“What about your mom? Sounds like she didn't care for Harper's dismissal of her son. She resumed drinking—”
“Yes, which is a problem that started when Meagan was kidnapped! Meagan's murder hurt her worst of all, David. She's still trying to get her life together. There are nights I find her downstairs, touching that oil painting as if she can feel her daughter's cheek. There are weeks you can just see it in her eyes, that endless wondering of what she could've done differently or how she could've been a better mother. I know there are times she looks at Brian and me and is simply terrified. Don't pin this on my mother, David. She's already paid her dues.”
“Seems the whole family's always looking out for her, a grown woman.”
“We love her! We worry about her!”
“And you don't love your dad?”
“That's different. My father is capable of taking care of himself. My mom—”
“Is troubled,” David supplied flatly. “Depression, drinking. Anxiety attacks. Patricia Stokes may be a great mom, even a loving mom, but she's not going to win a most stable person of the year award.”
“My mom is a good woman, David. She loves us very much. She just …she just misses Meagan.”
David arched a brow, holding Melanie's stare for a long time. So she meant what she said about her mom. David continued down the list.
“And your father? How does he feel about all this?”
“Oh, Dad is Dad.” For the first time, Melanie relaxed. “He's a man's man, laughs when he feels like crying and would never go to the hospital himself unless the bone was protruding from the skin. Takes his role as a family provider very seriously and is positively intense about looking after our welfare — you know, the man's turf. You probably understand him better than I do.”
“Does that include him disinheriting his own son?”
Melanie grimaced. “Dad's not good at admitting he's wrong.” Then in a level voice, she said, “My father is a fixer, David. He fixes people, he fixes problems. Unfortunately, it's hard to fix emotions like grief and remorse and guilt. I know there are many things about my mom he just doesn't get, and Brian's announcement caught him totally off guard. In my father's world, your firstborn son
does not
announce he's gay. He just needs time to accept it. He really is a good father.”
“He prides himself on his income.”
“He does very well.”
“Does he support the family too well?”
Melanie frowned. “I don't know what you mean.”
David made a show of shrugging. “What does a Beacon Street town house like this cost? One million? Two million? And then there are the furnishings, the cars, the vacation homes. The artwork, the antiques, the silk curtains. Awfully nice life even for a doctor.”
Melanie's guard was up now, her face shuttering. “I don't think my family's finances are relevant.”
“Most crimes are committed for love or money. And Larry Digger commented that in Texas, your parents lived better than they should've.”
“Larry Digger is jealous,” Melanie said firmly. “That's all.”
David waited, let the silence drag out. She didn't budge. Who knew what the Stokeses were really like? But David decided they had a helluva daughter in Melanie.
Or was that toughness courtesy of Russell Lee Holmes?
Shit. David had just given himself the chills.
He returned to the Stokes family members and friends. “What about William Sheffield? How did you two meet?”
“He works with my father. Dad brought him home for dinner.” Her lips curved dryly. “Oh, the conspiracy.”
“I heard him talk last night,” David commented. “Sounded like he was from Texas, which makes a lot of former Texans in this house.”
“Sure. That's why he and Dad originally started talking. Two expatriate Texans in a Boston hospital. If you ever moved to Texas, you'd probably befriend the first Bostonian you met.”
“Yeah, but would I marry him off to my daughter?”
Melanie stiffened. “That's ancient history.”
“Does that mean he ended it and not you?”
“The ending,” she said in a steely voice, “was mutual.”
“How mutual?”
“I found him in bed with another woman, David. That pretty much seemed a hint.”
David was startled. Weasely William Sheffield cheating on Melanie Stokes? Christ, he was even dumber than he looked.
“Bitter?” he asked more intently than he'd wanted.
“Nope. The ending was inevitable. We never should have become engaged to begin with.”
“Then why did you?”
She shrugged. “He was an orphan too. I thought that gave us something in common. Or maybe it was simply because he asked, and if you've been abandoned once, having someone say they want to spend the rest of their life with you is irresistible. We both realized our mistake soon enough, particularly once he started telling me I didn't count as an orphan.”
“Huh?”
