See How She Dies (31 page)

Upon his father's grave, and in full view of the press, Anthony Polidori, the new patriarch of the family, had sworn vengeance against the murdering Danvers family.

“Here we are,” he said, motioning to the restaurant. “A friend of mine owns it.” The door of the limo was opened by the driver and Anthony, barely using his cane, walked down the plank docking leading to the front doors.

As they entered they were greeted loudly by the maître d'. Voices from the kitchen staff and waiters shouted out greetings as well. In this Italian restaurant, Anthony had no enemies.

“So good to see you,” the maître d' enthused. “Your table's ready. Please come this way.” They were led up a short flight of stairs to a private, glassed-in room on the second story that offered a 360-degree view of the bridges spanning the murky Willamette River.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Anthony asked.

“Very.” Adria nodded as the maître d' pulled out a chair for her.

“The Willamette River is the lifeblood of the city.” Anthony gazed through the windows as if he could never get enough of the panorama of the Willamette River and the skyscrapers rising off the western shore.

Without waiting for him to order, a slim waiter brought wine and crusty Italian bread. “The usual?” he asked as he poured three glasses.

“For all of us,” Polidori responded.

“Why did you want to see me?” she asked as the waiter disappeared.

“Haven't you guessed?” Anthony's dark eyes twinkled devilishly and he chuckled.

Mario came to the rescue. “It's because we know you've come to Portland for your birthright. That you're claiming to be London Danvers.”

Adria took a sip of the Chianti. “Why would you care?”

“Try the bread,” Anthony ordered, ignoring her question for the moment. “It's the best in the city. Probably in all of the Northwest.” He reached for a slice himself.

“Does the Danvers family still bother you?”

She was rewarded with one of his smiles. “I always care what happens to the family of my old rival.” He glanced up at her and dusted the crumbs from his fingers. “It was a shock to me when the little girl was abducted and yet I was considered a suspect.” Shaking his head at the folly of it all, he added, “Despite my protests and alibi, Witt and his henchman, Jack Logan, seemed to think I had something to do with the girl's disappearance. Even Mario, though he was in Hawaii at the time, was regarded as a suspect. The fact that the second son, Zachary, claimed he was roughed up by some Italians immediately put my family at the top of the list of possible kidnappers. Never mind that the two men whom he claimed to have attacked him had airtight alibis and were seen at several restaurants around the city.” He wagged a finger in the air. “Didn't matter. A
Danvers
had made the accusation and in this town that makes a difference—a big difference.” He raised his palms to the ceiling. “So, I would like to clear the Polidori name. And, if you are indeed London, I would like to help you.” He bit into his bread and sighed happily, as if he'd forgotten the conversation, but Adria knew differently. When she didn't respond, he said, “I doubt the Danvers family is eager for you to be their half-sister.”

She hedged. “There's been a little resistance.”

Mario snorted a laugh at her understatement. “A little? Come on.”

Waving off his son's sarcasm, Anthony said, “Of course, I know nothing of your financial situation, but it's no secret that the Danverses are exceedingly wealthy and influential. If they decide to fight you on this—and believe me, they will fight you like wounded wolves, with everything they've got—I'm willing to help you.”

“Help me?” she said, not sure she understood correctly.

“Absolutely.”

Mario leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes squinting thoughtfully in her direction. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Our family has some power in this town, too. In fact, we think our lawyers are the best in the city. If you need legal help, or a loan—”

“I don't think that would be such a good idea.” It was beginning to sound as if they wanted her in their camp and she suddenly felt anxious.

“Do you want to prove you're London or not?” Anthony asked and his dark eyes gleamed with a frosty inner light that was as cold as death.

“Of course.”

“Then you should take my offer.”

She wanted to turn him down flat. Though he and Mario were both trying their best to be charming, she felt as if he was attempting to orchestrate the conversation and push her into a position where she'd be in debt to him forever. However, she wasn't foolish enough to reject his offer outright. Not yet. She'd learned that patience was a virtue, though sometimes hard to attain. The fact of the matter was that she was in no position to turn away help of any kind. Though the Polidoris had axes to grind with the Danvers family, she needed allies in her search—any allies she could get. She had only to think of the dead rat to remind herself. “You're very generous.”

“Then it's settled.”

“Not quite. You know, most of the family still thinks you were behind London's kidnapping.”

Polidori's smiled faded. He studied the red wine in his glass. “I had nothing to do with the kidnapping. I would never hurt a child. Anyone's child.”

“What about Robert Danvers?” she asked the old man.

