Dark Truth (2 page)

Nina tossed her bag into the backseat of the rented Trailblazer that was waiting for her at the airport, then studied the directions her stepbrother, Kyle Stillman, had given her over the phone when he called on Sunday to let her know that his mother—her late father’s wife—had passed away.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to be notified,” he’d said somewhat stiffly. Understandable. Nina hadn’t been in close contact with Kyle or his mother, Olivia Madden, in years.

“Yes, of course I’d want to know,” she’d assured Kyle. “I appreciate your thinking of me. And of course, I’ll be at the funeral. It will be good to see you again.”

“You, too, Nina.” Kyle relaxed and lowered the shield of attitude with which he’d started off the conversation. “I’m glad you’re going to be here. Do you think you’ll be able to stay for a few days?”

“I’m not sure.” Curious, she asked, “Why?”

“Well, there’s a lot of stuff in the house that needs to be dealt with.”

“Nothing I want, Kyle,” she quickly assured him.

“Well, don’t be too hasty. For one thing, before Mom died, she told me that she had some things she’d been meaning to send to you, but never got around to it. She made me promise to get them to you.”

“What sort of things?”

“Some things that belonged to you, some to your father. Your things you can just take and sort through later if you like, or throw away now, if you prefer. But I don’t want to be put in the position where I’m throwing away someone else’s belongings. I was hoping you’d be around long enough to go through his stuff.”

“I don’t need to go through it. Toss it all out. There’s nothing of my father’s I would want.”

“Well, that’s fine, Nina, except that some of his things—and yours, for that matter—are boxed up in the basement, where some of Mom’s things are. Which means someone has to go through the boxes to determine whose things are in which.” He paused, then added, “I could use a hand sorting through what belongs to whom.”

“You’re absolutely right, Kyle. You have enough on your plate right now. I’ll see if I can swing a few days off, at least long enough to clear out Dad’s things.” She tapped the fingers of her right hand on her desktop. “It never occurred to me that any of my things would still be in that house. And frankly, I’d assumed Olivia had tossed every trace of my father a long time ago.”

“You’ll be surprised, then, to see just how much of your father is still in this house. You, too, Nina.”

Swell, she’d thought then. Just . . . swell.

Nina read through the directions one more time, then tucked them into the top of her handbag next to her cell phone. She’d made reservations in Stone River at the Cloisters, a motel just outside of town, and if she hurried, she’d beat the rush-hour traffic. Not by much, she conceded as she followed the signs for I-95 and eyed the number of cars already vying for space on the interstate. Well, she’d only be on it briefly. She’d be taking the Bay Bridge across the Chesapeake, then she’d opt for one of the less traveled roads once she got onto the eastern shore. If there were still any less traveled roads, ones that she could find. It had been years since Nina had left Maryland. At the time, she figured she’d never be back. If Kyle hadn’t called her, she probably wouldn’t have returned at all.

Not quite true, she reminded herself. Regan Landry lived about twenty-five minutes from Stone River, and whether Olivia had passed away last weekend or not, Nina most likely would have been making this trip soon enough. Though visiting Regan didn’t cause the lump of anxiety she’d felt the minute she realized she’d be returning to Stone River and the house she’d lived in all those years ago.

She had no interest in looking through any of her father’s belongings. She could barely stomach the thought of touching them.

And what of hers, if anything, could she have left behind that could possibly have a place in the life she’d made for herself far away from Stone River?

T
wo

“This was a soul that knew sorrow.” The priest addressed the small gathering of mourners from the pulpit. “This was a heart that knew heartbreak. But the soul never surrendered, and the heart had faith enough to heal. Olivia never gave in to the sadness, and never permitted the pain to put out the light of her beautiful being.”

Nina shifted uneasily in her seat. She hoped the priest wasn’t going with this where she thought he was going.

“Olivia was a gallant soul, a generous soul. She was quick to offer a helping hand to those less fortunate than she, quick to offer a shoulder to cry on to the lonely, to the betrayed, to the abandoned. Because she herself knew what it was like to be lonely, to be abandoned, to be betrayed . . .”

