constant dilemma facing police officers in dealing with eyewitnesses.

“Faded jeans. Some kind of a dark jacket, maybe a windbreaker. I didn't notice the clothes so much. I just saw his face, and I knew it was the face in the picture Dad showed me.”

She nodded, looking around. The crowd was thickening now, pressing toward the water, craning for the first glimpse of the lighted boats. “I don't think we're going to find him in this crush. Let's see if your dad had any luck.”

But when they'd worked their way back through the crowd to Marc's side, he shook his head. “If he was here, he may have spotted us and slipped away.”

“I should've gone after him myself, instead of coming for you.”

Marc slung his arm around Court's shoulders. “You did the right thing. I never want you to do something like that on your own.”

“You think he's dangerous? That maybe he's the one?”

“No, I don't.” Marc spoke quickly. “He acts like he knows something, but that could just be an excuse to get money.”

“Maybe he figures if he's hard to get, it'll raise the price,” Court said.

“That's good thinking. It could be exactly what's on his mind. If so, he'll show up sooner or later.” He squeezed Court's shoulders. “Don't worry about it, okay?”

“Right. Hey, look! The boats are coming.” Forgetting the subject that quickly, Court pushed forward with the rest of the crowd.

She glanced at Marc's face. “Is that really what you think about Carr?”

“I don't know what I think.” His voice had an edge of frustration. “But he can't stay out of sight forever.” He took her arm. “Let's catch up with Court, before he ends up in the river.”

Marc seemed able to dismiss Carr from his mind nearly as fast as Court did. They joined Court, who peppered them with questions as the boats, strung with lights and with Christmas music playing, began to pass by. They'd go down to the point, then up the Ashley on the other side of the peninsula, celebrating the holidays in a uniquely Charleston manner.

It was exactly like a dozen other Christmas boat parades she'd attended. But she hadn't felt this uneasiness at any of the others. She moved her shoulders, trying to shake off the sense of someone watching her.

Someone could well be watching her, but that didn't mean that person had ill feelings toward her. At least half of Charleston seemed to be here. She'd already seen a number of people she knew in the crowd. Likely the other half was down at the Battery, waiting for the boats to reach them.

A tourist, apparently feeling that Marc sounded like a native, asked him a question, and Marc turned away to answer the man. She looked around for Court. He'd
moved close to the edge of the walkway, craning his neck for the best possible view of the boats.

He shouldn't be that close to the edge, although he'd dispute that if she told him so. Marc was already several paces away as the crowd ebbed and flowed between them. It was like being caught in the tide out at Sullivan's Island, thinking you knew where you were only to discover you'd moved with the current.

Instinct sent her toward Court. If he leaned out any farther, she'd grab him as if he were a two-year-old, whether he liked it or not.

She worked her way closer, frustrated by the crowd, which seemed to sense her desire and want to thwart it. She squeezed between two very large women who were engaged in a loud conversation about their Christmas shopping. Ignoring their annoyed looks, she spurted through like a cork popping from a bottle. A few more steps and she'd reach Court.

A white yacht, ablaze with lights, let forth a blast of Christmas music. The crowd pushed forward. Court, caught off guard, seemed to lose his balance, tipping forward toward the dark water.

Panic shoved her toward him. “Court!” She grabbed, her hand catching his jacket as he flailed on the edge. For an instant that seemed like an eternity they counterbalanced each other, but her feet were slipping on the damp surface and in a second they'd both be in the water—

“Hey, look out!”

Strong hands grabbed her arm, hauling her back
ward. Her fingers slipped on Court's jacket, but it was okay, someone else had him and he was safe.

“You okay, ma'am?”

“I'm fine. Thank you.”
Thank You.
She managed to breathe again. “Court, are you all right?”

He nodded, white-faced but composed. “Yes. Sorry. Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime.”

Their rescuer faded back into the crowd, the whole incident over in less than a minute, probably unnoticed by most of the bystanders. Court was fine. Even if he'd fallen in, he'd have been all right—chilled from the ducking, but all right. There was no reason for the fear that snaked through her as she pulled Court close.

“You're sure you're all right?”

He nodded, not pulling away. “Let's find Dad.” He looked at her, his eyes wide. “Dinah, I didn't just fall. Somebody pushed me.”

“T
hanks, Glory.” Dinah accepted the mug of coffee Marc's housekeeper handed her, sinking down on the leather couch in the family room. The Christmas tree lights were turned on, in spite of the sunshine that poured through the tall windows. Obviously Court didn't intend to miss a minute of the holiday.

“Mr. Marc will be down directly.” Glory hesitated, as if she had a mind to say something more, but then she turned and went out.

That was just as well. Dinah had no wish to rehash the events of the previous evening. She'd already done that for too much of the night.

She wasn't sure she'd ever felt quite that absolutely visceral response of terror when she'd thought Court was in danger. And although she and Marc had taken turns playing it lightly in front of Court, she hadn't stopped shaking inside for hours.

