“Is there any chance this girl’s a drug user?” Rachel asked. “Or sells drugs? If there is, then I—”
“I’d never steer you toward somebody like that. Even if I didn’t know what happened to you, I wouldn’t do it.”
She looked into his eyes until the depth of compassion she saw there became unbearable. Nodding, she said, “I know you wouldn’t.”
“But she might go down that road someday if she doesn’t get out of there. She seems smart, but kids who start out poor don’t have much chance to get ahead if they stay around here. If they’ve got Melungeon blood and dark skin, that’s another strike against them.” He raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes burning. “It’s no wonder a lot of them get hooked on drugs. The dealers get them when they’re young, and that’s it, their lives are over. It’s damned frustrating because I can’t do a thing about it.”
This passionate anger was a side of Tom that Rachel hadn’t seen before, and one she couldn’t help admiring. She’d always been a sucker for crusaders. “You can help one person at a time, which is what you’re doing now. I’d be happy to talk to Holly Turner about a job. I’ll call her before I go home.”
Rachel held out her hand for the slip of paper, but Tom hesitated, frowning at the name and number. “Why don’t I find out a little more about her first, make sure she’s what she seems to be? If you’ve got doubts about her.”
“You took care of my doubts.” Rachel snatched the paper from his fingers. “You can’t give me a speech like the one I just heard, then back off.”
“Okay, but I have to warn you, the grandmother’s a problem. She doesn’t like Holly talking to strangers.”
Billy Bob barked and Tom opened the door to let him in. Rachel attached the leash and handed it to Tom. “Shannon has your bill at the desk. I need to lock up for the night back here. I’ll let you know if things work out with the girl.”
Instead of saying goodbye and leaving, Tom got the look on his face that usually preceded an invitation. Rachel hated this, hated struggling to say no in a firm but pleasant way. It was harder every time.
But all he said was, “Can you make it home okay in the snow?”
“Oh, sure.”
So much for my irresistible charms,
Rachel chided herself, but she was relieved. “My Range Rover can go anywhere. Good night, Tom.”
“I’ll see you again soon.”
His smile brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks. The door swung shut behind him and his dog, and Rachel heard his footsteps recede up the hall.
“Don’t push me,” she whispered. “Please.” Despite the front Tom put up, she felt his loneliness and pain when she was near him. She’d heard about the freak road accident that killed most of his family, leaving only Tom and his small nephew alive. Rachel could imagine the grief and survivor’s guilt that made him quit his job as a homicide detective with the Richmond Police Department and move back home to be part of his nephew’s life as the boy grew up. She’d heard that Tom left behind a fiancée who didn’t want to live in the mountains.
More than once Rachel had wondered if Tom was attracted to her because he thought they were alike—two wounded people who could lean on each other. The thought made her cringe. She couldn’t let herself get close to his grief when she was struggling to live with her own problems.
As she flipped the deadbolt into place on the back door, she thought about Perry Nelson plotting his revenge on her, she thought of Luke and the life she’d left behind, and she felt the familiar sinking, the descent from the light into a darker place. So much of her energy went into staying up, sailing far above the reality of her life. If she relaxed her guard for a second, she crashed like a broken kite.
Rachel didn’t want to wait till she got home to call Michelle and risk her sister hearing about Nelson’s petition on the radio or TV. With the animal hospital closed for the day, she settled at her desk and punched in Michelle’s home number in Bethesda.
“Oh, hi!” Michelle said when she heard Rachel’s voice. “I was just about to call you and give you our good news. Well, Kevin’s news, but of course it affects both of us.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Michelle sounded happy, exuberant, and Rachel grabbed the chance to put off telling her about Nelson a bit longer.
“Kevin’s made partner,” Michelle said. “Faster than any other associate in the firm ever has. Isn’t that great?”
“That’s wonderful, Mish. Give him my congratulations.” Kevin Watters, Michelle’s husband of two years, was a sweet, down-to-earth guy who adored her, and Rachel would always be grateful to him for helping Michelle through the awful months after their mother’s death. She kept hoping they would have a child, one with Michelle’s blond, blue-eyed beauty and Kevin’s generous disposition, but Michelle preferred to devote her nurturing to the autistic children she worked with as a psychologist.