Nina stared at the back of the head of the woman who sat directly in front of her. If she looked anywhere else, she’d see the others staring at her, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that today.

“. . . and earned her a place in heaven. To you, Olivia,” the priest turned to address the closed coffin, “we say, Godspeed. For you, we pray, and we ask God our heavenly Father to give you the peace in death you could not find in life.”

There was some restless shuffling behind her, and several weighty sighs from the end of her row, but Nina’s eyes never wavered. When she’d entered the church, she’d seen Olivia’s sister, Roseanne, directing her husband, three grown children, and their spouses into the pew behind the one in which Nina sat. Roseanne, who’d never seemed to care much for Nina’s father before he was arrested, had made it plain by her loud, exasperated sighs that she and her family—or anyone other than Nina—should have been sitting in the pew directly behind Kyle and his wife, Marcie, their two children, and Marcie’s parents. Nina wished she had the nerve to turn around and tell Roseanne that the seating arrangement hadn’t been her doing. Kyle had led her up the aisle and guided her into the pew. Moments later she was joined by several of his cousins whom she’d never met before, and who, she assumed—judging by their warm smiles—had no idea who she was.

Nina bit the inside of her lower lip and tried to ignore the whispers behind her. She’d been uncomfortable from the moment she arrived and realized the sedan she’d parked next to in the lot carried several once-familiar faces. She recognized two members of St. Ansel’s faculty in the backseat, though she could not recall their names. She’d smiled weakly when she’d met the eyes of the sedan’s driver, Professor Overbeck, who’d been an up-and-comer in the American lit department. She tried to remember something her father had said about him back then, but couldn’t quite recall what it had been. Something about Overbeck having his eye on the chair that her father occupied. She wondered if he ever attained it. And wasn’t that Professor Toomey—Jacqueline Toomey, once known on campus for her wonderful lectures on Shakespearean comedies—in the front passenger seat?

Whatever,
she shrugged. It hardly mattered now. While they all stared as she got out of the car— Overbeck had even raised a hand in a sort of startled wave—none made any effort to speak to her.

Just as well,
she thought as she’d walked briskly toward the church.
What the hell would we talk about?

So, what have you been doing with yourself since your dad’s conviction?

The gruesome nature of the murders aside, her father had brought infinite shame to the college. She wondered if they still talked about it, there at St. Ansel’s.

She knew one thing for certain. They’d all be talking about it today.

* * *

“Nina, wait up,” Kyle called to her as she started out of the driveway.

The service had ended minutes ago, but Nina had not waited to follow the coffin before slipping out of her pew and heading for the parking lot. She’d paid her respects to the woman who had once been her father’s wife, she’d prayed for her eternal happiness, and now she wanted out and away from here. She felt edgy and conspicuous and the small church had become claustrophobic after a while. She’d been grateful when Father Whelan, a longtime friend from St. Ansel’s, had finally concluded the service with his heartfelt comments to Kyle and his family and the pallbearers rose to accompany the coffin out of the church. She’d had almost a full minute to leave by the far end of the pew and slip out a side door while the priest was waiting for the altar boys. She’d gone straight to her car, hoping to escape unseen, but the buses for the parish school across the street blocked her way. The bottleneck was just about to break free when Kyle jogged toward her, calling her name.

Dammit.

“Hey, you’re not sneaking out before the luncheon, are you?” He gestured to her to roll down her driver’s side window. “And were you skipping the cemetery, too?”

“Actually, I was.” She debated which excuse to use, then decided to go with the truth. “I’m really uncomfortable here, Kyle. I know your mother’s family must have been shocked, seeing me in the church. And I don’t blame them. My father caused your mother a great deal of pain.” She smiled wryly. “As Father Whelan reminded us.”

