A Pedigree to Die For (23 page)

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Authors: Laurien Berenson

Tags: #Suspense

BOOK: A Pedigree to Die For
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“Fine.” Frank walked over to the refrigerator and helped himself to a cold soda. “So now what?”
“What do you mean?”
“She's our father's sister, but you're mad, so okay. Are you planning never to see her again, or what?”
“Of course not. . .” I stopped, confused.
Frank let me think about that for a moment. “This meeting wasn't my idea,” he said finally. “It was hers. I got the feeling she wanted to call you herself, but she was afraid.”
Aunt Peg had wanted Frank and called me. Rose wanted me and called Frank. I suppose there was a circuitous logic in that somewhere.
“Turnbull women aren't afraid of anything,” I said.
“Except maybe rejection from someone they really care about.”
Well, that hit me just about where he figured it would. I pulled in a breath and let out a sigh as Davey came running into the kitchen. Somewhere he'd managed to lose his sneakers, and his new airplane had a bent tail. Neither fact seemed to concern him in the slightest.
“I want to go to the beach!” he announced.
“Can't,” I said, scooping him up. “We're going to go see Aunt Rose and meet the man she's going to marry.”
“Holy cow!” said Davey.
I couldn't have put it better myself.
Twenty-four
Frank lived on the second floor of a big old Victorian house that had been subdivided into four apartments. The rooms weren't large, but they were beautifully crafted, with carved moldings, bay windows, and a view of Long Island Sound, only a few blocks away. He paid for part of his rent in cash and the rest in odd jobs: painting, mowing, helping to keep the place up. The owner was an elderly woman who otherwise would have had to hire someone to do the work, so the arrangement suited both of them.
Aunt Rose and her fiance, Peter Donovan, were already at the apartment when we arrived. I supposed that said something about how certain Frank had been of his persuasive powers.
Rose performed the introductions, and there was an awkward moment while we all tried to figure out where to sit. Obviously the money my brother saved in rent had not been applied to the purchase of furniture. Davey ended up on a window seat, and Frank on a stool he'd dragged in from the kitchen. Finally we were all settled.
“Melanie, I want to apologize for my behavior the last time we were together,” Aunt Rose said as soon as we were seated. “I have no excuse except to say that there's been so much turmoil in my life recently, it's obvious I wasn't thinking clearly. I do hope you'll forgive me.”
“I'll think about it,” I said and got a glare from Frank, which I returned in full measure. Aunt Rose displaying humility? That had to be a first. And knowing our family, there was probably a catch.
Aunt Rose nodded, not satisfied but willing to let it go for the moment. “Now the other reason I wanted us to get together today was so that you could have a chance to get to know Peter. He and I are in the process of finalizing our plans. There will be a small wedding ceremony in the chapel at Divine Mercy on September thirtieth. Of course we hope you can all come.”
“So soon?”
“Melanie, what possible reason would there be to wait?”
I didn't have an answer for that. Since opening my mouth wasn't helping matters any, I decided to keep it shut for a while. As Frank and Peter began to sound each other out and Davey climbed up into Rose's lap, I studied the man my aunt had left the convent for. But as soon as the thought presented itself, I knew that Rose would have corrected me. She'd left the convent for herself; Peter was just the icing on the cake.
He was about her age, give or take a few years, with thinning gray-brown hair that receded sharply at the temples. I wouldn't have called him handsome, but he had a very comfortable face. When Davey was rude enough to stare openly, he beckoned, then patted his own lap.
“Come here, son. Why don't you climb over here and check and see what I've got in my pockets?”
Davey considered the offer. “I'm not your son,” he said finally.
Peter Donovan smiled. “No, but you're going to be my nephew.”
“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
Davey inched closer across the space that separated them. “How come?”
Nothing like four-year-old candor to get right to the heart of the matter. “Davey, Father Donovan . . .” I stopped, looking for guidance. “Mr. Donovan?”
“Mr. Donovan is fine,” he told me. “Uncle Peter's even better.”
“Honey,” I said to Davey. “Uncle Peter was a priest.” I hoped that might put an end to the matter, but of course it didn't.
“So why didn't you have any children?”
“I had a whole congregation full of them,” Peter said, patting his pockets. “But I wasn't married, so I couldn't have any of my own.”
