Cold Comfort (21 page)

Claire held her breath, afraid to think.

"A car hit a big old tree out by the road. They found two women in it, the driver and a pregnant passenger. My dad and my brother got them out of the car and carried them into the house. Both of them were hurt, but the pregnant one was bad. My dad didn't want to move her again. The storm knocked the phone out, so my brother drove into town to get Doc Clary and call for an ambulance."

"My mother," Claire whispered.

"Yes, you look so much like her. Your wet hair made me remember. The same dark color, wet, sticking to her white face."

"No
—
no, my mother had blonde hair." Claire could barely hear her own words. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She's wrong, she's wrong
. She tightened her fingers on Riley's.

"No, baby, the blonde one was her sister. She kept saying 'Caroline, hang on,' and praying. Your mother looked like you."

Claire wanted to close her eyes, but shock made her immobile. She felt the blood drain from her face. She tried to deny Tammy's words, but she couldn't make a sound.

Riley pulled her chair to him and put his arm around her, saying to Tammy, "Go on. Please. Tell us what happened."

"My nana delivered lots of babies around here. She saw the baby was coming and told me what to do. She and I delivered you right there in my bed. It was the most terrible night of my life, but the most wonderful too." Tammy cleared her throat and reached across the table, patted Claire's arm. Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Your mother lived for about an hour. She named you Claire and asked your aunt to keep you safe
—
they were sisters, real close. She said
—
I remember like I'm hearing it now
—
'Don't tell anyone. Promise me. Just go and take care of my baby.' She kept saying it over and over. 'Take care of my baby.'"

Tears rolled down Claire's cheeks. She pressed her hand to her mouth, struggling to stifle her sobs. Images of the scene spun through her mind. Her mother, dying. Blanche, her aunt. The room tilted around her. Only Riley's arms kept her upright.
Truth—
she knew it. Her throat closed.

Tammy's face was as wet as Claire's. She said softly, her voice husky with memory, "Dr. Clary got there just after you did. The blonde lady
—
I can't remember her name
—
was holding your mother. We all knew she wouldn't make it. I held you while Doc worked on her. He kept saying 'Oh, Caroline.' He knew them both
—
he really tried to save her."

"What about Blanche, the blonde?"

"She had a bad cut on her head"
—
she touched her hairline
—
"and I think her arm could have been broken, but she kept holding her sister and saying she promised. The ambulance finally came and took them away. Dr. Clary let the lady hold you in her good arm. I think it comforted her, having you."

Claire pictured the thin scar, usually hidden by her mother's blonde hair.
Oh, Mother, why? Why did you hide it?
After a few minutes, she recovered enough to blow her nose and ask, "Did you ever see any of them
—
us
—
again? Do you know what happened to Caroline?"

"Doc Clary came back the next day and told us you were fine. He and my family and you and your aunt were the only ones at the graveside service for your mother." Tammy paused, watching her. "Do you know where she's buried?"

"She's here?" Claire reeled.
Why
hadn't her mother
—
Blanche, she amended
—
told her?

"Yes, she's at the old cemetery in McClellanville. I can tell you how to find it, or I can show you when I get off at three." Tammy wiped away her own tears. She gave the directions to Riley and then turned. "I'm so glad to meet you again, little Claire. You changed my life."

"I did?"

"I'd already quit school, wasting my life. That night I decided I wanted to be a nurse. I knew I'd never make a doctor, but I wanted to help the babies. I went back to school and, after some hard years, got my nursing degree. I've been a maternity nurse ever since." She raised her arm, checked her watch. "I need to get back now. If you want to see the house where it happened, I can take you this evening."

"I'd love to see it. Could you tell Riley where we can meet you?" Claire wiped her eyes and spoke past the painful lump in her throat. "Thank you, Tammy. I don't know what to say, but thank you for telling me. And for taking care of me and my
—
my mother."

Tammy hugged her, her tears mingling with Claire's. She stepped back and patted her hand. "We can meet at my house, and I'll take you to Nana's old place—she's gone now, but the house is there." She gave Riley the directions and then said to Claire, "I expect you have a lot to think about if you didn't even know about your mother." Tammy hugged her once more. "She loved you."

Claire couldn't answer. She nodded, barely able to handle the emotions swirling through her head.

"Before you go," Riley said to Tammy, keeping his arm around Claire, "I want to warn you not to mention this to anyone. Somehow, this is connected to Dr. Clary's death, and it could be dangerous for you."

"What? How could that be?"

"We don't know why or what the connection is, but we think the person who killed Dr. Clary questioned MaryDell Baker at the nursing home. Fortunately, she didn't remember your name until today. He obviously wrote her off as harmless, but your information is what he's looking for."

"Is this true?" Tammy's voice rose.

"He tried to kill me, too. You can ask Ed Killian at McClellanville," Claire said, wiping her nose and sniffing. "Just be careful."

"I will." Tammy hugged her again. "You, too, baby."

They watched her walk away. Riley squeezed Claire's shoulders. "Let's go back to the cottage. I'll pick up some lunch on the way. You need time to think, and I want to make some calls."

"Where's the cemetery? Can we go by there?" She felt so lost. Her entire life had been a lie
—
all her truths illusions. Who was she? "How will we find my father?"

"We'll backtrack to Caroline's life. Your father is the key to this. The question is, why now, after all this time?"

Chapter 14

Claire sat in silence while Riley drove through the rain, headed back to McClellanville. Thoughts tumbled through her head until it ached.

"We assumed Edith Walters thought you looked like Blanche, but she'd been talking about Caroline. That's who she meant. Your—Blanche and Caroline must have been going to Clary to have him deliver the baby in a place where they weren't known. Clary didn't even tell his family."