Kyle patted her arm, which rested where the window had been. “Father Whelan was a very close friend of my mother’s. He stood by her through everything, all those years. He was a good friend, right to the end of her life. I think we have to forgive him if he lost sight of the fact that there was more to my mother than the fact that she was Stephen Madden’s widow.” Kyle squeezed her arm. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound insensitive. But it seems that that’s how my mother was known, these last years. As Stephen Madden’s widow.”

A grimace marred Kyle’s handsome face. “Why she stayed here in Stone River, why she didn’t leave and move on with her life . . .” He shook his head. “I tried to convince her to move to Delaware with Marce and me, but she did not want to leave that house. For the life of me, I’ll never understand her attachment to it. It was as if she just couldn’t let go of that part of her life.”

“Kyle, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Say you’ll come to the luncheon with us, say the hell with the rest of them. You were her stepdaughter. She cared about you.” He smiled benignly. “You were the daughter she never had.”

Nina wisely chose not to debate that particular point with him. Olivia had never given her the warm fuzzies. Most of the time, she tolerated her. No need to get into that with Kyle, though. Perhaps his memory of those years differed from hers. After all, he was already in college when Nina came to live with her father and his new family. Perhaps his mother hadn’t shared with him the animosity she’d directed toward Nina.

That was okay. He’d been gracious to her since her arrival this morning, and was going out of his way to make her feel less of a pariah. If his memory of one happy family didn’t quite match Nina’s, he was welcome to it, as far as she was concerned.

“Kyle, I appreciate your invitation, I really do. But I think it’s best that your mother’s family have this time with you and Marcie and your children.” She looked up at him. “I have an author who lives nearby. I’d planned on seeing her while I was in the area.”

“But you’re not going back to New York right away, are you? Not without coming by Mom’s house.”

“I’ll be in the area for a few days. I have a room at the Cloisters through at least tomorrow night, so I’ll be around.”

“I don’t know if I trust you not to sneak back to New York while I’m wining and dining the relatives.”

“Hey, I promised I’d help out with the house. I wouldn’t go back on that.” He’d leaned into the window, and she patted his arm.

“Good, good. There’s a lot of furniture in that house that belonged to your dad, you know? My mom moved into his house, not the other way around.”

“If there’s anything there you and Marcie can use, please feel free to take it. I don’t have room for another stick in my little apartment, so if you want anything . . .”

“I don’t know if I’ll pass that on to Marce or not. I want to think on that.” He rubbed his chin. “I hate to complicate things right now.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Oh. Of course. You’d have no way of knowing.” He laughed to cover his embarrassment. “Marcie and I are separated. She’s here today with me because, well, because of the kids, mostly. She and my mother weren’t that close. Not like you and Mom were, back then.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Kyle. Are you trying to work things out?”

He held one hand out, palm down, and wiggled it side to side.

“Touch and go,” he told her. “We’re putting that on the back burner for now. I told her I couldn’t deal with that until we got past Mom’s funeral and disposing of her things.”

“Do you have to do that all right now? Can’t you just close up the house for a while, wait until things settle down a bit, then go back and do what you have to do?”

“Well, I’d thought you’d be wanting us to get her things out of your way as soon as possible,” he said.

“I don’t understand. Your mother’s things aren’t in my way.”

“They would be if you wanted to sell the house right away.”

She stared at him, not comprehending.

“Hasn’t Mr. Wexler, the attorney, been in touch with you?” Kyle frowned. “The house belonged to your father. He never added my mother’s name to the deed. Under the terms of his will, the house was to pass to you upon her death. Didn’t you know?”

Speechless, Nina shook her head from side to side.

He dug in his pocket, and pulled out a single key. He handed it to her, saying, “That’s why I was in such a hurry to get Mom’s things out of your way. The house belongs to you now, Nina. I thought you knew. It’s all yours . . .”

T
hree

Nina found the house that Regan Landry built at the end of a long drive through a marshy area. Five years ago, when Regan purchased the plot, the entire three acres were covered with reeds and scrub pines. Now, a tall house sided with weathered-gray cedar stood a hundred feet in from the bay that it overlooked. A wooden walk led to a dock where an old boat was tied up, and a hammock swung between two posts. The boat appeared to need a paint job and the hammock looked as if it was hanging over the choppy waves of the bay. Nina parked her car at the end of the drive, which looked out over the dock and offered a wide and glorious view.

