Heart of the Night (16 page)

*   *   *

An hour later, she sat behind her desk looking over the list of convicts who had been released from prison during the last six months. She found it depressing.

Some of her favorites had hit the streets—a bank robber, a drug pusher, a pimp, the mastermind of a stolen-car ring. None of those on the list had ever tried his hand at kidnapping, but she was sure that there were half a dozen who would have been willing to give it a shot if the jackpot were high enough. As a precaution, and because she felt she could safely do so without risk to Megan, she called a friend in the parole office. He agreed to check on the whereabouts of several of the more dubious parolees.

That done, she sat back for a minute and studied the list again. She was notified each time someone she had seen convicted got out, but she usually stashed the notices in a corner or under piles of papers. They made her nervous.

She'd had her share of threats. It was common for defendants to shout things at prosecutors, particularly when a prosecutor had been either unusually powerful, dramatic, or effective in the pit. When the prosecutor was a woman, things were worse.

Paul had always told her to ignore the threats, and she had. She was the optimist, the good guy who wore a white hat, rode a white horse, and had the law on her side. To date, she had never had a problem aside from the periodic fear that hit her. She could ignore the notices that were sent to her. She could stash them safely out of sight. They registered nevertheless in the corner of her mind.

“Got a minute, Savannah?” came a voice from the door.

Savannah looked up. After a disoriented second, she focused on Arnie Watts and took a steadying breath. “Sure, Arnie. Come on in.”

But he hesitated. “Everything okay?”

Pushing the list aside, she forced out a smile. “Sure.” She motioned him in with a small wave, then dropped her gaze to the folders he carried. “The exhibits for the arson case?”

Arnie crossed the floor and put them on her desk. “Yup. I want to make sure they're right. We don't need any surprises.”

Savannah looked over the material, but everything was in order in each folder. “How about the jury pool?”

“I was told I'd see the list later today.”

“Bring it here when you get it. I want to take a look.” The phone rang. Pushing a button, she took up the receiver. “Yes, Janie?”

“Detective Monroe is calling about the house-break business in Wakefield. Do you want to take it?”

“Tell him to hang on. I'll be right there.” She held the receiver to her shoulder while she finished up with Arnie. “Jury selection will probably take most of Monday. On the chance it goes faster, I'm spending Sunday here working on my opening argument. I'd like to see Brady again before we put him on the stand. He's the fire inspector. His testimony is crucial, but he comes across wishy-washy. I think we should prepare him a little more. He may be okay on direct, but he's apt to fall apart on cross-examination. Can you do it?”

“No sweat,” Arnie said and turned to leave. “And I'm free all weekend. If you think of anything else, just call.”

Smiling her thanks, Savannah punched the button on her telephone panel and switched gears to deal with Detective Monroe. By the time she was done with him, Paul was on the line, calling from his car en route to the airport and a regional attorneys general conference, wanting to know the latest on the kidnapping. By the time she was done with him, her father was waiting on the other line.

“Hi, Dad,” she called lightly into the phone.

The voice at the other end was not as light. “You are one very difficult lady to reach, Savannah. I've been trying you for two days now, but you come home late and leave early. Where is Susan?”

Savannah grimaced. “Didn't she call you?” She had specifically asked Susan to do that.

“She left a message with Mrs. Fritz that she'd be gone overnight. That was on Tuesday afternoon, and I haven't heard from her since. I'd say that's damned inconsiderate of her.”

“She's a big girl, Dad.”

“But I worry. She hasn't been behaving well lately. For all I know she's off somewhere getting drunk, and if that's so, I'll tell you right now that I have no intention of going after her. I've had to fetch her from parties once too often. It's embarrassing.”

“She's going through a rough time.”

“Is that your excuse for it?” He made a gruff sound. “I shouldn't be surprised. You always did make excuses for her. Why do you do it, Savannah? There you are, straight as an arrow, with a job and lots of friends, and she's doing nothing.
Nothing.
”

Savannah touched a tender spot on her forehead. “Last time we talked, you weren't thinking too highly of either my job or my friends.”

