Behind the Shadows (13 page)

“She left a casserole.”

He started to decline, hesitated, then nodded his head.

“Sounds good,” Max said.

“What if it's all a lie?” Leigh said. “A fantasy she concocted?”

“A DNA test can prove that.”

“Can we do one privately?” she asked. “Do to her what she says she did to me? Without anyone—even her—knowing?”

He'd been playing with the same idea. “I think so. I can tell her I need more information and offer her coffee.” He paused. “You have to consider the fact it could be true. She knows we would get another test, so it doesn't make sense to lie. And a woman is dying. What if Mrs. Douglas is your genetic mother?”

She shook her head, denying the fact. She
knew
who she was. Her mother had adored her. She thought of both parents: her mother who once sang her to sleep, her father who'd tossed her up in the air as she screamed in delight.

A memory flashed for a split second, then was gone. A shiver ran down her spine.

She forced it back in her mind and walked to the kitchen. She took out a dish from the fridge and put it in the microwave.

While waiting for it to heat, she set the table, then looked at Max. He'd always had a stone face. She never knew what he was thinking. No one did.

“What if it
is
true?” she said in a broken whisper.

“She could go after the house and the trust.”

“Could she actually win?”

“Truthfully, I don't know. The will bequeathed the house and the proceeds of the trust to Ed's granddaughter, Leigh Howard, who was born June 26, 1976. The question before a judge—if it came to court—would be whether he intended it to go to his biological granddaughter, or the woman he loved and believed to be his granddaughter. I did some preliminary research this afternoon. I think it could go either way, depending on the judge.”

“But I can't be forced to give a kidney?”

“No,” he said. “And you don't have to make a decision now.”

“You'll support me whatever I decide?”

“Other than murder, yes,” he said with a slight smile.

“No murder,” she agreed.

Despite her taut answer, a familiar black cloud enveloped her. She tried to fight her way out. She knew what could happen if she didn't.

The microwave buzzed. She ignored it.

“Your grandfather asked me to look after you,” Max said. “I intend to do just that. Try not to worry.”

“I won't,” she lied, straightening her back. But maybe, just maybe, she could do something to help him.

“You need to know what's happened,” Leigh told David as the three second cousins had brunch on the patio. She'd phoned both of them and asked them to come, sans wives.

Both, she knew, could well be affected by a public court case. David's father delivered her. Seth was a public figure.

“Nonsense,” David said after she'd repeated what Max had told her last night after meeting with Kira Douglas. “Dad delivered you,” David continued. “A perfect girl, he said. A beautiful girl. I was only seven, but I remember it well. I'd always wanted a sister and you were the next thing to it.”

“Where is Uncle Michael?”

David shrugged. “Someplace in Africa. We usually don't hear from him for weeks.”

She knew David worried about his father, though they had not been that close. After he'd retired, his father joined Doctors Without Borders and was assigned to every armpit of the world. David bitterly resented the fact that his father had never had time for him when he was a boy, nor as an adult. Never went to ball games. Never took a family vacation. It was one reason the cousins—she and Seth and David—were close. None of them had a normal family life. Her father died when she was young, Michael's father was a workaholic, and Seth's had become an alcoholic after he lost his congressional bid.

“If she filed a suit, she would have to do it in Fayette County,” Seth said. “I know the judges, several of them quite well. I helped them raise money. But maybe it'll all go away when you make it clear you're not going to fold easily.”

“Max is researching the legal implications.”

“I wouldn't place all your hopes in Max,” Seth said. “He's a corporate attorney. He knows contracts and wheeling and dealing. God knows he wheeled and dealed with my great-uncle.” Resentment crept into his voice.

But then, they'd all felt that way at one time or another. Max had been Westerfield's hatchet man for as long as the three could remember. “Go to Max,” their grandfather always said when they wanted something.

“Any ideas?” she asked.

“Only a warning that Max has a stake in this,” Seth says. “That trust has been a gravy train for him.”

David glared at him. “You're saying it might be true.”

“I'm not saying that at all. I'm saying it might benefit him if he joined forces with this woman. Only a fool—or an opportunist—would think Leigh's incompetent to take care of her own money. Once that happens, he's out as trustee and control of the stock. Maybe he thought that time was coming and …”

Leigh couldn't quite comprehend what he was saying. Not Max. But then, she'd been wrong before.

“No,” she said.

“Just keep that in mind,” Seth persisted. He took out a business card and handed it to her. “This is the name of a good attorney. You might talk to him. I'll tell him you might call.”

Leigh nodded and took the card. She didn't intend to use it, but she didn't want to argue with Seth.

She looked at both of them. “Do you think I should agree to a DNA test?”

Seth shook his head. “It's a scam. It has to be.” He paused, reached out, and touched her hand. “You've told us about those nightmares. I can't even imagine what you went through during and after the accident. Even if this woman's story is true, and I don't think for a second that it is, you don't owe her anything. And I doubt any judge in Fayette would rule against you. For many reasons.”

His words solidified what she'd been thinking. “David, what do you think?”

He'd been silent during the conversation. “I'm not you,” he said slowly. “I can only tell you I simply can't believe there's any way babies could have been switched. It's just not possible.”

“But were there as many precautions thirty-two years ago as there are now?” she asked.

“Yes. The protocol has been there for decades.”

Leigh was already beginning to feel better. Maybe Max was simply being cautions. Still, the sick feeling in her stomach hadn't receded. It didn't help that she hadn't had much sleep and that what she did get had been colored with blood.

She had a riding lesson at noon. She would have to concentrate then on the horse, and nothing but the horse. Then she would call Max and tell him she'd decided to fight. She fingered the card that she'd dropped on the table and put it in her purse.

