Family Skeletons Page 21

  Ryan had taken a sip of water and now choked on it. He got his breath back, used his napkin, and said, “What?”

  “You’re obtuse about as often as you are speechless,” Sunny told him, voice mild. “I’ll spell it out for you. The house is done. Franklin has been adequately provided for. It’s time for me to go home.”

  The men looked at each other. Their expressions were similar to the ones they’d worn when the doctor had informed them that Sunny hadn’t broken anything when she’d taken the plunge off the cliff.

  She pursed her lips. “You know, you two work together quite well. But just think, if you put all that time and thought and energy toward solving a problem that actually exists—”

  “Shut up, Sunny.”

  “Please,” Jonathan agreed.

  “Sure, guys.” Gee, life is good.

  Matthew appeared, gathered their dishes and utensils with minimum effort and noise, left and then quickly reappeared with a pot of coffee. Sunny shook her head, but her companions nodded theirs.

  “How many different cheeses were in that lasagna?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he answered. “But there’s a lot.”

  Yesterday’s sullen mood was behind him, she was glad to note. His gray-blue eyes were easy and friendly. In these lights, his hair appeared more blond than sandy-brown, and he had long-fingered hands that looked strong and capable. When he reached for a cup with his left hand, Sunny noticed an imperfection in his little finger. It was bent outward at the knuckle, giving it a bowlegged appearance compared to the straight ring finger next to it.

  He finished pouring the second cup. “Cindy will be back in a minute with dessert menus.”

  The suggestion of more food raised frowns and groans from the men. Sunny said nothing. She was staring at Matthew’s hands.

  Matthew looked amused by the audible reaction. “Sounds like I better head her off before she gets here.”

  When he left, Sunny put her left hand palm down on the table. The same long fingers and narrow wrist. His hand had been bigger and adorned with fine hairs, the nails blunt, but a perfect male match to hers, even to the slightly bent, bowlegged appearance of the pinkie.

  “Sunny?”

  She became aware that was the second time Jonathan had said her name. She looked up.

  “Is there something wrong?” he asked. “You look like...”

  “I saw a ghost? That’s what I feel like.”

  Twisting around in her chair, she watched Matthew carry the coffee pot from table to table. He was lithe, friendly, and had ample charm to draw from. She’d not seen this side of him before, but he’d always been in the store or overshadowed in some way by others. On his own, his charisma shone through.

  She wondered what Howard Wilkes looked like. Was he tall, short? Dark, light? Introvert, extrovert? Where could she find a picture of Howard without having to ask Bev for it?

  “Sunny,” Ryan said pointedly, “should we worry about you?”

  She turned back, folded her hands in her lap and looked at each man in turn. “Look at Matthew. Try not to be obvious about it, but give him a really good look.” They were seated at a corner table in the back, with only one table near them and it was empty. She wasn’t concerned about being overheard.

  She gave them a moment before she asked the key question—what Tim Joyce would call the money question. “Could he be Franklin’s son?”

  Their disbelief was evident in their silence. Their eyes narrowed, but settled on her instead of on Matthew. She pushed her chair back and stood. “Wait here. Watch me. Watch us.”

  She tracked Matthew. He disappeared into the swinging doors of the kitchen as she approached, and she paused, hoping she didn’t look as out of place as she felt standing by herself in the middle of the dining room. Fortunately, he quickly reappeared.

  “Oh, hi, Sunny.” He looked surprised. His gaze moved beyond her to her table. Realizing she stood in front of him, not presenting the view to her companions that she wanted to present, she stepped to her side and he turned with her. Now the occupants at her table had a clear view of their profiles.

  “Can I get you something?” he asked, appearing puzzled.

  As usual, you thought this one out well, Sunny. What can he get for you?

  “We changed our minds about dessert. Could you bring us some menus after all?”

  “Sure. But you didn’t have to come after me. I would’ve—”

  She waved away his words. “I was feeling so stiff I had to get out of the chair for a minute.” When she returned to the table and sat down, no one said anything. “Well?” she prompted.

