Devlin's Light (34 page)

“That pretty much sums it up.” India did her best not to blink.

He shook his head. “What’s that saying, ‘What goes around, comes around’?”

“Pardon?”

He stood up and paced to the window. “For five years now, I’ve been bragging about how tough you are. I even encouraged you, went so far as to feed your tenacity to the press to make that reputation stick. But I never thought I’d have that ‘no deals’ attitude turned on me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not, India.” He sighed. “You’re not sorry at all. When did you plan on leaving?”

“I’d like to be in Devlin’s Light by the eighteenth of this month.”

“That gives me roughly three weeks to go through your caseload, figure out what can be postponed, what needs to be reassigned.”

“That’s done.”

“Hmm. And it would be nice to have your input.”

“There will be a summary in every file before I leave.”

“Looks like you’ve thought of everything.” He crossed his arms over his chest, signaling that the conversation was over. She had been dismissed.

“I tried to. Thank you.” She extended her hand and he took it with both of his, holding it for just a second.

“India,” he called to her as she reached the door. “Keep in touch.”

Chapter 20

Packing up her office had been easier, and somewhat less painful, than India had anticipated. With Roxie’s help, she was able to clear her space in a little under two hours.

“Have you lost your mind? India, you’re on the top of the damned heap. The Man almost
likes
you.” Roxie had utterly gaped when India first announced her plans.

“Roxie, there’s a little girl in Devlin’s Light who not only likes me but needs me,” India replied.

“I don’t believe this.” Roxie stood in the doorway to India’s office with her hands on her hips. “There has to be something else to this. You don’t walk away from what you have done here just to play mommy. You don’t leave behind four years worth of work and your whole career for… Wait a minute, India, there’s a man in this equation, isn’t there?”

India just smiled and continued to clean out her bottom desk drawer.

“That’s it. Little girl
plus
man. That’s the combination that did it, isn’t it? Now, who would ever have thought that India Devlin’s head could be turned?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I have watched you stare down the devil in open court. I have seen you better the best. But I have never seen you fall in love, India.”

“First time for everything.” India shrugged.

“She admits it.” Roxie grinned. “I’ll be damned, the rumor’s true.”

“What rumor might that be?”

“The one going around the detectives’ lounge. Someone suspected that underneath it all, you might be human. Now Herby, he said he couldn’t see it, but I said I was still on the fence.”

India laughed.

“You want me to follow up with trying to track down the Byers World scam?” Roxie opened a file box and held it open for India to throw in some copies of the transcripts from a case she had tried two years earlier.

“I would really appreciate it, Roxie. We’ve just run into one dead end after another. The attorney who represented Maris at settlement, this Patricia Sweeney, is not a member of the New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, Maryland or New York bars. The title company that issued the report and passed clear title on to Byers World doesn’t even exist. Lucien Byers has had a P.I. trying to track down this Shuman for the past couple of weeks and hasn’t been able to get so much as a cold trail. I just don’t get it.”

“Well, we both know that if someone doesn’t want to be found, there are ways to not be found.”

“I guess that’s true. Still, you’d think something would turn up.”

“Something will. Sooner or later, one of these birds will slip up.” Roxie bent to pick up a poorly tossed wad of paper that hit the floor instead of the trash can. “I guess, all kidding aside, you’ll use the time off to track your brother’s killer.”

“If we don’t resolve it now, it’s not likely that it will ever be resolved. I need to know, Roxie.” India pulled up the sleeves of her gray sweater as she prepared to tackle the last desk drawer.

“I understand. In a way, I’m surprised that it took you so long.”

“I really have been torn between going back and just doing what I’m doing.” India pitched a pile of old notebooks toward the trash.

“Hold up there, Indy, are those your notes on the Elliott trial?”

When India nodded, Roxie retrieved them from the trash, saying, “That was one of the best summations I ever heard. Unless you have serious objections, I’d like to keep those. You never know when they’ll come in handy.”

“Help yourself.”

“So, who is he?” Roxie asked.

“He?” India frowned as she poked through a file drawer. Why had she kept so much paper?