“We’re going out to celebrate,” Michelle said. “I’m sorry I don’t have time to talk long. We’ll catch up tomorrow, okay?”
“Mish, wait. I need to tell you something.”
“What?” Michelle’s voice instantly took on a wary edge. “Is something wrong?”
“I hate to bring this up and spoil your good mood.”
Get it over with.
“Perry Nelson’s asking the judge to let him spend time at home with his parents. Leslie Ryan’s trying to block it.”
Rachel waited for an eruption of anger, fear, outrage, but Michelle was silent. Rachel heard her draw a breath. When she spoke at last, she sounded icily calm. “No judge in his right mind will let that happen. But if it does—well, thank god you’re not in McLean anymore. After his mother attacked you in the Safeway—”
“She didn’t attack me, Mish.”
“Not physically, but for heaven’s sake, screaming at you in public about ruining her baby boy’s life— You couldn’t be sure she
wouldn’t
end up assaulting you someday. And you’d never be safe for a second if he got out. You made the right decision, getting away from McLean and the Nelsons and…and everything else.”
Everything else.
The memories. Reminders of Mother everywhere she looked. And, of course, Michelle included Luke among the things best left behind. “To tell you the truth,” Rachel said, “I’m not always sure I made the right choice. I loved spending Christmas with you and Kevin, and I’ve been wanting to see you again ever since. But we’re so far apart.”
“I miss you too. I miss you a lot, and I wish we could just drive around the Beltway and see each other anytime we want to. But you went through a traumatic experience, Perry Nelson
shot
you, and you were in a bad relationship that was just making matters worse. You needed to make a clean break and start fresh. You know that’s the truth, Rachel. Regrets are to be expected, but I’m sure that most of the time you realize you did what was best for you.”
Sometimes Michelle sounded so much like their mother that Rachel could hardly bear to listen to her. Bit by bit, she had perfected that
I’m always right and you have to be sensible and listen to me
routine.
“Well, anyway,” Rachel said, trying to sound upbeat, “I’m sure everything’s going to be fine. Leslie can handle Nelson. I’ll let you go and get ready for your big celebration. Give Kevin my congratulations and a kiss for me, okay?”
She hung up, feeling absurdly bereft. Why had she believed that Michelle would need reassurance and calming? Michelle, who had once been so dependent on Rachel, no longer seemed to need anything from her, not even her presence nearby.
My little sister. My shadow.
She had a sudden image of the two of them as children, Rachel racing through the fresh snow with Michelle on her heels, slipping and sliding and squealing, and the happy memory pierced her with sadness.
Oh, stop it. Be glad she’s finally grown up. She certainly took her time about it.
Resolutely turning her mind to other things, Rachel pulled the scrap of paper Tom had given her from her lab coat pocket and called Holly Turner.
The girl answered the phone. Rachel introduced herself, mentioned Tom’s recommendation, and asked if Holly would like to apply for a job. This met with silence from the other end of the line.
“Well,” Rachel said, “if you’re not interested—”
“You offerin’ me a job in town?” The girl sounded amazed.
“Come see me and we’ll talk about it.”
“I don’t have a car,” Holly said, dispirited now. “I can’t drive, anyway.”
“Oh.” How would the girl get to work and back every day? Mason County didn’t have bus service. Rachel was about to make an excuse to end the conversation when Holly spoke up.
“I really, really want to talk about the job. I could meet you at Rose’s diner. I’m workin’ there tomorrow, and I always go early so I can eat lunch before I start work.”
The diner where drugs were sold. No. She couldn’t go there. Rachel didn’t even want to brush up against drugs, the people who sold them, the people who used them. Her fist closed around the paper that held Holly’s name and number, crumpling it into a ball.
When Rachel didn’t answer, Holly said, “I know I’m puttin’ you out, askin’ you to drive over here. But workin’ at the animal hospital, that’d be like a dream come true. And I’m willin’ to do anything that needs doin’.”