“I had been adopted,” Melanie said dryly. “I had been given a family, a rich family. After a while it became clear that that ate away at William. Of the two of us, he'd been more wronged by life, so life, and especially me, owed him something. Let's just say I'm not very good at owing anyone anything.”
David almost smiled. Yeah, he couldn't see her answering to William Sheffield's beck and call. The stupid little prick. He cleared his throat, struggling once more to get back to business.
“Did anything seem off to you with William last night? Did he seem pale? Preoccupied?”
“He works hard.”
“Any harder than usual lately?”
Melanie took a minute to answer. “I don't think so. Generally he's assisting my dad and my dad's workload hasn't been heavier than usual. But I did think William looked as if something was bothering him.”
“Then maybe we should check into it.”
“He doesn't have anything to do with Meagan—”
“He's involved with your family now. He spends time in your house. Maybe he learned something from your father and hopes to capitalize on it.”
Melanie sighed, but she didn't argue. He could tell that doubts were beginning to wear her down.
“What about the Irishman who was here? Jamie …Jamie…”
“Jamie O'Donnell. He's my godfather. He wouldn't have anything to do with this.”
“What's his connection to the family?”
“He and my parents go way back in Texas. They've known each other for forty years. He was best man at their wedding.”
“He's business partners with your father?”
“They do some deals every now and then. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure how Dad and Jamie first met. I know Dad's parents lived in the suburbs, whereas Jamie pretty much grew up alone — in cardboard houses, he likes to say. They both built themselves up, Jamie as a businessman, my father as a surgeon. I think they respect that about each other.”
“And O'Donnell knew Meagan?”
Melanie's gaze softened. She clearly had a soft spot for her godfather. “The situation with Meagan broke Jamie's heart. You want to know why my parents love him so much? Because he viewed the bodies for them, David. He told me about it once. When a child is missing, someone in the family must take responsibility for viewing bodies that match the age and general description of the child. That was Jamie's job. He went from morgue to morgue all over the South, viewing remains of four-year-old girls that fit the description of Meagan Stokes.
“He told me once that he still sometimes dreams of all those little girls, wondering if they ever did find a home, ever ended up buried by people who loved them. Or if they all just ended up in potter's field with only a number for identification. Sometimes I think losing Meagan affected him even more than my father. Most likely they just show it differently.”
“And the other woman?” David pressed. “She came up with him, wearing nurses' whites.”
“Oh, that's Ann Margaret.”
“She spent last night here too, you thought.”
“Yes. She's my boss at the Dedham Red Cross Donor Center. I've been volunteering there for ten years now, so she's come to know all of us.”
“Sounded to me like she had a Texas drawl too.”
Melanie rolled her eyes. “Yes, she lived there decades ago. She's been in Boston forever now. And that's totally random. She wouldn't even have been in the house if I hadn't started volunteering at the Red Cross Center.”
“Huh. I kind of thought there was something between her and your godfather.”
Melanie faltered. “Actually I kind of thought there might be something too. They've seen each other many times at the various functions I've organized. They could be
involved
, I guess. I don't see how it's anyone's business but theirs.”
“Why wouldn't they tell you if they were seeing each other? What do they have to hide?”
Melanie shook her head. “Since when does exercising the right to privacy mean hiding something? Ann Margaret of all people has nothing to do with Meagan Stokes. None of the Stokeses even knew her back then. Let's not be too ridiculous here.”
“Are we being so ridiculous?” David asked bluntly. “What exactly was the situation with Meagan Stokes? Do we really know what happened twenty-five years ago? There is the red wooden pony in your room along with a scrap of fabric that, according to your own brother, shouldn't still exist. Larry Digger is claiming he got phone calls about Russell Lee Holmes from your own house.
You
are starting to remember Meagan's last days. Seems to me that everything right now is up for grabs. Whatever we thought we knew about Meagan Stokes, we don't. Whatever you thought you knew about your past, you don't. And whatever you thought you knew about your friends and family, you don't.”
Melanie's face had paled.
“Someone's leaving a murdered girl's toy in your room. Now is not a good time for assumptions.”
