About That Man (4 page)

He could feel the heat climbing into his cheeks. “I didn't say—”

“You didn't have to. You're a coward, Detective Ames.”

The blunt assessment hit its mark. What had ever made him think that he could get around this woman? She was one tough customer. He met her gaze evenly. “Maybe I am, Mrs. Jackson. You don't know much about me.”

“I know that you're willing to turn your back on a little boy without even meeting him.”

“It wouldn't be the first time,” Walker muttered, thinking of the accusations his ex-wife liked to throw at him about his treatment of his own kids.

“What was that?”

He sighed. “I have two children of my own, Mrs. Jackson. Two boys.”

“Yes, you mentioned being married.”

“Divorced, actually. My ex-wife has moved to North Carolina. I see my kids for two weeks in the summer. My ex claims that's still more than I saw them when we were living under the same roof.”

She surveyed him with that penetrating look that disconcerted him.

“Is she right about that?” she asked.

“Probably. I'm a dedicated cop. It's never been a nine-to-five job for me.”

“Which is to your credit. I'm sure it's not easy. Based on our phone conversation, I'm sure you've seen things that the rest of us would prefer to pretend don't happen. That must take a terrible toll. The work must consume you
at times. I know mine does, and it can't be nearly as difficult as what you face.”

“That's still no excuse for neglecting my family,” he said. “I was a lousy husband and not much of a father.”

“Your words or hers?”

He smiled at her indignant expression. “Hers, but she pretty much nailed it. I don't deny it.”

“Owning up to your mistakes,” she said with a little nod of satisfaction. “I think maybe you have potential, after all, Detective.”

“I haven't changed,” he insisted.

“But you can, with the right incentive.” She pushed the picture of Tommy back in his direction. “At least meet him. Tommy needs to know that he still has family out there. You owe him that. You surely owe your sister that.”

Walker couldn't debate that point. He owed Beth for not being there for her, for not trying harder to keep her away from Flanagan, for not finding her years ago.

“Okay, you win. I'll meet Tommy, but I'm not making any promises, Mrs. Jackson.”

“Fair enough.” She reached across and patted his hand. “I'm sure you'll decide to do the right thing when the time comes.”

Walker wished he shared her faith. There was one more thing he had to do while he was here, though. He needed to go by the cemetery, see where his sister was buried.

“Before we go to see Tommy, there's something I'd like to do,” he began.

“Stop by the cemetery,” she guessed. “It's five now. I'll call Daisy and let her know we'll be there about six. And if you'd like to take flowers to your sister's grave, I know where we can get some lovely ones.”

He hadn't thought of flowers, but she was right. He needed to make a gesture, leave something behind. Maybe wherever Beth was she would know and would understand that she'd always been in his heart.

 

King waved his latest housekeeper out of the dining room. Never could trust the help not to pass along every word that was spoken in his house. Finally satisfied that she wasn't lurking at the keyhole, he regarded his sons intently and asked, “Okay, now, what are we going to do about your sister?”

“I should have known you didn't just invite us over here for a nice dinner,” Tucker grumbled.

“He never does,” Bobby agreed. “Steak always comes with a price. Daddy inevitably has something up his sleeve.”

King scowled at the pair of them. “Don't smart-mouth me. Your sister's in trouble and I want to know what you're going to do to fix it.”

“Last I heard, Daisy was a grown woman who knew her own mind,” Bobby said. “What's she done that's so all-fired wrong? She saw a kid who needed someone and she took him in. Isn't that what you've always taught us? That we have an obligation to look out for other people?” He lowered his voice and intoned, “‘Spencers do their duty for the less fortunate.'”

King frowned at the mockery, but decided to ignore it. “Not when she's going to wind up getting her heart broken,” he countered.

“I've warned her,” Tucker said. “She says she knows what she's doing.”

“And Anna-Louise has warned her, too,” Bobby
pointed out, then grinned at his brother's startled expression. “Daddy's covering all the bases. I gather we're the second string, which must mean Anna-Louise struck out.”

The truth was, Anna-Louise hadn't reported back to him yet, which galled King no end. He'd deal with her later. In the meantime, he needed someone else on the case.

“Somebody's got to look out for your sister.” He scowled at Tucker. “I don't know why you didn't take that boy out of there when you had the chance.”

“You wanted me to arrest him?”

“He was stealing her jewelry, wasn't he? You told me that yourself.”