Rachel remembered saying something similar to a vet when she’d begged for a part-time job at the age of sixteen. Turning down Holly without interviewing her would be heartless. She loosened the crumpled paper, spread it smooth. The diner couldn’t be all that bad in broad daylight. Could it? “I can get away at lunchtime tomorrow.”
“That’ll be just perfect!”
Rachel jotted down directions. Holly was describing the diner when Rachel heard a woman’s shrill voice in the background. “Who you talkin’ to?”
“Nobody, Gran—”
“Don’t lie to me! I heard you plottin’ somethin’. Give me that phone.”
What on earth? Rachel listened intently, trying to make sense of what was happening. A scuffle, scratchy noises. Were they fighting over the receiver?
The line went dead.
“Good grief,” Rachel muttered as she hung up. The girl was a young adult, but she couldn’t speak freely on the telephone. It was outrageous. Yet Holly’s grandmother apparently didn’t object to her working where drugs were sold. That didn’t make sense to Rachel.
Would the woman try to stop Holly from keeping the interview appointment? If Holly did show up, and she wanted the job, she could have it. Tom was right. This girl needed help.
***
Seven-year-old Simon barreled out the front door of his grandparents’ house and streaked across the lawn to the driveway. “Tom! Tom, it’s snowing!”
Tom caught his nephew and swung him around. “Yeah, champ, I kinda noticed that. I guess you’ll have to haul out the sled in the morning, huh?”
“You think we’ll have enough?” Simon leaned back in Tom’s arms. In the glow of the porch light, the boy’s small face looked serious, worried. Snowflakes stuck to his spiky black hair. “Grandma says I can’t go on the sled if it’s just a little bit.”
Tom glanced over Simon’s shoulder to the front porch of the rambling Victorian house, where Darla Duncan, the boy’s grandmother, stood with arms crossed. Tall and thin, with shoulder-length brown hair, she wore her usual jeans and shirt. When Tom waved she didn’t respond with so much as a smile.
“Simon,” she called, “come back in the house. You don’t even have a coat on.”
Tom set Simon down and let Billy Bob out of the cruiser. Boy and dog ran to the house together, laughing and barking.
By the time Tom walked into the house and Darla could close the door against the cold, her stern expression had deteriorated into peevishness. “You’re early,” she said. “Supper won’t be ready for a while and Grady’s not home yet.”
Her husband, Grady Duncan, was a deputy and had been a friend to Tom’s father. Tom tried to see his nephew at least briefly every day, but he usually came when Grady was around to act as a buffer between him and Darla.
“I can’t stay for supper, I’m afraid.” Tom wiped his boots thoroughly on the mud rug. God forbid he should leave tracks on Darla’s shining floors.
Simon grabbed Tom’s hand and wailed, “But you promised!”
“Yeah, I know.” Tom stooped so they were face to face. “But I have to do something important at work. Hey, don’t you see enough of me? You ought to be sick and tired of me hanging around so much.”
“No!” Simon locked his arms around Tom’s neck and clung to him. “I wish you and Billy Bob could come live with us.”
Tom caught Darla’s sour look. Yeah, she’d love that.
“Listen, champ,” Tom said, gently pushing the boy away, “after I get this problem at work taken care of, you can bring your sled out to my farm and ride the biggest hill on the place. Okay?”
Simon nodded, but he was trying hard to hang onto his sulk.
“Billy Bob can stay and visit for a while.” Tom glanced up at Darla. “If that’s okay. I’ll pick him up before you go to bed.”
“Yeah!” Simon cried. He spun around and hugged Billy Bob. The dog snorted.
“Sure,” Darla said with a shrug. “He’s no trouble. Let him stay the night.”
“Naw, he likes to be at home.” The truth was, Tom hated being alone in the farmhouse where he’d grown up. The bulldog he’d inherited from his father brought a little life and noise to the place. “Don’t run him ragged, okay?” he told his nephew. “Now give me another hug before I go.”
Simon threw himself into Tom’s arms again with the ferocity he gave to every action. His father, Tom’s older brother Chris, had been that way. All out, nothing held back, wringing the last drop of sensation from every experience. Reckless, in Darla’s view. Tom smoothed down Simon’s hair, letting his hand rest for a second on the back of the boy’s head where he could feel the bony bump at the base of the skull.
