The two had never been friends.
Cal rested his elbows on spread knees and clasped his hands. “Then you didn't get the journal?”
“No.”
“You didn't see him at all?”
There was nothing to be read in Matthew’s face above the floral arrangement. The senator had been in public service for too many years.
Noting a wilted jonquil, Matthew reached out and lifted it from the vase.
“Oh, I saw him.” Dry petals were plucked, one by one, and thrown down without regard for the antique Oriental rug. “I offered him two hundred thousand in cash. He took it, said he would be back after lunch for the rest.” He twirled the naked stem of the flower round and round while Cal watched the revolving stem. “But he never came.”
“There was no cash found on him.”
“No.” Matthew shrugged. “Perhaps robbery was the motive. I didn't ask Tip, but I wondered if he had another buyer for the journal.”
“Another buyer? Who?”
The flower stem stopped its twirling. “Claire perhaps? Did he approach her?”
Cal hesitated, gave a curt nod.
Matthew expelled his breath. “I thought he might have. May he rot in hell.” The viciousness with which the remains of the jonquil were thrown down belied the melodic voice. His fingers closed around the untouched drink glass so hard, his knuckles turned white.
“He must have been shot right after leaving here.”
Matthew’s face was guarded. “I didn't kill him. Though if I'd known he threatened Claire, I could have.”
“I didn't ask if you killed him.” Cal got to his feet.
“You were thinking it.” The last strains of daylight mingled with the glow from the overhead candelabra to cast an aura about the senator's head. “Your jaw came from your mother. Claire’s jaw has that same thrust.”
The reference to his mother took Cal unawares.
Matthew went on, “I've often thought it a pity Lila was such a formidable woman. She set a wonderful example for Claire and Johanna. But not for you.”
“Leave my mother out of this.”
Matthew gave a small smile. “Your mother was stifling, Cal. I'm sure it was worse for you without a strong male figure to balance her unrealistic goals for you. It's a wonder you didn't turn to drugs or drink.”
“I didn't.”
Matthew sat up straight. “Let me be plain. I don't care who killed Sonny, just so long as it was the right person.” His words rose slightly, querying.
“What exactly do you mean, the right person?”
“I was walking down the hill that morning, not too far from the pond where he was found.” Matthew picked up his drink. “I caught a glimpse of someone in a blue hooded jacket heading toward the pond.”
“Who do you think it was?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t tell.”
“Man or woman?”
“I don’t know. It was hard to see.” The senator pressed his lips together.
“It wasn’t Tip.”
A split second passed. “Of course not. But if Claire needs help,” Matthew said, choosing his words with painstaking care, “of any kind, for any reason, I'll give it without reservation.”
“An alibi? Claire didn't kill anyone.”
Matthew gestured with his glass. “The idea of Claire being under any suspicion, however slight, is unacceptable.”
“I agree. But Tip and you could have killed Sonny as easily as she. Even Robert could have done it. Or this unknown person you saw. Are you sure you didn't see anything to identify him?”
“Nothing.” Swift looked at the broken flower on the rug at his feet, and gingerly set his still full glass aside. “Claire looked ill Sunday. Had he approached her then?”
“No. But she knew someone would.”
Matthew bent down, picked up the leaves and stem strewn moments before. “If I had my life to live over, the one part I'd change would be that autumn.”
Cal snorted. “If wishes were horses, we'd be covered with horseshit.”
“Ah, Cal.” Matthew gave a slow smile. “Such a blunt person you always were. From the time you could talk. That's why you found it so hard to placate Lila. Wait, my friend. One day you may find yourself in a situation where you know what the consequences will be, but you send them to the devil and let yourself be damned.”
“Was it worth it?” Cal asked tightly. “Your fling with my sister?”
“It wasn't a fling. And in terms of heartbreak, no, perhaps it wasn't worth it. But Claire... I can't talk about it.” He turned, but not before Cal saw the naked pain. “Claire has you and Robert, but if she needs me, I'm not going back to Washington right away.” He raised his eyes. “Tell her. If she needs me for any reason, I'll be here.”
“It's no use us killing anyone until we make sure we can recover the journal.”
“Such a pragmatist. My scruples would normally prevent me from participating in murder.” Matthew rose from his chair. “But in this case, I'll do as I've done all along. Whatever's necessary to protect Claire and Johanna. Call if you need me. For whatever reason.”
Cal went out the door, wondering if Matthew Swift would in actuality kill to keep their secret, and about whether the senator had had a part in Sonny's death. This man in the hooded jacket could be a fabrication to cover Matthew's own proximity to the pond.
* * * *
“So you think she'll call Jane?” Claire asked as Amanda made a trip to the bathroom while the minivan was brought around.
Cal had filled his sister in on part of the story about Amanda's sister, but he’d deliberately let Claire think the seductive thief was Noelle. He hadn't stopped to question his motives, and skimmed over them now.
“Amanda is her first name, not Jane. According to all reports, Noelle always calls on Amanda when she's in trouble. With Sonny dead, she's in a lot of trouble.” He wasn't protecting Amanda, he assured himself. No way. Amanda Jane could look out for herself.
“What if this sister doesn't have Mother's journal?”
Cal patted her shoulder. “Then she'll know where it is.”
He hoped.
A steady drizzle fell as Amanda and Callaway left Fair Meadows. When the minivan swept around the curve of the driveway, Cal looked back at Claire, her face an indistinct oval through the rain's gray veil, keeping vigil by the porch columns.
Strange to think of her unconscious revelation. She'd always been so ethical, so strong. Her continued bond to Matthew was unfathomable.
If Claire of all people could be so susceptible, then perhaps everyone had weaknesses of some sort. Perhaps Cal wasn't alone. Perhaps the difference between him and other people was that they worked around their failings while he wallowed in his.
