The Alpine Legacy (22 page)

“If I were Thad, I'd make a nest egg of it for graduate school,” I said. “Whatever Melody gets will be nice for her, too. Do you think they knew about the inheritance?”

“We'll have to find out,”Vida declared.

“'We'll'?” I echoed.

“Well…” Vida pursed her lips. “It might be more discreet if I called on the Eriks children alone. I
have
known them since they were born. More or less.”

Inasmuch as Vida knew everyone in Alpine, I acknowledged
her superior qualifications. “Go for it. What's your plan?”

She was vague, but I didn't doubt her sense of purpose. I wouldn't have put it past her to get the urn from Al Driggers and cart it over to the Eriks home. Meanwhile, I felt as if the case had hit a wall, at least as far as I was concerned. If Milo had any leads, he wasn't sharing them.

Feeling vaguely depressed, I threw myself into next week's editorial. For all of Ed's indifference, somebody needed to get moving on the battered-women's shelter. I'd issue another call to action, and sit back to see if anything happened. It probably wouldn't. As much as I hated to admit it, Ed was right about the Christmas season. It was hectic, and the irony was that most people were too busy to help others.

By mid-afternoon, Vida came back to the office bursting with news. “I was most fortunate,” she exuded. “The Erikses had just been to see MarisaFoxx. Thad and Melody pretended to be surprised about their windfall, but I think they were acting. At least Thad was. On the other hand, I didn't feel that April and Mel knew anything about the will. Mel was very grumpy at being left out, and April was sulking.”

“Interesting,” I remarked, less amazed at Vida's news than at her ability to wheedle information out of her fellow human beings. “You're sure Thad and Melody knew about the will before Crystal was killed?”

“They made a slip,” Vida said, looking a trifle smug, “indicating that they had foreknowledge. Melody mentioned that Aaron didn't deserve the cabin at Baring. She said that he was a loser, that they should have been divorced a long time ago. ThenThad said, and I quote, ‘You wouldn't live in that place. You never counted on having your down payment so soon anyway. What do you need a house for? You're still a kid.’ Unquote.”

“Implying that Melody knew she would someday get money from her aunt,” I mused. “What did Melody say to that?”

“She made a nasty face at her brother and mumbled something about ‘You wouldn't use it for a house anyway. You'll want a mansion by the time you're ready to settle down.’” Vida adjusted her glasses and gave me her owlish look. “Thus, I gather that both Thad and Melody had visited their aunt at the cabin. They seemed to know all about it. But April and Mel appeared to be in the dark. Mel complained that it wasn't fair, April was Crystal's sister. She should have gotten everything.”

“And April sulked?” I said.

“Definitely. She seemed quite off her feed. Of course,” Vida went on, “she may be mourning Crystal. I don't want to be mean-minded about the relationship. They
were
sisters, after all.”

After Vida returned to her desk to type up her story on the Cardenas-family Christmas customs, I mulled over what she had told me. Thad had certainly spoken glowingly about his aunt at the funeral. That was fitting, since she'd left him approximately thirty grand. But was it a motive? I didn't know Thad well enough to tell. Vida had overheard him taking his parents to task for not saving money. Maybe his only prayer of graduate school—and resulting riches—was his aunt's inheritance. Melody, on the other hand, had seemed unaffected by Crystal's passing. Maybe it was just a difference in personalities.

By five o'clock, it had started to snow again. Shivering in my raincoat, I trudged out to the Jag and used a scraper to clear the windshield. Then I headed home, up the series of small hills that led to my log house. It was much nicer than Crystal's place, at least in my opinion. She hadn't had a fireplace, only a Franklin stove.
Ha-ha
, I thought, and immediately hated myself. I was losing the
Advent season as swiftly as the relentless snowflakes were filling up the tire treads on the side streets.

By the time I turned onto Fir, I was in a real funk. There were no plans for the weekend, no names on my dance card. That wasn't news, but it sure was depressing.