As Tom got to his feet, Darla said, “Grady called and told me about y’all finding that Melungeon woman.”
In her mouth
Melungeon
sounded like a dirty word. Tom wished to God she’d try harder to hide her prejudice in front of Simon. If she had her way, the boy would never know he had Melungeon blood, but that wasn’t possible in Mason County, so she would raise him to be ashamed of that part of his history.
“Right. I need to go over the case file tonight.”
“You know,” Darla said, nodding with satisfaction, “sometimes people really do end up exactly the way they deserve to.”
He headed for the door without bothering to answer. In addition to being Melungeon, Pauline McClure had no doubt fallen short of Darla’s strict standards of conduct and accountability. Just as Tom had. He could never be around her without feeling the urge to apologize.
I’m sorry I was driving that night.
I’m sorry your daughter died.
I’m sorry I lived.
Tom sped past rolling hills dusted with snow and fields where horses stood hoof-deep in mud. He crossed into a neighboring county to get on the interstate to Northern Virginia.
In the Explorer’s passenger seat, Brandon was uncharacteristically quiet, drumming his fingers on his knees and staring out the window. Tom used the silence to work out his approach to Mary Lee McClure Scott. Against Tom’s strong objection, the sheriff had revealed every detail of the previous day’s discoveries to the Mason County lawyer who still represented Mary Lee, and the attorney had passed the information to his client. Tom was left with no surprises to provoke a reaction from her, and she’d had plenty of time to compose herself for this morning’s interview. He’d have to rely on close observation and hope that if she was hiding something he would sense it.
Eventually Brandon said, “What do you think the chances are Dr. Goddard’ll give Holly a job?”
So the girl was still on Brandon’s mind. He’d chattered nonstop about her yesterday during the drive back from Mrs. Turner’s house. “Listen, Bran, I can’t tell you what to do, but—for God’s sake, Debbie’s planning your wedding.”
Glancing at Brandon, Tom saw the young deputy’s cheeks redden. Brandon turned back to the window and let the advice go unanswered. Tom’s misgivings about putting Rachel in touch with Holly hardened into conviction. Bringing the girl to town was a bad idea, for a lot of reasons.
Gradually the countryside gave way to the urbanized landscape of Fairfax County, across the Potomac from Maryland and Washington, D.C. Office buildings rose higher, acres of townhouse developments appeared, traffic clotted and slowed. But when they left the busy roads and drove through Mary Lee’s McLean neighborhood, Tom felt as if he were back on the rural lanes of Mason County. The illusion vanished with his first glimpse of the enormous houses among the trees. Mason County had a few wealthy residents. It didn’t have entire neighborhoods filled with mansions.
Rachel had grown up in McLean, maybe in one of these houses. For the first time, Tom wondered if the differences between them might be too great to overcome.
The Scott property was identified only by brass numbers affixed to the roadside mailbox. Tom followed the long driveway around a curve before the house came into view. Constructed of soft pink brick, designed like an overgrown French manor house complete with a tower, it sprawled in every direction. Enough space, Tom thought, to shelter twenty families.
Brandon whistled.
“Yeah,” Tom said. “Nice place.”
“Not the house.
That
.” Brandon hooked a thumb toward a sleek red Jaguar in the parking circle.
Tom was more attracted to the shiny green SUV next to the sports car. By comparison, the old Explorer looked pitiful.
As they climbed out, the front door of the house opened and a woman dressed in slacks and a sweater emerged with two small children who were bundled up against the cold. With her delicate figure, her long black hair and olive complexion, the woman had the unmistakable look of a Turner.
She halted on the steps when she caught sight of the deputies, and in a move that looked instinctive, pulled the children to her as if protecting them from a threat.
“Good morning,” Tom called. When he reached the bottom of the steps and saw her up close, he realized Mary Lee wasn’t as beautiful as her mother had been. Still, he doubted many men could pass her without sneaking a second glance. “I’m Tom Bridger. We talked on the phone. This is Deputy Connelly.”