She hadn't realized how much Court had come to mean to her. Oh, she'd known she loved him, of course. But that absolute terror for him was something she'd
never experienced before. It must be what a mother felt when her child was in danger.

Her mind flickered briefly to Teresa's mother, to that look she had of simply waiting for something too dreadful to describe to descend on her little family. She would understand.

Annabel would understand. Would she resent Dinah for feeling that way about Court?

She wrapped her fingers around the mug, taking comfort in its warmth. Surely not. Annabel would want them to be close, wouldn't she? To her horror, she didn't know the answer to that. Her teenage adoration for her beautiful older cousin seemed naive to her now. How could she say what Annabel would want? She'd never known her as a adult.

Somehow, in the darkest hour of the night, her prayers for Court had crystallized something she'd been barely aware of until now. For Court, she could open her heart to God, breaking down the walls she'd erected to protect herself. For him, she could be open to the possibility of pain.

By morning, she'd known what she had to do. She had to convince Marc to take Court and go away. That was the only solution. Court had to be kept safe, even at the cost of never knowing who killed Annabel. Even at the cost of never seeing him or Marc again.

She heard the footsteps on the stairs soon enough that she could wipe away the tears that hovered and force a smile to her face by the time Marc opened the door.

“Dinah.” He crossed to the table, pouring a mug of
coffee from the carafe Glory had put there. “I need this.” He turned, his gaze raking her face, and then came to sit across from her in the big leather chair. “I don't need to ask how you slept. It's written all over your face.”

“Don't remind me.” She took a sip of the coffee, holding the mug to hide her face for a moment. “How is Court this morning?”

“He's fine. Top of the world, in fact. Apparently nearly falling in the Cooper River was worth about a hundred e-mails to his friends.” He jerked his head toward the study. “That's where he is now, in fact.”

“I'm glad he's so resilient.” Too bad she wasn't. “Is he still convinced someone pushed him?”

“Yes.” He examined his coffee. “He could be mistaken. It could have just been the normal movement of the crowd. There were plenty of people there, and you can't always account for what a crowd will do.”

She'd like to believe that. “I know. They could have surged forward accidentally, throwing Court off balance. But you don't believe that, do you?”

“No.” His face tightened. “I don't. I think someone meant it for a warning. To tell me that Charleston's a dangerous place for anyone connected to me.”

“That's what I think, too.” She took a breath, trying to stifle the pain. “So I think you and Court should leave.”

“Run away?” His eyebrows lifted.

“I don't care what you call it.” She set the mug on the coffee table. The caffeine had stopped helping. “You can't risk Court's safety.”

“I've been trying to convince him to go to a friend's place for the holiday. I promised I'd join him for Christmas.” His smile flickered, but it held no amusement. “You'd think I could force him to go, wouldn't you?”

“Well, not unless you wanted to drag him onto the plane. He won't go unless you do, is that it?”

He nodded.

“Then you have to go, Marc.” She leaned forward, as if her intensity could convince him if her words didn't. “You don't have a choice.”

She couldn't read what his dark eyes were hiding. “That's what you've wanted from the moment you heard we were coming, isn't it?”

“No. Well, maybe at first.” She struggled to remember how she'd felt about Marc's arrival just a few short weeks ago. “I didn't want to confront the past. I thought—” She shook her head. “It doesn't matter. Everything has changed. But you still have to admit that leaving is the only sensible thing to do.”

“For Court's sake.”

“Yes, of course.” She'd love to know what was behind the mask he seemed to be wearing. “You can't let Court be in danger.”

“No. You're right.” He looked very tired all of a sudden. “We'll have to go.”

The door opened on his words, and Glory came in. “There was a message for you, Mr. Marc.” She held out a slip of paper. “It was that man we were talking about. Jasper Carr.”

“What?” Marc lunged from the chair, snatching the piece of paper. “Why didn't you call me to the phone?”

“He didn't want me to.” Glory's brow furrowed. “I don't like that man. Never did. He insisted I just give you a message.” She nodded toward the paper. “Come to that address today at five. He'd meet you there.”

“Was that all he said?” The question shot out in what she thought of as Marc's prosecutor voice.

“There was one other thing.” She sounded reluctant.

“Let me guess. He wants me to come alone.”

Glory shook her head. “Just the opposite. Said he didn't want to see you alone. He'll only meet you if Miz Dinah comes, too.”

 

He did not want Dinah to go with him to meet Jasper Carr. And since arguing with her on the subject had done no good whatsoever, he was simply going to leave without her. He'd rather deal with the consequences of her anger than put her at any further risk, no matter how slight.

He walked quickly toward the garage. There was no doubt she'd be angry. Shy little Dinah had grown up, and the feelings he'd begun to have for her reflected that.

That didn't bear dwelling on. He couldn't explore any feeling for Dinah other than cousinly affection. Even if it hadn't been for the barriers created by the suspicion attached to him, it was impossible. No matter how she might try to break free, Dinah was tied by the past. She had idolized Annabel in a way that couldn't let her feel anything for him without a boatload of guilt.

