Birthright (35 page)

“If we could keep that between you and me, because if any of the pigs in the house find out, I'll be lucky to get crumbs.” His attention was diverted by a noise. “Seems to be visitors' day around here.”

Suzanne looked over as a car pulled up. “It's Doug. I didn't think he'd be back so soon.” She started toward the fence, then pulled up short when she saw Lana dash over, watched her son nip Lana at the waist and lift her off her feet and kiss her with the fence between them.

“Oh.” Suzanne pressed a fist to her heart as it lurched. “Well. I didn't see that one coming.”

“Problem?” Jake asked her.

“No. No,” she decided. “Just a surprise.” She saw Ty race over, still waving the deer bone. When Doug swung over the fence, crouched down to look at it, Suzanne pressed that fist a little harder against her heart. “A very big surprise.”

Doug studied the bone, listened to Ty chatter, then shook his head. “This is very cool. I don't know if you're going to want what I've got in here when you've got something like this.”

“What is it?” Ty asked excitedly as he looked at the little bag in Doug's hand. “Is it for me?”

“Yeah. But if you don't want it, I'll hang on to it.” Doug reached in, pulled a palm-sized tyrannosaurus out of the bag.

“It's a dinosaur. It's a T-rex! Thanks!” Ty fell on Doug's neck in gratitude and the love a four-year-old boy has in abundance. “It's the best! Can I go bury it and dig it up again?”

“You bet.” He straightened as Ty sprinted off to the spoil pile. “That seems to be a hit.” He looked back to see Lana grinning at him. “Want a present?”

“I do.”

He reached in the bag again, watched her mouth fall open as he pulled out her gift.

“Is that . . .”

“Yes, it is. An official electric-blue, guitar-shaped Elvis flyswatter. After considerable search and debate, this was the silliest thing I could find. I hope it does the job.”

“It's perfect.” Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck as Ty had done.

“I missed you. I don't know if I like that or not. I'm not used to missing anyone, but I missed you.”

She drew back. “Are you used to being missed?”

“Not really.”

“You were,” she said and took his hand.

C
allie had just called for the team to gather up their loose when the last visitor arrived. Diggers and students began the routine of gathering tools for cleaning and storage.

Bill McDowell, his arms full of trowels and pails, jogged over. “Want me to take this one, Callie?” He nodded toward the baby blue sedan. “I don't mind.”

“That's okay.” Callie watched Betsy Poffenberger lever herself out of the driver's seat of the blue Camry. “I know her.”

“Okay, well, a bunch of us are going to camp out here tonight. Grill up some dogs, have some beer. Just hang out. You gonna?”

“I don't know. Maybe.”

“I'll get your loose for you.”

“Thanks.” She spoke absently, and was already walking away. “Mrs. Poffenberger.”

“Isn't this just something. Look at all those holes in the ground. All those trenches. You dig those yourself?”

“Some of them. I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Thought I'd take a drive out, have a look-see for myself. Heard you on the radio this morning. Sounded real scientific.”

“Thank you. Were you able to find out anything for me?”

Betsy studied Callie's face. “You didn't mention you were Suzanne Cullen's girl.”

“Does that make a difference?”

“Sure it does. It's just like a mystery story. I recollect when it all happened. Suzanne and Jay Cullen's picture was in the paper. Yours, too. Just a baby then, of course. There were flyers, too, all over Hagerstown. Now here you are. Isn't that something?”

“I'd appreciate anything you can tell me. If anything you can tell me helps, there'll probably be more newspaper stories down the road. I imagine reporters will want to talk to you.”

“You think? Wouldn't that be something. Well, I talked to Alice and Kate, and Alice, she remembered that it was Mary Stern who was the delivery-room nurse when Suzanne Cullen's babies were born. Remembered for sure because she said she spoke to Mary about you after you got snatched away. Alice, she'll gossip about the phase of the moon if you give her half a chance. Got a couple other names for you, people she remembered. Night-shift nurse, and so on. Don't know as all of them're still in the area.”