Tom smiled at the children, and they rewarded his attention with gap-toothed grins. The boy and girl looked the same age, around four. Twins, probably. The Turner traits showed through strongly in yet another generation—black hair, blue eyes, and attractive, fine-boned faces that bore an unmistakable resemblance to Mary Lee.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” she said, her voice toneless. “Mark and Lisa are just leaving for a friend’s birthday party.”
“Pizza for lunch!” the boy announced. When Tom laughed, both children giggled.
The door opened again and a Hispanic woman rushed out, tugging on a coat over jeans and a sweater. Mary Lee pulled a ring of keys from a pocket and dropped them into the other woman’s hand. “Make sure they’re both buckled in properly. And don’t let them eat too much cake.”
“Yes, ma’am. I take best care.” The woman steered the kids toward the SUV.
“Please come in,” Mary Lee said to Tom and Brandon.
They trailed her across an expansive foyer, their boots slapping the black and gold marble floor, and entered the biggest living room Tom had ever seen. A grand piano at one end, French doors leading to a patio at the other end, three formal seating areas in between—how did a family with young kids do any ordinary living in this showplace?
Mary Lee led them to two yellow sofas that faced each other in front of a carved marble fireplace. Tom and Brandon waited for an invitation to sit, but none came. Turning her wedding ring around and around on her finger, Mary Lee stared into space as if she were not quite present, not fully aware of the two men in the room.
“Are you all right?” Tom asked.
She started and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m not functioning very well today. Please make yourselves comfortable. I’ll bring in some coffee.”
“Thank you, but—”
“I’ll only be a minute,” she said on her way out.
Tom figured this would be his only chance to snoop, so he’d better take advantage of it while it lasted. He headed across the oriental carpet toward a table covered with photos in silver frames. No pictures of Mary Lee’s parents. Her children appeared in candid snapshots, but the largest photo was a formal portrait of Mary Lee, her son and daughter, and a man Tom assumed was her husband. From his weathered face and gray-streaked dark hair, Tom estimated he was at least twenty years Mary Lee’s senior.
Brandon came up beside Tom. “She married an older guy, like her mom did.”
Tom heard Mary Lee’s footsteps in the foyer. “Shh.”
A second later she appeared, carrying a silver tray. Her gaze flicked from the deputies to the photos they’d been examining, but she said nothing.
Tom and Brandon sat on one sofa while Mary Lee sat across from them. She insisted they remove their wool uniform jackets, offered to light a fire, dispensed coffee according to their preferences, but she never allowed her eyes to meet theirs.
Tom sipped and swallowed before he asked, “Is your husband at home?”
“No. He’s out of town on business. I’d rather wait till he gets back to make arrangements.” Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked rapidly. Her blue irises were ringed with dark gray.
“You have plenty of time. I’m afraid your mother’s remains won’t be released for a while yet.”
“How are you going to investigate something that happened so long ago?” Mary Lee twisted her wedding ring and frowned at some point beyond Tom’s head. “Doesn’t it get more difficult as time goes by?”
“Difficult, but not impossible.” Tom placed his cup on the tray and pulled a notebook and pen from his shirt pocket. “You’ve had a long time to think about what might have happened to your mother—”
“I don’t think about it.” Instantly she seemed to regret her harsh tone. Squeezing her eyes shut, she drew a shuddering breath. Tom waited. When she spoke again her voice was quiet. “I
try
not to think about it. It’s always there, in the back of my mind, but I’ve made a new life, I have a husband and children. I can’t dwell on the past.”
“You want us to catch your mother’s killer, don’t you?”
“Of course.” She struggled to keep her composure, but tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. With a trembling hand, she batted them away. “Oh, God. This is going to blow up out of control. When the papers and TV find out that my mother’s skeleton— They’ll jump right on it, because of who my husband is. They’ll pry and probe—” Her voice fell to a whisper. “He’s going to hate it.”
Jesus Christ, was all this emotion generated by a fear of embarrassing her husband? Tom glanced at Brandon, who didn’t try to hide his disgust. “The press can be pretty unpleasant sometimes,” Tom said, hoping he was doing a better job of concealing his own reaction. “But we have to reopen the case, not only for your mother, but also for the other victim.”
