About That Man (3 page)

“Please don't let it be Frances,” she whispered with a quick heavenward glance. She didn't want anything to rock this new life she was creating for herself and Tommy.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she took her time going to the door. When she found her minister, Anna-Louise Walton, on her doorstep, a welcoming smile spread across her face. The redheaded pastor had already made a huge difference in town with her blunt talk and warm compassion. Daisy had liked her from the instant they'd met. She also liked her husband, a former foreign correspondent who had taken over the town's weekly newspaper. With his liberal editorials, Richard had already become a thorn in King's side, which had endeared him even further to Daisy.

Now, however, when Anna-Louise returned her smile with a somber look, the likely implication of this unexpected visit sank in. Apparently King, who'd been among those on the committee to select a new pastor, was even sneakier than Daisy had imagined. He'd evidently sent Anna-Louise to do his dirty work for him. No doubt his backing of a woman for the job made him feel entitled to use Anna-Louise as his personal representative in what should have been a family matter.

“Here on a mission?” she inquired tartly as she and Anna-Louise settled at the kitchen table with a pot of tea
and a plate of the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven.

“Why would you think that?” Anna-Louise asked, her expression suddenly as innocent as a lamb's.

“Am I wrong? Are you just here to pay a call on one of your flock?”

“Absolutely,” Anna-Louise said.

“A preacher shouldn't fib.”

A grin spread across the other woman's face. “Okay, I did get a call from your father a few days ago. He seemed to think you required counsel.”

“I imagine what he said was that I needed to have my head examined.”

Anna-Louise chuckled. “Words to that effect.”

“And you agree with him?”

“Actually, I'm on your side on this one,” Anna-Louise said. “Which is why I didn't rush right over. Naturally I neglected to mention my opinion to your father. No point in making his blood pressure shoot up any higher. Richard's last editorial about the need for a riverfront development plan has already sent it into dangerous territory. King spent an hour after church last Sunday trying to convince me that I needed to look closer to home when it came to saving souls. He apparently feels Richard's is in danger.”

“You're right. He wouldn't have appreciated your opinion a bit, if it disagreed with his own,” Daisy told her. “You can see that I had no choice, can't you? Tommy needs to have someone in his life that he can count on.”

“No question about that.”

“And I can give him a good home.”

“Of course you can,” Anna-Louise agreed.

Daisy's gaze narrowed at all the ready agreement. Despite what she'd said, Anna-Louise wouldn't be here now if Daisy's actions had her full blessing. “But?”

“What happens to you when he leaves?” Anna-Louise asked, her expression filled with genuine concern.

“Who says he's going to? His mother is dead. So is his father. None of the foster families worked out. Where would he go?”

“Frances found his uncle today,” the minister said quietly.

Daisy felt a cry of dismay sneaking up the back of her throat, but she managed to keep it from escaping. She forced a smile. “That's wonderful! Is he coming here?”

“Next Thursday.”

“Has he agreed to take Tommy?”

“Not exactly.”

Relief flooded through her. She was willing to seize any reprieve, however temporary. “Well, then, we'll just have to wait and see what happens, won't we?”

Anna-Louise put her hand on Daisy's. “I know how much you love children. That was evident to me from the minute I got here. And you've told me about the doctor's opinion that you'll never have children of your own. You're the best Sunday school teacher we have, as well as the best history teacher at the high school. The kids adore you. You'd be a terrific mother to Tommy, and you deserve this, Daisy, you really do, but it might not work out. I just want you to be prepared to let go.”

“God would not bring Tommy into my life and then snatch him away,” Daisy countered.

“We don't always know or understand what He plans for us,” the minister reminded her. “We just have to accept that He has our best interests at heart.”

How could losing Tommy be in her best interests? Daisy felt the sting of unshed tears at the back of her eyes. “What do you know about this uncle? He and Tommy's mother can't have been close. He didn't come for the funeral.”

“He's a cop in D.C. Beyond that, I don't know much. Frances was fairly stingy with what she considers to be confidential information. She just wanted me to prepare you.”

“Is he married?”

“I don't think so.”

