Cold Comfort (12 page)

"Two men? I guess the stalker theory's out then." She pushed her hair back and sucked her lower lip. "It just doesn't make sense. There's no money on either side of my family, nothing to get excited about."

"There's something. We just don't know what it is yet. Will you go to Mary's or are you coming with me?"

She sighed. "It's Friday, usually a busy day, and we're open until seven. I can't leave Mary to handle it alone. Maybe she can come here. With the alarm, we'll be all right, and I have a lot to do tonight. Saturday will be wild."

"No, stay with Mary. It's just for the evening."

"I have work to do. What's the alarm for if I can't stay here?"

"I'm
trying
to keep you safe. Could you just do as I ask and let me go to Charleston?"

"All right, but just for tonight."

"Thank you. I'll try to work fast. Sheesh
.
The weather's supposed to turn bad, so if I'm not back by ten, I want you to go to my place and wait there. I'll have Ray take you." He picked up the phone and punched in a number.

"Riley, you can't call him yet. It's four thirty in the morning. I don't know about this." She tried to push the phone back down, but he caught her hand in his and held it.

"You're cold. Get back to bed, and we'll talk about it later. I want to catch him before he goes out." He tucked the receiver under his jaw and rubbed her hands briefly between his own.

His gentle touch drew her. She wanted to curl into his warmth, the security of his arms. Instead, she withdrew her hands and stuffed them in her pockets. "Thanks," she said. A faint voice sounded from the phone.

Riley's eyebrows lifted. He listened, amused. "Wake up. It's Riley. I need some help, man."

After a brief pause, he went on. "Yeah, Claire. Someone is serious, and I want to check something out of town." He listened again, then said, "Right, I'll meet you at my place at nine."

He hung up. "I'll see him after I get my car. I want you to go in a little early. I don't think your friends will be back this morning, but Ray'll be sure Mary's at the shop so you won't be alone. You can have coffee at the café until she gets there."

Orders again, but they made sense, so Claire nodded, feeling her eyes close. "I'm going up to sleep for a couple of hours. I'll be a zombie this afternoon if I don't."

* * *

After she returned to bed, Riley punched in another number. "It's me. I need a ride to Charleston, West Vee Ay, and back. This morning. You free?" He listened long enough for his pilot friend to wake up and respond. "The weather's supposed to get bad tonight. Can we beat it?" He yawned, ready for a little more sleep himself. "Right. I'll be there by ten. Thanks, Jocko."

Arrangements complete, he lay back on the sofa and reviewed what he knew. She could know something someone else considered damaging, but why steal her birth certificate and go after her medical records? What would you find in the records of a healthy woman? Maybe blood type? That wouldn't necessarily tell them anything. Would there be anything about her genetic history? He didn't think so, but maybe something about her family medical history or some indication of adoption, even if she didn't know it. Must be. Nothing else fit. Convinced he was on the right track, he turned on his side and slept.

* * *

Riley retrieved the Bronco and left Claire with instructions to stay in the café until she saw Mary. He hoped to hell she'd do it. At his home on the James River, he picked up a couple of things and then went on to the Newport News-Williamsburg International Airport, where Jocko kept his planes. At the hangar, he parked next to a dirty black pickup truck with a dented fender
—
Jocko's. He saw the pilot's wiry figure on the tarmac beside a small, twin-engine Cessna. The plane was spotless, in pristine condition. "Hey, Jocko."

"Hey, good to see you, man. I thought we'd take the 310. I don't want to be flying back over those mountains in the 172 with the front chasing us." Jocko patted the sleek little aircraft. "She's got a few years on her, but she's still in first-class condition. We're ready when you are."

The flight took less than two hours. Riley watched Richmond roll by below, but he could hardly see Charlottesville through the clouds. He got an occasional glimpse of a mountain top while he listened to all the news about Jocko's family.

"Megan's already flying
—
she could solo if I'd let her. She loves it, wants to get her license and go in with me. Of course, things could change. She's only twelve." The pilot spoke of his daughters with pride. "Hear about the seven-year-old kid got her license out West a few years ago? Megan's been on me ever since she read it, but I think she's too young to have the judgment.

"Now Lacey
—
she's nine
—
all she wants is a horse. So far, she thinks flying should be left to the birds. Wanna see my girls?" He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a wallet, flipped it open to a snapshot. "I took it this fall. Megan's as tall as her mother, and Lacey's not far behind."

The photograph showed two preadolescent girls standing in front of a high-winged Cessna. Jocko rambled on while Riley marveled at how easily the wiry pilot adapted to family life. Riley hadn't thought Jocko's world had room for anything except flying, and then the ex-Navy flier, a confirmed loner, met a woman with two small girls. His restless, edgy manner disappeared and he seemed genuinely happy, content. Claire would like the Deitzes
—
not that it mattered, he told himself. Aloud he said, "I'm doing this job for a woman who owns a Christmas shop in Williamsburg. You ought to take Penny and the girls to see it
—
it's not like anything you've seen before. Kind of a wonderland. They'd love it. It's called Mistletoe."

When the tower cleared the Cessna for landing, Jocko prepared his approach into Yeager Airport at Charleston. They landed smoothly, taxied up to a small hanger, and Jocko shut off the engine. "I'll get some lunch, hang around here. She'll be ready when you get back. Just try to stay ahead of the weather."

"Right. I should be back in a few hours. If you want to go into town, rent a car. I'll cover it." He thought of Claire and shook his head. If only she knew. She'd quizzed him all morning about the cost of this little jaunt. He ended up telling her Jocko owed him a favor. True, which meant Riley didn't pay charter rates, but friendship and favors didn't preclude his paying for expenses.

Strolling up to the rental desk in the terminal, he asked for a full-sized car. An Asian woman behind the counter gave him the keys to a blue Buick.