She took out a sheet of paper. “I looked the names up in the phone book myself. Got a curious nature. Mary Stern is living down in Florida now, got divorced and remarried. Had herself a baby when she was damn near forty. Sandy Parker here, she died in a car wreck about five years ago. Terrible thing, read about it in the paper. She was on the night shift.”

Callie tried to tug the sheet away, but Betsy clung tight, adjusted her glasses and continued to read. “Now, this one, this Barbara Halloway, I didn't remember her till Alice reminded me. She wasn't on staff more than a year, and on night shift, too. I didn't know many of the night-shifters well, but I remembered her after Alice jogged my memory.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Poffenberger. I'm sure this will help.”

“Snooty young thing,” she continued. “Fresh out of nursing school. Redheaded girl, had her sights set on bagging a doctor, from what I heard. Got one, too. Not around here, up north somewhere. She moved away not long after the whole thing happened. That's why I didn't remember her right off. Had a cool way about her. That's one I'd take a second look at if I were you. Had a cool way.”

“Thank you. I will. And I'll be sure to let you know what I find out.”

“Got some orderlies on there, too. That Jack Brewster, he was a slick one. Always sniffing around the nurses, be they married or not.”

“Dr. Dunbrook?” Jake sauntered up. “I'm sorry to interrupt, but you're needed at grid thirty-five.”

“Oh. Of course. You'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Poffenberger. But again, I appreciate your time and trouble.”

“Don't you worry about that. You just give me a call if you need anything else. Like a mystery story.”

Callie tucked the paper in her back pocket, stepped back from the fence as Betsy climbed in her car. “There is no grid thirty-five,” she announced.

“You were sending off panic signals, so I decided to ride to the rescue.”

“That wasn't panic, it was my ears ringing. She doesn't shut up.” Callie blew out a breath. “And she did me an enormous favor. I've got names. At least a dozen names.”

“How do you want to handle it?”

“I think I'll start with a search on the net. See how many are still alive, still in the area. Go from there.”

“Want some help?”

“You're awfully accommodating these days.”

He stepped forward, leaned down, caught her bottom lip in his teeth. “I'm going to bill you later.”

“I could use the help. And I might even be willing to give you a down payment on that bill.”

“Babe.” His lips hovered a breath from hers, then retreated. “Don't worry. I trust you.”

When he walked away, Callie shook her head. “Just another mystery story,” she concurred.

B
ill McDowell got a little drunk. It didn't take more than a single beer to manage it, but he had two, just to be sure he'd stay that way awhile.

He'd seen the way Jake had moved in on Callie. And worse, he'd seen the way she'd moved in right back.

She wasn't going to come back to the site that night to hang out, to talk. To let him look at her.

He wasn't stupid. He knew what was going on, right now, right this minute while he was sitting out here drinking that second beer and listening to that local jerk Matt play some lame version of “Free Bird” on the guitar.

Lynyrd Skynyrd, for Christ's sake. Talk about your artifacts.

Right now, while he was drinking beer under the stars, listening to “Free Bird” and watching the fireflies go nuts in the dark, that goddamn Jake Graystone was putting it to Callie.

She was too good for him. Anybody could see that. She was so smart and pretty. And when she laughed those three dimples just about drove him crazy.

If she'd just give him a chance, he'd show her how a guy was supposed to treat a woman. He sucked his beer and imagined whipping the shit out of Jacob Graystone.

Yeah, that was going to happen.

Disgusted, he got to his feet, stood swaying and struggling to focus.

“Easy there, Poncho.” Amused, Digger took his arm to steady him. “How many those brews you got in you?”

“ 'Nough.”

“Looks like. Where you off to?”

“Gotta piss. You mind?”

“Don't mind a bit,” Digger said cheerfully. “Want to use the john in the trailer?”

“I wanna walk.” Unwilling to be befriended by any associate of his nemesis, Bill jerked free. “Too damn crowded around here.”

