The Way They Were (29 page)

He reached for the red velvet notebook that had cursed him since the day he first opened it. If Pandora’s Box proved tragic, this journal was equally fatal. He leafed through the handwritten sections until he located the first blank page. Then he pulled out a pen and began to write.

***

Angie grabbed the phone on the second ring. Kate would be on her way back from the airport and if this month’s drop-off were like last month’s, Angie would have to scoop her off the floor.
Damn Rourke Flannigan to hell.
“Dream Houses by Kate, may I help you?”

Right. So you can act as minion to that beast? Not likely.
“I don’t know when she’ll be back.”

“Has she taken Julia to the airport yet?”

“Possibly.”
Damn if I’ll tell you.

“Ms. Sorrento—Angie, this is extremely important.”

“To Whom?”
Rourke Flannigan, who else?

His secretary remained unperturbed. “To all parties concerned.”

“I don’t know about all
parties
, and I could care less other than where Kate and Julia are concerned.”

“Understandably, which is why I’m trying to reach Mrs. Maden.”

Was that sincerity beneath the woman’s aloofness? It certainly sounded like it. Nevertheless, Angie was not about to hand over vital information that would get to Rourke Flannigan, the ultimate manipulator. “I’m not telling you anything until I know what this is about.”

There was a long pause followed by a stifled sigh. “I’d like to fax something for Mrs. Maden. Once she’s read it maybe she’ll change her mind about Mr. Flannigan. Maybe you will, too.”

“Doubtful.”

“Please see that she gets this as soon as possible.”

“Fine.” Angie relayed the fax number and hung up.
Witch.
Within minutes the first paper inched through the fax machine. Angie snatched it up and began to read.

***

Kate stepped out of the car and made her way toward the shop. Her heart ached as it did every time she said good-bye to Julia and it would continue to ache until her daughter returned home four days from now. She opened the shop door, devising ways not to think about Julia, when Angie swooped on her in a rush of agitation. “Thank God. I thought you’d never get here.”

“What’s wrong?”

Angie thrust a handful of papers at her. “There’s something you need to see.”

“Not the Gillent’s bathroom sample again. I know it’s the wrong color but Precisely Plum is a tenth of a shade away from Perfectly Plum. If Mrs. Gillent wants that, she’ll have to wait two more weeks for the special order.”

There were eight of them. Locations. Times. Dates. Brands of coffee. Shoe choices. Kate read each account carefully, trying to recall the occasion. The detective was good, she’d give him that because she’d never noticed
anyone
watching her and he’d been doing it for eight years.

The last two pages of the fax looked as though they’d been copied from a book. They were handwritten and the penmanship was unmistakably Rourke’s.

I miss you. It’s been twenty-seven days since you left. Twenty-seven days of wandering through life like a sleepwalker, knowing nothing but the truth I should have admitted years ago. There will never be another woman like you, and the greater, more painful yet peaceful truth—I’ll never stop loving you.

I’ve spent eight years telling myself the reason I employed August Graves to investigate your comings and goings was to make sure you lived the life you deserved for marrying someone else. A life of wanting. That might have been the reason in the beginning, but after the first report, I only cared about you and re-creating you in my mind so I could subconsciously place myself in the master bed on Laurel Street, next to you. I visualized myself lying beside you on the blanket at Huntington Lake, drinking coffee at Starbuck’s, picking out watermelons with you at Tops. It was the life I wanted. With you. Instead, I let wealth and power seduce me with their desires which in the end, turned up shallow and empty.

You think there are other women, yet all I see is you. All I’ve ever seen is you. I’ve always loved you. I’ll never stop loving you.

Chapter 33

“It’s taken three vodkas to dial this number. Don’t let Katie think it was in vain.”—Georgeanne Redmond

The phone call came at 3:05 p.m. Maxine didn’t bother to knock, just poked her head in and mouthed, “Georgeanne Redmond is holding on line two.”

Rourke wouldn’t have been more surprised if she’d told him the Pope was on the line. What could the woman want with him? He considered ignoring the call, but of course he couldn’t, because it might have to do with Kate. Georgeanne Redmond was responsible for igniting the spark that burst into a wildfire and destroyed life as he knew it fourteen years ago, life as he thought it would be. He pressed line two and said, “Rourke Flannigan.”

Pause. “Just let me get this out now, before I lose my nerve.” Another laugh. “It’s taken three vodkas to dial this number. Don’t let Katie think it was in vain. I have two things to tell you. First, Clay wasn’t wearing a harness the day of the accident. It was put on after.”

“After he fell? By whom?”
Did she realize what she was saying?

“Doesn’t matter. The person who did it was only trying to protect Clay’s memory so he wouldn’t look like a reckless fool. Nobody was trying to get money from you and Katie didn’t know about it until a few days ago.” Pause. “She told me about the check, too. She’s sending it back.”

Rourke couldn’t get past the fact that Clay hadn’t worn a safety harness. “Why in the hell didn’t he have a harness on?”

