Birthright (50 page)

She sniffled. “Clever, aren't you?”

“Always have been. I will be good to Ty.” He sat beside her. “I'll be good to you.”

“I know it.” She laid a hand on his knee. “I can't change Ty's name. I can't take that away from Steve.”

Doug looked down at her hand. At the wedding ring she continued to wear. “Okay.”

“But I'll change mine.”

He looked up, met her eyes. The flood of emotion was so huge, it almost swamped him. But he took her hand, the one that wore another man's ring. “You know, this is starting to tick me off. First, you beat me to asking for a date, then you seduce me before I make my move. You follow me here. And now you propose to me.”

“Is that your way of saying I'm pushy?”

“No, I can just say you're pushy. It's my way of saying I'd like to ask you this time.”

“Oh. Well, that's all right then. Forget what I said.”

He opened her hand, kissed her palm. “Marry me, Lana.”

“I'd love to, Douglas.” She rested her head on his shoulder, sighed. “Let's get this job done so we can go home.”

T
hey had a nice working rhythm, Lana decided as they drove to house number four. She imagined they looked like a very safe, all-American couple. Which was why those first three doors had opened to them so easily.

When they found the right door, she doubted it would open quite so smoothly.

“Lovely neighborhood,” she considered as they drove streets lined with big, well-tended homes, rolling lawns. The cars in the driveways were all late models.

“Money,” he said.

“Yes, money. She'd have that. And would probably be smart enough to spend it well, and discreetly. Nothing big and splashy to draw too much attention. Just quiet class. It should be coming up on your left.”

It was a rosy old brick with a white veranda with flowering vines trailing up both sides to shield it from its neighbors. The drive was flanked by two tall magnolias. And in it sat a vintage Mercedes sedan in soft yellow.

There was a realtor's sign in the yard.

“It's on the market. Interesting. Pulling up stakes?” he considered. “Nobody but you and my family know we're here, but somebody knew I was poking around in Boston.”

“Mmm.” Lana played the angles in her head as he pulled to the side of the shady street. “If she's in any way connected to what's happening now, she'd know we're pulling the threads. Relocating would be a natural step. And it certainly gives us a logical way inside.”

“House hunting.”

“The affluent and happy young couple, looking for their dream house.” She tossed her hair, then took out a tube of lipstick. Flipping down the vanity mirror on the visor, she applied it in smooth, meticulous strokes. “We'll be the Beverlys—that's my maiden name—from Baltimore. Keep it simple.”

She capped the tube, replaced it. “We're relocating here because you've accepted a position at the university. Wear your glasses.”

“Teaching positions don't pay that well.”

“It's family money.”

“Cool. We're loaded, huh?”

“Modestly. And I'm a lawyer. We'll stick with that because it may present an opening. Corporate law. I rake in
the dough. We'll ad-lib. We've been doing fine so far. If we can get into the house.”

They walked toward the house, holding hands. They rang the bell. After a short wait a woman in trim black pants and a white shirt answered; Lana's hopes skidded. She was entirely too young to be Dorothy Spencer.

“May I help you?”

Stuck, she decided to play it out. “I hope so. My husband and I saw the house was for sale. We're looking for a house in the area.”

“I don't think Mrs. Spencer has a showing scheduled for this afternoon.”

“No.” Hopes lifted a level. “No, we don't have an appointment. We were driving by, admiring the homes. I suppose it might be inconvenient to see the inside right now. Are you the owner? Could we make an appointment for later today or tomorrow?”

“No, I'm the housekeeper.” As Southern hospitality won out, she stepped back. “If you'd like to wait here, I'll check with Mrs. Spencer.”

“Thank you so much. Roger,” Lana continued as the housekeeper started down the hall, “isn't it lovely?”

“Roger?” he queried.

“I did fall for him first. Such nice light,” she continued. “And look at the floors.”

“The other place was closer to the university.”

She beamed, delighted with him. “I know, honey, but this one has such character.” She turned, acknowledged the woman in the slim beige suit who came toward them.