“I heard that. Well, don't go falling in the pond and drowning yourself.” Deciding a bladder break was a fine idea, Digger wandered toward his trailer.

Bill staggered away from the tents, away from the music and company. Maybe he'd just get in the car and drive out to the house. What the hell did he want to stay out here for when Callie was there?

He didn't
know
she was in bed with Jake. Not
absolutely. Maybe she'd wanted to come out to the site, he thought as he circled into the trees. Maybe she'd wanted to come, and Jake had strong-armed her.

He wouldn't put it past the son of a bitch.

He could go on out there, stand up to the bastard and get Callie away from him. She'd be grateful, he mused as he relieved himself.

Oh Bill, thank God! I'm so glad you came. He's crazy. I've been so afraid.

Yeah, that's how it could be. He'd just drive on out there and take care of everything.

He imagined Callie clinging to him, imagined her lifting her face, those dimples trembling as she smiled at him.

And imagining that first hot, grateful kiss, he didn't hear the sound behind him.

The blow had him sprawling facedown. He moaned once as he was rolled toward the pond, but was already sliding under the pain when his head slipped under the water.

O
kay, here's the basic grid.” Jake used drawing paper while Callie manned the computer.

After some debate, they'd agreed to work in his office. For the first two hours, they worked against the noise from the action movie one of the team had rented. Now the house had gone quiet around them, except for the sound of Leo's gentle snoring from the living room sofa.

She looked over from the screen, studied what he'd done. She had to admit, the man was good.

He had her as the central point, with her parents on one side, the Cullens on the other. Out of each set, relevant names were connected.

Henry Simpson, Marcus Carlyle, Richard Carlyle, the Boston pediatrician, the names of their known staff were listed in sections on her parents' side.

The names from the lists Suzanne and Betsy Poffenberger had provided were arranged on the other side.

“You're the single known connection,” he began. “But
there must be others. That's what we need to find. Over here's your dateline. The stillbirth, your date of birth, the first appointment your parents had with Carlyle and so on.”

“We fill in known data on each one of these names,” Callie added.

“And we find the connections. Did you eat the last cookie?”

“I did not eat the last cookie. You ate the last cookie. And you drank the last of the coffee. So you go make more coffee, and I'll type in the known data.”

“You make better coffee.”

“I also type faster.”

“I don't make as many typos.”

“I'm sitting in the chair.”

“All right, have it your way. But don't give me a rash of grief when it tastes like swamp water.”

She smirked as he stalked out. He hated making the coffee. Just one of those odd personal things. He'd wash dishes, cook—as long as it was some form of breakfast. He'd even do laundry without much complaint. But he always bitched about making coffee.

Therefore, whenever she finagled him into it, she felt a nice glow of accomplishment.

They were falling back into old patterns, she thought. With a few new and interesting variations. They weren't fighting as much, or certainly not in the same way. For some reason one or both of them seemed to ease back before it got ugly.

They certainly weren't jumping between the sheets at every opportunity. That . . . restraint, she supposed, added a sort of appealing tension to the whole thing.

They still wanted each other—that part of the pattern would never change. Even after the divorce, when she'd been thousands of miles away from him in every possible way, she'd wanted him.

Just to roll over in the night and have her body bump against his. And the way he'd sometimes hooked his arm around her waist to keep her there.

She'd ached for that, for him.

She hoped he'd ached for her. She hoped he'd cursed her name the way she'd cursed his. And suffered.

If he'd loved her as much as she'd loved him, he'd never have walked away. He would never have been able to walk away no matter how hard she'd pushed.

If he'd ever told her what she'd needed to hear, she wouldn't have had to push.

When she felt the old resentment and anger begin to brew she shut it down. That was over, she reminded herself. That was done.

Some things were better off left buried.

She ordered her mind to clear so she could concentrate on the data she was bringing up. Then she yawned as she noted the article on Henry Simpson.

“What the hell good is a stupid fluff piece on some charity golf tournament?”