Polidori snorted. “Julius's oldest son had a boating accident, if I recall.”

“Some people think you arranged it.”

“People like to make something of nothing.”

She plunged onward. “Julius had three children. Only one—Witt—survived.”

With a long sigh, Anthony said, “Julius's second boy, Peter, was killed in the war.” He frowned. “I had nothing to do with that, either, you know. Though I'm sure the Danvers family would like to think I was in league with Mussolini and Hitler, I didn't hire the Nazis to shoot Peter's plane down. Nor did I do anything to the boat that Robert was driving on the river the summer he was killed. The way I heard the story was that he'd been drinking heavily and came too close to the shore of the Columbia. His boat crashed against the rocks. In the accident, his neck was broken. He was killed instantly.”

“An accident that left Witt as the only Danvers heir.”

“Precisely. Look, if I was so vile as to have arranged all these deaths, why wouldn't I kill Witt as well?”

Adria considered, then decided to gamble. “Maybe you wanted him to twist in the wind a little. There are rumors about your rivalry with Witt. It isn't out of the question to think that you might want to watch one of Julius's sons face a little pain in his life.” She didn't mention Anthony's affair with Witt's first wife, Eunice, but it hung on the air between them—suspended by invisible threads of innuendo.

Anthony shook his head. “You think I'm some big Mafia don, is that it?” he asked and exchanged looks with his son.

“I don't know you at all,” Adria pointed out. “In fact, I wasn't sure I should come here.”

“And why is that?”

Leaning closer to him, she said, “Because, Mr. Polidori—I thought you might have wanted to talk to me to get information on the Danvers family for your own purposes.”

“You don't trust me.”

“There's a reason you asked me to dinner and I don't think it's because you think that I've had a lack of Italian cuisine while growing up in Montana.”

One graying brow lifted. “I'm just curious, that's all.”

“Why?”

“It is rumored that if London Danvers does appear, she'll inherit a good portion of Danvers International.”

Here it comes
.

“Many of our business interests are in direct competition with the Danvers Corporation and I was hoping, should you come to inherit part of the fortune, that you might be willing to sell off some of the smaller industries.” Resting his elbows on the table, he propped up his chin. “I'm specifically interested in the Hotel Danvers.”

Her heart dropped to the floor. The hotel? She thought of the ballroom with its glorious chandeliers, the old elevator, the time and money put into renovating the old building to its original state.

“You brought me here to…what? Bribe me?” She shook her head and laughed at the pomposity of this man, who, though he was loath to admit it, was very much like several members of the Danvers clan. “I'm afraid you'll have to take a number and stand in line. A few people in the Danvers family are already in a bidding war. They seem to think that I can be bought off.”

“Can you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Ahh…an
honorable
woman. With
noble
intentions.” His eyes flickered dangerously.

“I just want to find out the truth.”

Zach smelled trouble. It sizzled in the air, like electricity before a lightning storm, and drew him back to Portland.

Jason's panicked phone calls hadn't caused him to climb into his Jeep and head west over the mountains. Pressing business worries weren't the reason. Nor had his concern that he'd lose the ranch if Adria proved to be London been his impetus. No, the reason he'd driven like a madman across the mountains had been something more basic, more primal, an urge deep in his guts that he couldn't suppress and didn't want to name.

“Idiot,” he ground out as he glowered through the raindrops drizzling down the windshield. The lights of Portland shone like tiny beacons, leading him closer.

To what?

Adria
.

He ground his teeth together and his fingers clenched the steering wheel, gripping hard. He didn't even know where she was staying.

 

It was after ten by the time she returned to her hotel room. She kicked off her shoes. Rubbing one foot, she sat on the bed and glanced at the mini refrigerator. Didn't want to go there. She picked up the receiver with her free hand. As she dialed the number Nelson had left with someone at the front desk, she cradled the receiver between her shoulder and ear. The phone rang five times and she was about to hang up when he answered.

“Nelson Danvers.”

“This is Adria,” she said. “You called?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Yes, I, uh, thought we should meet. You know, to talk, to get to know each other. I was hoping maybe tonight if you can make it. I'd be willing to come downtown and meet you in the bar of your hotel.”

She glanced at the clock. Why not? It was early and she wasn't the least bit tired. In fact, the dead rat and then her dinner with the Polidoris had set her nerves on edge and she needed to calm down. She told him she'd meet him in twenty minutes and hung up before she noticed the note—a single piece of paper folded, with her name scratched on the back—lying on the bureau. Oh, God! No one had slipped this piece of paper under the door.

Dread settled in the back of her throat.

