Page 92 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

Paterno felt his eyebrows shoot skyward. “She had a kid that she gave up for adoption?”

“That’s what Eugenia’s diary suggests. It’s probably not a big deal in and of itself, but I did some digging. The records are sealed, of course, but I’d like to find out more about this kid. What happened to him or her? Who was the father? All I get from the notes is that Eugenia didn’t approve of Alex’s marriage to Marla Amhurst. She was, and I quote, ‘socially acceptable but morally reprehensible’.”

“That’s gotta bite.”

“If Marla knew her mother-in-law’s feelings.”

“Eugenia was pretty starchy. She might have put up a front of acceptance to the rest of the world, but if she didn’t like Marla, I’ll guarantee Marla knew it.”

Quinn nodded. “Stoic to the outside world, a raving bitch with the people she loved.”

“So we don’t know where the kid is now?”

“Not yet, but I’m looking into it. The records may be sealed, but there are people who were employed at Cahill House during the time of Marla’s pregnancy—people who have long since retired. I’ve got a list, and I’m working my way through it. Someone’s got to know about that child.”

Paterno drove past the Holy Trinity of God Church, where a message on the reader board was simple: “Go with God, our Sister Cherise,” and then the notation of a verse from the Bible.

He frowned as he saw the sign, experiencing the same burning sensation in his stomach that he’d felt when he’d seen the newscasts where the Reverend Donald played the grieving, broken husband who, though he had been a sinner, was taking Cherise’s death as a “sign from God” to mend his ways. The news cameras had been trained on both him and the crowd surrounding him, and Paterno had taped all the local channels.

Heather Van Arsdale’s face had been missing from the flock, though other newscasts showed reporters hounding her at her apartment, even camped out at the school where she taught, but she’d never honored any requests for an interview. Paterno didn’t blame her. She was the “other woman” in a bad play. Somehow the reverend was turning the situation around, once again the spinmaster, creating publicity and an image of a repentant adulterer mourning the violent and tragic end to his wife’s life. He was blaming himself—and his act was working. Everyone in the church was standing behind him, the weakened man who had bowed to temptation and was now strong. Like Heather’s, Favier’s alibi was tight. So far the police hadn’t been able to track down any money trail indicating he’d paid off a hit man…or woman, if the myopic dog-walking witness could be believed.

Paterno found a parking spot big enough that he could ease his car into it across the street from the Favier house, a nice rambler with a Spanish motif. Sickly looking palm trees offered a bit of shade to the red tile roof. The lawn was neat and trimmed, the house painted with a fresh coat the color of sand. A brick walk led to a matching porch where big pots were filled with trailing plants that promised to bloom in the coming months.

“Look like a crime scene to you?” he asked as they climbed out of the car.

Quinn shook her head. “No, but it sure must’ve to Cherise Favier.”

A headache pounded behind Elyse’s eyes, and she had to squint as she reached into the medicine cabinet. She found a bottle of ibuprofen and tossed back double the dosage. Lately the headaches had become more severe, nearly debilitating.

It’s just because everything’s coming to a head, that’s all. You’ve nearly accomplished everything you want…except for Cissy, and that’s about to go down.

After taking a swallow of the wine from the near-empty bottle on the nightstand, she stretched her muscles, unwound the tension from the back of her neck. It was time to go to her regular job, to pretend to be a woman she wasn’t. The thought irked her.

Just a little longer…that’s all it’s going to be.

The wheels have been set into motion.

She glanced at the big rumpled bed and thought about the man she loved. He was key, of course, to all her plans. He’d been instrumental, had even contacted her from the get-go, but then she’d gone and fallen in love with him.

Once a fool, always a fool.

But only if you let yourself.

Don’t let him use you.

Don’t let him belittle you.

Don’t give too much of yourself to him.

And for God’s sake, don’t let him have your heart.

He’s not worth it. No man is.

Remember: he’s expendable.

Everyone is.

Now, get your butt to work. This is the last day you’ll ever have to go there and pretend to be someone you’re not.

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