“He tried. He didn't succeed. I doubt Daisy would have approved of my slapping handcuffs on him and hauling him off to jail. She'd have demanded to be in the cell right next to him, and she'd have had Anna-Louise's husband down there snapping pictures for next week's front page.”

King didn't doubt it. Richard Walton was a troublemaker, and a Yankee to boot. Actually, he was from Virginia, but he'd worked for one of the Washington papers, which was just as bad as being a Yankee by birth. Tucker was right. Walton would have stirred up a ruckus.

“Besides,” Bobby said. “I don't think we're going to have to do anything. I hear Frances found the boy's uncle. He's due here today.”

“They're over at the Inn as we speak. I saw Frances's car there when I left the courthouse to come on out here,” Tucker added.

“This uncle, is he taking Tommy with him?” King asked, feeling hopeful for the first time in days.

“No word on that,” Bobby admitted.

“Well, why the heck wouldn't he?” King demanded. “The boy's his responsibility. Dammit, Frances isn't going soft, is she? Do I need to call and tell her how to do her job?”

“I'd like to see you try,” Tucker muttered.

“I heard that,” King said, scowling at his oldest son. “The day hasn't come when I can't take on the likes of Frances Jackson. One word to the Board of Supervisors and she'd be out on her tush.”

“I think you're underestimating the respect people around here have for her,” Tucker said. “And don't forget, her ancestors are every bit as blue-blooded as ours.”

King chafed at the reminder. It was a fact Frances liked to throw in his face every year when Founders' Day rolled around. In fact, the blasted woman prided herself on being a thorn in his side. She had been ever since grade school, when she'd publicly trounced him in a spelling bee. His daddy had never let him forget that he'd been beaten by a girl.

“I don't want to talk about Frances,” King grumbled.

His sons exchanged amused glances. The spelling bee incident was one of their favorites.

“You know, I could disown both of you,” he declared. “Neither one of you shows me an ounce of respect.”

“I thought you did that last week,” Bobby said.

“No, it was last month,” Tucker countered. “I remember distinctly that he said he was going to disinherit us because we told him at Sunday dinner that we didn't care about the price of cattle.”

“Well, dammit, what kind of sons don't give a fig for the business that their daddy is in, and their granddaddy before him?” King demanded, thumping his fist on the
table so hard it rattled the china and brought the housekeeper scurrying out of the kitchen. He waved her off. “Get back in there. I'll call you when we're ready for dessert.”

Bobby shot a sympathetic look toward the woman, who'd only been on the job for a few weeks. “You're going to run off another housekeeper if you're not careful,” he warned his father.

“So what if I do? It's my house.”

“We'll remind you of that when you start grumbling about having to do the dusting,” Tucker said, grinning.

King wondered what he'd ever done to deserve such disrespectful sons. If he didn't need their help with Daisy, he'd have thrown them out and gone through with his threat to disinherit them.

“We're getting off-track,” he said instead. “I expect you to do something about this situation with your sister. Make sure that boy leaves here with his uncle, preferably tonight. Am I making myself clear?”

“If you feel so strongly about this, why aren't you over there telling Daisy what you think?”

“Because she doesn't listen to me any better than the rest of you. If I show up, it'll only make her dig in her heels.”

“True enough,” Bobby said. “Daisy got her stubbornness from you.”

“She got it from your mother,” King contradicted. “I'm a perfectly reasonable man.”

Tucker and Bobby hooted so loudly at that it brought the housekeeper peeking through the kitchen door. King gave up. He'd either made his point or he hadn't. Tucker and Bobby would do what they wanted to do, the way they
always did. So would Daisy, for that matter, even if it ruined her life. He could console himself that he'd tried to fix things.

He frowned at the eavesdropping housekeeper. “You might as well get on in here and clear the supper dishes, Mrs. Wingate.”

“Will you be wanting your pie and coffee now?” she asked as she eased into the room, giving him a wide berth as she loaded a tray with the dinner plates and serving dishes.

“I'll take mine in the study,” he said. “These two can take theirs wherever they want.”

“I'm thinking I'll take a couple of extra slices and head on over to Daisy's to see what's what,” Tucker said, glancing toward his younger brother. “What about you?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bobby agreed.

King regarded them both with satisfaction. Maybe their skulls weren't quite as thick as he'd been thinking, after all.

“You'll let me know what you find out,” he ordered them as Mrs. Wingate delivered his piece of apple pie and coffee and set a covered pie plate in front of Tucker.