  Ryan shook his head. “You’re grasping at straws, Sunny.”

  She looked at Jonathan. He said nothing, his gaze still on the spot where she’d stood with Matthew.

  Ryan continued to shake his head. “Okay, you both have light complexions and are slightly built. But there are other people in this room that are blond and blue-eyed and slim, and you’re not related to any of them.”

  When her gaze returned to Jonathan, his eyes warned her. Turning, she accepted the menu from Matthew, and then he gave one to each man.

  “Cindy will take your orders,” he told them. “She’ll be right here.”

  He walked away, and Sunny looked back at Jonathan. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe.”

  Cindy appeared before they’d even looked at the menus.

  Okay, Sunny. You’ve got to order something. You asked for the stupid things.

  “Oh,” she said, stalling for time and reading fast. Her companions were no help. They weren’t even pretending to read the selections.

  “Oh,” she said again, but with pleasure this time. “Spumoni. It’s been forever since I had spumoni.”

  “Good choice. Ours is excellent.” Cindy looked questioningly at the men, but they shook their heads.

  Matthew appeared on her heels, refilled coffee cups, and then Cindy and the dish of spumoni were there. The hostess seated a couple at the next table, which removed the opportunity for private conversation. Though Sunny hadn’t really wanted dessert, she was glad now she’d ordered it. The ice cream was as good as Cindy had claimed.

  “That does look good,” Jonathan said, and gave her a questioning look.

  “Sure,” she said, and he scooped up a small taste with his coffee spoon.

  “Hmm,” Ryan said, looking interested. He spooned out half the mound of ice cream and put it on his saucer.

  Jonathan’s spoon was on its way back again. She shoved the dish toward him, sat back in her chair and watched her dinner companions, who were too full for dessert, finish hers. Jonathan at least had the grace to look sheepish.

  * * *

  Apparently the spumoni had merely titillated Ryan. When they walked in the back way of the old Victorian, he headed straight for the freezer and the banana nut ice cream. He emptied the container into three bowls, and then they sat outside with their treats and watched the descending sun.

  But the men appeared more interested in Sunny than the sun. At length, Ryan asked, “Well, do you still think you might have discovered a brother you never knew you had?”

  She looked into her bowl, not meeting anyone’s eyes. Then she held her left hand up, palm facing her, and looked at it. “Notice how my little finger is malformed, just slightly. I never thought much about it. It was just the way my finger grew, but Matthew had the same look to his pinkie, left hand.” She lowered her hand, still not meeting anyone’s eyes. “I know it’s skimpy. But, well, I always had a feeling...”

  She made a sound of disgust and shook her head. “I know how lame that sounds. But I like Matthew, and, yes, I feel a kinship with him. He’s a good kid. But...” She gave up. “Oh, dammit anyway, I don’t know.”

  “It would be simple enough to ask Roberta if Franklin had a misshaped finger,” Jonathan said. “And she’d know what Howard Wilkes looks like. So should Tom and Mavis. Matthew may resemble Howard more than the Cordays, and in that case y
ou could discard this theory. But, until then, it’s not a bad theory.”

  “Yeah?” Ryan asked. He looked both skeptical and thoughtful. “Feel free to expound.”

  “It would answer a couple of questions. Franklin kept coming up here, but it might not have been the view that attracted him. His first love might have been his strongest love.” He paused to give Sunny an apologetic look, as if he’d insulted her mother. “Perhaps he was never quite able to break away from Bev. And vice versa.”

  “Okay,” Ryan said, rubbing his chin. “Keep going.”

  “No,” Sunny said. “Let me.” The answer to a long-standing question had occurred to her, and it made her both angry and sad.

  “Matthew is about ten years younger than I am. When Bev became pregnant, she would’ve told Franklin if the child was his. If he refused to accept the baby as his, that would’ve started the ball rolling toward his act of disowning me. If he’d ever had the slightest glimmer of mistrust—and why wouldn’t he? He could only judge others by himself—that could have been the final straw.”

  Neither man said anything.