It was snowing so hard by the time I reached my driveway that I didn't notice the car pulled up by my mailbox until I started back to get the daily delivery. It was a medium-sized compact, a newer Ford Taurus. The more recent model always reminded me of a teapot. Maybe the car didn't belong to anyone connected to me. Sometimes the neighbors had visitors who parked in front of my place, especially if they were hosting a party.

Carrying the mail, I headed for the front door.

That was when I saw the tall figure of a man standing off to one side. He raised a hand. Startled, I stopped. Through the snow, I couldn't make out who it was. It was too tall for Leo. Nat Cardenas again? Milo, with a change of plans?

I got within five feet of the porch and recognized Tom Cavanaugh.

T
HERE ARE NO
stars on a snowy night, but I swear I saw them. There are no bells and whistles after the mill has shut down, yet I definitely heard them. The winter storm swirls around, driven by the wind from off the mountains, but the earth doesn't quake, though I felt it rock beneath my feet. I should have fainted, but I stopped short of being a complete cliché.

Instead, I just stood there with my mouth open. Tom moved to the first of the three steps and held out his hand. “Did I scare you?”

I stumbled and fell forward. Tom caught me and laughed, that rich, merry sound I hadn't heard in years. He held me close to his chest, and like a damned idiot, I started to cry.

Tom Cavanaugh is a patient man, a virtue that has cost me dearly. He waited for at least a full minute, and then spoke over the top of my silly head. “Do you have a key?” he asked in an amused tone.

Still unable to speak, I nodded. He let me go, and I rummaged in my purse. I couldn't find my keys.

“You never could find anything in those satchels you call a purse,” he said, still amused. “Did you drop them?”

Stupidly, I turned and stared through the snow.

“Yeah… maybe.”Testing my legs for weakness, I started back the way I'd come. Tom followed me.

“Here,” he said, and scooped them up. Then he put his arm around me and led me back onto the porch. “Oh, Emma, I'm so damned glad to see you. I told Leo I wasn't sure I should come.”

“Leo?” I echoed, trying to insert the key in the lock.

“I called him the other day to ask his opinion. I was up in Vancouver at a meeting and—” Tom stopped and firmly removed the key chain from my uncertain grasp. “Here, let me.”

No wonder Leo had acted strangely when I'd quizzed him about the five o'clock phone call. And he hadn't really lied. Tom
was
an old pal from Leo's advertising days in Southern California, having been my ad manager's boss on one of the Cavanaugh weeklies.

“Are you really here?” I asked, wiping away the tears as he let us in and flipped on the lights.

Tom closed the door. “Yes. I'm here.”

I stared up at him. He'd changed, of course. His dark hair had more gray and the lines in his face were deeper. Otherwise, he looked much as I remembered him. Handsome. Attractive. Wonderful. I started to cry again.

“I'm a boob,” I blubbered, struggling with the raincoat.

Gently, he extricated me, then took off his heavy jacket that had probably come from Brooks Brothers or some other expensive San Francisco emporium. “I hope you didn't have plans for the evening,” he said, hanging up both coats in the closet by the door.

Strangely, the comment wasn't made lightly. Tom sounded genuinely worried that he might have intruded. “Actually,” I replied, staying on my feet to make sure they were still there, “I'm not busy. But why didn't you call first?”

“I just got here,” he said, hands in the pockets of his well-tailored slacks. “I thought about it, but just outside of town, the snow really started to come down. I figured
I'd be lucky to get up these hills with the rental car. It doesn't have chains.”

I finally found my smile, and it must have been unsteady. How many times had I imagined this reunion with Tom? Despite his solid presence, his voice, his touch, I felt as if I were in a dream. They say imagination can take you only so far. But sometimes it overlaps with reality.

“Well,” I said, “you made it. But it sure took you long enough.”

Tom's face darkened and he lowered his head. “It did, didn't it? Frankly, I wasn't sure of the reception I'd get.”

“Shall we start with a drink?” I tried to keep my voice light.