Georgeanne didn’t answer right away and when she did, sadness coated her words. “Probably in a hurry, trying to get his hours in so he could buy Katie something else he thought would make her happy. He never stopped trying and he never stopped competing with you.”

“Me? Kate married him. He won the prize.”

“But he never won her heart. That’s all I’m going to say about that other than if you ever cared about my daughter, you’ll take your money back and leave this alone. Now, the second thing I have to say is about the night of the accident…the one with your mother.”

“I’m really not interested.” He had enough to think about without adding Georgeanne’s mess on top of it
.

“I swear on my granddaughter’s life I was not drunk that night. One drink, that’s all I had before I got in the car. When I turned on Indian Road it was pitch black. Your mother jumped out at me. At first I thought it was a big dog or a deer. I got out to see…”

“I know the rest,” he said, because whether he did or didn’t was not the point. Stopping pain and memories, that was the point.

“But you
don’t
know, Rourke,” she rasped. “You don’t know at all. There was so much blood, I thought your mother was dead. Then she moved and murmured something. I had to kneel down to hear her.” Her voice faded then grew stronger. “She told me to leave her. She said she couldn’t go on, said she didn’t want to.”

He couldn’t have heard her right. “What are you saying?”

“She begged me to leave her there.” Her sobs stretched through the line and grabbed him. “I swear on my granddaughter’s life, I’m telling you the truth. I did it for your mother—for the pain on her face and the misery in her words.”

He knew his mother was depressed, but suicidal? “Why didn’t you come forward that night and tell the police? You could have cleared yourself right there. Instead you got charged with a hit and run.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t?”

“Couldn’t. I was so shaken up all I wanted to do was get home. I was driving too fast and smashed into a guardrail. That’s when I messed up my leg. I waited several hours but the pain was horrible and I finally called 9-1-1. When I woke up from surgery it was already too late.” And then she proceeded to tell him why.

***

Len Slewinski stared at the phone number, written in his chicken scratch on the back of a gas receipt. He’d memorized the dang number which wasn’t saying much since he’d been gawking at it for near an hour straight. There was no way around it. He had to make things right and take the consequence, even if it meant jail time.

How could a good intention end up in a pile of manure? He’d only been trying to rescue Clay’s good name so the boy would be remembered with pride and Katie wouldn’t be subjected to snide comments about the reckless foolishness that made her a widow. But then that danged lawyer started snooping around and next thing Len knew, they were talking trial which meant he’d have to testify. He’d eaten a pack of Rolaids a day since he heard that news.

But the crap hit the fan when he ran into Katie in the produce section of Tops and it came back to smack him square in the head. He’d almost dropped the Yukon Golds when he realized she didn’t know about the harness. When she told him Rourke Flannigan owned the company Clay was working for when he died, well, that almost gave Len a coronary. Things had to end now, one way or the other. He picked up the phone and dialed the number. There was nothing left to do but own up to what he’d done. Mr. Self-Important would decide the rest.

He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and said, “Name’s Len Slewinski. Tell him it’s urgent.” Len said three Hail Mary’s and started on his fourth when Rourke Flannigan came on the line.

There was steel in the man’s voice. Probably the same kind that was in prison bars—the place Len was going once he told this man what really happened to Clay. Len gulped in a breath, maybe his last one as a free man and said, “It’s about Clay. He wasn’t wearing a harness when he fell.” Pause.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, give me strength.
“I put it on him afterward.” Rourke Flannigan didn’t answer. Was the man going to torment Len by making him repeat himself? Dang it all, he was. The S.O.B. was a real jerk. Len opened his mouth to suffer through his confession again when the man spoke.

“You realize you’ve committed a crime.”

“’Course I do.” He didn’t have to be all snooty about it. Len might be going to jail but he’d walk there with his head held high—even if he was in handcuffs and leg chains. “I meant no harm. I never thought there’d be a trial or the like. I just wanted to protect Clay and Katie.”

“I see.”

Crap,
the man was going to draw this out and make Len suffer. “Just so you know, I plan on turning myself in as soon we finish here. Got my bag all packed. I know the sheriff. I’ll have him contact you once I’m fingerprinted and such.”

“Mr. Slewinski—”

“Clay was a good man. When the town finds out what really happened, they’ll call him a fool and Katie and Julia will have to live with that.”

“Oh. Well, thank you, then.” The phone
clicked
and Rourke Flannigan was gone. Len clutched the receiver in his left hand and made the sign of the cross with his right. Maybe he’d been wrong about Rourke Flannigan after all.

***

Rourke hung up with Len Slewinski and wondered if any other Montpelier residents would call today to expose secrets. He doubted any would top Georgeanne Redmond’s. Who would have thought she’d be the one to unearth the lies and shed truth on his life? What would the world think if they knew Rourke Flannigan was not really who they thought he was? Maybe he would tell them all—starting with Diana. Minutes later, he knocked on her door and waited the customary three seconds for her response.