Bloodlines (26 page)

"Exactly what are your plans, Warren?"

But before he could answer, the intercom in the conference room buzzed. Zeke Brennan answered it and said, "Yes, please show Mr. Yeager in."

**CHAPTER 22

AUBURN SHEFFIELD HEARD THE SOFT, SUDDEN INTAKE OF LILLIAN'S BREATH as a young man wearing a suit and tie entered the room. Her reaction to Kyle Yeager was unhidden for only the briefest moment, as (knowing Lillian) Auburn had anticipated it would be. He looked down at the stack of papers on the table before him to hide a smile while the introductions were made.

When he looked up again, Kyle was saying, "Yes, of course we've met. Good afternoon, Mr. Sheffield."

He was tall and had an almost military bearing, shoulders and back straight. Equally unusual in young men of his age, his dark hair was cut short. His brown eyes reminded Auburn of Katy, although he could not imagine that hers were ever so solemn. He could not say that the rest of his features strongly resembled those of either parent--or as Auburn reminded himself, of the people he assumed were Kyle's parents--but he had not known Todd well. Warren believed Kyle's smile was nearly identical to Todd's. Auburn wondered if Warren had seen that smile since Kyle was five.

Kyle waited politely for Lillian to be seated before he took a seat himself.

Zeke Brennan spoke first. He thanked Kyle for coming and asked if he had been able to find the time to read the photocopied newspaper articles he had been given when Auburn visited him in Hanover.

"Yes, sir." He glanced uneasily at Lillian and Warren. "I'm sorry," he said. "That must have been a horrible time for both of you."

Warren looked away, but Lillian said, "Thank you. Yes, it was terrible."

"About sixteen years ago," Zeke said, "Mr. Ducane set up a trust. The trust came about in a rather unusual way, and its conditions are also unusual." Zeke paused. "At that time, Mr. Ducane met a young boy whom he believed to be his nephew, Max Ducane."

"Sixteen years ago? Oh." He looked hopefully toward Lillian. "So--the kidnapper was caught?"

"It's not quite so simple, I'm afraid," Lillian said kindly.

Warren started to speak, but Zeke intervened, motioning to him to wait. "At the time he saw the boy, it was, for various reasons, impossible for him to prove his belief that the boy was his missing nephew. But he made arrangements so that when the boy reached adulthood, he would be eligible to receive a substantial sum of money. There would be two conditions that the boy-- now a young man--would need to meet. He would be required to sever ties with his adopted family and to legally change his name to Maxwell Ducane."

Auburn watched Lillian and saw her surprise. Kyle, however, seemed no more than politely interested, and waited for Zeke to go on. But it was Warren who broke the silence.

"The boy I met was you, Kyle," he said.

"Me?" He laughed uneasily. "No..."

"Yes. You are my nephew." He said it with sureness.

"Mr. Ducane, I ...I'm sorry, I don't mean to upset you, but I don't really understand how that can be possible. My adoptive father and mother told me many times that..." He lowered his head, then murmured, "They both told me many times that my mother was a prostitute. My father was one of her customers. So unless your brother..." He glanced up at Lillian, blushed, and turned to Zeke as he said, "No, I'm sure he didn't. There are adoption papers. I have always felt grateful, because if I hadn't been adopted by the Yeagers, I probably wouldn't have survived. My birth mother died two months after I was born, and I probably would have died with her. Instead, I was raised by a wealthy couple, had the love of my adoptive mother, and received privileges no person of my birth could have dreamed of having."

"Are you fond of Mitch Yeager?" Auburn asked.

Kyle gave him a fierce look, then answered, "What does that have to do with anything? He took me in. Fed and clothed me. Paid for my education."

"My God," Lillian said softly.

"I don't claim that there is any affection between us," Kyle said. "I am sure I was adopted because my mother--Estelle, I mean--wanted a child so badly. I loved her, and I have no doubt that she loved me."

"Mitch Yeager abused her," Auburn said. "And before Estelle had been dead a month, he married a woman thirty years his junior and soon fathered three children with his new wife. He did all he could to forget your existence. You don't owe anything to Mitch, not on your own behalf, and certainly not on Estelle's."

Kyle looked as if he would object, then seemed to change his mind. His fists clenched, then opened. He said, "Whatever you may know or not know about my mother--I respect her memory, so I'm not going to share gossip about her or her husband with you."

"I meant no disrespect to her," Auburn said. "But I do know that she felt trapped in her marriage. She didn't believe she had the means to escape it, but I think she might have been pleased to know that someone offered you a chance to separate yourself from Mitch Yeager. And twenty million dollars ought to allow you to cut the ties."

"Twenty million!"

"That's part of it," Warren said. "Twenty million, as well as some real property worth--"

But he had recovered his composure. "As ...as tempting as that offer is... and as sorry as I am that your nephew was taken from you, I'm afraid I'll say no."

"Kyle..."

"No, Mr. Ducane," he said angrily. "My birth mother may have been for sale, but I'm not." He stood up and said to Lillian, "If you'll excuse me, ma'am--"

"Kyle," she said, "are you in a hurry to return to Hanover?"

"No, but..."

"I take it you aren't staying with Mitch?"

"No. Mr. Brennan arranged a hotel room for me here in town."

"I wonder if you might have dinner with me this evening, at my home."

"If you're trying to convince me--"

"No, I knew no more about any of this than you did. But I am planning a small dinner party--nothing fancy, mind you--and would love to get to know you a little better before you head back home again. And I have a few photographs of Estelle that I would like to give to you. But if you have other plans..."

"No, I don't."He studied her for a moment, then said, "Forgive me for asking, but do you really have photos of her?"

"Yes. We went to school together."

He looked around the room. "Are these gentlemen invited as well?"