“You know I don't approve of your working, and I certainly wouldn't choose your friends for my own, but still you have them.” His tone turned imperious. “Why doesn't Susan?”

“She has friends.”

“She's losing them right and left. Give her too much to drink, and she gets bold. I won't repeat what she told Bobo Dietz last week. I wasn't even there, but word filtered back. It was downright offensive. You can be sure that she won't get any more invitations from the Dietzs', and, to be perfectly honest, I don't blame Bobo in the least.”

“Bobo Dietz happens to be one of the most obnoxious women in Newport. If Susan told her so, good for Susan.”

Oliver Smith wasn't thrilled with his daughter's stand. “Bobo Dietz happens to be one of the wealthiest women in Newport—”

“Which isn't saying much. The only people in Newport who aren't wealthy are the people who service the wealthy, and most of those can't afford to live in Newport. Come on, Dad, Bobo Dietz isn't worth arguing over.”

“And that, young lady, is why you had to run away to Providence.”

“I didn't run—”

“You never could learn what was important and what wasn't. You never understood that there were certain rules to be followed in certain circles. Susan understood it. Why couldn't you?”

“Because I'm not Susan.”

“Obviously. Susan has the makings to succeed here. It would have been better if she hadn't split with Dirk, but she can still pull it off. She has the looks and the charm, and she does even better in Palm Beach. She was only down there for a month this winter. I don't know why she didn't stay longer. But that doesn't matter now. Most everyone is back or coming soon. And Susan will do fine, as long as she stays sober.” He barely paused before yelling, “Where the hell is she?”

It was Savannah who took the breath. “She's at Megan's.”

“Ah. Megan. Megan. The only redeemable quality in
that
child is her husband. The Vandermeer name is solid.”

Savannah didn't know whether to laugh or scream. In lieu of either, she pressed her fingers harder to her forehead and prayed for strength. “Megan happens to be a good friend. We go back a long way together. She's been very loyal, which is more than I can say about some of the others I grew up with.”

“That's your problem, Savannah. You took off to become a lawyer, and suddenly you didn't have time for those friends. What did you expect them to do—wait with bated breath until you deigned to give them a call?”

“I didn't—”

“You've distanced yourself. So don't blame it on them. You've distanced yourself from all of us. What does that say about
your
sense of loyalty?”

“I'm loyal—”

“I call to take you to lunch and you're busy. Alex Porter calls to take you to a party in Manhattan and you're busy. Muffy Adams calls to invite you for a weekend in Westport and you're busy.”

“I
am
busy—”

“Working. Always working. You're a very boring person.”

“Dad, please—”

“I'm serious. Your work always comes first.”

“This isn't the time—”

“There's never a time. That's the problem.”

She didn't attempt to say another word, but sat with the phone to her ear and her fingertips to her forehead, and waited. Her father would eventually quiet down. Until then, nothing she tried to say would register.

“Actually,” he ranted on, “the problem is that I never had a son. I wanted someone to pass the business on to, so what did I get? Two daughters. The odds were that one of you would be a boy. But no, I got two daughters. Not much to found a dynasty on.” He paused, listened, demanded, “Are you there, Savannah?”

“I'm here.”

“Well, listen good. I want to know what your sister's doing. Are you going to call her, or should I?”

“I'll do it, by all means.”

“I'd appreciate that,” he said, somewhat mollified. “You can tell her to call me by three. I'm playing tennis at four, and after that I'll be leaving for Stowe. Jack's boy is flying us up for the weekend. The skiing is just fine, they say. So, you'll keep an eye on Susan while I'm gone?”

“We're spending Saturday together.” She held her breath, wondering whether he'd remember what Saturday was, but the significance of the day eluded him.

