Running on Empty (30 page)

AnnaLise sighed. Time to bite the bullet. Or at least type it.

'No, but thanks. He's calling on a personal matter that I can handle from here.'

She hesitated, eyeing the words 'personal matter'. The overused phrase sounded like
she was telling Jan, who'd been so kind on a very personal front, to mind her own
business.

AnnaLise cursored back and changed 'personal' to 'non-news' and added, 'Don't worry,
I'm not being arrested.' And, God help her, a winking smiley face. Yuck. Reading it
over one last time, she changed 'I
can
handle from here' to 'I
will
handle from here' and pushed 'send'. Then she shut down the machine.

Like District Attorney Ben Rosewood, the gun cabinet wasn't going away. It was still
standing there on the landing, insidiously whispering her name. Mocking her for being
a weenie.

'Who says ignorance isn't bliss?' AnnaLise said aloud, willing herself to put the
Wisconsin issues aside for now.

God knew, she had enough North Carolina ones to keep her busy.

If a rifle was missing, what would she do? Go to Chuck? Keep quiet and let the case
against Bobby continue to build?

Neither struck her as acceptable.

But not knowing was even worse.

AnnaLise mounted the steps. 'Shaddup,' she said as she passed the cabinet toward Daisy's
bedroom.

Light and airy. Yellow walls, white woodwork. The maple-framed bed was covered by
a predominantly blue quilt with a subtle yellow thread that picked up the walls perfectly.
AnnaLise moved to the matching maple dresser and slid open the top drawer.

Daisy, who could concededly out-drink her daughter, also had more 'intimate apparel'
than AnnaLise. And, by all appearances, nice stuff. Steadfastly resisting the urge
to check labels to see just
how
nice, AnnaLise slid her hand along the bottom of the drawer. She was rewarded in the
right rear corner with what felt like a small key.

'What are you looking for?'

AnnaLise jumped, caught literally with her hand in the lingerie drawer.

She slipped the key into her other hand and then turned, holding up a bra. 'I didn't
get a chance to wash clothes and wanted to borrow a bra. Where did you come from?'

'The bathroom.' The answer should have been evident, Daisy wearing a robe and her
hair wrapped in a towel. 'What's wrong with the one you have on?'

AnnaLise looked down. 'The strap hurts my shoulder.'

'Well, the one you're holding is too small, even for me.' Daisy snatched the bra out
of her daughter's hand.

AnnaLise hooked both thumbs in her jeans' pockets and watched as her mother dropped
the bra back into the drawer.

Digging around, Daisy finally pulled out a sapphire blue, lacy number. 'Try this.'

AnnaLise accepted the bra and did a quick eye-appraisal. 'A LaPerla push-up?'

'I'm fifty, AnnaLise, not dead.' Daisy closed the drawer and pulled out the one below
it. 'Anything else you need? Panties?'

Afraid her mother was going to come up with a matching thong, AnnaLise shook her head.
'No. No, this is great. Thanks. Umm, you getting ready for the tea?'

'Yes, though I'm not really looking forward to it. I've never been to Ema's house,
but I'm imagining an elaborate silver service and tiny lettuce sandwiches.'

'You've never been to Bradenham?' AnnaLise asked, flopping down on Daisy's bed to
prolong her cover story. 'I thought you and Mrs. B were old friends.'

'We've known each other a long time, but we haven't been what I'd call "friends" for
years. More like acquaintances with some history.'

'That's too bad. Did you have a falling out?' AnnaLise was trying to think back.

'Not really, just sort of drifted apart.' Daisy had the closet door open and was sorting
through her dress hangers, selecting first one, then another, and so on.

'Because Ema Bradenham went away and got married?'

Daisy's hand froze. Then: 'Well, yes. I suppose.'

'"You suppose" that's why you drifted apart or "you suppose" she got married?'

No answer.

But then, AnnaLise hadn't really expected one. 'That's a bit much, don't you think?'

Daisy turned, a sequinned little black dress in her hand. 'What?'

'The LBD.' AnnaLise gestured toward the sequinned number. 'It's too dressy for afternoon
tea.'

'I know that.' Daisy put the hanger back on the rod.

AnnaLise, hands tented, lowered her chin to her finger pads. 'Dickens Hart is Bobby's
father.'

Daisy turned back, arms crossed. 'That's just a rumor. I told you not to believe everything
Phyllis said.'

'I'm not quoting Mama. Bobby told me because he's afraid Chuck's going to arrest him
for attempted murder. Apparently, Hart's will reads that Bobby is his son, and Chuck
told Bobby.'

Daisy seemed to freeze once again. 'Does Ema know?'

'She'd be in the best position, don't you think?'

'Don't you be flip with me, AnnaLise Marie Griggs.' Daisy stamped her bare foot. 'Does
Ema know that Chuck told Bobby what you just told me?'

'I don't know. Chuck might have told Mrs. B, I guess. Bobby was going to wait until
after this afternoon's tea to discuss it with his mother, alone and face-to-face.'

'Good.' Daisy had dropped her robe and was hurriedly pulling out clothes.

AnnaLise averted her eyes. 'Where are you going? I didn't think the tea started until
three.'

And her mother certainly wouldn't go to Bradenham in an old sweatsuit. And commando,
to boot.

But Daisy was already at the door. 'I'm going early. You and I will talk later, but
right now I have to see Ema.'

'Wait,' AnnaLise said, pushing up from the bed. 'I don't think Bobby would want you
talking to her before he has a chance.'

'This isn't about what Bobby wants.' Daisy was heading down the stairs.

