True Nature (8 page)

Though I love the view of the Manhattan skyline, I also get a little squeamish as we head through the tunnel. I have a real fear of being stranded and having to stay there for hours without seeing the sky. If that ever happens, I’ll be the idiot screaming and climbing the walls. Just peel me off and take me outside; I’ll be fine.

At the Port Authority Terminal, I get caught up in the beat of the city. People are everywhere, and they all have places they need to be with great urgency. I have just enough time to grab a hot pretzel for lunch before taking a cab to the Howerton residence on Park Avenue.

This was one of the family’s many homes, where Lizzie and her mother stayed most often when in the city. Douglas usually set up camp in the family’s suite at the Helmsley Carlton House. The separate living spaces were yet another indication that Baines/Howerton was more corporate than matrimonial.

At the Howerton mansion, a sour-looking woman in a black skirt and heavily starched white blouse answered the door when I rang the bell. “Yes?” she asked, frowning. “May I help you?”

“I’m Zoe Buchanan. I have an appointment with Ms. Howerton.”

From behind the imposing woman Lizzie squealed my name. Yes, she actually squealed. It was hard to believe this woman was several years older than me. “It’s so good to see you. Mary, would you please bring some coffee and snacks to the study?”

“Yes, Miss Lizzie,” the woman said brusquely and left us.

I’m accustomed to wealth, but even I was impressed. The antique desk against the wall in the foyer held a beautiful Baccarat vase filled with fresh flowers. The smell was heavenly. I’m not much on antiques but I was pretty sure I’d seen that desk in a Sotheby’s catalog a few months ago. One of my aspirations is to go to one of those auctions and buy something grand.

Lizzie led me down a hallway to a dark paneled room. I almost lost consciousness as I gazed at floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leather volumes. How wonderful it would be to have a library like this. As I spied Jane Austen, Edgar Allen Poe, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, I wondered if they’d let me move my office here. Of course, I probably wouldn’t get much work done. My idea of a perfect day was one filled with reading and eating. Good times.

“Do you have news?” Lizzie asked, taking a seat on the leather sofa in front of a fireplace.

“I’ve been doing research, and I want to double-check some facts,” I said.

Sour Lady Mary entered the room with a teacart complete with silver coffeepot and china cups and saucers. I’m always amazed people actually use these lavish sets. I am accustomed to coffee in sturdy mugs at my kitchen table.

Over coffee and cookies, I asked Lizzie for other details she could give me about her birth at The Hayden Clinic in Secaucus, New Jersey. According to my research, the center had closed after Dr. Hayden’s death.

She shrugged. “No, I guess it was a special place that catered to women like my mother.”

“What was your mother like?”

“Oh, you know, wealthy and wanting to birth children without the pain. I think she was given drugs from the time labor started until after I was born. She didn’t even see me until the day after she gave birth because she was so out of it. She spoke of Dr. Hayden and his wife, Elaine, like they were saints. Mommy always said Dr. Hayden cared about his mothers. Each nurse had only two mothers and their babies to care for. Mommy talked about it when she was so sick. I stayed with her almost constantly and we talked more than we ever had.”

“And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to ask about your sister?” I asked.

“I wish I had,” Lizzie replied. “But I couldn’t bear to upset her.” A single tear rolled down her cheek, which she wiped away with her dainty napkin.

“Yet you know your sister exists.” I stated this as fact.

Gratitude replaced Lizzie’s tears. “Yes, my sister does exist.”

“Then let’s get down to work. Tell me about your life.”

Most of Lizzie’s younger years were spent in the care of a parade of nannies. Most left or were fired because they couldn’t get along with Daddy.

It all sounded familiar. Even before my mother was murdered, I was left to the care of housekeepers and nannies. I had one nanny who stayed five years. I adored her, but she left to marry and raise her own children.

“Do you think anyone on your family’s staff knew your sister?” I asked Lizzie.

“If they do, they’re not telling me. Most are too respectful to tell me I’m crazy, but they don’t believe me.” She pursed her lips. “Something happened in that house in London.”

“No one ever said anything about it?”

She shook her head. “I think we left because something happened. My mother always missed living in England.”

