“Whoa. Wait a minute—”
“Marla Amhurst Cahill was sterile. It turns out that she had a hysterectomy a few years back, one her father didn’t know about. It was all hush-hush, the hospital records where Dr. Robertson works sketchy, but I dug up an old insurance claim and bingo—there it was. A full hysterectomy. There is no way Marla Cahill is James Cahill’s mother. So when her old man, Conrad, nutcase that he is, changes his will, cutting her out unless she comes up with a male heir, she manages to come up with one.
“A Cahill heir, not an Amhurst.”
“The old man had always wanted a son. Even though he treated Marla like a damned princess, he wanted a boy.”
“He had one,” Paterno reminded her.
“Yes, but Rory was in an institution, would probably never father any children.”
“So his daughter concocted a scam to give him a grandson?” Paterno was still skeptical. “Talked this half sister or whoever she was into having a kid for her . . . into stepping into her goddamned shoes?”
“That’s the way I figure it. It was a good thing Kylie Paris was avaricious and would do just about anything for a buck, had the same blood type, O negative, and managed to produce a boy.”
“That’s beyond lucky if you ask me.”
“They are half sisters—same blood type as their father. That’s where the negative comes in. It’s a lot less common than positive.”
Paterno’s eyes narrowed. “What if the husband didn’t go along?”
“Have you ever seen a Cahill turn down money?”
He snorted. “Just the black sheep.”
“Nicholas Cahill’s different.”
That much was true.
“I wouldn’t put it past Alex Cahill to have masterminded this whole sick scheme. He and the missus weren’t always tight, you know. They’d split before and rumors were that neither one held very fast to their marriage vows. She had a fling with the brother before she and Alex were married and I talked to a maid who had been fired a couple of years ago. She’s the one who tipped me off about the hysterectomy. From there I searched through old records. The maid told me that Marla might have had a quickie affair with her cousin, Montgomery, just to piss Alex off at one time” Janet tossed her bangs out of her eyes. “But through it all Marla and Alex stayed together. Because of love? I don’t think so.”
“You think it was the money?”
“I’d bet my life on it.”
That much Paterno wouldn’t argue, but he still wasn’t convinced that Janet was anywhere in the vicinity of the mark. “How would Marla explain her pregnancy—the real Marla.”
“Either the two women would trade places, which would be tricky because there are so many people living in that mansion, or, she could have worn pregnancy pads, the kind actresses wear. The she’d have to make sure no one saw her without her clothes. Faking morning sickness and all the other symptoms would have been relatively easy—she could have even put on a few pounds just to round out her face. Remember, I think not only the husband but the family doctor—Robertson—was in on this.”
“Why would Robertson play along?” Paterno argued. There just wasn’t enough to go on here, and yet . . . maybe.
“The same as everyone else. Money. The Cahill’s give a lot to his clin
ic and Bayside and probably Phil Robertson’s private retirement account.”
“You’re sure about all this?” He rubbed the kinks from the back of his neck and gave Janet’s idea some thought. She was never very far off the mark, but this time her theory seemed too far-fetched. “There are still a lot of holes to fill,” he said.
“Ya think?”
“More than a damned sieve,” he grumbled, but some of the story fit. His stomach was beginning to burn again and he opened his drawer, looking for his ever-present bottle of antiacid.
“Well, it’s just conjecture until we prove it.”
“Jesus,” Paterno whispered, staring at Janet with a jaundiced eye. “I don’t know if I’m buying it. There are just too many gaps.” He opened the bottle and popped four or five tablets into his mouth. “What if someone found out? How would Marla pull off the pregnancy scam? Wouldn’t someone at the hospital or the house know and spill the beans? And what if Kylie balked, or had a girl . . . hell . . . this is just too damned unbelievable.” He chewed the antacids. They tasted like crap, but did the trick.
Janet’s grin widened. She was so goddamned sure of herself. “Let’s go see, shall we?”
He swallowed the pills. “You think you’ve nailed this one, don’t you?