“Then why would he be any better suited to care for Tommy than I am?”

“It isn't a matter of ‘better.' It's a question of family. He and Tommy are related.”

Daisy wanted to argue that a loving stranger might be better for Tommy than a bad relative, but until she met this man and knew the whole story, she had no cause to stand in judgment of him. Anna-Louise was likely to tell her she didn't have the right even then. Judgment was God's business.

And so it was, Daisy thought. But just in case He had other things on His mind besides Tommy Flanagan, she intended to look this uncle over very carefully before she relinquished Tommy to his care.

D
riving into Trinity Harbor, Walker shuddered. It was exactly the way his boss had described it. Quaint. Picturesque. Charming. Slightly faded, like a fancy dress left hanging in the closet too long, but with a hint of past glories. Lawns were well-tended. There were churches every few blocks, some of them clearly quite old. And every now and again there was a glimpse of the Potomac, shimmering in the bright sunlight.

He hated places like this. Give him a little grit and grime any day. Give him bustling sidewalks and clogged highways. Give him skyscrapers and run-down neighborhoods. He knew the rules of survival in a city like D.C. He liked the anonymity. He didn't know beans about getting along in a town where everybody knew your name and your business.

He followed the directions Frances Jackson had given him, drove on through the town of Trinity Harbor, then past open farmland just sprouting green, through the county seat in Montross until he came to what looked more like a remodeled school building than a government agency. The discreet sign on the front door proved otherwise. Westmoreland County Social Services, the sign stated in neat letters.

Once he'd turned off the engine, he sat perfectly still, unsure whether he could go through with this. It wasn't just the thought of having Beth's death confirmed in black and white in the form of a death certificate. It was all the rest—his nephew, the expectations, and the regrets that he hadn't found his sister before any of this had happened.

Because of all that, Walker had taken his own sweet time leaving home this morning. He'd stopped by the station, had a chat with Andy, looked through some paperwork, then, finally, when he could delay no longer, he'd hit the road. He'd managed to delay his arrival till midafternoon—much later, no doubt, than the imperious Mrs. Jackson had been expecting him. He braced himself for her displeasure along with everything else, took a deep breath and headed for the door.

Inside, he discovered that Frances Jackson was nothing at all like some of the social workers he'd come across in D.C., dedicated, but wearied by their caseloads. Nor did she fit the image he'd conjured up on the phone—a starchy woman, mid-fifties with a perpetually down-turned mouth. No, indeed, Frances Jackson was nothing like that.

Sixty if she was a day, she had unrepentantly white hair, round cheeks and rounder hips, and eyes that twinkled behind rimless glasses. She reminded him of picture book illustrations of Mrs. Claus. He smiled despite himself, felt himself finally beginning to relax. He could get around a woman like this. He'd be out of here and back to D.C. in no time. Alone.

“You're late,” she said briskly, but without censure. “Let's go.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

Once again, Walker was forced to reassess the woman. He'd allowed himself to forget for just an instant that appearances could be deceiving. Right now he had a panicky feeling that she intended to take him straight to wherever this nephew of his was, introduce them, then abandon them to fend for themselves, her duty done. He was nowhere near ready for that. He would
never
be ready for that.

“Whoa,” he said, standing stock-still in the middle of the corridor. “Where's the fire?”

“It's almost dinnertime in these parts and I'm starved, Detective. I missed lunch waiting for you. We can talk over food.” She gave him a thorough once-over. “Besides, next to music, I hear it's the best thing for soothing a savage beast.”

He chuckled, caught off-guard by the display of humor. “And that would be me?”

“You do pride yourself on it, don't you? I could tell that when we talked on the phone.”

“In my line of work, it's helpful,” he said, feeling defensive about his initial display of rudeness when she'd called.

“I'm sure it is,” she agreed. “But down here we like to think we're more civilized.”

Outside, she gestured toward her car, a brand-new Mustang convertible that surprised him yet again. “I'll drive,” she said.

He regarded the car with envy. “I'll be even more agreeable if you'll let me.”

“Because you don't trust a woman behind the wheel?”