“You could come along,” Tucker suggested.

“Not on your life,” King retorted.

“Scared of the heat,” Bobby observed.

“Probably so,” Tucker concurred.

“No, just saving the big guns for later, in case you two mess this up,” King told them. He scowled. “Which I am counting on you not to do.”

“Daddy, we will do our best, but this is Daisy we're talking about,” Tucker reminded him. “I haven't won an argument with her since she was old enough to talk.”

“Then it's high time you figured out why that is and changed it,” King told him, shaking his head at the pitiful admission. “What kind of sheriff lets a little slip of a woman walk all over him?”

“One who's smart enough to know when to cut his losses,” Bobby suggested.

“Exactly,” Tucker agreed.

King threw up his hands. “I swear to God I am calling my lawyer right this minute and changing my will. I'm leaving everything to a bunch of blasted bird-watchers. They're bound to have more gumption than you two.”

“Glad to see we've made you proud yet again,” Tucker said, giving him an unrepentant grin as he headed for the door with the pie plate in hand.

Bobby gave his shoulder a squeeze as he passed. “See you, old man.”

“I'm not old,” King bellowed after them, then sighed. He might not be old at fifty-nine, but his children were going to send him to an early grave. Every one of them seemed to be flat-out dedicated to it.

D
aisy had spent the past few hours preparing Tommy for meeting his uncle. She had really tried to put the best possible spin on things for his sake, but he wasn't any more thrilled by the prospect than she was. She had no answer for all of his questions about why he'd never even known of the man's existence. Frances hadn't been willing to share a single detail when Daisy had tried to pry a few out of her.

“I'm telling you I ain't going nowhere with no cop,” he said flatly as he spooned soup noisily into his mouth late Thursday afternoon as they awaited the arrival of Walker Ames. Molly meowed plaintively, as if she understood his distress.

She had allowed Tommy to stay home from school, and she had taken the day off as well. It had probably been a mistake, since they'd spent the entire time sitting around the house brooding about whatever was to come. And when Frances had called midafternoon to report that Walker hadn't even shown up yet, Daisy had been ready to take Tommy and vanish. What sort of man was late to a first meeting with his own nephew?

But he was in Trinity Harbor now. Frances had called
from the Inn a few minutes ago and said they'd be by around six. Daisy had fixed Tommy a bowl of soup and a sandwich to distract him, but she hadn't been able to touch a bite of food herself.

Tommy's declaration hung in the air, adding to her stomach's queasiness. How could she in good conscience send him away with a man he didn't know? How could she not, when that man was his only living relative?

Finally she met Tommy's belligerent gaze. “Tommy, do you trust me?”

“Some,” he conceded grudgingly.

“Then believe me when I tell you that you won't go anywhere unless it's for the best.”

He eyed her warily, his blue eyes far too skeptical for a boy his age. “Who gets to decide what's best?”

The question made her pause. The truth was, she supposed that Social Services or the court would have to make the call. But Tommy was ten. He ought to have some say. And she intended to have quite a lot to say herself once she'd seen this Walker Ames with her own eyes. She considered herself to be a very good judge of character, although there was the matter of Billy Inscoe to contradict that fact.

“All of us,” she said finally. “You, me, a judge, the social worker and, of course, your uncle.”

When the doorbell rang, Daisy froze. Tommy dropped his spoon, sending splatters of soup every which way. For once, Daisy ignored the mess. For one wild moment, she considered grabbing Tommy by the hand and hightailing it out the back door, but that would only postpone the inevitable. She reminded herself that her students—rambunctious teens, at that—considered her quite formidable. A mere policeman would be no match for her at all.

“You can stay in here and finish your soup,” she said, then gave Tommy's hand a reassuring squeeze. “It's going to be okay. I promise.”

“Whatever,” he said, his doubt plain.

With Tommy's skepticism ringing in her ears, she went to do battle with the man she was already inclined to think of as the enemy.

 

Walker wasn't sure what he'd expected in terms of age or appearance when Frances Jackson had told him that his nephew was being cared for by the daughter of one of the town's leading citizens. He'd simply dismissed her as some small-town society do-gooder without giving her another thought.

And maybe that was precisely what Daisy Spencer was, but she also happened to be years younger than he'd anticipated—no more than thirty, he guessed—and so beautiful it took him a full sixty seconds to catch his breath and accept her outstretched hand. She had the kind of beauty that came from incredible genes and a classy upbringing. Walker was rarely left speechless, nor did he tend to get poetic…but she inspired both. Her skin was flawless, her eyes the color of spring violets.