"Maybe they'd planned all along to pass me off as Blanche's baby. I don't think my aunt
—
" She stumbled and took a deep breath. "I mean Caroline. I don't think she ever married. Back then, especially in the South, it was definitely not acceptable to have a child out of wedlock."

"At least you know Blanche never left Daniel. She must have loved you very much to suffer his family's censure and not tell them. She wanted to protect you, Claire."

"I don't want to be protected. My mother was overly protective. In spite of everything, I've grown this last year. I make my own decisions, do what I want. Independence is a heady feeling, and I won't give it up." She raised her chin and dared Riley to contradict her.

"I get the message."

Yeah, right. Until the next time he wanted her to do something. She turned to the side and watched miles of trees and fields, occasional houses and buildings, slide past. Rain ran down the window like tears. "Why didn't she tell me? Is it my father who's trying to kill me? Good heavens! Surely it can't be Joey Fortunato." The mere thought turned her stomach.

Riley laughed. "No, you're safe there. Fortunato's just hired muscle."

"Then who sent him after Dr. Clary?"

"I wish I knew." They turned off the highway and passed the ranger station Tammy mentioned. Riley said, "Watch for the landmarks to the cemetery. It shouldn't be far." He made a right and continued. "Maybe the guy who got away at Mistletoe. Fortunato's a low-level wiseguy
—
now that's a misnomer if I ever heard one." His wry grin belied his words. "But if it were anyone powerful or high up, he'd have used a more competent hit man."

"I don't know whether to be insulted or pleased." Claire glared at him.

He chuckled, a sound she wouldn't have expected from him, but when he reached over and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, her heart melted a little more. She'd gotten a lot more than she bargained for when she hired him.

"Let's go to Greenville tomorrow. We need to find out more about Caroline." He turned right at the small tidal creek, and there under the spreading oaks, they found the cemetery, just as Tammy described.

Spanish moss hung like sheltering arms over the wet stones. The cold rain brought a hint of the salt air from the sea, mixed with the clean smell of pine.

"What a peaceful place." Claire stared through the shimmering veil, searching for the small white stone Tammy described.

Riley fished a large black umbrella out of the back of the Tahoe and held it over them while they searched for Caroline's grave. Not far from a large monument shaped like a tree trunk, somewhat apart, they found it. The low marker read simply "Caroline Lucretia Lindsey," with two dates.

"December twenty-fourth. My birth date." Claire knelt, tracing the carved letters with her fingertips. She turned her face to the heavy sky. Silent tears spilled from her eyes. "'When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds, and our nights become darker than a thousand midnights'—that's Martin Luther King."

Riley stood quietly with the umbrella, giving her time to mourn, protecting her from the steady rainfall.

I can't think about this now. It's too much.
Finally she could take a deep breath and shove her emotions to a corner of her heart. She felt like throwing herself to the ground and letting the rain wash it all away. It wouldn't, of course. Sooner or later, she'd have to deal with it. But not now.

After awhile, she wiped her face and stood, lifting her slacks at the knees to shake out the water. "I'm soaked. I'm also numb. My mind has shut down
—
it's too much to absorb all at once."

"There's time." He held her for a moment.

She shivered through the damp parka, wishing she could burrow into his warmth, absorb his strength. She needed an anchor in this storm her life had become, but holding on to Ben Riley wasn't a possibility. He'd move on like a swell on the sea when this was over, and she'd be even emptier than she was now. Straightening, she brushed new tears from her cheeks.

Holding her arm, he guided her back to the warmth of the Tahoe. He drove slowly, stopping at the little bridge to point out a heron standing in a shallow pool.

* * *

At the cottage, while Claire showered, Riley phoned Ed Killian and filled him in. "Our long shot just got a lot shorter. Joey Fortunato was at the nursing home questioning MaryDell Baker. We can't prove it, but he's one of your killers."

They talked a few minutes and Riley said, "You won't have to wait. I'll make a sketch for you and you can show it at the nursing home, but watch out for that little weasel."

After he answered Ed's questions, he took a long-handled match from a tall box on the mantel and lighted the pile of neatly laid kindling in the fireplace. The fire would warm Claire, help her relax, but it might take awhile to reach the bone-deep cold caused by shock. He blew gently and coaxed the tiny flame to life. It flickered and grew, igniting the dry wood. When he judged it hot enough, he added a couple of logs, dry and ready, from the wood box. Within a couple of minutes, the fire blazed, strong enough to sustain itself.

He dropped into a chair by the little desk, thinking, watching the rain. The desk held guest stationery imprinted with a sketch of Marsh Winds and the address. Flicking the cap off a pen, he made a quick sketch of Joey Fortunato to give to Killian. A pencil would have been better but he didn't have one. The drawing wasn't great, but the staff would be able to identify him from it, and the deputy wouldn't have to wait for someone to send a mug shot. He finished and left it on the counter.

This morning's revelations rocked Claire's foundation. He wished he could absorb some of her pain, offer something constant in her shifting world. Helplessness wasn't a feeling he knew well. He could deal with Joey Fortunato
—
in fact, longed for a chance to break the guy in two—him and the bastard he worked for. But that wouldn't solve her real problem or give her anything to replace the beliefs she'd grown up with. She needed a stable, conventional life and a husband to share it with, a nine-to-five kind of guy who'd be there for her. She needed children to bake cookies for. What did he have to offer? Only the ability to find the reason behind these attacks, and he'd damn well better start concentrating and cut his growing personal involvement. That made finding the truth about Caroline Lindsey his first task.

What had Keith Spencer said? Blanche lived on base in Virginia, and her sister was with her. Riley opened his cell phone and called Will Porter in Washington. "Yeah, Caroline Lucretia Lindsey. Where she lived, where she worked, and especially any male friends or social connections. Thanks, Will."