  “What a cold-hearted, hateful bastard.” Her fingernails were digging into her palms. “He didn’t deserve to live. Two children, and look what he did to both of them.”

  “You don’t know that for certain, Sunny,” Ryan cautioned.

  “Of course I don’t. But you’re going to be as surprised as I am if I’m wrong. It fits too well.”

  “We need to talk to Tim Joyce,” Jonathan said. “The sooner, the better. It has suddenly become vital that he finds and talks to Howard Wilkes.”

  “But this poses more questions than it answers,” Ryan said. “If Matthew was Franklin’s son, why didn’t Bev also file a paternity suit? Especially after it was proved that Franklin wasn’t sterile?”

  “She was still married to Howard,” Sunny answered. “Matthew has his name. No one ever questioned that.”

  Absently, she put her bowl on the ground instead of stretching to place it on the table. Cat leaped for it but Jonathan quickly rescued it and put it atop the table. Then he patted his lap and the animal jumped up, made three complete circles, then settled down for a nap.

  “And it answers as many questions as it raises,” Sunny continued. “Bev said Howard hadn’t been thrilled with fatherhood. And she’d sounded both resigned and bitter. If he’d suspected it wasn’t his child, he wouldn’t have been jumping with joy.”

  “But she kept it to herself,” Ryan mused, “for all these years. That doesn’t make sense. Unless she wasn’t sure herself who had fathered the child.”

  In the long silence that followed, Sunny stared into space. Then she said, “I’m reminded of what my mother said, about this being a hellish mess. And what a mess each of them had made of their lives. It’s so sad that it’s frightening.”

  “Yep,” Ryan agreed. “It’s downright scary. Man and woman are unique on this earth. They are capable of immeasurable love, relentless hate, and amazing stupidity.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Hi, Sunny,” Roberta said at the other end of the phone line. “I’m glad you called. You’ve been on my mind since I left up there.” She’d evidently recovered from the strain she’d felt at the memorial service because the bounce was back in her voice. “When are you coming home? Soon, I hope.”

  “I was planning on following Ryan home tomorrow. You know, it’s hard not to salivate when I think about exchanging that clunker for my own car.” Sunny laughed, and was relieved she didn’t have to force it.

  But as more small talk followed, Sunny heard her voice growing tight. She’d stayed up half the night with Jonathan and Ryan, discussing their suspicions. They were well aware of the hurt their theories could inflict, and Sunny hadn’t yet figured out a way to ask her mother what she wanted to know without Roberta guessing why she was asking.

  Come on, Sunny, the only way to do it is to do it. “By the way, Mom, that update from Tim Joyce has started me wondering about Louise and Howard. Who they were, what they looked like, their personalities...”

  After a short silence, her mother asked, “What are you after, Sunny?”

  Damn. How can she zero in like that? “I’m curious, Mom. We all are. These are major players we’ve heard about, but never met.”

  “Well, okay, I guess I can understand that. But I can’t help much. Louise, I know very little about. She entered the picture after I’d left it, and all I can remember is that she was on the quiet side. I’d met Howard, of course, but wasn’t impressed with him. He was self-centered, self-important. The truth is, he wore on my nerves.”

  “What did he look like?”

  She could almost hear her mother’s shrug. “He was dark-blond, blue eyes, I think. He was physically attractive, I guess. He wasn’t a big man, either, but strong, very athletic. He played some minor league baseball, and at one point was even considered for the majors. But he never made it that far.”

  Sunny froze in mid breath. Her gaze became unfocused.

  “Oh, for...I just heard what I said.” Roberta’s words rushed together. “Baseball bats! Sunny, call Tim Joyce. He may already know about Howard’s baseball history, but maybe not. Tom certainly knew it. But it could’ve slipped his mind, too.”

  “Yeah, I’ll call Joyce right now. Bye, Mom.”

  But after replacing the telephone receiver in its cradle she stared at it, marveling at what people knew yet didn’t know they knew. Tom had remembered Franklin’s military stint, but somehow Howard’s baseball past had escaped him, as well as Mavis, apparently, and even Bev.

  “Well?” The men spoke in unison, one voice inquiring and the other impatient.

