Death by Inferior Design (32 page)

“No. Randy never knew who your father was, just that he was a former student of mine. After I quit at CU, Kevin and I stayed away from each other for many years. He claimed it was just a coincidence that he and Jill happened to buy a house in the neighborhood some fifteen years ago.” She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. “Kevin and I had our chance a long time ago. Despite the way it looked when you . . . saw us together, we’re simply good friends. Now
he’s
married and I’m alone. But I’m happy this way. It’s what’s best for everyone.”

“I suppose so,” I muttered. My stomach—and my thoughts—were topsy-turvy.

“Erin, you wouldn’t believe the excuses I had to make up to explain giving up my own child. We started telling people that it was
me
who was too unsound mentally to . . . to handle taking care of a child. Even though it was Randy’s fault
—Randy’s
violent behavior—all along. You can’t imagine how horrible it was.”

“It must have been,” I mumbled automatically. But all I could think of was how preposterous her whole story was. Surely the truth had to be the polar opposite of what she was now telling me; I had to be
Randy’s
daughter, and not Myra’s: the blood types proved it. Was she crazy? Had my reappearance somehow provoked her to kill my biological father?

“I hated Randy so much for forcing me to give you away. You were just a baby! You didn’t choose your parents or who you were going to live with! It was one thing to take it out on me, but I couldn’t risk his taking out his anger on you, too.”

I wanted desperately to get out of the conversation, out of this house. A matching desperation—for forgiveness—was apparent in Myra’s pleading eyes. I obliged and said, “You did the right thing, Myra. The only thing you could do.”

Myra started sobbing. She cried, “I’m so glad you understand!” She moved over to the sofa beside me, pulled me into a tight hug, and murmured, “Not a single day has gone by when I haven’t thought of you, hoped and prayed that you were all right.”

“Thanks,” I muttered hollowly.

“I’m so glad you’ve come back into my life. Whatever else Randy did to me, at least he found you and brought you back to me.”

“Yes, but . . . right now I kind of need to get going.” I needed to run from this crazy woman. “This is a work day for me, after all. . . . Christmas is coming and . . .”

“Of course.” Grabbing a tissue from her skirt pocket, she dried her eyes. In a pitiful voice, she went on. “We’re both grown women now. I’m not expecting you to fill in the gap that my husband made for me more than twentyfive years ago. You’re no longer my little girl, and you never will be.”

In a daze, I made my way to the door. Only once before had I felt this numb: when my mother had died and my body and my heart had gone on autopilot.

“Take care, Myra. I’ll be back tomorrow morning, with Steve, just as we scheduled. We’ll show you our presentation boards then.”

She was studying me with a peculiar look on her face. “Erin, I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking. I would never kill him or anyone else. It had gotten simple, our lives together, finally . . . pleasant, even. His heart condition seemed to mellow him out. Life-threatening illnesses have a way of doing that. We’d ridden out the bad times. We were as happy together as we’d ever been.”

“I’m glad,” I said impassively.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Bright and early. Or at least early. It’s looking a little cloudy these days. The weather, I mean.” God, but I couldn’t think straight; my words were coming out all chop suey.

“Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas for once,” Myra said absently. “That would be so nice. Wouldn’t it? Do you like Christmas?”

“Yes. It’s my favorite holiday.” I forced a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

My heart was pounding. At least I’d finally made it out the door. I took a couple of deep breaths and steadied myself. I glanced across the street. A white four-door Impala was parked in Carl’s driveway again. Emily’s car. Emily Blaire, whom I resembled physically.

With my head spinning, I made my way across the street. It was possible that Myra was watching me, but I wasn’t about to look back to see. There was nothing to lose at this point that hadn’t already been lost; I had to talk to Emily Blaire.

Randy and Emily could have had the fling that resulted in my birth. If so, maybe the sight of me, of her husband’s out-of-wedlock child now grown up, had pushed Myra over the edge to murder her husband.

