Part 26 (1/2)
”I have a son living in Paradise. Surely I'm allowed to visit him.”
”Zach isn't in town. He's at the farm. But you already know that, don't you?”
He inclined his head, acknowledging her point. ”I always liked you, Mrs. Stanton. Sharp as a tack, but not quite as nearsighted as your husband. You have the ability to see the big picture.”
She didn't like the turn of his conversation or the look of pleasure in his eyes. Jackson had a gleeful expression on his face, like a child about to unwrap a birthday present.
”I have to be on my way.”
”Ah, yes, lunch with Mary Jo and Leeanne. The only one missing is Margaret.”
She drew her tongue against her suddenly parched lips. ”Excuse me.”
”I'd like a word with you before you go.”
”I don't think we have anything to talk about.”
”On the contrary, I think you'll find our conversation most interesting.”
She wondered what secret he thought he'd found out about her. It would do him no good to blackmail her. She was almost seventy years old, too old to care about her reputation. She'd learned a long time ago there were far more important things in life than a clean name.
”It's about Margaret,” he said.
She felt her pulse quicken in spite of her resolve not to rise to the bait. ”Margaret has been dead for twenty years.”
”Has she?” Jackson rubbed his jaw with one hand. ”I mean, are you really sure she's been dead that long?”
Her heart skipped a beat, but she silently counted to ten. Jackson Tyler was a born liar. She wouldn't let him get to her.
”No comment?” he asked. ”Or are you counting the years in your head?”
”Why don't you just say whatever you have to say and stop beating around the bush?”
”Have you met Miss Whitfield?”
A chill came over her body. ”Yes.”
”You don't think she looks-familiar?”
”In what way?”
”Her walk. It reminds me of Margaret. Did you notice?”
Claire swallowed. She hadn't noticed the walk, but she had noticed a certain tilt of Katherine's head. No, she was being ridiculous. ”I don't know what you're implying, and I don't want to know.”
As she tried to move around him, Jackson stepped in front of her. ”Katherine Whitfield was born in Los Angeles, California, in 1972, six months after Margaret left Paradise-pregnant.”
Claire gasped. ”You don't know that.” He couldn't know that. No one but Margaret and possibly the father of her baby had known that. The father? Jackson Tyler? She felt nauseated at the thought of her daughter and this slimy man. But for a brief moment it crossed her mind that it wasn't totally impossible. Margaret had always been impulsive where men were concerned.
”I know Margaret was pregnant,” Jackson said, ”and that's not all I know.”
He wanted her to ask, to beg for the information. There was a part of Claire that wanted to do just that. But she hadn't lived with Stanton pride for fifty years without picking up a thing or two.
”You're a con artist, Mr. Tyler. Why would I believe anything you have to say?”
”Because I know the truth.”
”I sincerely doubt that. What do you really want?”
”A chance to help you. You've taken my son under your wing. I certainly owe you something for that.”
”Zach is none of your concern. You left him to forage for himself when he was just a boy. Don't pretend to care about him now.”
”We're not talking about me and my son. We're discussing you and your daughter.”
”We're not discussing anything. I'm leaving.”
”Why don't you ask Miss Whitfield about her mother, what she looked like, the way she sounded when she laughed, the color of her hair, her eyes?” Jackson challenged.
”Miss Whitfield's mother died when she was twelve years old,” Claire said, gaining new confidence as she remembered their conversation in the garden. ”She's in her twenties now, so that would mean that her mother died fourteen or fifteen years ago, not twenty.”
”Now, that's an interesting point. And I probably would have agreed with you if I hadn't stopped by Miss Whitfield's room last night. I thought I'd take a little peek around. You'll never guess what I found.”
G.o.d help her. Claire wanted to walk away, but she couldn't. There was something niggling at the back of her mind that urged her to jump to the conclusion he was offering her. Claire had felt an immediate connection with Katherine, but that couldn't have anything to do with Margaret.
”You're not going to ask me, are you?” Jackson said. ”Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Stanton. You're very stubborn. You're just dying to know. Admit it.”
She lifted her chin in the air. ”Miss Whitfield's belongings are private. She could have you arrested for trespa.s.sing.”
”I wonder if you'd feel the same way if you saw your daughter's quilt draped over Katherine Whitfield's bed. All those beautiful lilies of the valley. I remember when Margaret showed me the quilt. She said it was the only good thing she'd ever done.”
Claire felt the blood drain out of her face. Margaret's quilt? The one they'd worked on together from the first day Claire had taught her daughter how to thread a needle? ”Katherine couldn't possibly have Margaret's quilt.”
Jackson simply smiled. ”Why don't you go see? Room 326.” Jackson started to walk away, then paused. ”Oh, and by the way, that information was free, but if you want to know who Margaret's lover was all those years ago, I'll expect some compensation.” He tipped his head once again. ”You have a nice day now, Mrs. Stanton.”
Nice day? Claire felt like the bottom had just dropped out of her world. Why on earth would Katherine Whitfield have Margaret's quilt?
Katherine ran a brush through her hair, staring at her face in the mirror, wondering why she didn't look any different on the outside when she felt so different on the inside. Last night she'd given herself wholeheartedly to a man who never wanted to see her again.
Despite Zach's convincing good-bye act, Katherine knew she'd gotten to him, and it wasn't just womanly pride that told her that. She'd felt him surrender to her. For a few minutes last night, he'd been hers, completely, absolutely. And now he was gone.
Katherine shook her head, noting a tiny red strawberry on her neck where his teeth had marked her skin. She closed her eyes and remembered the way his mouth had trailed across her face, his tongue tracing her earlobe, his teeth nipping at her skin. The memory started her heart racing and she quickly opened her eyes, willing it away. She didn't want to remember. There was no point.
As Zach had said, they'd had s.e.x. No big deal.
But it was a big deal. She couldn't deny it. Maybe she was a typical woman, but she hadn't just had s.e.x with Zach, she'd made love with him. And she wanted to be close to him on so many levels that had nothing to do with the physical. Not that he hadn't made her body sing in ways she'd never imagined.