  “Howard was a baseball player. That was his bat.” Grabbing her phone index that rested next to the phone, she rifled through the cards. “No proof it was his, of course, at least not yet. But like you said, Jonathan, we’ve got way too many coincidences to continue calling them coincidences.”

  She found the number of the Deputy Sheriff’s office and punched it in. Tom’s recorded voice told her to call nine-one-one in case of an emergency, and then recited the number of the Cullen County Sheriff in case one wanted to call there instead.

  And they’d refer me right back to Chester Beach. Come on, come on, come on...

  Biting her lip as her gaze darted impatiently around the room, she waited for Tom’s voice to run down, then for the beep, and then she said, “This is Sunny. Call me ASAP.” She started to hang up, caught herself, brought the receiver back up to her mouth and recited her number into it.

  Dummy.

  Ryan gave her an incredulous look. “You had to leave a message?”

  “Yeah. I don’t like it either, but it’s Sunday. And this is Chester, not San Francisco.”

  “But this is the communications age. Haven’t they heard? Everybody’s got a cell phone, a beeper, a pager, but you had to leave a message for the deputy sheriff?”

  “You want Hendricks?”

  “Who’s he?”

  “You don’t want Hendricks,” Jonathan said. “He’ll tell you to take two aspirins, go to bed, and call someone else tomorrow.”

  Sunny again reached for the phone. “Sunday’s a busy day for Mavis, but Tom might be home.”

  This time, Mavis’s recorded voice invited her to leave a message.

  “We found the owner of the bloody bat,” Sunny said, and then she hung up and massaged the bridge of her nose. “I could try calling Joyce, but I don’t have his home number. And I’m a little tired of disembodied voices anyway.”

  Then her fingers stilled, and she scrunched her face up. “Idiot,” she muttered. Out of deference to Jonathan, she bit back stronger words. Her gaze traveled sheepishly from one man to the other. “I got sidetracked with the bat and forgot to ask Mom if Franklin had a crooked pinkie.” And what would she have read into that question, I wonder? “But Howard was blue-eyed, dark-blond, and close to Matthew’s size. So they could be father and son after all.”
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br />   The three people stared at one another, and then each set of eyes looked elsewhere. A sense of anticlimax lay over the room like a heavy blanket.

  Leaving the men to hash it out, Sunny headed for the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator. It was early for lunch, but she had to have something to do. She filled a plate with tomato sandwiches, emptied a bag of chips into a bowl, lined a plate with macaroons and then called her companions.

  Ryan sat at the table, appearing preoccupied, picked up a sandwich and then came to life. “A vegetable sandwich?”

  “Tomato and onion,” she explained unnecessarily, since he’d already removed the top piece of bread and was frowning at what he’d found under it. “Give it a try. It’s not bad.”

  “A vegetable sandwich?”

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Eat a cookie, Ryan.”

  “Vegetable sandwiches,” he muttered, replaced the top slice of bread and bit off a small piece of sandwich. “Hmm.” He held it out, gave it a longer look, then took a bigger bite. “Okay. Pass the plate. I’m going to need another one.”

  The phone remained silent. But the men suddenly realized that since it was Sunday, there would be a football game on TV, and that took care of them. Sunny went upstairs and dragged out her suitcase, put it atop the bed and opened it, and then stared at it.

  Don’t even think about changing your mind. You’ve got car payments to meet.

  Her gaze traveled between the closet and the dresser.

  Not to mention those two guys downstairs. Ryan will start yelling at you, or even worse, go all patient and preachy, and Jonathan will look at you like you said a bad swear word.

  Her eyes caught her reflected image in the dresser mirror. So when did you start making decisions based on what someone else wants you to do instead of what you want to do?

  She turned her back on the suitcase and the mirror and went downstairs to sort laundry. Whether she stayed here or went home, sheets weren’t going to wash themselves. As she worked in the utility room, she overheard the men in the backyard hosing down their vehicles, a job they’d shared every day. So she figured the game was over, it was halftime, or the picture tube had blown up.