“Can you get me a list of all the staff from that house? Who was your nanny then?”

“I don’t remember. Daddy won’t talk about it. Those household account records have been difficult to find. I’ve put in a call to my mother’s old assistant, who is now retired, but she’s off somewhere in South America.” She gave me the woman’s contact information, as well.

“Maybe someone in your mother’s family might know.”

Lizzie’s sigh was rueful. “Mother was an only child and the dutiful daughter. She married my father because my grandfathers wanted their business merger to have a little more stability.”

She looked at her hands for a moment and then said, “Daddy had his young men and Mommy went to the ‘spa’ several times a year.”

Her tone was matter of fact. The business of marriage.

“I knew what was going on, but couldn’t actually do anything about it,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “Like many of my friends, I’ve just accepted it.”

I asked some more questions about her mother’s closest friends. There weren’t many. Camilla had spent most of her time on her charities and her daughter.

Lizzie laid her napkin on the tray and stood, clasping her hands. “I hope some of this information will help you find my sister.”

“There’s one more thing I need to ask you about.” I also got to my feet.

“I want you to have all the information you need.”

“Why is your father contesting your mother’s will?”

“Oh.” Lizzie’s face reddened with embarrassment. “You heard about that. But then, I guess you would. Mommy left all her money to charities and me with the condition I continue her work. She was furious with Daddy for losing so much money and getting in the news about it. Daddy was hoping to use some of Mommy’s money to bounce back.”

“Hoping?” I said, incredulous. “He was hoping your mother would die so he could recoup his losses?”

“She had always rescued him before. This time she wouldn’t. They argued. I begged him not to upset her. Mommy was very sick, and there seemed no point. The doctors had said she had only weeks. So Daddy backed off. Then, a week before she died, without any of us knowing, Mommy changed her entire will.”

“Your father wasn’t happy about that, right?”

“Daddy still isn’t happy.”

She took a deep breath. “But you don’t have to worry. My allowance comes from a trust fund, so I’ll be able to pay you what we agreed to.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” I said, though it had crossed my mind. “But things could get messy.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Mommy’s lawyers—”

She stopped. “My lawyers will meet with his lawyers and they’ll hash it out. I don’t intend to go to court with Daddy. It’ll get settled one way or another.”

I thought she believed what she was saying, and I hoped she was right. But I felt there was one more thing I should say. “I hope your pursuit of your sister doesn’t come into play with your father’s suit.”

“What do you mean?”

I tried to speak kindly but with frankness. “Everyone who knows your family is saying your sister never existed. Your father may try to use this search to show you shouldn’t have control of the family money.”

“Just let him try.” A gleam of determination replaced Lizzie’s spacey demeanor. I had to wonder if her giddy young woman act was just that—an act.

We made arrangements for her to get me some additional phone numbers and addresses of employees, families, and friends. Then I headed for the bus and home to New Jersey.

I was back in the office before five. Darla was already gone, of course. Hunter was nowhere to be found.

I ran through some messages and put in a quick call to check on Kinley. She hadn’t seen Eric since Friday night. Every other Monday, Eric’s mother picked the girls up from school and kept them overnight where he could see them. Kinley was not happy with the arrangement, but it was the best compromise we could reach while the divorce was being finalized. I advised her to check the new locks and get some rest.

Then I wrote up my notes in the Howerton case file, including people to interview. Daddy Douglas topped the list.

Going to the Internet, I put Dr. Charles Hayden in Dogpile. Though there were ten pages of results, most of it was in obituaries from people who had been involved with the Hayden Clinic. I added his widow, Elaine Hayden, to my list.

By then, my stomach was rumbling. I sent a text message to Hunter to let him know I’d be fixing his favorite chicken casserole for dinner if he wanted to come by and eat. It was a recipe from Delores, one of our family cooks. She used to fix it often for Hunter and me. Delores always said that when you can fix a great meal with a cut-up rotisserie chicken and canned soup, you feel like a domestic goddess.

At home, as I prepared our meal, I remembered the wonderful food Hunter and I had once shared in Scotland. We went there together the summer after he learned about his second nature. Most Scottish fare was all about meat, potatoes and gravies—hearty, delicious, and comforting. I liked it, though I did have to diet some when we returned home.

