Twisted Shadows (5 page)

For a moment, the all too familiar image flashed in his mind. His mother holding his hand on the walk to school.

A speeding car. His mother turning. Shots. His mother falling. A sharp pain in his side. Then he was kneeling next to her, his fingers covered with blood as they followed the stitch work of bullet holes in her body …

Maybe, at last, his mother might rest in peace.

And he might obtain some peace of his own.

To Sam's surprise, her two visitors from the previous day were not at the gallery when she opened it an hour late. Nor did they appear during the rest of the morning.

Every time the little bell on the door rang, electricity shot through her despite a dullness from lack of sleep. It was all she could do be pleasant to the potential customers who wandered in to the shop.

Terri appeared at lunchtime. She took one look at Sam and blinked. “You look awful.”

“I didn't get much sleep,” Sam said in one of the world's greatest understatements.

“Why don't you go home? I'll watch the shop.”

Sam desperately wished she could do that. But what if the two men returned?

Terri noticed her hesitation. “What's going on, Sam?”

Sam wanted to confide in Terri, but again she didn't feel she could tell even her until she knew the truth. She did tell Terri about the break-in, though. One of Terri's friends was with the police department, and she would find out anyway.

Terri stared at her with concern. “Have you been to a doctor?”

“No, I just have a little bump.”

Terri's gaze didn't leave her. “Could it have anything to do with those two men yesterday?”

Sam shook her head. “I don't think so.”

Terri gave her a dubious look but didn't press the point. “You should have that injury checked. You know any head wound could be dangerous.”

“I'm fine,” Sam insisted.

“I'll go with you,” Terri persisted.

“I'm all right, really I am, and we can't both be gone.”

“If you start feeling bad …”

“I'll let you know.”

“I can stay here with you.”

“Not necessary and there's some errands you can run for me. Some paintings need to be packaged and shipped.” She didn't want Terri here when—or if—the men returned. She didn't want questions asked she couldn't answer. She had lied to the police. She didn't want to lie to her best friend.

The moment Terri left with wrapped paintings in hand, the two men appeared.

Sam was at her desk this time when they entered. She didn't rise and didn't intend to. Nor would she be intimidated this time. By God, this was
her
gallery, in
her
town. They had invaded it, and possibly had invaded her home. She barely suppressed her rage, but she wanted some answers. Anger might not get them.

The older man held out another envelope.

She made no attempt to take it. “What is it this time?”

“A round-trip plane ticket to Boston. First class.” The last was obviously meant to impress her.

It didn't. “I won't do anything until I talk to my mother,” she said.

“She'll lie,” the man said flatly, letting the envelope fall on her desk.

“Why?”

“She abandoned her husband and son. No decent woman would do that.”

“And the man you claim is my father
is
decent?”

The older man looked surprised. “People lie about him.”

“Really?” she said. “And what's your name?”

“Tommy.”

“Tommy what?”

“Just Tommy. I'm a friend of your father's.”

“A soldier?”

He blinked, then shrugged. “An associate,” he corrected. The younger man coughed.

She looked at the envelope he'd dropped on her desk. “I don't want it. If I decide to go, I'll pay my own way.”

A flash of annoyance flickered in his eyes. “Stubborn. Like your brother.”

She couldn't resist the question. “How?”

“Come to Boston and you'll find out.”

“Does he know about me?”

Satisfaction flickered across his face. She'd indicated curiosity and he obviously thought his mission had succeeded. Well, it hadn't. She wanted more information. That was all.

“No,” he said.

“Why not?”

He shrugged, and she knew he was not going to say more.

She gave in to her curiosity. “How long has … Paul Merritta known about me?”

“He's been searching for you for years, ever since the … ever since your mother disappeared. He just recently found you.”

“How can someone just disappear?”

“You might ask your ma that.”

“Then how did he find me?”

He looked uncomfortable. “It's easier to find people today.”

It sounded logical. She knew that computerized advances had made the world much smaller. And why would Paul Merritta choose to contact her now, if he'd known where she was for years?

“You can have your answer in the morning,” she said.

“The ticket is for this afternoon.”

“Too bad you wasted your money.”

He hesitated. “My boss isn't happy that your mother kept him from you all these years.” There was an odd note in his voice. Odd, and even malevolent.

A threat. And aimed at her mother.

But he wasn't going to see her flinch. She wouldn't show fear. Not in front of them. “You can call me in the morning.”

She did not bother to offer her phone number. It was obvious he knew a lot more about her than she did about him, or the Merrittas. It was equally obvious he was not going to say anything more unless she agreed to go.

And if she didn't? She would not put it past them to take her by force.

She thought again of the articles that reported the activities of crime families. To her, they meant murder, narcotics, prostitution, gambling, and God knew what else.

If true, did she want any part of it?

“My house was burglarized this morning,” she said, dropping what she hoped was a bomb.

Surprise crossed his face, then anger. It was the first time she had seen him disconcerted.

“When?” he asked.

“While I was jogging. I apparently came home too soon. He … struck me.”

Something indefinable crossed his face. For a moment, she thought it might be concern.

“Would you know anything about it?” she challenged him.

“No,” he said flatly.

For some reason, she believed him. “Then who?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I'll try to find out.”

Odd, that his reply relieved her even as she wondered why she would believe anything he said. Yet he had been surprised. She would swear to it.

Her world had been turned upside down by these men. Her life had been normal, happy, loving, peaceful. It had been uncomplicated, marred only by the death of her father.

Without another word, the two men left the shop. The older one left the envelope on the table.