As for him—well, Court had to come first for him.
He couldn't even think about any relationship that could affect that. Court loved Dinah as a cousin, but that didn't mean he'd welcome a romantic attachment between her and his father.

He rounded the corner by the garage and came to a stop. Dinah, hugging her black leather jacket close to her body, stood waiting by the car.

“You're here.” Well, that was certainly mastering the obvious.

“Somehow I thought you might decide to do this without me.” She put her hand on the door handle. “It won't work, Marc. You should know that.”

He glared at her over the roof of the car. “I don't know any such thing. And I don't intend to take you with me to see a character like Jasper Carr.”

She yanked open the door. “Then you'd better be ready to throw me out of the car, because I'm going.” She slid into the passenger seat.

Fuming wasn't doing much good. And his anger had to be at least partially frustration over the complex feelings she generated in him.

He got into the car, shut the door and fastened his seat belt. “Satisfied?”

She smiled. “I am, thank you.”

He turned the ignition and began to back out of the garage. “And don't try the demure Southern belle routine on me, either. It doesn't fit with your sheer stubbornness.”

“Southern ladies are always stubborn. How else would they deal with Southern men?”

“An unanswerable question.” He turned out onto
the street. “Do you know anything about the address Carr gave?”

“Only that it's in a neighborhood where I don't spend much time.”

“All the more reason why you shouldn't be going.”

She gave an elaborate sigh. “You know perfectly well why I'm going. It's not that I have any burning desire to talk to that man again, but he won't meet with you unless I'm there.”

He glanced at her, to see her forehead wrinkle. “Wondering why?”

She nodded. “I can't imagine, unless for some strange reason he thinks a second person should witness your meeting. But that doesn't make much sense.”

“It does if he's afraid of me.” He voiced the thought that had been in the back of his mind since he'd heard Carr's terms. “If he thinks I'm a murderer, he won't want to be alone with me.”

“That's ridiculous.” Dinah's voice was as sharp as he'd ever heard it. “If the man knows anything at all about what happened that night, he certainly knows it wasn't you.”

“Why, Dinah?” He looked at her, his hands tightening on the wheel.

She blinked. “Why what?”

“I didn't realize, until I came back, how many people are convinced I killed Annabel. But not you. Why aren't you afraid to be alone with me?”

“Well, I—I just know you too well. I know you couldn't do anything of the kind.”

“That's not really an answer and you know it.” He wasn't sure why it was so important to him to press her. “You were a kid then. You took me at face value.”

“If you mean I took you for granted—of course I did. You were part of my family.”

“Maybe you didn't know me as well as you thought you did. What does any sixteen-year-old know about the adults around her?”

“I'm not sixteen any longer. And I'm still sure.” She shook her head, and he saw the fluid movement of her hair, blue-black against the black leather of the jacket. “Some things a person is just sure of. I don't have to analyze my feelings. I know.”

“You were there that night.” He paused for a heartbeat, praying he was saying the right thing. “Maybe you're sure about me for another reason.”

She didn't speak, but he saw her hands clench together in her lap.

He had to keep trying. “Dinah, you had a head injury that night. You know as well as I do that sometimes people can't remember the things that happened moments or even hours before an accident like that.”

“There's nothing to remember.” Her voice was tight and strained. “I didn't see anything that night. I didn't.”

He wanted to probe, to ask if she remembered coming out of her room, starting down the stairs. Something had made her fall. Surely that wasn't a coincidence.

But gut instinct told him he'd driven her as far as he dared for the time being. They'd come back to it again. They had to.

He checked the street sign and then pulled slowly to the curb. “This is it. Not very prepossessing, is it?”

The house had once probably been a charming Victorian single-family home. Now shutters hung lopsided, paint peeled, and a general aura of decay surrounded the place. Like so many houses of this era, it had been chopped up into small apartments. Presumably Carr lived in one of them or imposed on a friend who did.

Dinah's hand was already on the door handle. He reached across her to still the movement, bringing his face very close to hers.

Too close. He drew back a little. “Stay in the car, Dinah. Please.”

“I don't think Carr will interpret staying in the car as coming with you.” She pulled the handle up. “Let's get this over with.”

The doorbell didn't seem to produce any sound, but the double doors, their etched glass now grimy and cracked, stood open. He stepped into the hall, motioning Dinah to stay behind him.

Silence, nothing but silence. Either the other apartments were vacant, or the tenants were extremely quiet. He started up the narrow stairwell, which probably replaced something that had once been grander. According to Carr's directions, he was on the second floor.

He felt Dinah close behind him. She wasn't putting her hand on the filthy railing, and he could hardly blame her.

“I'm having a bad feeling about this.” He hadn't
intended to whisper, but the silence around them seemed to suppress any noise. “Dinah, please go back outside, at least until I see if he's here.”

Her fingers closed on his jacket sleeve. “If you think I'm waiting down there by myself, you'd best think again.”