Behind the Shadows (31 page)

“He seems nice,” her mother probed. “Is he married?”

“No, Mom, he isn't.” Kira suspected that no matter how sick mothers were, they remained moms. And they had special antennas.

“I want someone … for you.”

She didn't add that she wanted someone for Kira before she died. She didn't have to. The words were in her face.

It broke Kira's heart.

She must have looked stricken. Her mother stretched her hand out and took one of hers. “I was so lucky to have you.”

“I think you will like Leigh, too.”

“I know I will. But you'll always be my baby.”

“The two of us together. Always.” Kira repeated her mother's mantra. Whenever they were low on money, or weren't quite sure where they would live next, Katy Douglas saw it as a challenge, and one that bonded them even closer.

She was rewarded with that smile again. And then her mother's eyes closed.

After Max and Kira Douglas left the Westerfield home, Chris turned to Leigh. “I think someone is trying to frame you,” he said.

She looked up at him. “Why?”

“The gun missing from the cabinet, the attacks timed when you don't have an alibi. Someone probably knows you took firearms training. You have a motive. You had opportunity.”

“I couldn't hit a blow-up alligator in a kid's swimming pool,” she said.

“Whoever is behind this doesn't know that. Nor can you prove it.”

“The instructor can.”

“You could have gone somewhere else.”

“I didn't … I wouldn't …”

“I know,” he said. “But the police will be back unless they find the city hall shooter.”

She looked at him with those damn big eyes. God, she was pretty. “I don't know who …” she started.

“I can count five on my fingers now,” he said.

“No. Not Max. Not Seth. Not David or Michael.”

“I said five.” He watched as her lips frowned in thought. “The president and CEO of Westerfield Industries. I understand he and Payton have had some differences of opinion, and Payton has control of fifty-one percent of the stock. He holds it only as long as the trust lasts. If Kira dies and you're charged with murder, then the trust ends. The shares will go to charity or, if the will is contested, be divided among any heirs. Control will be diluted.”

“You really think Jack Melton could be responsible? I've known him for years.”

“I don't know. I'm just looking at possibilities. Who else might have felt entitled to more than what they received?”

“No one,” she said.

He looked around the room. He hadn't seen the housekeeper today. “Where's Mrs. Baker?”

“She went home at noon. She wasn't feeling well.” Then she stared at him with wide-open eyes. “You don't think …?”

“Would she have had access to the gun closet?”

“No. It was always locked.”

Chris paused. “I saw the will in the probate office. Mrs. Baker received a good chunk of money. Maybe she wanted more.”

“Mrs. Baker?” she said with surprise. “She was ecstatic that she received what she did. One thing about Grandfather: He always paid his employees well and in return he demanded total loyalty. Mrs. Baker always gave it to him, and to me. We're her family. I think she probably expected a small sum when Grandfather died but she was delighted at how much. She always wanted a house of her own and with what she'd saved she was able to buy a nice cottage with all cash.”

“How long has she been with the family?”

“Nearly forty years. I understand she left for a year or so when she got married. Her husband died in the military, and she returned.”

“No family then?”

“Only Rick.”

“Rick?”

“You met him. He's the groom and handyman for us. He also works at several other horse farms. He's Mrs. Baker's nephew.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Eighteen months. I wasn't too sure about him for a while. Silver Lady didn't take to him, but he seems conscientious enough. He's dependable.”

“What do you know about him?”

“Ex-military. Couldn't find a job after getting out, and Mrs. Baker said he had experience with animals, that as a teenager he once worked for a horse farm.”

“Does he live with Mrs. Baker?”

“No, he has a place of his own. A small apartment not far from here.”

Chris made a mental note to run a check on the nephew. “What's his last name?” he asked.

“Rick. Rick Salter. You don't think …?”

“I don't think anything,” he said. “Besides, I'm sure the police are checking out everyone on the estate.” He paused, then asked, “Your grandfather never remarried after his wife died?”