For a moment, she felt an odd victory. She had survived the encounter on her terms. But after the door closed, she remembered the satisfaction in his eyes. He'd seen her face when they had referred to her mother. She must have shown some emotion. Fear? Certainly she had tried to hide it.

Now she wasn't sure she had won anything at all.

Instead she felt as if she had just been trumped.

four

The day went all too slowly. Sam's head still ached. And the thought of the looming confrontation with her mother made her nauseous.

She closed the gallery early. Her mother was due home this evening.

Sam would know then if it was all a terrible lie. Or an even more horrendous truth.

Sam decided to go home early and take a nap, but once there, she couldn't sleep, or even rest. She no longer felt safe there. The house she loved so much had been invaded.

Every rustle of a breeze against the window startled her and she found herself wandering listlessly around the house. For the first time, she wondered whether she needed an alarm system and extra locks. She'd never wanted to live in a fortress. Now she didn't want to live in fear.

She fed Sarsy and watered plants, knowing she was avoiding thoughts she didn't want. Giving up any idea of resting, she took her keys and drove over to her mother's condominium.

Once there, she let herself in, poured a glass of red wine and went out to the balcony. The clouds were heavy, ominous, the summer wind heavy with moisture. She hoped her mother arrived before the storm broke.

She went back inside. Her gaze roamed over the family photos that decorated the living area and the grand piano. Her mother was a fine pianist, although she'd never studied music.

Or at least she'd said she never studied
.

Sam realized she was now questioning whether anything she thought she knew about her mother was true.

She gazed at all the photos, looking for a secretive glance, a hint somewhere of a life kept concealed. She was tempted to prowl through her mother's drawers, but the thought repelled her.

No clues
. At least no obvious ones. Her father had served in the early years of Vietnam. She knew that only from small slips, the odd observation when they'd watched a television show about the war, or she'd talked about a film. Neither of her parents ever talked much about years that were usually important to couples. Early years. Formative years. Dating. Marriage.

“
Where did you go to college, Mom?
”

“
A little college in the Midwest. Your father swept me off my feet and I never finished.
”

“
Maybe I should think about looking at that one.
”

“
Oh, no, honey. You wouldn't like it. It was small. I couldn't afford anything else. Your father and I want the best for you.
”

And so she had gone to Stanford with a double major in computer science and marketing.

“Oh, Mom, what happened?” she whispered to herself.

She didn't turn on the lights, just watched as the sky grew darker, the clouds more formidable, hoping to hear the key turn in the lock. And dreading it.

Finally she did.

She kept sitting, her purse next to her. In the purse were the photos, and birth certificates.

Her mother turned on the light, then saw her. “Darling, what are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

“Find anything on your trip?”

“Some great paintings. You're going to love them. I took them by the gallery. We'll go over them in the—” She stopped suddenly. “What's wrong? What's happened?”

For a moment Sam couldn't speak. Did she really want to do this? And yet she must. She had to know.

She finally forced the words out. “I had visitors yesterday, and again today. They … they said my father … my biological father … is alive but dying and wants to see me.”

All the color drained from her mother's face, and in that moment, Sam knew the story was true.

Her mother's purse dropped, and she reached for the arm of a chair to steady herself. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

“They said I have a brother. A twin brother.”

Her mother slumped into the chair.

Sam noticed the bracelet she always wore. Her good luck charm, her mother said. Sam had thought David had given it to her. Now she wondered. It did not look like something her father would buy. And it never left her wrist.

“I told them they were wrong. That David Carroll was my father.”

“He …
was.
”

“My biological father?”

A long, painful silence. Every muscle in her mother's face seemed frozen.

“Were you married to Paul Merritta?” Sam felt like a bully now. She wanted to stop as she watched her mother crumple, but she couldn't. She had to know now before her courage failed her.

“Yes.” The word was little more than a whimper.

“He's my father?”

“No!
David's
your father.”

“But not my biological father.”

“In every way that was important.” Her face twisted with grief.

A clap of thunder rocked the condo. Lightning streaked the sky. Rain fell in torrents, beating against the balcony doors, the windows.

“So it's … true,” Sam said in a half whisper.

“He swore …”

“He swore what?” Sam asked.

“That he would never try to find you.” A tear wandered down her mother's cheek. “And David took precautions.” She stopped. “Oh, my God, what did I do?”

Sam felt as if the floor had fallen away under her, that she was falling down into Alice's rabbit hole.

Until now, she hadn't realized that she'd really believed everything was a lie. She had been waiting for her mother to deny everything. A terrible mistake. Doctored photos. Doctored documents.
Something
. Some explanation.

“Samantha …”

But Sam couldn't answer.

Her safe, sane, comfortable world had just exploded.

Sam didn't know how much time passed before she could speak again.

Her mother looked stricken. She was sitting stiff and pale as a statue, tears puddling in her eyes.

Her own face was probably every bit as pale through the tan. Sam felt as though she herself might shatter.

“David took precautions?” she repeated. “And what did … you do?”

“My sister. I contacted my sister. I believed that so many years had gone … we were safe.”

Sister? More lies. Her mother always said she had no family. But that was a small lie compared to the big one being confirmed by her mother's face, her words.

A brother she had never known. A biological father whose existence had been hidden from her. Lies and more lies.

“They left photos.” Barely suppressing her outrage, Sam placed the family photo on the coffee table in front of her mother, then the one of Nick Merritt.

Her mother stared at the latter one for a long time, touched it in an unmistakable caress, then put it down, a hopeless look in her face. “There were reasons.”