“Do you believe in ghosts, David?”
“Not at all.”
“What about fate or karma or reincarnation?”
“Nope.”
“Do you believe in anything?”
David shrugged. It wasn't a question he'd contemplated in a long time, but he found he did have an answer. “I believe Shoeless Joe Jackson should be in the Baseball Hall of Fame. And I believe what's going on here has nothing to do with Russell Lee Holmes. Instead, it has to do with your family. And you, Melanie, need to be careful.”
She smiled wanly, her finger plucking at the edge of her brother's bedspread. She looked like she was going to say something, then she just closed her mouth.
After a moment she looked up at him. “Thank you.”
David hadn't expected gratitude. He didn't know what to say. He studied the floorboards. Old. Thick. Solid. Chenney was probably almost done, he thought. They should both get moving. He remained standing where he was. Then his hip locked up on him and he had to shift position, rubbing absently at his lower back.
“Does it bother you a lot?”
“What?” he asked distractedly.
Someone tips the Bureau about Dr. Stokes committing healthcare fraud, while also tipping Larry Digger that Dr. Stokes's adopted daughter might be the child of Russell Lee Holmes. What's the connection
?
You get what you deserve.
So which one of the players feels that the Stokeses had not gotten what they deserved? And why do something about that now?
“The arthritis.”
“Huh?”
“You're rubbing your back.”
“Oh.” He immediately dropped his hand to his side; he hadn't realized what he'd been doing. “I don't know.” He shrugged self-consciously beneath her steady stare. “Some days are fine, some aren't.”
“Are there things you can do for it? Exercises, medication, ice packs?”
“Sometimes.”
“But it cost you a dream, didn't it?” she asked softly. “Of being a cop.”
He was not prepared for her to come so close to the truth, and then he was struck with something akin to claustrophobia. He felt the sudden need for space. The sudden need to retreat. Hell, to hide in some deep, dark cave where no one could look at him too closely and see that he was afraid these days. He was afraid of everything — his future, his health, his career — and it shamed him.
“I need to get back to work,” he stated emphatically. “You know caterers. Job's never done.”
“Sure.” Melanie rose off the bed. The room was nearly pitch black now. Night had fallen on them so quietly, they hadn't even thought to turn on the light.
She was regarding him steadily. Too steadily, he thought.
“David,” she said. “Would you be willing to do one last favor for me?”
“I thought you didn't accept favors—”
“I want to see Larry Digger. First thing tomorrow.”
Shit. David shook his head. “He's not a reputable source.”
“But he's the best I have and you're the one who just said I have to start questioning everything. I want to speak with him, David. If need be, I'll go alone.” She spoke in that level tone of voice again. That non-negotiable tone of voice.
“All right,” he said heavily. “Ten A.M., out front.”
Melanie smiled. She crossed the room. She brushed his hand briefly, a small token of gratitude, nothing more. Then she disappeared down the hall, where the sickly scent of gardenias remained thick.
BY SEVEN P.M., David and Chenney had cleared out of the Stokes household and headed in their separate directions. Night had fallen, warm and lush, a perfect spring night in a city that weathered such long, cold winters, it knew how to appreciate spring. So far David was spending his beautiful spring evening parked on the east end of Storrow Drive, waiting for petrified tourists to battle their way to Faneuil Hall. He'd headed home to shower and change his clothes. There, he'd consulted Shoeless Joe, who didn't have any stellar advice. Shoeless was best at baseball and dry cleaning. Healthcare fraud, cool blondes, and twenty-five-year-old homicide cases were out of his league.
David had decided he'd do more research on the Stokes case at the office. Not that he had big plans on a Sunday night.
Not that he could get the image of Melanie Stokes out of his head.
Now his twenty-minute commute was turning into a sixty-minute Boston marathon. On Storrow Drive, the out-of-towners were paralyzed, hunched over their steering wheels with the nervous looks of scared jackrabbits. The taxi drivers, on the other hand, were cutting in front of every Tom, Dick, and Harry, blaring their horns and turning the four-lane traffic jam into an even larger snarl. They didn't call Boston drivers assholes for nothing.