Davey watched in fascination as Peter withdrew a cherry lollipop from inside his jacket. “But I bet I probably have a pretty good idea of what kids like. Now would you like to have this?”
“Yes, please,” Davey said firmly.
At least he'd remembered to say please. I held onto that thought as Davey snatched the lollipop out of Peter's hand, ripped off the paper, and retreated to the window seat with his prize.
“You're a hit,” I told Peter, and his smile was genuine.
“I like kids. They're usually pretty direct about how they feel. I like that, so I'm going to try some directness myself.”
Frank and I shared a glance, wondering what was coming.
“I love your Aunt Rose,” said Peter. “Now as I'm sure you can see, neither one of us is as young as we used to be. We saw what we wanted, and we're going to go after it. I hope you approve of that. If you don't, I hope you keep your objections to yourself. We're not hurting anybody, and we're making each other happy.”
He paused to drape an arm around Rose's shoulder fondly. “It's great if you can share in that happiness with us. If not, don't rain on our parade.”
Well, that laid it on the line. By the time the sermon was finished, I was having trouble keeping a straight face. Even Aunt Rose was looking a bit nonplused. Maybe she hadn't known until that moment just how well she'd chosen.
“Jesus!” Frank said under his breath, then we all were laughing together.
I stood up, went over, and gave Peter a hug. “Welcome to the family. I can see it's going to be interesting having you around.”
“Around,” Aunt Rose clarified, “but hardly underfoot. Peter's been offered a teaching post at Connecticut College. We'll be moving to New London before the start of the new fall term.”
Rose gave her fiancé's arm a squeeze. She was glowing, she was so proud. And of course that had to ease the financial worries as well.
“I think this calls for a celebration,” Frank said, rising. “I don't have any champagne. Will wine do?”
We decided it would.
“Beer,” said Davey. “That's what I like to drink.”
Peter had the startled look of a man who's just discovered he doesn't know children nearly as well as he thought he did. Rose merely lifted a complacent brow.
“It's a long story,” I told them.
“You'll have grape juice,” Frank said to Davey, and the two of them headed off to the kitchen to negotiate.
When they were gone, I turned to Aunt Rose. “Would you answer a question for me?”
“I'll try.”
“Why do you and Aunt Peg hate each other so much?”
She was surprised by the question, I could tell. But that didn't hurt her ability to block and parry. “Hate is a very strong word—”
“Call it what you will,” I interrupted. “But as someone who's gotten caught in the cross fire, I think I deserve to know.”
Rose was wavering. It was Peter who tipped the balance. “I think I'll go join the men in the kitchen,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on Rose's cheek. “Take all the time you need.”
Both of us watched him leave. “He's a special man,” I said.
Rose nodded. “I'm very lucky. Blessed, in fact. So maybe it is time to put all this other unpleasantness behind us once and for all. Peg and I first met under what I would not have called the best of circumstances.”
“Was this when she was engaged to Uncle Max?”
“Yes,” said Rose, then dropped the bombshell. “And pregnant.”
Pregnant
? I'd never had a cousin, never even heard of one.
“In those days what they were doing was called living in sin. I'm afraid I was a bit rigid in my thinking then, as the young often are.”
“But what happened . . .”
“She lost the baby in childbirth,” Rose said quietly. “And with it her ability to have any other children. I said some things then that I never should have. My only excuse is youth, and perhaps an overabundance of religious zeal. I told her that what had happened was a sign of God's displeasure. His revenge, if you will, for the immoral way she had conducted herself.”
No wonder mayhem ensued every time these women were in the same room. If words were daggers, they'd have killed each other long since.
“Peg thinks you were jealous of her,” I said.
“Perhaps I was, a little. I do know I didn't think she was good enough for Max. Of course I've grown up since then. I've even made some efforts at rapprochement. But Peg is a hard woman.”
“So are you.”
Rose gave me a mild look. “Need I say it runs in the family?”
I swallowed heavily, remembering the way I'd put her off earlier. There were enough rifts in the Turnbull family without my adding to them. I moved over and sat next to her on the couch.
“I'm outspoken,” she said firmly. “It's the way I am. Peg hasn't forgiven me after all these years. If you have the same capacity for carrying a grudge, please bear in mind I'm not getting any younger.”
“All right,” I said, laughing. “I forgive you.”
“That's better.” She sat up and looked around. “Now didn't someone promise me some wine?”
 