“Detective,” she said oh-so-politely, then acknowledged the woman with him with a curt nod and an unmistakable hint of betrayal in her voice.” Frances.”

Walker had the feeling it was more good manners than Southern hospitality that had her inviting them in. Daisy Spencer was studying him warily, as if she feared he might rob the place if she turned her back. He was used to being regarded with distrust, but that was usually by the bad guys, not by an upstanding citizen. The woman was
uptight as hell about something, but darned if he could figure out what it was. Shouldn't she be relieved that he was coming to see his nephew, that she'd most likely be off the hook if Frances Jackson had her way? Surely all these small-town do-gooders were of the same mind—foist Tommy off on him and end their involvement.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” Ms. Spencer asked. Again, her voice was measured, with just a teasing hint of a drawl.

“That would be lovely,” the social worker said.

Frances might be content to follow some sort of local protocol, but Walker was impatient to get the reason for the visit out of the way. He had reluctantly agreed to meet Tommy today, see how they did together. Beyond that he'd remained neutral, refusing to commit to anything, despite Mrs. Jackson's evident expectations. Now that he was here, he just wanted to get the awkward moment over with. He was still shaken by that visit to the cemetery and the finality of seeing a headstone with Beth's name on it.

“Where is he?” he asked bluntly, ignoring the offer of tea.

The question drew a disapproving frown from the woman currently caring for his nephew. Which, in turn, drew attention to a mouth so kissable it made him forget for an instant why he was here. His gaze traveled from that tempting mouth to curves that were barely disguised by a prim white cotton blouse and linen slacks. Discreet gold jewelry flashed at her wrists, and a delicate diamond and sapphire ring winked on one slender finger. Not an engagement ring, he noted with an odd sense of relief. Wrong hand.

“If you're referring to Tommy, he's in the kitchen fin
ishing his supper,” she told him, gesturing vaguely to another part of the small but tastefully furnished house.

The house hadn't been exactly what he'd expected, either, given her reported status in town. It was little more than a cottage, really, painted a cheerful yellow, with old-fashioned white Victorian trim. It came complete with a white picket fence, all of it the epitome of a young girl's dream. Hell, it was on Primrose Lane—how quaint could you get? The tiny front yard was a riot of flowers, even though it was still early spring. Neighboring houses were bigger, more imposing, but none had been cared for more lovingly.

The inside was tended with just as much care. Walker couldn't help wondering how long some of Daisy's expensive porcelain knickknacks would last with a rambunctious boy around. Apparently she wasn't all that concerned, because she hadn't hidden them. That raised her a notch in his estimation.

“Why don't you and I sit down and get to know each other before I get Tommy?” she suggested.

She said it in a way that set off a whole lot of wicked images Walker was sure she hadn't intended. Even so, he frowned. No wonder Frances had kept her questions to a minimum. Apparently she intended to let this woman do her job for her. Walker had other ideas.

“Ms. Spencer, as much as I would love to get to know you better,” he said, giving her a thorough once-over that brought a blush to her peaches-and-cream complexion, “I'm here to meet my nephew. You and I can go a few rounds another time. Which way's the kitchen? Through here?”

He was already heading in that direction when she
caught up with him, snagging his arm with a surprisingly firm grip. He glanced down at the pale fingers with their neat, unpolished nails against his thick, tanned forearm and felt an unexpected slam of desire. He swallowed hard and stepped away, but without making any further move toward the kitchen.

“Detective, perhaps you can bully suspects in Washington, but around here, we have ways of conducting ourselves that meet a higher standard.”

Walker stared down into those flashing eyes, admiring again that startling shade of amethyst and the fringe of dark lashes. A man could forget himself and his intentions pondering the mysteries of eyes like that. He sincerely regretted that he didn't have the time to spare. It was getting late, and he wanted to hit the road before dark.

“Ms. Spencer, you are the second person today to suggest that I'm uncivilized.” He leveled a hard look at her that usually worked quite well during an interrogation. “I'm beginning to take offense.”

Not so much as an eyelash flickered. “Then prove me wrong.”

“How?”

“Talk to me. Tell me about yourself and the life you're prepared to offer Tommy.”

He shook his head. “You're not going to be satisfied till we play Twenty Questions, are you?”

“Not a chance,” she agreed cheerfully.

“Then by all means, let's talk.”