“The guy responsible for you finally going home.”

“It’s not just him, Roxie. There’s Corri.”

“India, you could have left here any time since August. There were some people around here who were surprised that you even came back at all after the funeral. Now all of a sudden, you’re hot to trot your buns back to Devlin’s Light. I’m just curious about the man who is special enough to take you away from all this.”

“It wasn’t really ‘all of a sudden.’ I’ve been fighting going back since Ry died. It’s just taken me a while to realize that I should, and can, go back. But I’d be lying if I said that Nick had nothing to do with the decision.”

“Well, it’s good news and bad news as far as I’m concerned. I’ll miss you a lot. You’ve been a good friend, India. And from a professional standpoint, I’d have to go a very long way to meet someone else as good at this game as you are. On the other hand, I’m not sorry to see you go back home. I think we all knew—all but the Man, anyway—that that was where you belonged.”

India smiled, recalling Aunt August’s words.
Know where
you belong, and with whom.

“It’s taken me a while, but I may have come to the same conclusion. I figure I’ll know for sure before the three months are up whether I’ll stay or come back.”

“Oh, there’s a pool on that too,” Roxie told her. “Odds are five to one.”

“On what?”

“On you staying in Devlin’s Light.” Roxie lifted the box that India was taking with her and set it near the door next to the stack of diplomas, personal photographs and Aunt August’s needlepoint that they had removed from the walls.

India looked around the office, now stripped of everything that had made it hers. It looked much the way it had that day, now almost five years ago, that she had first arrived, nervous and unsure of herself. How had that untested lawyer, fresh from passing the bar, developed into what many criminal defense attorneys in Paloma feared as their toughest adversary?

Lizzie
, she told herself. It was love for a lost friend that had brought her here, to do this job. But it was love of another kind that would take her home.

Maybe Nick was right. Maybe the woman had atoned for the sins of the child. Maybe she could finally forgive herself.

Maybe she could go home, and stay home.

Only time would tell.

“India, you’re just in time.” August, having heard India’s car pull into the gravel driveway, had opened the back door and stepped onto the porch to greet her niece. “I was hoping you’d be here earlier, but we still have time.”

“Time for what?” India frowned.

“Time to get you dressed and over to Captain Jon’s.” August held the door open as India passed through to the kitchen with two suitcases full of winter clothing. Having emptied her closets in the townhouse, her car was now full of boxes and bags.

“Why?”

“India, you signed up to hostess for the Christmas tea.” August stepped into the warmth of the house and closed the door. “And it starts at three o’clock.”

“Today?” India dropped her bags.

“Today.”

“Oh, damn, I forgot.” India shed her winter jacket and disappeared briefly into the hallway to hang it up, calling back to ask, “What should I wear?”

“Well, you have a choice of things I brought down from the attic,” August told her. “I left several dresses on your bed. Something of Jerusalem’s, something of Felicity’s, something of Sarah’s.”

The names rolled off August’s tongue as if she spoke of contemporaries rather than ancestors long departed.

“Eat some lunch first, then run up and see what fits best.
We may have time for a rudimentary alteration here and there, if necessary.”

“What are you wearing?” India lifted a lid from a pot that simmered on the stove and sniffed. “Umm. Yankee pot roast.”

“That’s dinner. There’s soup for lunch. I’ll heat some up while you look over the options.” August lifted a large earthenware bowl of chicken Corri chowder from the top shelf of the refrigerator. “And I’m wearing the same afternoon dress of dark green wool that I wear every year. It still fits quite handsomely, if I may say so. I’m not certain who wore this one first; most likely it belonged to my grandmother Kearney, though.”

“And I’m wearing a pretty white dress with hollies on it.” Corri bounced into the kitchen and threw her arms around India’s waist. “And Aunt August said I could help, that I’m big enough.”

“I think I was just about your age the first time I served at the holiday tea. Maybe a little older, but then, you’re a very grown-up girl.”

“And I did a fine job on Thanksgiving,” Corri reminded her, holding up an index finger as if to make a point.