A second possibility hit me as I reached Carl’s porch. Carl had once said that his wife was having an affair with his neighbor
again.
What if those love letters were indeed from Randy—not to his current wife, but rather to his ex-wife? Taylor, Emily’s son, could have found those letters in her house at some point and put them in Carl’s wall for some reason. And Carl might, upon their discovery, have learned that his beloved Emily and his one-time friend Randy had been lovers.

Carl could have been incapable of hiding how greatly this news had upset him. So he’d covered his reaction by
pretending
that he thought the letters were from Debbie.

I rang Carl’s doorbell.

Had Carl murdered Randy? Had the letters revealed that I was the child of his ex-wife, Emily, and his now-despised neighbor? Had he become so enraged when he learned this that he’d murdered my father?

Emily opened the door. She was wearing her coat—a chocolate-brown microfiber parka. The strap of her tan Naugahyde purse was slung over one shoulder, and her keys were in her right hand. She paled a little at the sight of me, but opened the storm door as well. “Erin. Hello. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just . . . feel a little sick to my stomach. Must have been something I ate. I’ll be fine, though. Really.”

She searched my eyes. Hers were a deep brown, just like mine. “You should take some ginger. There’s a type of ginger tea that works wonders for settling upset stomachs. I know Randy used to have some. Myra probably still has some of it in her kitchen.”

I forced a smile. “I’m feeling a bit better already. It’s nothing. Really.”

She gave a nervous glance over her shoulder but remained in the doorway, donning a smile. “I was just about to head home. Carl’s working at home today. In Debbie’s basement office. His mood’s finally improving. You can go on downstairs if you—”

I shook my head. “I was actually coming over to talk to you.”

She met my eyes, and the forced cheer seeped from her face. “I see. I guess . . . we’re overdue for a conversation, actually. I have some things to discuss with you as well.”

I heard footsteps on the walkway behind me, and quickly turned. Myra wasn’t wearing her cardigan sweater or a coat, and her breath was forming little clouds of condensation.

“Hello, Myra,” Emily said pleasantly.

“Emily.” Myra’s voice sounded ice cold, yet she asked, “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. It’s Carl who’s not doing so well. He’s paying the price for being such a hothead. I’m sure you’ve already heard this, but he managed to fracture bones in his hand and his foot. He’s right downstairs in the office, if you need to speak to him.”

“Uh, yes. Thanks. I wanted to ask him something, and . . . I didn’t realize you were here.”

Emily shifted her vision to me. “Erin, maybe you and I could go for a stroll around the pond?”

“That sounds good,” I replied. Just to the north of the neighborhood was a pond with a surrounding jogging trail.

“On second thought,” Myra said, her voice becoming shrill, “my question for Carl can wait. Let me grab my coat and I’ll come with you. Erin, I had some more ideas about the house that we should discuss right away before I forget.”

“Emily and I were just about to have a private conversation, actually, Myra.” Despite my intention to be gentle, my need to be away from her made me curt.

“Oh.” Myra’s face fell.

“I’ll stop by before I leave, though, and we can discuss your ideas then.”

“That’s okay,” she said, her voice deflated. “You’re obviously too busy for me. We’ll talk when you and Steve come tomorrow.”

“Good seeing you again, Myra,” Emily said, gracious despite Myra’s bizarre behavior. Myra hadn’t even maintained her pretense of wanting to ask Carl a question.

Myra gave Emily a long look. “Should I be welcoming you to the neighborhood? You’re not moving in with Carl again, are you?”

“No, of course not. I was simply helping him out a little. He asked me to run some errands for him and grocery shop. He’s not terribly handy around the kitchen even when all his limbs are fully functional.”

“That’s true, I suppose. That was one thing he and Randy had in common. Though I don’t need to tell
you
that.”

Another hint that it was possible that I was Randy and Emily’s child. Quite an incestuous little community of “friends.” “See you tomorrow morning, Myra,” I said.

She gave me a pinched smile. “Yes. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Feeling Myra’s eyes on me as we walked away, Emily and I headed off together toward the pond. “How did you get to know Randy and Myra?” I asked her. “I thought Carl and Debbie only moved near them five years ago.”

“They did. But I met Randy through work many years before that.” She gave me a sad smile.

“You knew one another from work? Do you write for
Denver Lifestyles
or something?”