Hands shaking, she snatched up the note and opened it. DIE BITCH.

A chill slithered down her spine. Her skin crawled in apprehension. Her lungs were suddenly tight and she nearly dropped the paper onto the floor.

Pull yourself together!

Taking in a deep breath, she decided that the message didn't bother her as much as the frightening fact that someone had delivered the simple piece of paper to her locked room. The same person who had let himself into her room at the Hotel Danvers, the same creep who had left the dead rat and locket downstairs. Her stomach turned at the thought. He knew where she was staying and worse yet, could come and go as he pleased, while she was away or while she was sleeping.

Panic tore through her but she tamped it down. Yes, she would have to go to the authorities and soon, but for now she couldn't let some chickenshit letter-writer get to her. She reminded herself that she didn't scare easily. She'd grown up on the farm and her father had taken her hunting, fishing, and even rock climbing in the Bitterroots. She'd skinny-dipped in Flathead Lake and branded cattle, smelling the searing flesh, hearing the cows bawl, as she learned to be tough. She'd shot the rapids as well as her .22 and she'd watched as her favorite horse had to be destroyed after shattering his leg. She'd faced the threat of losing her home and the death of all her loved ones and, by God, she wasn't going to let anyone get the better of her. Not by writing silly little notes. Damned coward. She folded the stupid threat and tucked it into her purse with the other one that she'd crumpled, then smoothed flat and decided to keep. Maybe she'd show them both to Nelson and see what he had to say.

Within ten minutes, she was downstairs in the bar, at a private table near windows that looked onto the street. She watched the steady stream of traffic moving slowly between red lights. Pedestrians carrying umbrellas and wrapped in winter coats with the collars turned against the wind dashed along the sidewalks. Always in a hurry.

She hadn't planned to order a drink, but receiving the package and note had definitely changed her mind. She was sipping a rum and Coke when Nelson appeared. She almost didn't recognize him, as she'd always seen him impeccably dressed in expensive suits. Tonight his hair was uncombed, windblown and damp from the rain, and he wore a wool sweater, black jeans, and a black leather jacket that looked brand new, as if he'd bought it for the occasion.

Whereas Zachary was rough-and-tumble and wore his I-don't-give-a-shit attitude comfortably, Nelson seemed out of place in clothes a little too fashionable to be casual. An enigma.

Nelson glanced nervously around the room before he spied her. Relief crossed his face as he threaded his way quickly through the tables. He seemed paler than she remembered, less self-assured, and there was a little-boy quality to him that she hadn't noticed before.

“Adria!” His face broke into a warm smile as he dropped into the chair opposite her. The waiter was there immediately and he ordered a Scotch on the rocks. “You must think it's strange that I called you,” he said, wiping a few drops of rain from his jacket.

“I expected it.”

“Did you?”

“You're just the first. I'd guess that everybody in the family will want to have his or her say. You know, try and convince me that it's in my best interests to leave town.”

His smile didn't even falter, though she thought she saw a flicker of ice in his warm blue eyes. “Well, I hate to say it, but it would make it a helluva lot easier on you.”

“Mmm. So I should just turn tail and run?”

“Not exactly.”

“And then I'd be back to square one.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I think so, yes,” she said, her temper frazzling. “Do you know, have you any idea, how many years I've been trying to find out who I am? Where I came from?”

The waiter brought his drink and Nelson fingered the glass. “So it doesn't matter if you're London, as long as you find out who you are.”

“I
am
London.”

He eyed her speculatively. “Okay,
London
,” he said with just a hint of sarcasm, “what is it you want from us?”

“I already told you—recognition.”

“And, with the recognition, your inheritance.”

“Look, Nelson, I don't expect you or the rest of your family to roll over and take me in with no questions asked. That wouldn't make sense.”

“No…”

“And I realize I'm not the first one to make the claim that I'm your half-sister.”

“Not by a long shot.”

Adria spread her hands over the table, as if in supplication. “All I want is a chance. I don't know what your family's doing, but I imagine everyone is trying his damnedest to prove me a fake. I figure you've got a team of lawyers and investigators working on this day and night.” His eyes shifted away from hers and she knew she'd been right about one thing. She was being followed, by some detective hired by the family. A knot tightened in her stomach, but she managed to appear calm. “So if you get any information that conclusively says I'm
not
London Danvers, just let me know and I'll back off. I'll take blood tests, lie detector tests, DNA tests, anything, to help sort this out. Give me a call when your PI reports back to you.”

“How do you know about—?”

“Only makes sense.” She sat back against her chair and regarded him coldly. “It's what I would do if the situation were reversed.”