AnnaLise got to her feet, feeling awful for betraying Bobby's confidence. She hadn't
told Tucker Stanton because she was afraid it would get around, and here Daisy was
about to go straight to Bobby's mother, the worst possible ear to hear the information.

AnnaLise managed to reach the top of the stairs just as Daisy disappeared around the
landing. 'I told you this in confidence, Daisy. You can't―'

'I can and I will.' Her mother's voice came from below. 'Sutherton's harbored too
many secrets, AnnaLise. Too many that have hurt more than helped.'

AnnaLise skidded around the landing and reached the bottom of the stairs as Daisy
was opening their front door. 'Wait! Please, you don't understand.'

Daisy stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned. 'No,
you
don't. I have to stop this before someone else gets hurt.'

Frightened by the look on her mother's face, AnnaLise hesitated. 'You can't honestly
think Bobby Bradenham shot his own father.'

'I don't know who shot anybody, AnnaLise.' Daisy's hand on the door went white-knuckled.
'What I do know is that Dickens Hart is not his father.'

AnnaLise's feet felt as though they'd been set in concrete. 'Then who―'

'Rance Smoaks.'

AnnaLise stared at the door Daisy had just slammed behind her.

The Chrysler's engine started and AnnaLise still stood staring as the car pulled away
from the curb, the sound of its motor and tires gradually receding.

Rance Smoaks as Bobby's father. Was that even possible?

Rance was fifteen years older than his wife, Kathleen. And Kathleen was Bobby's age.
That meant, of course, that Rance would have been just fifteen when Bobby was born.

And likely only fourteen when the baby had been conceived.

Mrs. B, now fifty-six, or six years older than Daisy, would have been... twenty-seven.
A twenty-seven-year-old woman and a fourteen-year-old boy? That went beyond 'cougaring'.

All the way to statutory rape.

No wonder the lid on it was kept so tight. AnnaLise was vaguely aware that the statutory
rape laws in North Carolina had been toughened in the nineties, but even before that,
the relationship would have been considered shameful, if not outright criminal.

So... what had they done? Presumably Rance Smoaks simply kept his mouth shut, though
by all reports the die had been cast on his character even before he hit fifteen.
An arrogant braggart and bully. Must have been hard for him to keep his 'prowess'
with a hot older woman — and a 'Fawn', no less — a secret.

Then again, his dad was chief of police and, by all accounts, a violent bully himself.
Maybe Rance had been frightened of his father's likely reaction — both for himself
and Mrs. B.

So there was never any '
Mr.
Bradenham', presumably. Ema had simply gone off to have the baby and, when she returned,
told people her husband, the infant's father, had died in a car accident. Even flashed
a scar to prove it. And because Baby Bobby supposedly was in an infant seat, he could
appear unscathed. The 'miracle'.

And Daisy had known from the get-go.

AnnaLise's mother had kept her mouth shut, honored the confidence, all these years.
The two women, though, had grown apart, as Daisy put it. Probably the more often Mrs.
B told the fiction, the more it became reality for her. And Daisy, for all her trustworthiness,
was not part of that 'reality'.

Finally turning away from the door, AnnaLise sagged into a chair at the kitchen table.

So, how did all this affect Bobby? Emotional part aside, it didn't seem to change
much, at least where the crimes were concerned.

For whatever reason, Dickens Hart believed Bobby was his son, acknowledged paternity,
and made him his heir. So long as Hart continued to believe that and didn't change
his will, Bobby had a motive for killing him.

An even stronger motive now, since it would be to Bobby's benefit for Hart to die
sooner rather than later, when the truth might nose its way out. As for Smoaks' murder,
the motive remained the same. The prosecutor would say that Bobby killed Rance in
order to get Kathleen and the indirect inheritance. The fact that Bobby was, in fact,
having an affair with his own stepmother...

AnnaLise shuddered. Could you possibly get
more
sensational and sordid than that? The tabloids would have a field day. Hell, even
AnnaLise's own, semi-staid paper back in Wisconsin would run with a story like this.
Not that she intended for the publisher to get it, and certainly not from her.

James Duende, on the other hand, might jump at the opportunity. Maybe, thanks to his
relationship with innkeeper Sheree Pepper, he was already on the trail and ahead of
AnnaLise. Another big pay day at the expense of someone else. Bobby.

It didn't bear thinking about.

So think instead about Ichiro Katou. How did he, a latecomer, fit into the puzzle
that was Sutherton? Ichiro's death couldn't have been an accident. A blow to the head
and the bloodied weapon, his cane, placed in the Griggs' garage.

Compounding the situation, AnnaLise couldn't be sure who knew what. And when.

Or, for that matter, where, why, or how, either.

Bobby seemingly would have no motive, given that Rance Smoaks was his father, not
Dickens Hart. Even if, in his travels, Hart had gone to Japan and fathered Ichiro,
it didn't matter. Bobby and Ichiro couldn't be related and, therefore, weren't in
competition for Hart's fortune.

Unless...

AnnaLise pulled Ichiro's 'genome' folder toward her. It was a little the worse for
wear, given that she'd rolled the thing up and then jumped off a deck with it stuffed
in her jeans.

There were two stapled reports inside. They'd apparently been sent to a Japanese address
in May, two months prior to Katou's arrival in Sutherton.

The first was entitled '
Paternal Lineage Test Results for Ichiro Katou
'. On its front was a map of East Asia. In the upper right hand corner was a box that
read 'Paternal Haplogroup 02B'.

AnnaLise skimmed the six-page printout, the first half of which seemed pertinent.
The last three pages contained general explanations of DNA testing and haplogroups
(or ancestral clumpings) and teasers for why you might want to pay the provider more
to dig just a little deeper.