“What is it?” she prodded. “Damn it, Nick . . . I think I deserve to know.”
Walking to the window, he hesitated, raked his fingers through his hair and stared outside. “I suppose you have that right.”
“Damned straight.”
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes serious, and Marla braced herself as he sat on the arm of an overstuffed chair. “There was an accident years ago. You were around four, I guess, Rory under two. Your mother had you both in the car, ready to go somewhere and I have no idea where it was, but she had you both buckled and strapped in when she had to run back into the house. Rory pitched a fit, you unbuckled him, and he got out of the car. You must’ve closed the door and when Victoria hurried back, she didn’t notice that her son wasn’t in his car seat but was outside the car, squatting near the rear wheel, probably looking at an insect or something on the driveway. She threw the car into reverse and ran over him.”
“No.” Marla’s hand flew to her mouth. Her insides twisted painfully.
“He wasn’t killed, of course, but the brain damage was severe. Irreversible. The doctors were able to save his life, but that’s about all.”
Marla’s stomach turned over. She felt as cold as if a blue Norther had knifed through her bones. “I had no idea,” she whispered, expecting something—some spark of a memory to flash behind her eyes. None came. Nothing at all and she decided that this time it might be a blessing.
“You were barely more than a toddler yourself at the time.”
“But they . . . my parents . . . did they blame me?”
He shrugged a shoulder. “You’re the only one who knows that.”
“No. There are two of us. Me and my father.” She stood and walked to the foyer. “Maybe it’s time I found out just where I stand with dear old Dad,” she suggested. “I think I should visit him.” The idea gained strength and she thought of the keys in her pocket. Surely some of them would fit into the ignitions of the cars in the garage whether Eugenia drove or not. But Marla didn’t dare let on that she had her mother-in-law’s keyring. Not until she’d let herself into the office again.
Nick walked into the foyer. “Do you want me to take you?”
“Yes.” Suddenly she was certain. Not only did she want to see her father, but she wanted Nick with her. She handed him the pictures of Pam Delacroix. “The sooner the better.”
“Then let’s go.”
“Just let me grab a coat, and a purse and . . .” It occurred to her then she had no wallet, no driver’s license, no credit cards, not even an insurance card. It was as if she had no identity, none whatsoever. “I’ll be down in a minute.” She hurried upstairs, found a leather purse with a shoulder strap, a pair of sunglasses in the top drawer and a tube of lipstick. She thought of the keys in her pocket and decided it would be best to hide them . . . but where? Somewhere where they couldn’t be found. She glanced around the room and frowned. There were too many servants and relatives who had access to her private quarters. Nowhere was safe, especially since Eugenia was on a search for the keys. Marla started to put them in her handbag, thought better of it and slid the keyring back into her jeans pocket where she could feel their presence.
She’d have to use them and soon or have duplicates made, but then she didn’t have so much as a dime on her and no checkbook or debit card . . . or anything. “Damn it all anyway,” she muttered, hurrying down the stairs.
No ID. No money. No car. No damned memory.
It was as if she really didn’t exist.
Chapter Fourteen
“They fished Santiago’s lab coat out of the bay,” Janet Quinn said as she stuck her head into Paterno’s office. Behind her the click of fingers on keyboards, whir of fax machines and buzz of conversation drowned out some piped-in music that no one listened to anyway. “The ID tag was still intact, but it was a little hard to read. Someone had crushed a cigarette into it, marred up the picture pretty good. Then, of course, the water took its toll.” She eased into the room and slid a couple pieces of typewritten paper across his desk. “Here’s the report. Everything’s down in Evidence if you want to take a look at it.”
“Don’t suppose there were any prints on the tag?” Paterno asked without much hope. He picked up the sheets of paper and gave them a cursory once-over. Whoever was behind this Cahill mess was too smart to be caught making so basic a mistake.
“Just Santiago’s.” She plopped herself into a chair.
“And the lab coat?”
“Nope.”
“Figures.” He shifted a tasteless wad of gum from one side of his mouth to the other. “I talked to Crane Delacroix this morning,” Paterno said, remembering his short conversation with Pamela’s ex-husband.
“Enlightening?”
“He didn’t want to say too much. I think he’s got a lawsuit pending against the Cahill family, though nothing’s been filed as yet and the Cahills have a way of settling out of court. Anyway, he didn’t have many kind words to say about his ex-wife. Said she’d filled their daughter’s head with all sorts of nonsense and that was the reason the kid had quit school, also said that Pam had mentioned to him that she was about to come into a lot of money. When he asked her about it, she was evasive, said she was working on a book deal, but seemed to regret even bragging to him. The way he figured it, she was just blowing smoke.”
“What do you think?” Janet asked.
“I know she was working on a book.” When Janet seemed about to ask where he’d gotten the information, he said, “Don’t ask.”
“Damn, Paterno, what’d you do?”