“Yes, you did.” India laughed and hugged the child. “You most certainly did.”

“Come upstairs and see the dresses you could wear. I could help you choose.” Corri tugged at India’s arm.

“Go ahead, India, I’ll call when the soup is ready.”

India followed a gleeful Corri up the steps to her room. Across her bed an array of colors, fabrics and textures fanned out like a faded rainbow.

“Look, India, this is my favorite.” Corri pointed to a dark blue dress of fine wool.

“Hmmm, that is lovely,” India held the dress up to her body and stood before the mirror. It was perfect, from the lace-trimmed neckline to the trim waist and the full skirt, to the tightly fitted sleeves that ended in more lace. It was simple but beautiful. She could easily overlook the tiny moth hole here and there if it fit.

Carefully replacing the dress on the bed, she lifted each of the other two dresses her aunt had brought out of storage for
her to try. A black silk Victorian-style dress, high-necked and mutton-sleeved, with green and white embroidery on the bodice, looked too hot. The dark cranberry-red satin looked too formal. The blue would be just right for today.

August called from the foot of the steps to announce that their soup was ready.

“Yeah! Aunt August said I could get dressed after lunch!” Corri shouted gleefully as she fled down the steps.

Laughing, India followed behind, pausing in the hallway where the old black telephone stood on its table. Lifting the receiver, she dialed the number she had committed to memory and waited while it rang. Disappointed to get a recorded voice urging her to leave a message, she did as she was told.

“Nick, hi, it’s Indy. I’m at Aunt August’s—actually, I’ll be going to Captain Jon’s for the Christmas tea at three today. Maybe you can stop by. If not, well … I just wanted to let you know that I’m home.”

She replaced the receiver quietly, then trailed behind Corri’s loud rendition of “Jingle Bells” to the kitchen.

At two, all three of the Devlin ladies had dressed and made a hurried stop at Darla’s to pick up some of the tea goodies that would be served that day to the ladies and gentlemen—and the occasional child—who had purchased tickets for the event that was a holiday tradition in Devlin’s Light. Generations before, attendance at the tea had been one of the
musts
of the town’s social season. Ten years ago, the tradition had been revived as a means of raising money for maintenance of the property, and it had proven to be so popular an event that every available seat in the mansion was sold well before the end of November.

“Oh, it’s like a palace!” a wide-eyed Corri exclaimed upon entering the wide front door to stand in the massive entry hall. “A Christmas palace.”

Fresh garlands of white pine bedecked with ivy, sprayed gold, and huge burgundy satin bows draped the magnificent stairway, which curved from the top of the second-floor landing thirteen feet above. At the foot of the steps stood a massive fir tree, which reached all the way to the top of the
open stairwell and sported sparkling diamonds of white and gold lights, burgundy and gold ornaments of angels and spun glass. The entire effect was that of a crystal wonder-land. Not a soul entered who did not gasp, much as Corri did, when they saw the tree.

“Wonderful, this year!” August’s friends would tap her on the arm as they passed by on their way to whichever room they were to be seated in.

“The best ever.” India heard the pronouncement over and over throughout the day.

“Exquisite.”

“Just perfect.”

“The committee has outdone itself once again.”

August would agree, ushering the arrivals through the hallway lest traffic back up, leaving guests stranded on the front porch in the cold. “Wait till you see the dining room,” she would say to coax them forward.

Taking a cue from her aunt, India would gently ease an elbow toward the library or the conservatory, the sitting room or the music room, saying, “The table decorations are just delightful this year.” Or “I just can’t wait to show you what they did with this mantel.”

By three-fifteen, all but the stragglers had been seated, and the hustle of serving began. Stealing an occasional peek toward the door whenever it opened, India realized that she was, in fact, looking for Nick. Waiting for him. As if her casual mention of where she’d be would be enough to draw him there, make him drop whatever he was doing and abandon his plans for the day.

In her heart, she had known that it would be so.

“I wouldn’t stand so long under the mistletoe if I were you, Miss Devlin. I might have to take advantage of the situation and start the tongues wagging.” He had come out of nowhere to whisper in her ear.