He heard the unmistakable challenge in her voice, but he didn't need to lie. “Because I've been dying to test-
drive one of these babies and haven't had the chance,” he countered with absolute honesty.

She tossed him the keys. “In that case, it's all yours, Detective.”

She directed him back onto the highway and into town, then down a side street past the stately old courthouse with its square of grass in front to the Inn at Montross. Tucker regarded the historic facade and little flower-lined brick patio doubtfully. Places like this gave him hives.

“Isn't there someplace we can get a basic burger and some fries?”

“I'll refrain from commenting on your deplorable eating habits,” Mrs. Jackson said. “I'm relatively certain you'll find something on the menu here that will do. And they've done me a favor by keeping the kitchen open past their usual lunch hour.”

Walker remained skeptical as they climbed the brick steps into the white building that dated back to the 1600s, according to a sign by the front door. He stepped into the wide foyer, glanced around at the antiques and the open, airy rooms and began to revise his opinion. The place had big-city class, he'd give it that.

Without waiting for a hostess, Mrs. Jackson led the way onto a closed-in front porch and settled at a table by an open window. “Sit down, Detective. I promise you the chef can offer more than tea sandwiches.”

Duly chastised, Walker sat. The social worker regarded him with amusement.

“I'm sorry I couldn't offer you a fast-food place. The nearest one is miles away, and I got the distinct impression that you're in a hurry.”

“Always am.”

“Well, then, as soon as we order, we'll get right to it.”

Ten minutes later, Walker had a beer in front of him and the promise of a blackened chicken wrap sandwich that would bring tears to his eyes. When it came, Mrs. Jackson watched with amusement as it did just that.

“Too spicy for you, Detective?”

“No,” he insisted, gulping half his beer to tame the taste. “Best sandwich I ever had.” He nodded toward the piping hot potatoes accompanying it. “Best fries, too.”

“Better than a fast-food restaurant?” she inquired, eyes twinkling.

“Are you teasing me, Mrs. Jackson?”

“Just trying to make a point.”

“Which is?”

“The big city doesn't have all the advantages over us country folks.”

“No,” he agreed. “I can see that.”

She paused in eating her own sea bass bisque. “You know, Detective Ames, it hasn't escaped my notice that we've been together for a half hour or more now and you still haven't asked about Tommy.”

Walker sighed and put his sandwich down. “To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what to ask. Until you called, I didn't even know he existed.”

“You and your sister weren't close?”

Walker recalled a time when they had been. Beth had trailed him around adoringly, pleading to be allowed to play with him and his friends. He had tolerated his younger sister because no one knew better than he that they received little or no attention at home.

“She was a beautiful little girl,” he said, recalling her huge blue eyes and halo of strawberry blond curls that had
later darkened to a golden hue. “She was always laughing. Then she got involved with Ryan Flanagan, and the laughter died.”

The social worker regarded him sympathetically. “How old was she?”

“Sixteen, still a girl, really, but we couldn't stop her. My parents tried in a halfhearted way. I tried, but I was away at college and Beth was starved for attention. When Ryan asked her to run away with him, it was too much for her to resist, I guess. When our parents died, I couldn't even locate her. I had to tell her about their deaths the next time she checked in, which was three or four months later, around the time she and Flanagan got married. She called to give me the big news.”

The anger and dismay he'd felt back then was still alive in him today. “I wanted to grab her and shake some sense into her, but it was too late.”

“Was that the last time you heard from her?”

“No, she called again after he'd abandoned her. She was all alone, scared and pregnant. I wired her some money and begged her to come home. I was married by then. I told her she could stay with us until she had her baby.” He shrugged. “She said she might not even have the baby, and she never did show up. And
that
was the last time I heard from her. She was somewhere outside of Las Vegas.”

“I'm sorry,” Mrs. Jackson said. “That must have been very difficult for you.”

“It drove me nuts,” he said honestly. “Here I was, this big city cop with all sorts of investigative skills and a lot of high-tech resources at my disposal, and I couldn't even find my own sister. Turned out she was a couple of hours away and I didn't even know it.”