“Hey, you’re early!” Regan called from the deck at the back of the house. She rose from her chair where she’d been seated next to a small table and looped her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize . . .” Nina frowned and looked at her watch. It read one o’clock, the agreed-upon time, but apparently it was running a bit fast. She made a mental note to have it checked.

“Not to worry,” Regan assured her as she came down the two steps to ground level. “I was just reading over last night’s work.”

“Did you want to take a few minutes to finish up?”

“Don’t be silly.” Regan waved her on. “Close that car door.”

Regan greeted her editor with a hug.

“I’m so glad to see you. Did you have a hard time finding me?”

“Not at all. The directions were great.”

“Well, come on in, I have lunch all ready.” Regan took Nina by the arm. “And then we can get down to business.”

“Oh. Right. Business.” Nina smiled. “I have something in the car for you. I’ll be right back.”

Nina returned to the car and opened the trunk. She took out the large envelope she’d carried with her on the plane.

“A gift from Leo.” Nina handed the envelope to Regan.

“A gift from Leo? It can only be cover art.” She grinned and began to open it.

“What do you think?” Nina asked as Regan removed the wrapping from the poster.

“Oh, wow.” Regan’s eyes widened. “Wow. Look at that. Oh, wow . . .”

“That’s what we all said.” Nina grinned. “That’s what we were hoping you’d say, too.”

“Are you kidding? This is simply . . . awesome. It’s different from any other book jacket I’ve ever seen. It captures the book . . . Oh, I love it.” Regan looked up from the cover to Nina. “It’s perfect. Just perfect.”

“Leo will be thrilled when he hears how much you like it.”

“Well, he won’t have to wait. I’ll call him right now.” Regan picked up the poster and gestured for Nina to come along. “Let me get you something to drink while I make the call.”

Nina followed Regan into the back entry, though a small hall, and into the kitchen, which opened to a sitting room on the left. A large rectangular island topped with blue granite commanded the center of the room, and white cabinets with glass doors lined the walls. The windows along the back wall offered a sweeping view of the Chesapeake Bay, and on the floor in front of the windows stood a tall bright yellow vase filled with grasses that looked as if they’d been picked that morning from the marsh.

Regan grabbed the phone and dialed even as she chatted with Nina.

“Did you want coffee? Or something cold? I have iced tea, soft drinks—mostly diet, I’m afraid—and I have . . . Leo? It’s Regan Landry. Nina just arrived with your miraculous artwork, and I just had to call immediately and thank you for doing such an incredible job . . .”

Regan pointed to the coffeepot, opened the refrigerator door, silently asking Nina her preference. When Nina nodded in the direction of the iced tea, Regan took out the pitcher and opened a cupboard and grabbed two glasses. She poured as she chatted, and handed a glass to Nina. Thanking the art director one last time, Regan disconnected the call and returned the phone to its base.

“I’m going to have this baby framed,” Regan told Nina. “I’m hanging this one right out there in the front hallway.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad you like it. We’re planning big things for this book, you know. The jacket is just the first step toward getting this book noticed.”

Regan hunched her shoulders and appeared to shiver slightly.

“It’s a little scary for me, you know.
Fallen Angels
is the first book I wrote entirely by myself. I’ve always worked with my dad in the past.” Regan leaned on the granite counter. “I’m afraid I won’t do him justice.”

“You’re going to do just fine. The book will be wonderful. I loved the proposal. And if you have any questions, or problems, or concerns, you know I’m always there for you.”

“Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d write a great book, and someone else would edit it,” Nina told her, adding, “Okay, maybe not quite as well . . .”

Regan laughed. “Definitely not as well.”

“You’re easy to work with, Regan. There’d be fewer editors with gray hairs if everyone was as easy.” Nina sipped her iced tea. “How is the book coming along, by the way?”