“Good,” he said. “Well then, I'll talk with you when I get back.”

“Fine.”

“Bye, Savannah.”

She nodded. He had already hung up.

Quietly, she replaced the receiver, then bowed her head and lightly massaged her temples. She always looked forward to her father's calls, and she was always disappointed afterward. She knew he could be a charmer. What she didn't know was why he never charmed his daughters. He reserved a sharp tongue and a critical eye for them, and lately, whether because of age or sheer orneriness, he had been worse than ever.

She could take it. She had her own life and her own rewards. But she worried for Susan.

Sensing a presence nearby, she raised her head and immediately caught her breath. Jared Snow stood at the door, exuding quiet confidence and staunch maleness. The confidence was like a welcome balm; the maleness sparked a sweet curling in her belly.

He tossed his head back toward the spot where her secretary normally sat, and said in a deep, sandy voice, “She must be on coffee break. Am I interrupting anything?”

Savannah managed a wispy laugh. “Yes. A mammoth headache. Come in. Please. And close the door. If any of the ladies out there hear you speak, they're apt to start a stampede.”

He cleared the threshold and closed the door. His eyes held hers with warm probing. “What's the headache from?”

Normally, she would have shrugged and left her personal problems behind. But when it came to Jared Snow, nothing she felt was quite normal. He could penetrate her professional veneer with one look. “My dad. He's a difficult man.”

“Does he live around here?”

“In Newport.”

Jared acknowledged the significance of that with a quirk of his brow. “Close enough to make his presence felt.”

“Actually, I don't see him often.”

“But he calls.”

She sighed. “Oh, yes.” She wondered if Jared had a similar situation with one of his parents. He looked sympathetic.

“How old is he?”

“Sixty-eight.”

“Does he live alone?”

“He has a housekeeper and frequent houseguests, so he's not lonely.”

“Is he ill?”

“Thank goodness, no. Health has never been a problem. He leads as active a life as ever.” She paused.

“But?”

Still, she paused. Then, with an added look of encouragement from Jared which destroyed any reticence she might have had, she said, “But he's extremely demanding in his way. He expects that we should do just what he does, which is not much of anything—by my standards, at least.”

She stopped for an instant, feeling as disloyal as her father had accused her of being. But she desperately needed to talk. “He takes pride in being one of the idle rich. I had to be something else. I don't think he'll ever forgive me for that. Susan has tried to be Newport, but it's not working for her. On the one hand, I want to stand up and cheer, but she doesn't have an alternative like I do, so she's floundering.”

“Is she married?”

“Divorced, with no kids.”

“So she lacks direction.”

“In a nutshell,” Savannah conceded, then considered what she had said. She was usually tight-lipped about her personal life, and family certainly fell into that category. But Jared Snow wasn't like the people who usually passed through her life. He was different and somehow separate. If she let her fancy run free, she could imagine him an angel sent to ease the weight from her shoulders. In his presence she certainly did feel lighter, both of head and of heart.

It was all she could do not to sigh with pleasure. She could look at him forever, she decided, particularly when he did things like tilt his head just as he was doing now.

“You two must be very close,” he said. “I've often wondered what it would be like to have a twin.”

It was easy to smile, less easy to concentrate on what he was saying. But she did it. “I have, too,” she confessed in a quiet voice. At his bemused look, she explained. “Susan and I are fraternal twins. We're sisters who just happened to have been born on the same day. I've often wondered what it would have been like if we'd been identical, if we'd been able to do things like switch places at school or on dates. Susan and I can't even switch clothes. We are different sizes.”

“She must be bigger than you.”

“How did you guess,” Savannah said dryly. Though she had never thought of herself as petite, others often did. She supposed it had something to do with her slimness. While her sister was slim, too, she was more curvaceous. “Susan is about five-eight. She has a fantastic figure. And great eyes. And
super
hair. She has dad's height and mom's looks. She should have been a model.”