Could be the right age, Lana thought. Looked younger, but women often found ways to look younger. “Mrs. Spencer?” She took a step forward, extending her hand. “We're the incredibly rude Beverlys. I'd apologize for intruding, but I'm too delighted to get even this small glimpse of your home.”

“The realtor didn't mention she was sending anyone by.”

“No, we haven't been there yet. We were driving through the area and spotted the sign. When we decided to move south, this is exactly the sort of house I dreamed of.”

“Tiffany.” Doug squeezed Lana's hand. “We've just started to look. I won't be transferring until the first of the year.”

“You're just moving to Charlotte?”

“We will be,” he confirmed. “From Baltimore. It is a beautiful house. Big,” he added with a wary glance at Lana.

“I want big. And we need the room to entertain. How many bedrooms—” She shook her head as if stopping herself, laughed a little. “I'm sorry. I know we should let you go, and make an appointment. I'm pushing a bit. Roger thinks January gives us plenty of time. But when I think about having everything packed and moved, learning a new area—new stores, new doctors, new everything—all while still dealing with two careers, it's daunting. And I'm in a rush to start.”

“I have a little time if you want a look.”

“I would love it.” Lana started toward the main parlor behind her. “If it wouldn't be indelicate, could you tell me your asking price?”

“Not at all.” She named a sum, waited a beat, then continued. “The house was built in the late eighteen-hundreds, and has been carefully maintained and restored. It offers original features as well as a state-of-the-art kitchen, a master suite that includes a large dressing area and a spa. Four bedrooms and four baths, as well as a small apartment off the kitchen. Ideal as a maid's quarters, or for your mother-in-law.”

Doug laughed. “You don't know my mother-in-law. You don't sound local.”

“I'm not. I've lived in Charlotte for four years, but I'm originally from Cleveland. I've lived in a number of areas.”

“What fabulous windows. And the fireplace! Does it work?”

“Yes, it's fully functioning.”

“Wonderful craftsmanship,” Lana added as she ran a finger over the mantel and got a closer look at the photographs scattered over it. “Did you travel for your work or your husband's?”

“Mine. I'm a widow.”

“Oh. This is the first time I've relocated. Out of the state, I mean. I'm excited, and nervous. I love this room. Oh, is this your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“She's lovely. Are these floors original?”

“Yes.” As Mrs. Spencer glanced down, Lana signaled Doug to join her at the fireplace. “Yellow pine.”

“I don't suppose the rugs go with the house. They're extraordinary.”

“No. They don't. If you'd like to come this way.” She walked through a set of open pocket doors into a cozily feminine sitting room. “I use this as a little reading room.”

“I don't know how you can bear to sell. But I suppose your daughter's grown and moved out, you'd be happier with something smaller.”

“Different, in any case.”

“Are you retired, Dorothy?”

There was a flicker of confusion, of suspicion as she turned back to Lana. “Yes, for some time now.”

“And did you pass your interest in the business to your daughter? The way you passed your name. Do they call you Dory, too?”

She stiffened and saw out of the corner of her eye that Doug blocked the hallway door while Lana stood by the pocket doors. “Dot,” she said after a moment. “Who are you?”

“I'm Lana Campbell, Callie Dunbrook's attorney. This is Douglas Cullen, her brother. Jessica Cullen's brother.”

“How many babies did you help sell?” Doug demanded. “How many families did you destroy?”

“I don't know who you are or what you're talking about. I want you out of my house. If you don't leave immediately, I'll call the police.”

Doug stepped to the side, picked up the phone. “Be my guest. We'll all have a nice, long talk.”

She snatched the phone, spun away to the far side of the room. “Get me the police. Yes, it's an emergency. You have some nerve, coming into my home this way,” she snapped. Then she jerked up her chin. “Yes, I want to report a
break-in. There's a man and woman in my house, refusing to leave. Yes, they're threatening me, and they've made upsetting statements about my daughter. That's right. Please hurry.”