“I’m a week away from sending it to you. I need one more pass through, then you may have it.” Regan toyed with the petals of the orchid that stood in a vase at the end of the counter.

“I can’t wait to read it.”

“And I can’t wait to eat.” Regan changed the subject. “I have tuna ready for the grill, which needs maybe six or seven minutes to come up to temp.”

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, Regan had the tuna on the grill while Nina put the finishing touches on the salad. Less than a half hour later, they were seated at one of the tables on the deck, eating and sipping wine, and chatting like the old friends they were.

“I still remember the first time I met you,” Regan said. “The first time I came to New York with my dad. I was twenty-five and just getting out of grad school, no idea what I wanted to do with myself, and Dad insisted that I come along with him to meet Carlos. I was totally intimidated by the whole publishing thing and didn’t want to go, but I was afraid he’d be hurt if I begged off.”

“I remember, too. Carlos was so full of himself; he loved it when his big authors came into the office. And your dad was a big author. His books were among the first at Griffin to make the major best-seller lists. He helped put Griffin on the publishing map.” Nina smiled, remembering her first few years as an assistant editor. “We were all so intimidated by your father. He was so tall and handsome and charming. All of the young editors were in awe of him.”

“What I remember most about that trip was how Carlos shrugged me off onto you. He wanted to talk to Dad, but he always treated me as if I were the biggest pain in his ass. I don’t think Dad ever saw that, though. He had to look hard to see the negative in people he cared about. And he did enjoy working with Carlos.”

Nina laughed. “He’d called me into his office before you and Josh arrived that day, and told me to take you shopping. ‘Take her to lunch, take her to Saks, take her someplace. Josh and I have work to do.’ We had a great time that day, though, in spite of our most senior editor’s annoyingly chauvinistic attitude toward you.”

“I know he was shocked after Dad died and I told him I’d only work with you.” Regan stabbed at a piece of apple in her salad. “Though he should have seen that coming. Friendship aside, you’re a terrific editor. Your input into
Fallen Angels
made a good idea even better. I can’t wait until you read it.”

“Then give me a copy of what you have, to take back with me. I don’t care if it needs work.”

“I’ll have to print a copy for you.”

“No hurry. I’ll be around for a few days.” Nina ate the last of the fish. “The tuna was fabulous. What was in the marinade?”

“Lime and garlic and a few other goodies. I’ll give you the recipe.” Regan drained her glass. “You said you’d be around for a few days?”

“My stepmother passed away over the weekend. The service was today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Were you close?”

“Not at all.” Nina frowned without realizing it. “We’ve had little contact since my father . . .” Nina paused just the slightest bit. “Since my father died years ago.”

“How old were you when you lost your dad?”

“I’d just turned twenty.”

“And your mother?”

“She died when I was fourteen. Complications from back surgery, if you can believe that. She and my father were divorced when I was five, and I lived with my mom until her death. I’d spent some vacation time with my dad every year, but I never felt I got to know him at all. He married Olivia when I was twelve, so they’d only been married for two years when I came to live with them. It was a very awkward situation.”

“They had no children together?”

“No. Olivia had a son, Kyle, from her first marriage. He’s five years older than I.” Nina placed an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “He was just enough older to always be a stranger to me. He was already in college when I came to live with my father and his mother. Though I have to say, he’s been very nice, very considerate, since I came down for the service.”

“Well, you’re family, more or less, right? With his mother gone, maybe he sees you as still being his sister. Were he and his mother close?”

“I think they were.” Nina wished she could tell Regan everything. If there’d ever been a time in her life when she wanted to confide in a friend it was now. But there was no way she was going to tell the whole sordid story. She skipped the ugly parts and went straight to the immediate problem. “Kyle told me this morning that my dad had never added Olivia’s name to the deed to the house, that Dad had left the house to me.”

“Why do I have the feeling this has not made you happy?”

“I don’t want the house. I don’t want anything from that house. As far as I’m concerned, Kyle can sell the place, contents and all, and he can keep the money.”