Tom gave a nod. “Sure. Bourbon's good.”

It always was, being Tom's beverage of choice. “Water and rocks?” I asked from the kitchen.

“Fine,” Tom answered from the living room.

Making drinks settled my nerves. I didn't drop anything, which was a plus. Bearing our cocktails, I came back into the living room and asked Tom if he'd like to sit down.

“Sure,” he said again, and seated himself in one of the armchairs. I didn't know whether to take that as a bad or a good sign.

“Have you talked to Adam lately?” I inquired, touching off the logs in the fireplace while getting a firmer grip on my composure.

Tom shook his head. “I'm supposed to see him as well as your brother when they come through San Francisco on their way up here.”

“You approve of Adam's decision to become a priest?” I asked as I sat down on the sofa.

Tom shot me a wry look. “Adam doesn't need my approval. Or anyone else's. If he has a vocation, then I pray
that he becomes a good priest. I assume you feel the same way.” There was a formal note in his voice and it jarred me.

“Of course,” I replied. “I'll be honest, though. At first, I was upset. It was selfish on my part, but I guess it was because I realized I'd never have grandchildren.”

“That matters?” Tom seemed surprised.

“Yes,” I responded. “Maternal instincts die hard.”

Tom smiled. “I suppose they do. I haven't had much experience with them.”

“Meaning?” I leaned forward, encouraging Tom to elaborate.

“Meaning,” he said slowly, “that Sandra's maternal instincts must have been repressed. I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but facts are facts. She concentrated too much on herself and her problems to be a real mother.”

“But she had problems,” I noted. “Or so you always told me.”

Tom's expression was hard to read, especially in the firelight. “Yes, she had problems. Horrendous problems. Early on, my theory was that when Sandra did become a mother, she'd stop dwelling on them and maybe they'd lessen. But after having had our two kids, she didn't change. In fact, she only got worse. Sometimes I felt she was jealous of them.”

So I'd been sacrificed for an unsuccessful cure. Or so I calculated, since Tom had been forced to choose between Sandra and me when we became pregnant at the same time.

“Gee,” I said, and didn't try to hide the asperity that surfaced, “it's a good thing Iwasn't crazy. You might have had to marry me after all.”

Tom gave a little start. “What do you mean by that crack?”

“I thought it was obvious.” Along with my composure,
anger had welled up. “Forget it. We can't undo twenty-six years.”

Tom's face had darkened under what always seemed like a perpetual tan. “We can't?”

“What do you mean?” I asked with a frown.

Tom's deep blue eyes avoided me. “Never mind. For now. I'd assumed you wanted to hear how it was between Sandra and me.”

“You always kept me apprised,” I said stiffly. “It was one crisis after the other.”

For a long moment, Tom didn't reply. He sat gazing into his drink, the firelight glancing off of his glass. “That's what it was,” he said simply. “Continual crises.” His eyes locked with mine. “You weren't there, Emma. You couldn't possibly understand.”

I had to admit that much. “Still, knowing that, why did you string me along, especially when you promised to leave her and asked me to marry you?” I could hear the bitterness in my voice.

“Because,” he said, and sounded angry, “it was my only hope. I had to have something to hold on to all those years. You were my strength.”

“But it wasn't fair!” I burst out. “You used me. That was an awful thing to do.”

“Was it?” His face was solemn.

“Yes, of course it was.” I spoke in a rush, all the resentment, the anger, and my own dashed hopes filling my words. “You should have let me go. Why should I waste my life waiting for you? Good God, I was barely twenty-two, I could have married and had more children.”

“Emma.” A faint smile touched his lips, even though he spoke my name with reproach. “We didn't communicate for almost twenty years after you ran off to Mississippi to have Adam. How can you accuse me of ruining your life? That's not fair, either.”

It wasn't. Tom was right. It was only after he reentered my life seven years earlier that I'd considered a future with him. The years in between had gone for nothing, lost in a sea of rekindled passion and noble promises. I was kidding myself. It's one of my worst habits.