She clicked the phone off.

“You didn't give them your name or address.” Lana started forward, threw up her hands as Dorothy heaved the phone at her.

“Nice save,” Doug commented when she made a fumbling catch inches before it smacked into her face. He took both Dorothy's arms, pushed her into a chair. “Hit redial.”

“Already did.”

It rang twice before she heard a breathless voice say, “Mom?”

She hung up, cursed, then dragged her address book out of her bag. “She called her daughter. Damn it, I should've memorized Callie's cell number. Here.” She punched numbers quickly.

“Dunbrook.”

“Callie, it's—”

“Jesus, Lana, will you quit?”

“Just listen. It's Dory. We found Dorothy Spencer. We found Carlyle's secretary. Dory's her daughter.”

“No mistake?”

“None. Dot Spencer just called her. She knows.”

“All right. I'll call you back.”

“She'll be okay,” Lana told Doug as she disconnected. “She knows who and what to look for now. She won't get away,” she added as she walked toward Dorothy. “We'll find her, just as we found you.”

“You don't know my daughter.”

“Unfortunately, we do. She's a murderer.”

“That's a lie.” Dorothy bared her teeth.

“You know better. Whatever you and Carlyle did—you, him, Barbara Halloway, Henry Simpson—whatever you did, you didn't resort to murder. But she did.”

“Whatever Dory's done was to protect herself, and me. Her father.”

“Carlyle was her father?” Doug asked.

Dorothy sat back as if perfectly at ease, but her right
hand continued to open and close. “Don't know everything, do you?”

“Enough to turn you over to the FBI.”

“Please.” With a careless shrug, Dorothy crossed her legs. “I was just a lowly secretary, and one blindly in love with a powerful man. A much older man. How could I know what he was doing? And if you ever prove he was, you'll have a harder time proving I was involved.”

“Barbara and Henry Simpson can implicate you. They're happy to.” Doug smiled to add punch to the lie. “Once they were promised immunity, they had no problem dragging you in.”

“That's not possible. They're in Mex—” She broke off, tightened her lips.

“Talk to them lately?” Lana made herself comfortable in the opposing chair. “They were picked up yesterday, and they're already being very cooperative. They're already building a case against you. We're only here now because of Doug's personal interest. We wanted to talk to you before you were taken in for questioning. You didn't get out in time, Dot. You should've run.”

“I've never run. That idiot Simpson and his trophy wife can say anything they want. They'll never have enough to indict me.”

“Maybe not. Just tell me why,” Doug demanded. “Why did you take her?”

“I took no one. That would've been Barbara. There were others, of course.” She drew a breath. “And, if and when it becomes necessary, I can and will name names. For my own deal.”

“Why take any of them?”

“I want to call my daughter again.”

“Answer the questions, we'll give you the phone.” Lana set it in her lap, folded her hands over it. “We're not the police. You know enough about the law to understand that nothing you say to us is admissible. It's hearsay.”

She stared at the phone. Lana saw the genuine worry. She's afraid for her daughter, she thought. Whatever she is, she's still a mother.

“Why did he do it?” Doug pressed. “All I'm asking you is why he did it.”

“It was Marcus's personal crusade—and his very profitable hobby.”

“Hobby,” Lana whispered.

“He thought of it that way. There were so many couples with healthy bank balances who couldn't conceive. And so many others who were struggling financially who had child after child. One per couple, that was his viewpoint. He handled a number of adoptions, legitimate ones. They were so complicated, so drawn out. He saw this as a way to expedite.”

“And the hundreds of thousands of dollars he earned from the sale of children didn't enter into it.”

She sent Lana a bored look. “Of course it did. He was a very astute businessman. Marcus was a powerful man in every way. Why weren't you enough for your parents?” she asked Doug. “Why wasn't one child enough? In a way, they were surrogates for another couple. One who desperately wanted a child and had the means to support that child very well. Who were loving people in a stable relationship. That was essential.”

“You gave them no choice.”