iod of time, leaving him lined and shrunken. Only his thick, steel-gray hair carried a remnant of former vitality.
“Mr. DuBois? Thank you for seeing us,” Liam said warmly, shaking the man’s outstretched hand. “This is Natalie Reyes.”
“Hello,” Natalie said, taking DuBois’ frail hand in her own. He nodded courteously at her, but immediately turned his attention back to Liam.
She knew by now that DuBois was only a few years older than Brigit Kavanaugh, but they might as well have been of different generations. Brigit could have passed for a woman in her late forties. DuBois’ multiple strokes had taken their toll, however. He might have been in his late seventies instead of in his sixties.
“I thought you might resemble her more,” he told Liam in a feeble voice. “I thought you might look more like your mother. Beautiful Brigit.”
Liam smiled. “I take more after my father, I’m afraid.”
A cloud seemed to fall over DuBois’ features.
“I understand you went to school with my mother,” Liam said.
“Yes, yes,” DuBois said, some of the animation returning to his face. He waved them over to a plush velvet couch. Once they were seated, he maneuvered his chair so that he faced them. “She was my first love, Brigit Darien. You see? There,” he said, nodding toward several photographs arranged on a round end table. Liam leaned over and plucked out one frame. He held it in his lap, examining the photograph of what was obviously a teenage Brigit Kavanaugh sitting on the back of a brown horse with a gleaming coat. Brigit looked beautiful, the sunlight making her hair a luminous gold, a brilliant smile for whoever had snapped the photo.
“Brigit practically lived on my father’s ranch for a few years. A more natural horsewoman I’ve never seen. It broke my heart when she moved to Chicago.”
“I can see how she would break your heart. She was so pretty,” Natalie said. “When did you and Brigit meet?”
“We were both enrolled by our parents at a local stable for lessons. I grew up on a working ranch, and can’t even remember when I wasn’t riding, but I didn’t know anything about showing a horse until I was fourteen or so. Brigit would have been about twelve. She preferred jumping, and I was into roping, but once we got past our prejudices for each other’s expertise, we became the best of friends.”
Liam chuckled as he returned the photograph to the table. Despite his show of amusement, Natalie sensed his tension. She shared in it.
“You two were close,” Liam mused. “I’m surprised my mother has never spoken of you.”
“No?” DuBois asked in a quavering voice.
“Well, not much,” Liam added quickly when he saw the impact his words had on the frail man. “I suppose that’s natural.”
“Yes,” DuBois said sadly. “She’s a married woman, with children of her own.”
“You never had children, Mr. DuBois?” Natalie asked.
“Please…call me Linc. No, I never did. One of the biggest regrets of my life,” DuBois said with a sad smile. “I’ve built an empire, but I was too stupid to ever pause and build a family—although Nick is practically a son to me. Still…don’t either of you hesitate to start a family if you haven’t already. What’s the use of all this—” he waved vaguely at the luxurious room “—if you have no one to share it with?”
A pause ensued in which Dubois stared into space blankly. Natalie glanced at Liam.
“Mr. DuBois?” Liam asked gently.
DuBois blinked and refocused on them. For a few seconds, Natalie was quite sure he didn’t have any memory of who they were. His illness had clearly affected his mind as well as his body.
“I’m here to ask you about a car crash that occurred sixteen years ago. My father caused that crash. Do you know anything about that?”
DuBois looked completely blank. “Car crash?” he asked slowly. “What car crash? On the lake road?”
Liam inhaled and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Natalie thought she understood his cautiousness. DuBois suddenly seemed fatigued and less sharp than he had been previously.
“My father—Derry Kavanaugh—caused the accident. The crash occurred in Michigan, not here in Tahoe. It happened sixteen years ago. Did you ever meet Derry Kavanaugh?”
DuBois just stared back at him, his pale blue eyes blank.
Liam cast a wary glance her way before he continued. “Mr. DuBois…when is the last time you saw my mother, Brigit Kavanaugh? Brigit Darien,” Liam added his mother’s maiden name quickly when DuBois’ expression remained uncomprehending. Although he’d recalled the name Kavanaugh earlier, and seemed to understand who Liam was, the name seemed to mean nothing to him at present.
The name Darien, however, had the effect of hitting a light switch.
Dubois beamed. “On the New Year—1976.”