He followed her into the living room, settled back in a chintz-covered easy chair and kept his gaze pinned to hers. She perched on the edge of the sofa, kept her own gaze perfectly level with his, and began a litany of ques
tions that suggested she'd made a list before his arrival. She started by asking about his parents, where he'd gone to elementary school, what his favorite subjects had been, whether he'd liked sports.

He grinned at her. “Ms. Spencer, at this rate, it'll be midnight and we won't even get to my college years.”

Her expression brightened. “You went to college, then?”

“I didn't think to bring along a copy of my diploma, but yes, I graduated from the University of Virginia.”

“A fine school,” she said approvingly.

“Are we finished now?”

“Not quite. Are you married, Detective Ames?”

“Not anymore.”

“I see.” Her mouth pursed ever so slightly. “Any children?”

“Two boys.”

“And they live with you?”

“No, they live with their mother in North Carolina.”

“I see.”

There was no question about the disapproval in her eyes now. She flashed a quick look at the social worker, whose expression was carefully neutral.

“Anything else?” he asked. “Are you interested in my favorite colors? Maybe whether I wear jockey shorts or boxers?”

Color flamed in her cheeks. “Of course not.”

“Then I'd like to see my nephew.”

Unfortunately, Walker was soon to discover, while they'd been wasting time on all those ridiculous questions, Tommy had vanished into thin air. When Daisy at last led them to the kitchen, they found it empty, and
there was no sign of Tommy anywhere else in the house or yard.

Walker cursed his own stupidity. He should have guessed that the woman was stalling so his nephew could make a break for it, though why she should do that was beyond him. It was a diversionary tactic that he'd seen used often enough in his career. Still, he was surprised that Daisy Spencer would flat-out try to thwart this reunion that Frances Jackson was so dead-set on bringing about. Maybe they'd gotten their signals crossed.

It seemed Frances' thoughts were running parallel to his own. “Oh, Daisy, what have you gone and done?” she asked, dismay written all over her face.

“Me?” Daisy said, regarding her incredulously. “You think I hid him?”

“I know you want him to stay here, but this is not the way,” the social worker said.

Walker regarded the two women intently. “Are you saying she is deliberately keeping the boy from me?” he asked, surprised to have his own suspicions confirmed so openly.

Frances looked flustered, but Daisy was quick to respond. “That is exactly what she's saying and, to tell you the truth, I'm insulted.” She frowned at the social worker. “We've known each other for years. I would have expected better of you, Frances.”

“And I, you,” Frances retorted tartly.

Patches of color once again flamed on Daisy's cheeks, spurred no doubt by the indignation Walker could see flashing in her eyes.

“Blast it all, I'm as shocked as you are that he's not where I left him,” she snapped. Quickly she amended,
“No, I take that back. I'm not shocked at all. The boy's life has been a shambles since his mother died. He hasn't felt as if he truly belonged anywhere. It's little wonder that he doesn't trust a single adult to keep a promise, not even me.”

“Exactly what did you promise him?” Walker asked.

“That no one would take him away from here unless we all decided it was for the best, him included.”

“Daisy, he's just a boy,” Frances said with a dismayed sigh. “Why would you make him a promise you knew you couldn't possibly keep?”

“I intended to keep it,” Ms. Spencer shot back.

“Maybe we should just focus on finding him,” Walker suggested. “We can work out the rest of this later.”

“I agree,” the social worker said at once. “I think we'd better get Tucker over here.”

“Who's Tucker?” Walker asked, grasping at last that there was a whole lot more going on here than he could begin to fathom. Unfortunately there was no time to ask the right questions or to try to sort out the clues.

“My brother,” Daisy answered, just as Frances said, “The sheriff.”

“Then, by all means, let's get him over here,” Walker agreed, just as two men came strolling around the corner of the house, one of them carrying what looked to be a foil-covered pie.

“Tucker, Tommy's vanished,” Daisy said, automatically taking the dish from his hands. “You have to do something.”

“What do you mean, he's vanished?”

“While your sister kept me occupied in her living room with an endless barrage of questions, my nephew bolted,”
Walker explained succinctly. “I'm Walker Ames, by the way. Detective Walker Ames.”

“He's a D.C. policeman,” Daisy said derisively. “One who apparently likes to make unfounded accusations. I did not deliberately try to assist Tommy in making a getaway. Not that I blame him. He's had far too much disruption in his life lately. He's just beginning to feel secure again.”