“No. I worked as an aerobics instructor for Randy at his fitness studio.”

“Randy owned a fitness studio?”

“Four, actually, before he sold them. Ironic, since he let himself get so out of shape.”

“How long ago was this, when you worked for him?”

She hesitated. “I suppose it must have been at least twenty-five years ago, come to think of it. Hard as that is for me to believe.” Although she, too, kept her voice light, her fists were clenched tightly as we walked side by side. “Why?”

Mentally I screamed at myself:
Ask if she’s your
mother.

“Myra claims that she’s my biological mother.”

Emily made no reply. Her jaw was now clenched as tightly as were her fists.

“Do you know if that’s true?”

“If Myra says it is, why would you doubt her?” Her tones were clipped, and she didn’t look at me.

We’d reached the pond. Some less-ravaged part of my mind could still recognize and appreciated the beauty of the place. The water had iced over in a shade of pearly white that matched the puffs of condensation of our breaths. The wispy shapes of the now-dormant grasses and weeds—thistles, cat-o’-nine-tails, milkweed—stood in resonating contrast to the backdrop of snowcapped mountains and the darkening sky.

“Myra’s story doesn’t make sense,” I replied abruptly. “My blood type and Randy’s match, yet she claims he wasn’t my father.”

She stopped walking. I paused as well, and our gazes met. “My son, Taylor, spoke to me about this already, and I talked it over with Carl. We’re all in agreement. You’ve got to leave us alone, Erin. For your own good, as well as everyone else’s.”

I gaped at her. “What do you mean, ‘leave us alone’? All I’ve done is accept a couple of clients and try to do my job to the best of my ability.”

She swallowed hard. The chilly breeze ruffled her brown shoulder-length hair. “I realize that, Erin. I’m not saying that you’ve done anything wrong. But someone is playing a very dangerous game with you, and we’re all getting sucked into it. You’re the only one who can put a stop to it.”

“How?”

“By walking away from the job at Myra’s.”

I grimaced.

“Please, Erin. I’m begging you.”

I was simply in this too deep to stop now.

Emily pleaded, “I don’t have a whole lot of money, but I will take out a loan if I have to. I’ll pay you double whatever your personal profit will be from Myra’s job.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“My son’s getting in over his head, thanks to this god-forsaken neighborhood! I know Taylor’s a grown man, and I should let him make his own decisions, but last time I did that, he wound up in jail!”

“For dealing drugs. Which I never touch. So how could my working in the neighborhood possibly hurt him?”

She pursed her lips. “It’s too chilly for a stroll. Let’s head back.” Without waiting for my input, she whirled and started back down the path.

“It was
you,
wasn’t it, Emily? You’re my mother.” There was a hitch in her step, but she kept going. I had to trot to catch up with her.

“No.” She shook her head. “Myra and Randy raised you till you were eighteen months old. Then they worked out a private adoption.”

“Was Randy my father? Did the two of you have an affair? And then he and Myra agreed to raise me as their own, but it didn’t work out?”

Each word of mine seemed to hurt Emily physically, and she wrapped her arms across her chest. She picked up her pace. “Randy’s dead now. Let the past alone, Erin. Leave Myra’s job. You’re very talented. There will be other opportunities for you.”

“I can call around, check out the story myself. Even though the adoption was twenty-six years ago, there are records.”

She stopped walking and turned to face me. “Please don’t.”

She stood there for a moment in silence, then strode toward a sandstone bench overlooking the pond. I followed at a short distance. She sat and faced the water. Though she said nothing for what had to be two or three minutes, I stayed a step or two away and waited. Finally, her voice deflated, she said, “Myra is telling you the truth, to the extent that she’s capable.”

“So she
is
my birth mother?”

“No. But she’s managed to convince herself that she is, for half of her life now.”

With a heavy sigh, Emily reached into her purse and extracted the necklace and the letters. Carl hadn’t burned them after all. She held them out and said, “These belong to you, Erin. The letters were written to you by your mother—by me—while I was still pregnant with you. Randy promised me all those years ago that he’d give them to you on your eighteenth birthday.”