“You could go away from this empty-handed.”

“That's not exactly a news flash.” She stared at him steadily and he blinked before finding interest in his half-empty glass. “I just have to know the truth, Nelson. Maybe you aren't interested in that, but I'd say it's a shame if the public defender wasn't looking for it around each and every corner.”

He took a quick swallow of Scotch and Adria thought that he, of all the children, looked the most like his father. Witt had been a bigger man, but he had the same startling blue eyes, aristocratic, straight nose, thick hair, and square jaw. Aside from the similar facial features, the resemblance ended, however. Nelson was decidedly different from Witt—or at least what she imagined Witt to have been from all the articles and newspaper reports she'd read of him, the pictures she'd seen. Witt Danvers had been imposing and ruthless and cruel. Nelson seemed to have a gentler side to his character and Adria guessed there had been little, if any, gentleness in Witt Danvers. Whatever tenderness had been trapped in his black soul had been given only to his youngest child: to London. His little treasure.

She felt suddenly sick and surprisingly empathetic for this man sitting across from her. All Witt's children bore emotional scars that might never heal. But she wouldn't learn anything if she showed any sign of weakness, if she let her emotions get the better of her. “What if I do turn out to be London?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow. “What would you do then?”

“I don't know…it's impossible to even consider it. She's been dead too long…at least dead to me. Us. The family.”

“If I do turn out to be dear little London, you'll have to see me day after day and have to deal with me regarding all the family business, won't you?”

“I don't work for the company.”

“You're on the board of directors. You aren't high-profile, but you're involved. Sure, Jason pulls all the strings, but you and your sister are always hovering in the wings.” When he didn't respond, she plunged on, determined to make her point. “I could be helpful to you, you know. I read somewhere that you'd like to go into politics. If you assisted me in uncovering the truth, it would look good on your record, wouldn't it?” She winked at him, as if they were co-conspirators. “The headlines could be a veritable bonanza of goodwill—which wouldn't hurt you in the final ballot count. I can see them now:
DANVERS BROTHER FINDS LONG-LOST SISTER
; or
NELSON DANVERS PROVES WOMAN IS HIS HALF-SISTER. CANDIDATE FINDS LONG-LOST RELATIVE
. It could go on and on.”

Nelson's eyes grew wary.

“Then again,” she said, with a lift of her shoulder, “if I really do turn out to be London, I could throw a monkey wrench in all your ambitions. You're probably banking on getting your share of the fortune.” She clucked her tongue and wondered what it was about him that made her second-guess herself.

“You know, Adria, I came here hoping that we could settle things. I don't need to be threatened.”

“Glad you brought it up, 'cause neither do I.” Reaching into her purse, she retrieved the nasty little notes she'd received and slapped them onto the table. “Someone has been sending me notes and…gifts, if you would call it that.”

The color seeped from his face. “Who gave these to you?”

“Don't know. Notice that they're not signed. The mark of a true coward.”

“How'd you get them? Were they delivered?” he asked, a muscle ticking near the corner of his jaw.

“One turned up on my bureau. The other, a nasty little surprise, was left at the desk. Not many people know that I'm a guest here, Nelson, but obviously you did, so I assume the rest of your family does as well. My guess is that the guy you've got following me reports back to you and you all know when I'm out of my room.” She glared at him. “Give the family a message—it won't work. I won't back off. I've been told that I've got a stubborn streak that becomes obvious when people try to force me into doing what they want.” She leaned across the table, bringing her face closer to his. “The bottom line is this—the more you push, the harder I'll push right back. These”—she pointed to the letter—“are a waste of my time, and the package just evidence that someone needs to see a shrink.”

“I have no idea where those letters came from,” he said, blinking hard, as if trying to put his thoughts in some sort of order. “And a package—what was in it?”

“Believe me, you don't want to know. Why don't you give your siblings a message for me, okay? Tell them to knock it off. I'm about ready to go to the police and the press as it is and this is just one way of pushing me right through the open doors of the
Oregonian
. I know of several columnists who would have a ball with this story and probably a dozen freelance reporters who would cut off their right arm if they could create a little controversy in this town. They'd love to shake up the social strata a bit by writing an exposé of some sort on the Danvers family.” She took a long drink from her glass. “What do you think?”

“What I think, Adria,” Nelson said, his voice surprisingly low and calm, “is that you're just like all the rest. A fraud.”

“And what I think is someone in the family is running scared.” She tapped a fingernail on the letters. “Really scared.”

“You don't even know that they're from the family.”