Maybe she wouldn't need it. Maybe something would happen to keep the reporter from pursuing what David said could not have happened.

14

It was after 7:00 p.m. before Kira left the office. She'd covered several meetings at city hall, along with an important city appointment, and didn't finish the last story until long after everyone else had left.

No visit to Mom tonight. She was simply too tired, and her mother, according to the nurse on duty, was sleeping.

She walked to the MARTA station. She usually drove but she'd been late this morning, and rapid transit was quicker during the morning rush hours. MARTA didn't come to a standstill like Atlanta traffic.

The platform was empty, meaning a train had just left. Sighing, she took one of the seats on the platform and looked at the newspaper she'd grabbed as she left the office. The story she'd filed at noon led the front page. She never quite got over the thrill of seeing her byline at the top of page one. She read it over and thought about follow-up stories for the next day.

Then she stood. The next train should be coming. The platform was still nearly empty. No Atlanta Braves game tonight. Apparently no other event to draw people. A signal that a train was nearing. She moved to the area next to the track.

She became aware of someone moving toward her. She probably would have noticed it sooner if she hadn't been emotionally and mentally drained. But suddenly a man was next to her, just as she heard the train coming.

Startled, she turned. Caught a glimpse of a Braves cap pulled down over a forehead and dark glasses. Then his hands came out just as the train thundered toward them.

“Hey,” a voice some distance away yelled. The man nearing her stumbled, pushing her as he did. Her legs went from under her and she started to fall toward the tracks and the oncoming train.

She frantically reached for something, but there was nothing but air.

A hand grabbed her, swung her around just as the train slowed and came to a stop.

She landed on the ground, her arm scraping the cement. She couldn't move for a moment. Her heart thundered. Her breath caught in her throat as she thought how easily she might have been lying on the train tracks.

Several people gathered around her, including her Good Samaritan. “You okay?” he asked.

She sat up. Looked at him. He was an older man, bulky in a blue work shirt and pants. “You okay, ma'am?” he asked again.

She nodded, tried to breathe normally. “Thanks … to you. Did you see what happened?”

“Looked like someone was in too big a hurry. Running for the train. I saw him collide with you. I guess he panicked and ran off.”

Blood ran down her arm. The fall had scraped a portion of skin from her arm.

“Thank you,” she said. “You saved my life.”

He looked uncomfortable. “Just glad you're okay. But I think we should call nine-one-one. Have them look at that arm.”

The last thing she needed now was hours spent with the police. Long explanations. “No. You said it was an accident. And I'm not badly hurt.”

Her Samaritan helped her stand and led her back to a seat. “I'll wait with you for the next train,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said again. She wanted to say it a hundred times. Her hand and wrist were wet now with blood. She used some tissues from her purse to stanch it. Her mind raced, even as her breathing slowed. “Who are you? You were so quick.”

“Vietnam, ma'am. You learn to react fast. I ain't never forgot it. I work as a security guard at the Omni.”

“I'm Kira Douglas,” she said. “I work for the
Observer
. Can I get your name?”

“No, ma'am. I mean I don't want no thanks or nothing in the newspapers. Didn't do anything but grab your hand.”'

“You could have gone down with me.”

“Didn't happen,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked around, found her purse, picked it up, and gave it to her.

The platform started filling again. Not crowds, just one or two people at a time. They glanced at her curiously, their eyes falling to the bloodied blouse, then looked away.

Another train came to a stop. Her new friend gave her a hand up and steadied her. Together, they stepped inside the car.

“Are you going this way?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you see what the guy looked like?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He moved too fast, and his face was partially covered by that cap. Probably about five feet eight inches or so. Thin. That's it.”

Five stops later, she stepped out. “I'll come with you,” he said.

“Not necessary,” she said. “I live right around the corner.”

He nodded.

“Isn't there some way I could thank you? Not just words …”

“Words are nice, miss. Just don't get too close to the edge again.”

“Not to worry about that,” she replied as she stepped off.

She'd parked at the MARTA station. Warily, she found her car and unlocked it. In minutes she was home. She went inside and leaned against the wall.

And shook. Quick mental snapshots of the fall … the train approaching …

She tried to recall the man who bumped her. Or had he pushed her? And if so, why?

Remember!
But it was so quick. Blurred.

She double-checked the lock, then went to the bathroom, cleaned the wound on her arm, and swathed it in bandages. Then she poured herself a large glass of wine and ran steaming water in the tub with an extra dose of soothing bath oil. She took her cordless phone from the cradle and placed it beside the tub.

When the tub was full, she sank into it, protecting her arm, but relishing the heat of the water. She felt some of the tension ebbing away. She closed her eyes. Her mother's wan face floated in her mind along with Max's angry one and Leigh's bewildered one.

Had she done everything wrong? Had she ruined her mother's chances? That haunted her more than her own mishap.

The collision on the MARTA platform must have been an accident, nothing more. Someone in too much of a hurry. She probably should have reported it, but she was exhausted and didn't want to spend hours trying to explain the encounter to the police.

She glanced at the book on the tub's edge. Part of her wanted to pick it up and escape to some other world. The other part thought it would just take too much effort. She was far too emotionally and mentally drained to make sense of words.

Her eyes closed. Just for a minute.

She jerked awake when the phone rang. For a few seconds, panic played havoc with her thinking processes. Her hand trembling, she reached for the phone.

“We have a potential donor,” her mother's physician said. “We need to do some more tests, but I'm hopeful.”

“When?”

“It's on its way from Charlotte,” he said. “It should be here in an hour.”

Exhilaration replaced exhaustion. Adrenaline filled her as she got out of the tub, threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt, and tore out the door. She was eight blocks away before she realized she hadn't locked the door. Well, hell's bells, her mother was more important. Why would a burglar pick this particular day to invade her house?