She paused and looked at me, her gaze level and challenging. “Have you ever heard of invasion of privacy? Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hidden from view behind crape myrtles with lavender blooms, I swirled into the elegant blouse and slacks I’d worn when I spoke with Gwen Dunham. Although I expected she’d be too upset to notice, the contrast between Francie the Frump and Bailey Ruth, aka Francie with a shopper’s paradise at her disposal, might be disconcerting. I decided Francie’s future wardrobe would be subdued, not dowdy. Subdued can be stylish. Besides, nice clothes made me feel like doing a cartwheel. The lush green grass around the gazebo looked thick and inviting.
Cartwheels could wait. As I climbed the gazebo steps, I remembered long-ago summers and a skinny redheaded girl in the twilight, listening to the cicadas and crickets, whirling from one end of a dusty brown lawn to the other with no thought beyond that moment. It was as if those magical days would last forever.
The air pulsed with heat, and I welcomed the shade of the gazebo. I sat in a comfortable wicker chair and watched the opening in a tall green hedge of Nellie Stevens holly trees that marked the boundary between The Castle and the Dunham property.
Gwen Dunham came slowly along the flagstone path, walking as if she carried a heavy burden. At the gazebo steps, she stopped for a deep breath, then slowly climbed. Her face was shaded by a wide-brimmed crocheted raffia hat with a blue camo-ribbon trim that matched her blouse. Dark glasses masked her eyes. Her patrician features might have been chipped from granite.
She walked across the plank flooring and stood a few feet away from me, her arms folded. “How did you find out about Ryan?” Her tone was anguished. “What do you want?”
I came to my feet and said gently, “I don’t intend to cause trouble.” Unless, and this was the qualification in my mind and heart, she had ended a man’s life to protect herself and her family.
“I don’t believe you.” Her voice shook. “Why else did you call and say you knew about Ryan and you’d be back in touch and hang up?”
I looked at her gravely. “I didn’t call you. Nor did Kay. Was the caller a woman?”
“The voice was just a whisper. It could have been a man. The call came from The Castle. Just a few minutes ago.” If she’d looked desperate before, now she was frantic. “Who else knows?”
“The person who took Ryan’s photograph knows.” But Margo wasn’t the only possibility.
Gwen’s hands gripped each other, twisting and turning. “Where’s the picture now? Where’s Ryan’s brush?”
“I don’t know who has the picture. The hairbrush is in a safe place, where it will stay until it is discarded.”
“Why are you doing this? Do you want money? I’ll buy the hairbrush from you.” She talked fast, the words running over each other. “How much do you want? I’ll pay you. I’ll get the money today.”
“I don’t want money. Moreover, I don’t have the hairbrush. Unless circumstances change”—if I didn’t have to tell Kay and Kay didn’t give the information to the police—“we won’t reveal anything to anyone.” Paul Fisher had apparently decided against pursuing the truth about the young man who was a mirror image of Jack Hume when he was Paul’s quarterback. Perhaps Paul felt that Jack’s quest was understandable when he was alive, but revelations after his death would cause heartbreak for no good purpose.
“If you don’t want money, what do you want?” Gwen’s voice was harsh.
“Kay and I want to understand what happened in the last few days of Jack Hume’s life. Kay has no intention of including everything she learns about Jack’s last days in her book, but she is a careful investigator. If she felt there was good reason to exclude some information, I’m certain she will.”
“Good reason?” Her voice shook. “Is my son’s trust in me and his dad a good reason? Is leaving a happy family alone a good reason?” She flung out a hand. “Don’t you see, it was so long ago and only one night and it shouldn’t matter now. Jack came home for James’s wedding. I was Diane’s maid of honor. There were parties and dances and one wonderful night on the balcony of The Castle.” She lifted a hand to clutch at a rose-quartz necklace. “He was handsome and we talked and he held me in his arms. I’ve never felt that way about anyone else. It was a kind of madness. That night we went to the Hume cabin on the lake. My parents thought I’d stayed at The Castle. The next morning he asked me to come to Africa with him. Just fly away and leave Adelaide behind. I wanted to go with him.” Her voice wobbled. “I couldn’t do that to Clint. He had a summer job in Houston. He was coming home in three weeks for our wedding. I couldn’t treat Clint that way. I love Clint. He’s good and kind and he adores me. He came home and we married. I didn’t know I was pregnant. When I found out, I thought everything would be all right. I thought the baby was Clint’s.” Her tone was defiant. “When Ryan was little, I suppose I knew then, but I pushed away the thought. That night didn’t matter. Clint is Ryan’s dad. Don’t you see? Clint is his dad.”
“Weren’t you afraid someone would notice Ryan’s resemblance to Jack?”
She threw out shaking hands. “Why would anyone think of Jack when they saw Ryan? There was no reason to make that connection. When Jack came back from Africa with an eye patch and a scar on his cheek and white hair, he didn’t look anything like he did when he was young.”
Someone had remembered the youthful Jack with painful clarity. I was sure that Margo Taylor, bitter over his long-ago dismissal of her, fearful of her daughter’s pursuit of him, had entered the Dunham house and taken Ryan’s graduation picture. She had pushed the photograph beneath Jack’s door. Whatever her motive—revenge, jealousy of Gwen, or a wish to distract him from Shannon—she had unleashed violent emotions, Jack’s fury at the son denied to him, Gwen’s fear at a revelation she believed might destroy her family, and Shannon’s youthful heartbreak at Jack’s abrupt lack of interest.
Gwen began to pace. “I wasn’t concerned when he came back. There was no reason to do more than say hello to him. Ryan is a counselor at a camp in Missouri this summer. I made it a point to have Diane to my house, rather than dropping in to see her at The Castle. That last week, Diane came over several times. She was terribly upset because Jack accused Laverne and Ronald of fraud. Poor little Diane.” Gwen’s face softened. “She’s kind and good and generous, but she’s credulous. She’s sure she is actually hearing from James and that makes her happy. Jack should have left her alone. It may be a fool’s paradise, but what harm was there?”
“Possibly he didn’t want Laverne and Ronald to fleece Diane. Possibly he felt delving into the occult was irreligious.”