 
We talked the rest of the afternoon away, then all went out and took a walk around the beach at Todd's Point. Frank ordered Chinese food for dinner, and the evening's entertainment evolved into a wicked game of Charades. Davey was on my team. His enactment of
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
was the hit of the evening.
If only the rest of my life could go as smoothly. The next morning the first thing I did was call Crawford Langley. No one answered, and I didn't leave a message on the machine. Aunt Peg had told me that this was a big weekend—four prestigious dog shows in a row, culminating in Westchester on Sunday. Everyone who was anyone would be there.
The Friday show was in Tarrytown. I decided to drop Davey at camp, then drive over and see if I could talk to Crawford in person. It was a good idea in theory, except that as soon as I got to camp, Emily grabbed me to sub.
After camp we had a birthday present to shop for. Joey Brickman was turning five, and his mother had planned a late afternoon party including a movie with pizza and cake afterward. I tried Crawford again before taking Davey to the party, but he wasn't back yet.
I suppose I could have gone home and tried again after dropping Davey off, but to tell the truth, I just didn't feel like it. Alice Brickman expected me back at seven-thirty. Until then I was on my own, with nothing planned and nowhere I had to be. It was a beautiful late summer evening—much too nice to be indoors. I decided to take a drive.
Ever since I got my license as a teenager, I've loved to get in the car and just go. The experience is part escape, part pacifier. I can make plans, daydream, or simply drift. I never start with a destination in mind. Sometimes I drive in a big circle and don't go anywhere at all. And sometimes my subconscious takes over and pilots me exactly where it wants to go.
At least that was the only way I could explain how it was that I happened to find myself in Redding.
Once I was there, it was pretty obvious what I was going to do next. If I'd had a phone in my car, I might have called and announced myself. But I didn't; so instead I simply drove up Sam's driveway, parked my car, walked up to his front door, and made a fool of myself.
It didn't start out that way. I knocked and Sam answered the door. The jeans, unfortunately, were gone. Instead he was wearing twill slacks and a chambray shirt the same color as his eyes. I wondered if he'd shown one of his Poodles over in Tarrytown earlier and figured eventually I'd get around to asking. For the moment, I was happy just to stand there and smile.
“Melanie, hi.” His gaze darted back over his shoulder, then returned. “What a surprise.”
“I was in the neighborhood,” I said brightly. “I hope this isn't a bad time?”
There was just the slightest moment of hesitation before he answered. “No, of course not. Come on in.”
I'd started to when a woman's voice came floating out of the kitchen. “Sam, where do you keep the basil?”
“Bottom drawer in the refrigerator, on the left.”
I hate it when I blush. I don't do it often, and when I do, it annoys the hell out of me. Now, in an instant, I could feel the heat coming on.
“I'm sorry,” I said, fumbling. “Obviously, you're busy—”
“No, it's all right—”
“Sam, I can't find the fresh stuff. How about dried?”
The woman I'd heard came walking out of the kitchen. She was tall and blond with drop-dead legs and the kind of knit jersey dress they sell in the Victoria's Secret catalogue.
I had a small dab of finger-paint on the front of my shirt, courtesy of camp, and was wearing shorts from L.L.Bean. Just so you get the picture.
“Susan Lewis,” said Sam. “Meet Melanie Travis.”
Susan flashed me a friendly smile and something clicked in my mind. I'd seen her before, though I had no idea where.

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