“That’s very generous of you.” Regan put her glass down, and studied Nina’s face.

“Not at all. His mother lived there for the past, what, twenty years or so? It was her house, not mine. It rightfully belongs to Kyle.”

“You can arrange that with the lawyer,” Regan told her.

“You’re right. I can.” Nina nodded. “And I will. I’ll just stop by tomorrow and go through whatever boxes Kyle wanted me to go through, toss out whatever belonged to my father, and then I’m free to go back home.”

“I’m sure there are some things in the house you might want. Your father’s books or papers or something, photographs . . .”

“There’s nothing.” Nina’s jaw set and her eyes narrowed. “There is nothing I want from that house. I’ll drag my dad’s stuff out to the curb so the trashmen can pick it up. Kyle can keep whatever he wants. There’s nothing there I care about.”

“Well, keep an open mind. You never know what you might find there.” Regan tugged at Nina’s arm. “Come on. Let’s take the boat out for a while, and I’ll tell you about the idea I have for the next book . . .”

Four hours later, still dressed in the sweatpants and matching sweatshirt she’d borrowed from Regan, Nina made her way back to Stone River in the rented car. She’d planned on stopping at the Cloisters to grab some dinner before heading over to the house. The key Kyle had given her earlier had all but burned a hole in her pocket.

She had called Kyle’s cell phone and left the message that she’d meet him at the house in the morning, but now was regretting having made the call. As she and Regan had buzzed along the bay that afternoon, she’d found herself dreading more and more going back into that house. Which meant she’d have to face it sooner rather than later. And there was no time like the present.

Besides, she told herself as she made a left turn onto Oak Drive, she didn’t know how she’d react to being there. She’d rather not have an audience her first time inside.

She slowed down as she approached house number one seventeen, and eased over to the curb. She sat behind the wheel of the car with the engine running and her heart racing, and stared at the house she’d lived in for fewer than five years. The smallish Tudor with its faux thatch roof and tan stucco exterior sat square in the middle of its lot. The driveway was to the right, and ended at the garage, which was styled to match the house right down to its dark brown beams and shutters. A rosebush twined over the front of the garage and spread onto the side of the house.
That would have been Olivia,
Nina thought. She’d been fond of roses.

A flash of memory: after her mother had died and her father had brought her here to live, Nina had been too numb to care about where she put her clothes or whether her room had bookshelves on which to place her books and the other precious things she’d brought with her from home. All she cared about was the fact that her beloved mother was lost to her, and she was forced to live with a man she barely knew, and his wife whom she didn’t know at all. Her father had carried her suitcases up the steps to the room she always stayed in when she visited. He’d said very little to her that day that she remembered, other than, “Put your things away now, Nina, and come downstairs. Olivia’s made dinner . . .”

The door was open, but in her grief Nina had failed to notice that the room had been freshly painted in her favorite shade of blue and the furniture all painted white, as she’d once said she’d like to do someday. A bowl of freshly cut roses stood on the table next to the bed, and their perfume scented the air. She’d thrown herself on the bed and sobbed until her father, utterly lost about what to do with her, had merely closed the door and gone downstairs. Nina had stayed facedown on the bed for hours. Even now it hurt to remember how alone she’d felt then, how abandoned . . .

She recalled the priest’s comments earlier in the day, about how Olivia had been abandoned, and Nina felt a pang. She had certainly been as guilty as her father had been on that score, and for the first time, she found herself feeling sorry for her late stepmother. It hadn’t been Olivia’s fault that she’d come into Nina’s life at the worst possible time. It wasn’t her fault that her husband had been . . . what he was.

A perpetually cheating husband, a murdering rapist.

Nina swallowed hard. If life had dealt her a few bad blows, she could barely begin to imagine how Olivia must have felt. She’d married a man she’d loved—Nina had never doubted that Olivia had loved her husband deeply—given her heart to him, and her life turned out to be a nightmare that most women could not even begin to imagine.