So. Something to contemplate.
The first part of the trip to Atlanta was accomplished in a chilly silence reminiscent of the plane ride to Birmingham.
Amanda was a careful driver, keeping her eyes on the road and traffic, and avoiding sudden stops or abrupt lane changes. Cal's presence clearly rankled. After she merged the van into the interstate traffic, she vented her spleen. “It seems you'd have better things to do than terrorize helpless women.”
Her defiance amused Callaway. Under other conditions, he might have liked Amanda Jane. A lot. “I've known a few helpless women, but you're a long ways from being one of them.” He reconsidered. It might be best to stay on a good footing. “Look, Amanda, I've tried to be nice to you.”
“Oh, sure,” came her quick rejoinder. “Pushing me around like a madman.”
Guilt flared. “Okay, I was pretty angry at first, but I had a lot to be angry about.”
Her eyes stayed on the road. The windshield wipers flicked back and forth. “I never denied that. Not after I found out the truth.”
“I'm happy to hear it. Well, I'm over being angry. I can even admire that quaint sense of loyalty that makes you want to defend your sister despite the way she set you up. But there's a limit to my admiration and certainly a limit to my tolerance. So let's try to get along, okay?”
He wasn't being drawn under her spell again. He was simply being pleasant.
* * * *
Cal's conciliatory words didn’t make Amanda any less uncomfortable. The jittery discomfort she felt around him accompanied a growing unhappiness she wouldn’t confront. His request might be reasonable, but she wouldn’t cave in to him.
“I don't want your admiration or your tolerance,” she said, “and I don't want to get along with you. If Noelle calls, I’ll let you know. What else do you want from me?”
“Sorry. You're stuck with me, at least until I find your sister. What I'm trying to say, in my scintillating or sibilating way…” One twinkle of his minuscule dimple chased away rancor. “…is that I think we should call a truce. I know I was rough with you and I'm sorry. But you didn't exactly treat me with kid gloves in Houston.”
The windshield wipers beat a steady tattoo. His calm rationality shamed her. The telltale heat crept up her neck. “No, I didn't. Believe me, if I had known—”
“I do believe you. Otherwise I wouldn't be making these overtures. Let's try and get along until we hear from Noelle, okay? I'm not used to shoving women around. In fact, women are usually the ones who push me around. The feminine community at large thinks I'm a real pushover.”
“All right.” Amanda couldn't resist the way he gently poked fun at himself. “I don't much like being shoved around but on the other hand, I'm not used to shoving either.”
Afterwards, they conversed like two civilized people. They might both still be guarded in what they said, but she relaxed, and the trip passed uneventfully.
About nine, armed with Chinese takeout, they arrived at her basement apartment.
When Callaway noticed the broken sidelight Melissa had managed to get boarded up, Amanda explained about the botched burglary. “Someone's coming Thursday to replace the stained glass.”
He inspected the boards. “It happened early Sunday morning? About two or three o’clock?”
“Yes.”
She wondered what was going through his mind, but he gave no hint. When he finally came out of his preoccupation, he only said, “Check your answering machine.”
There were several messages, but none from Noelle.
When she went upstairs to inspect the deserted shop, he came with her. The familiar environment of white walls and varnished wood was comforting. Touching the rows of dresses, smelling the crisp fabric further settled her.
This was her home, her haven. She could almost pretend she'd never met Callaway McIntyre.
Almost.
Back downstairs, they ate in reasonable harmony. He told her about the sailboat he was helping sponsor for the BOC and she told him about coaxing elderly grannies out of buying clothes meant for teenagers. Then he talked about his race horse stabled in Florida and she answered with tales about the rabbit in the wooded strip behind her shop.
They didn't have much in common, but it didn't matter. He might not be the scintillating conversationalist he had claimed, but he was a good listener.
Afterward, she showed him the spare bedroom.
He glanced in, moved down the hall.
She followed, crossing her arms reflexively, guardedly, as he paused at her door. “That one is mine.”
“Yes, I see.” He entered anyway.
Wadding up fists, she trailed after him, saw him take the cordless phone from its cradle. The weight returned to her chest. “Why won't you trust me?”
He gave a cursory smile. Not the little boy's grin. No sign of the tiny dimple. “I do trust you. But not far. If Noelle calls while I'm asleep and I don't hear... Well, I've got your number, Scarlet, and your loyalty, commendable or not, seems to be unshakable in regard to your sister. I can't have you warning her.”
Amanda stiffened. She’d begun to detest that name. “Don't call me Scarlet.”
“What would you prefer? Thief? Tease? Chump?” But there was no heat behind the taunts. His face, not unkind, suggested weary amusement.
When she made no answer, he brushed past. She closed her door and wished she didn't feel hurt that he would laugh at her.
He didn't trust her. But then, he had good reason not to trust her.
Still, he’d been so friendly, so companionable tonight that she’d hoped he was beginning to forgive her.
“Fool,” she muttered. If he decided to press charges, she was still in big trouble.
In bed, she lay awake. What was going to happen to her and Noelle? If Cal took legal action, they’d go to jail. Her career would be over. Noelle’s marriage was already over. Cal...
He’d been kind to her tonight. Easy to remember the planes of his face and the way its hard lines turned gentle when he was with his sister. It would be nice to be looked at that way.
What was he? The jaded pleasure seeker Noelle had described or the ingenuous little boy with the hidden dimple?
She sighed, letting the drowsy mists of sleep envelop her. It had been a long time since she'd wanted a man. After Tommy, she'd put her body urges away forever. Finding out they were still active was hard to get used to.
Controlling herself might be harder.