“No. He was a workaholic, not very social unless it was business oriented. Mrs. Baker did everything for him.”

“I should go,” he said, seeing the fatigue in her eyes. She probably hadn't slept much in the past few days.

Her eyes met his. “Do you have to? Can you stay a few moments? I really don't want to be alone.”

And she shouldn't be alone. He'd been thinking of Kira and Katy. But no one seemed to have thought of Leigh, who'd had to deal with this mess on her own.

She'd showed courage. She'd agreed—albeit reluctantly—to the DNA test. He would have been reluctant as well, considering the evidence given her. She wasn't only being asked to give up a kidney for a stranger, but to deny everything she believed she was.

She opened the door without waiting for his help and went outside. It was as if she couldn't get out of the house fast enough.

The sun was still hot, but a breeze wafted through the thick canopy of trees that dotted the pasture. The entire estate was surrounded by a picturesque white fence, but the pasture was fenced inside that area.

The donkey was grazing but looked up as they approached and sauntered toward them. Leigh took something from a pocket in her slacks and gave it to him.

“You try it,” she said.

He reached out and gave the donkey the cube of sugar. It quickly disappeared, and the donkey nuzzled him for more.

“Later, greedy one,” she said.

He was enchanted. He'd thought her lovely before but now there was pink in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. “Come,” she said, grabbing his hand and drawing him inside the stable.

She took out more cubes of sugar and held one out to the white mare.

“Do you always carry those?” he asked.

“Sugar or carrots or slices of apple. Apple is really better, but it's not as easy to tuck in a pocket.”

The mare nudged her for more, and she laughed. “It's the sugar more than me,” she said.

Then she led the way to another stall. “Pretty girl,” she crooned as the mare moved restlessly. “She's new. Not quite sure she's home yet.” She reached out and ran her hand lightly down the horse's neck. “I haven't ridden her yet, but tomorrow …” She stopped. “Maybe I won't have them much longer,” she said, biting her lip. “If the DNA …”

Chris took the photo of Katy Douglas from his pocket and held it out to her.

Leigh resisted for a moment, then took it.

The photo had been taken five years earlier, according to Kira. Katy was laughing at something, her face alight with pure joy. Her taffy-colored hair was neatly cut for easy care with a wisp of bangs nearly reaching her eyes.

“She looks … nice.”

“She
is
nice. One of the nicest, warmest women I've ever met. When my wife was so ill, she stopped in every afternoon with something to tempt Risa's appetite.”

He watched as Leigh studied the photo. He wondered if she saw the similarities. The sea-colored eyes and high cheekbones and small ears. The wide lips.

Leigh touched a finger to the face in the photo. Chris watched as the finger seemed to trace the face. Then she looked up, and Chris saw the stark longing in her face.

“My father hated my mother,” she said suddenly, softly. “He said so the night he … died. He purposely ran the car into an abutment. He wanted to kill all of us. He believed my mother cheated on him. He'd had a blood test, he said, and I wasn't his. He demanded to know who the father was. I didn't remember those words until I went under hypnosis with a psychiatrist, but they were there, deep inside.”

Horror filled her face as she suddenly realized the implications of what she'd just said. “They died … because someone made a mistake?”

31

“I'm not so sure it was a mistake,” Chris said slowly.

Leigh stiffened as the import of the words sank in. “Oh God, you don't think someone intentionally switched babies?” Total incredulity was in her voice.

“When Kira was born, she had what was then almost always a fatal heart condition. The obstetrician would have instantly known something was wrong.” He paused. “Dr. Michael Crawford was your mother's obstetrician.”

She stared at him for a moment, then asked in a trembling voice, “Was he also Mrs. Douglas's obstetrician?”

“Yes, and you and Kira were born within minutes of each other. According to Katy Douglas, he also found the pediatric surgeon who repaired Kira's heart. An anonymous donor paid at least part of the bills.”