“You should know better than anyone that a person who wants to drop out of sight can pull it off if they're clever enough. Maybe she was making her way back to you when she ended up here. Maybe she just wanted to be back on her feet by the time she saw you. She and Tommy had been here a few years. They were doing well. She worked a variety of jobs, since much of the work around here is seasonal. She cleaned houses from time to time, waited tables, helped out in several of the shops.”

“Why not just one job?”

For an instant Mrs. Jackson looked uneasy. “I suppose it's of no consequence now, but she seemed to have this fear of getting ‘caught up in the system,' as she put it. Several people offered her full-time work, but when it came time to fill out the paperwork she balked.”

Walker uttered a curse. “That was Flanagan's paranoia at work. No Social Security number, no taxes, nobody tracking his every move. The man liked living on the fringes of society, picking up odd jobs whenever he could, always for cash. I thought Beth was smarter than that.”

“I'm sure she was. In fact, she'd been offered work right here at the Inn, and I think she'd almost convinced herself to take it. Anna-Louise—she's a minister here in town—said Beth had been talking a lot about taking that final step so she could get back in touch with her family. She must have been talking about you. It was the only clue we had that she had anyone in her life other than Tommy.”

“She didn't have to prove anything to me,” he said, though he was relieved if she'd done all of that for her own sake. And for her son's.

“Maybe she thought she did. I'm sure she knew she let you down.”

“That didn't matter,” Walker insisted. “I just wanted my baby sister to be okay.” He looked at her. “And now she's dead,” he said bitterly. “What kind of brother does that make me?”

“One who did the best he could, I suspect.”

He frowned at being let off the hook so easily. “No lectures?”

“Not my job,” she assured him. “We can't change the past, much as we might like to. I prefer to deal with the here and now.”

“Meaning Tommy?” he guessed.

She nodded. “Meaning Tommy.” She slid a snapshot across the table. “I thought you might like to see this.”

Walker hesitated before picking it up. His hand shook as he lifted it off the table. He sucked in his breath as Beth's blue eyes stared back at him. The boy had her crooked, mischievous grin, too.

“I'll bet he's a handful,” he said finally.

“Oh, he is,” Mrs. Jackson said fervently. “Not that it's much of a surprise. A boy all alone in the world has to find some way to deal with the fear. He's been better since he's been living with Daisy.”

“Daisy?”

“Daisy Spencer. The Spencers were founders of Trinity Harbor—not Daisy, of course, but her ancestors. Her daddy, King, is still the most respected man in town. The richest, too, by all accounts, though my own father disputed that with his dying breath.”

“Bad blood between the Spencers and your family?”

“More like an unending rivalry. King Spencer is the kind of man who doesn't like anybody challenging his supremacy.”

“Is his daughter the same way?”

“Not at all. Daisy is a wonderful person.”

“And she's a foster parent?”

“Not usually, no.”

“How does her husband feel about this?”

“Daisy isn't married.”

Walker was beginning to get a clear picture of the woman. A society do-gooder looking to gain a few more points.

“How exactly did Tommy end up with her?”

“She found him in her garage the other morning after he'd run away from another foster home. He's been acting out a lot since Beth died…mostly mischief, but clearly cries for help.”

“And despite that, this Daisy just decided to let him stay?”

“Daisy is a remarkable woman, as I'm sure you'll see. She knew your sister and Tommy from church. She never hesitated about taking him in.”

“Maybe we should leave things the way they are,” Walker said, trying not to flinch under Mrs. Jackson's immediate frown of disapproval. “If Tommy's been behaving since he moved in with her, maybe she's just the person to keep him on the straight and narrow, to give him whatever he needs.”

“You would turn around and leave here without even seeing the boy?” she asked. “Is that what you're saying?”

“It could be for the best,” he insisted.

“Perhaps so,” she agreed stiffly. “But I thought you were made of tougher stuff than that, Detective.”

“I'm just saying that this woman sounds like a good role model for Tommy.”

“You're his
uncle,
” she reminded him. “The only family he has left. You would deny him that sense of identity, that sense of connection, because it's inconvenient?”