He borrowed a phone book and sat down to find the Spencers. Fortunately Charleston, a relatively small city, didn't have too many. No Keiths, but several with the initial K. He tried K. R. Spencer first. A woman answered. Wrong one. The fourth call, to a J. K. Spencer, turned up Daniel's brother. Riley hoped someone would be home and save him a lot more searching. The man's wife answered. He told her he needed to talk with Keith concerning his brother Daniel. After a long pause, she said, "I'll give Keith your number. If he wants to talk to you, he'll call." Neither friendly nor rude. And she didn't sound surprised or curious, just cautious.

He found it odd
—
after all, Daniel Spencer died a long time ago. After a few minutes, Riley's cell phone rang. Keith Spencer agreed to meet Riley for lunch at a local restaurant. The man wasn't giving anything away over the phone. He didn't ask any questions either. Strange.

The pretty Asian rental clerk
—
Vietnamese, Riley guessed
—
pointed out the restaurant location on the map. Using her directions, he followed the highway along the Elk River into town. He found the place, a small utilitarian building off Kanwha Boulevard, on a narrow street near the Kanwha River. He turned into the parking lot and saw a rangy character with fading blond hair leaning against a silver pickup, just as they'd agreed. Keith Spencer.

Riley introduced himself and followed Spencer into the restaurant. The lunch crowd had thinned and they chose booth in the back. "I'm here about Claire Spencer, Daniel's daughter," Riley said, watching the other man's expression.

Spencer looked him over carefully. "I don't know what's going on, but you're the second fella who's been here in a week about Claire, and until then, I hadn't heard her name in at least twenty years."

What?
Surprised, Riley kept his face easy, expressionless. He believed the fellow was telling the truth, which meant even though the Spencers weren't interested in Claire, someone else was, someone who knew enough to find this man.

A weary waitress in khaki pants and a red knit shirt put two cups of coffee on the table and took their order. The menu offered breakfast from six until eleven, so she'd probably been on her feet all morning.

Riley made a quick decision about Keith Spencer and decided to level with him. "I'm working for Claire. Someone tried to kill her, and I think it has to do with her birth, or background."

Keith stared at him through wire-rimmed glasses. "
Kill
her? Are you sure? How could that have anything to do with Danny?"

Riley could see Spencer sizing him up, trying to decide if he could believe Riley's story. Riley handed him a picture of Claire and Blanche he'd taken from a frame in her house. "Her birth certificate and medical records were stolen. The only thing I can come up with is her birth. Do you know much about Daniel's marriage, or about Blanche Spencer?"

"Danny loved her," Keith said, studying Blanche's face. "She hadn't changed much over the years."

"Does Claire look like her father?" Riley hoped the question would trigger the answers he needed.

"I wouldn't know." Keith sighed and removed his glasses, rubbed his eyes.

Riley ignored the sinking feeling in his gut and waited, impassive.

After a few seconds, Spencer restored his glasses and looked Riley in the eye. "She's nothing like Danny, if that's what you want to know. But he wasn't her father. You already knew, didn't you?"

"No, but I suspected. How do you know?"

"Math. Danny's last leave ended in February, a full ten and a half months before Claire, a healthy, seven-pound baby, was born. Blanche had someone else. I always wondered if Danny found out somehow, or figured it out when she told him about the baby. He died in a single-car accident. Could have been black ice, like they said, or it could have been something else."

The woman returned with soup and sandwiches on a large tray and served them both.

The food smelled good, and Riley dug in. "Claire believes she's Daniel's child. She's never understood the estrangement between your families." He took a bite of his BLT and washed it down with coffee.

"Just as well. I'm not going to tell her differently. Not the girl's fault." Spencer stirred his soup into a gentle vortex, finally taking a spoonful of the steaming broth. "We never meant to hurt her. It's just...we always kind of thought maybe what Blanche did caused Danny to
—
Maybe he wasn't paying attention to the road like he should have been, you know?"

"Yeah, I understand," Riley said, "but maybe it wasn't that way at all. He might have known all about it. From everything Claire's told me, I think Blanche loved him." He finished his soup before continuing. "Do you know where she lived before Claire was born? Did you ever see her during her pregnancy?"

"Only at Danny's funeral. We'd planned to see more of her, but she didn't have time—said her sister was sick and she had to get back. We figured she didn't want to talk to us. Maybe ashamed." He sipped his coffee, lost in thought. "If I recall, the sister stayed with her in Virginia while Danny was in Germany. She planned to go with him, but military housing was tight, and she decided to stay here awhile longer—at least that's what she told us. I think she was in South Carolina with her family before then."

She should have been noticeably pregnant at Daniel's funeral in early November. "Didn't she discuss her pregnancy? Wasn't it obvious?"

"No. She wore a big coat, and she didn't mention it. She left right after."

"Would your parents know any more about it?"

"They died about seven years ago, within six months of each other. There's only me and my family left. Nobody close to Danny after he went away to school."

Riley thought about how it would have been back then. Seventies
—
free love and flower children? He couldn't picture the Blanche of Claire's description caught up in that. "Who else has been asking about Claire? What did you tell them?"

"Some city fellow flew in from Washington
—
three-piece suit, tassels on his shoes, enough aftershave to stink up the room. Claimed to be an insurance investigator, Joseph Applegate by name, but I didn't believe him. Said he was here about Blanche's death
—
we didn't even know she'd died. Another thing, insurance people I know always give you a business card right off. He didn't. I didn't like him, so I didn't tell him anything."

They finished their lunch in silence. Then Keith, thumbing through his wallet, paused and turned to Riley. "Claire know you're here?"

Riley nodded, picking up the check. "This is on me. I won't be charging Claire for it." He paid, left a generous tip for the tired waitress, and the two men walked out to the parking lot.