Mary Lee’s gaze met his, darted away. “How do you know there’s even a connection between my mother and the other…person?”
“We don’t know for sure. But when we find two skeletons close together in a spot that’s inaccessible except by foot, common sense tells us to look for a connection. Was anybody visiting your mother around that time?”
“I don’t think so. I can’t imagine who it could be.”
“Where were you at the time your mother disappeared?” Late the night before, Tom had read summations of his father’s talks with Mary Lee, but he wanted to hear the answer in her own words.
“I’d already left for college in California.”
“Did you spend the summer at home?”
“No. I was with a tour in Europe. I went home for a few days before I left again.”
“You didn’t spend much time with your mother, did you?”
“It didn’t matter. We were close. We talked on the phone all the time.” Tears sprang up in her eyes again. “I loved her very much.”
“How did you feel about being sent to boarding school in Connecticut after your father died? You were, what, twelve?”
Tom expected at least a spark of anger, but she seemed to take his inference in stride. “I didn’t have any simmering resentment toward my mother. She sent me away to protect me.”
“From what?”
“From—” She caught herself, seemed to pull back from a perilous subject. After a second she went on, “Life at home wasn’t exactly peaceful after my father died.”
“How so?”
“I’m sure you know my father’s will was challenged.” Her voice betrayed a slight edge of impatience.
Tom wrote
Fight over will
on his notepad. “After your mother disappeared, the McClures tried to keep you from inheriting, right?”
“No one inherited anything for seven years, until she was declared dead. I had a trust fund left by my father, so I would have been very well-off even if I hadn’t inherited from my mother.”
If she was trying to convince him she had no motive to kill her mother, Tom wasn’t impressed. Plenty of people who had money would kill to get more.
“Do you think any of the McClures hated your mother enough to want her dead?”
A slight tremor ran through her body. “Please don’t ask me to accuse someone of murder.”
“But would you say the McClures hated your mother?”
“Not all of them. Robert was the one who tried to break my father’s will. Ed—my father’s youngest brother—was very good to my mother. He…” She seemed to search for the right words. “…befriended her.”
“Oh? Was your mother friendly with Ed McClure’s wife, too?”
Mary Lee’s gaze jumped to his for a second, then fastened on the silver coffee pot between them. She moistened her lips before answering. “All I know is that my mother and Ed McClure were friends. They had things in common.”
“Such as?”
“A love of nature. A way of looking at the world. I can’t tell you anything more.”
Tom scribbled
P affair w/ Ed Mc?
in his notebook, then moved on. “What kind of work did Troy Shackleford and Rudy O’Dell do for your mother?”
“Mr. O’Dell did yard work and little chores. Mr. Shackleford did electrical work and plumbing. They weren’t full-time employees.”
“Did she ever quarrel with either of them?”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told your father. I can’t imagine any reason why they’d harm her.”
Tom wrote in his notebook:
Background P/Sh/O’D—how personal?
He moved on to another subject. “Will you be coming to Mason County anytime soon?”
“Why would I?”
The cool question stopped him for a second. “To see your grandmother. Your other relatives. They’ve all suffered a loss.”
“I doubt I could be any comfort to them.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
She shrugged. “I send Christmas cards. If they ever need anything, all they have to do is let me know.”
Sometime recently, he’d bet, Mrs. Turner had let Mary Lee know she needed the big new refrigerator and range that looked so out of place in her tiny kitchen. “Why would your grandmother tell me she never sees you or hears from you?”
Mary Lee showed no surprise at the question. “It’s true she doesn’t see me. I haven’t been back to Mason County since my mother disappeared.”
“She told me she didn’t even know where you were living.”
A faint humorless smile touched her lips, disappeared. “My grandmother believes the less she shares with outsiders, the better. She takes being Melungeon very seriously, and she thinks it makes us vulnerable. But of course it means nothing in today’s world.”
“Maybe not in the world outside the mountains. Believe me, it still means something in Mason County.”
This brought a sharp look from her, full of defiant anger and outraged superiority. “Thank you for correcting me,” she said, her voice as cold as the winter day.