My thoughts went back to the little kitchen in the cottage where Hunter and I stayed. We were there for two months, in the countryside between Glasgow and Edinburgh. It was close enough to town to have fun and had enough land attached to give Hunter a place to roam free and work out the kinks of shapeshifting.

We were looked after that summer by two of the MacRae family’s devoted employees. Tall, spare Robert McPhee had once been the right hand man of Hunter’s grandfather and great-grandfather. Though his face was seamed with age, he didn’t miss a beat. He knew where Hunter and I were at all times, and had even shown up a time or two unexpectedly, both in the city and out in the countryside.

It was eerie, I remembered. It was as if he had a special ability where Hunter was concerned.

Robert’s wife, Molly, was as short and round he was tall and thin. Though as ancient as he was, she kept the cottage sparkling and the scent of delicious savories and sweets coming from the kitchen.

That trip was one of my best summer vacations. I was nostalgic as I pulled the bubbling casserole out of the oven.

Hunter’s car was in the driveway and he gave a quick knock on the front door before unlocking it and yelling, “Hi, honey, I’m ho-o-ome.”

“In the kitchen, sweet cheeks,” I said with a laugh. “How was your day?”

“The usual. Great sex in the office. A nasty battle in the courtroom.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“You’re playing with fire with Mandy.”

“I could lie and say that I’m sorry, but I’m just a randy tom cat.” Hunter grabbed plates from the cabinet. “God, that smells good. I’m starving.”

“Want a salad to go with it?” I asked, though I knew what his answer would be.

“Nope, just give me some hot food.”

I fixed a small salad for myself and heated some Texas toast with garlic butter. We ate in companionable silence for a while, and then I said, “I was thinking about our time in Scotland. Do you ever think about it?”

“A lot.” He took another bite. After swallowing he continued, “I remember how great it was to run for miles with no worry about people coming after me.”

“Are you going to visit this summer?” I carried my empty plate to the sink. “You haven’t been back in a while. Do you think you have more to learn?”

He was digging in for another helping of the casserole. “I don’t like to go as much since Robert and Molly are dead. They made the visits appealing. The only thing I work on now is trying to make my clothes disappear as I change, so I have them on when I change back. I still haven’t mastered that.”

“That particular trick would be very beneficial,” I replied, thinking of finding him in his office naked on Friday night.

“I’m seeing Grandda tomorrow,” Hunter said suddenly. “He’ll be in the city.”

I was surprised. The older man had always preferred the mountains in winter. He told me often enough he hated the piles of dirty city snow.

“Something’s up.” Hunter relayed his grandfather’s phone call on Saturday.

“You think he’s going to try to talk you into joining the family business.” As usual, I was able to express what Hunter felt.

He nodded. “Grandda may have decided to join the dark side of the family.”

Unexpected fear coiled in my belly, but I turned away, instinctively hiding it from Hunter. “You knew it could happen.”

“Don’t worry.” Hunter always read me well. “I have no intention of leaving our firm.”

That wasn’t what I was worried about, but since I couldn’t explain my feelings, I said nothing.

“Do you like what you do, Zoe?” Hunter continued.

I turned back to him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“It feels like enough? It satisfies you?”

I decided to be completely honest. “You know I’m not always thrilled with cases like the Corbins. It’s better when I feel like I’m really helping someone, you know, like Kinley and her girls or even my new case, which we’ll get paid for.”

“You don’t think I’m helping people who just want a divorce?”

I sighed and turned his initial questions back on him. “Does it satisfy you? Does it feel like enough?”

I expected a quick retort about the fringe benefits of distraught divorcees and rich clients. Instead Hunter regarded me for a long moment. “I’m not sure,” he said finally. “I’m feeling kind of unsettled.”

This pensiveness wasn’t usual for Hunter, but before I could pursue the subject, he shook off the mood. He told me about the reporter for
Out There
that he had met on Saturday. By the time he had finished describing her and talking about the New Jersey Devil, he had dug a half a cheesecake out of the refrigerator and insisted I share it with him.