"Only if they promise not to say a word to you about Warren's offer."

Warren raised a hand as if taking an oath. "Not a word."

"And they must agree to allow us time to ourselves."

"A promise," Auburn said.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Linworth," Zeke Brennan said, "but I'm afraid I have a previous engagement."

"Another time, then, Mr. Brennan. And you, Kyle?"

"All right," Kyle said. "Yes, thank you--what time shall I be there?"

"Let's say seven. No need to dress up--would that be all right with you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fine. Auburn can give you a lift from your hotel, and I'll have my driver bring you home whenever you decide to leave. I'll see you all at seven."

She rose, and the men did as well. She left the room.

Kyle stared after her.

Auburn laughed. "Lillian has always been a force to be reckoned with, Kyle."

Kyle smiled. "I can see that." He turned to Warren and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so rude to you. Your offer is very generous, but I'm just not comfortable taking it."

Warren shrugged. "I won't force it on you, but I'd appreciate it if you'd give yourself a few days to decide anything definite." He raised his hands, palms out, as if in surrender. "I won't say more about it unless you tell me you want to talk about it again."

"All right. I'll think about it, but I don't want you to get your hopes up. Deal?"

"Deal. See you this evening."

Zeke Brennan showed Kyle out.

When they had left the room, Warren sat down with a sigh. "Thank God Lillian was here, or I don't think he'd have anything more to do with us."

"Yes," Auburn said. "And if I were you, Warren, I'd search through your mother's scrapbooks to see if she took any photos of Estelle. It won't hurt for you to have a few offerings of your own."

The moment she was home, Lillian called Helen Corrigan.

"Swanie, it's Lil. Look, I have an emergency on my hands and I need your help."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just need you to see someone. Long story, which I'll tell you this evening. You're coming to dinner here at seven--dress casually. And bring Conn--warn him this is not for the newspaper, all right?"

"Okay, Miss Mysterious."

"Miss--oh! Helen, you're a genius."

"I am, am I?"

"Well, I think so. Know a good-looking single young woman who might be able to join us? No hussies--someone sharp, who has the ability to converse. You must have met someone with half a brain during all those years of teaching."

Helen laughed. "Good grief, Lil."

"I'm serious."

"All right. Let's see..." There was another laugh, and she said, "If she can make it, I've got the perfect candidate."

"Swanie, I've known you too long. I know that laugh. You're up to mischief."

"I just want to give Conn a challenge. But don't worry. I'm bringing someone you'll adore. But you have to be the one to invite Conn, and don't tell him that I'm bringing anyone else along with me, all right?"

"Helen..."

"Lillian, I promise I'll keep these two pups of mine in line."

"Is she a newspaperwoman?"

"Yes."

Lillian sighed. "And she won't write about this evening?"

"No. Have I ever let you down?"

Lillian's voice softened. "Oh, Helen, forgive me--I'm in a tizzy. No, you've never let me down, which is why I always end up coming to you when I'm in a fix. See you at seven."

**CHAPTER 23

EVEN BEFORE THE DINNER DEBACLE, THE OLD FART WAS MAKING ME crazy.

Dinner Debacle. Men's Room Incident. Byline Blowup. I was starting to think of my life in the newsroom as a series of B-movie titles.

On the Monday after the great Men's Room Incident, O'Connor walked by my desk and said in an overly loud voice, "Great story about the dogs, Kelly."

Kelly. Not Ms. Kelly or Miss Kelly. This probably isn't something a lot of people would even notice, but it seems to me the naming business is part of deciding who is on the team and who isn't. Last name only, you're on.

I was still angry with him, though, and decided I was going to ignore him, but he ignored me first. He kept walking.

Later, he waited until Mark Baker was standing near my desk, walked up to him, and said, "What I said the other day was crap. I'd appreciate it if you would forget every word of it."

"No problem," Mark said, and looked at me.

I pointedly turned my attention back to the black IBM Selectric on my desk. I was writing a story on Las Piernas High School's astounding success in a drill team competition. Not a story that would win a Pulitzer, but I wasn't ashamed of it, either. I had found a quotable kid who made all the difference.

Lydia told me that O'Connor had been asking her a lot of questions about me. That bothered me. It bothered me even more that she had answered most of them. I asked myself why I cared and couldn't come up with a good answer.

Then came the Byline Blowup.

A week after the Men's Room Incident, I was working on a story about art supplies. I hit upon this one by accident--I was waiting for my father to finish his latest round of chemo, when Aunt Mary became irritated with my anxiousness and told me to take a walk. So I strolled down toward the emergency room. Sure enough, there was someone there with bigger problems than mine: the mother of a teenager who had started hallucinating in art class, then passed out. So far, he hadn't regained consciousness.

"He doesn't use drugs," she said. "I don't know what caused this."

At first I chalked this up to the "not my Johnny" syndrome--no love is so blind as parental love.

But some of his friends came by to wait with her, and after talking to them for a while, I became convinced that her son might be the clean-and-sober type after all. I got a few details from his classmates about what had been going on just before he started freaking out.

I took down the mother's name, address, and phone number. When the doctor came out to talk to her, she let me listen in. I asked him if chemicals in use in the art class could cause that reaction.

"Conceivably," he answered. "We won't know the answer to that until his blood work comes back from the lab."

When I got back to the paper that afternoon, I contacted a woman in the purchasing department of the school district. I had been trying to build trust with her; she had been a minor source whom I had hoped to go to for more in the future. I hadn't really planned on hitting her with anything big so soon, and at first I feared that asking for a list of art supplies purchased for one of the local high schools might be more than she was willing to risk. The records were ones I could demand to see, but I preferred not to do that--taking that approach only builds future resistance.