“Not Uncle Michael,” she protested. “He's someone special. He retired five years ago to join Doctors Without Borders. He's been in Africa almost constantly.”

“Perhaps because he feels guilty about something,” Chris said.

“No,” she said adamantly. “He wouldn't do that; no way would he switch babies.”

“Maybe he thought he was doing everyone a favor,” he said. “Katy Douglas was barely eighteen and her husband left soon after the baby was born. He might have known the marriage was in trouble. Your mother, the one who brought you home, was thirty-five. There were no other children.”

She blinked, then looked thoughtful. “I once asked why I didn't have any sisters and brothers. She said she was waiting for me, how precious I was. But Seth told me she'd had several miscarriages.”

“This might have been her last chance to have a child. When her child appeared to be in critical condition, maybe your uncle thought this was the best thing.”

“But how could … anyone play God like that?” Her voice broke and her eyes filled with tears. The horse behind her neighed and moved restlessly.

Leigh leaned over and soothed her. “Sorry, baby,” Leigh said. Her voice resumed a normal tone as she assured the mare, but when she turned back to him, her eyes were wide with confusion. “How could anyone …?”

He touched her face. Traced the cheekbone with a finger and pushed back a blond strand of hair. “I'm sorry,” he said. “It's only speculation. I don't know. No one knows how this happened but the person responsible. You know your uncle. I thought you should realize that it's one avenue we're exploring.”

She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I
should
know. Thank you for telling me. But I really don't think … not Uncle Michael.”

“It's just one of many possibilities,” he said.

“But you think it's the right one?”

“It had to be someone in that operating room,” he said. “I've been talking to some physicians and most don't think a mistake is possible under these circumstances. A critically ill child would be taken to the neonatal care unit immediately.”

She clung to him. She had more guts than he'd first thought. From what she'd said a few moments earlier, she'd been living all these years with the fact that her father killed her mother and tried to kill her. There was really no one to help her come to terms with that fact. No loving family. Only a cold, hard grandfather who had expected entirely too much. He wondered if Ed Westerfield ever knew what happened in that car all those years ago.

He realized why she'd been so reluctant to believe that she was not a Westerfield. All that pain during her growing-up years; according to Payton, she was finally coming to grips with it. Then someone comes along and pulls the rug out from under her feet again.

That still didn't solve the immediate problem, though. Dr. Michael Crawford may have been responsible for switching the babies—or not—but he certainly wasn't responsible for the attacks on Kira. Two crimes separated by thirty-two years. What was the connection?

“I want to see her,” Leigh said suddenly. “I want to see Katy Douglas.”

He took a step back. Looked at her face. Unshed tears glittered and made those spectacular eyes even more vivid. He and Risa had taken a Caribbean cruise after she was diagnosed. A short one just before surgery. It was something she'd always wanted but he'd never had time to take.

Leigh's eyes looked like that sea, the incredible shades of blue meshing together.

The reminder of that vacation wasn't as excruciating as in the past. Some of the pain was receding, replaced by good memories. Regret was still there, but it, too, was fading. He couldn't change the past. But he could deal with it better.

Leigh Howard was doing that now.

“You're thinking about your wife?” she said.

“Yes. I wish she'd known you, and you her. She was a brave soul. You have a lot in common.”

“I'm not brave at all. I've been a coward most of my life. Poor, pitiful me. I made every wrong decision that could be made. I married someone who wanted my money and …”

She didn't have to continue. He'd seen that look in other women's eyes. He wanted to kill the bastard.

Leigh fed the horse another sugar cube, then ran her hand along its muzzle. “It wasn't until Max forced me to go into therapy that I realized what a total mess I was.”

He took her in his arms and leaned down. She was a small woman, smaller than Risa, and yet she fit well against him. His lips touched hers with tenderness.

He'd thought it gone after Risa's death, that no one could touch his soul again. He hadn't thought he wanted it touched again. The pain was too agonizing.