Part 37 (2/2)

”Is the crime he's accused of that bad?”

Corinne hesitated. ”I don't know. I worry there's more.”

”What do you mean?”

”I worry he's into other things. There was never the money I expected, so I don't think it's drugs. But there were so many phone calls and sudden exits. The police are asking me questions, like I know something, like he confided in me. But he didn't. We had a talk before he was taken into custody, and I asked what was going on. He said I didn't want to know. So was he protecting me? Does keeping me in the dark make me safe?”

Dana tried to think of what Hugh would say. ”By law, a wife can't testify against her husband.”

”She could be charged as an accomplice.”

”But you're not an accomplice.”

”Not with regard to what he did. But I'm not innocent,” she said in self-reproach. ”I wanted the life he offered. I wanted it enough not to ask questions. I didn't ask where he got the jewelry or the cars. I didn't ask why we were still renting the cottage rather than buying the main house, like he said we would. I didn't ask how we were going to pay the bills, and when my credit card charges were denied, he just blamed it on the company, cut up the card in question, and gave me another. And I used it.”

Dana was mystified. ”But how did you do it-like, with the board of the museum?”

”Oliver secured a piece of art that the museum wanted. Maybe it was hot, I don't know. He donated his commission back to the museum, which they loved, so they put me on the board. That's how it works. It's all about money. For us-for me-it was part of the image.”

”You carried it off well.”

”People see what they want to see. I was an actress once. So I could do it. Only the worry kept growing. We built the proverbial house of cards. One goes and the rest follow.”

”I'm sorry, Corinne.”

”So am I. I have to be out of here by noon tomorrow. I don't know where to go. If they decide to charge me as an accomplice, I don't know what I'll do.”

”You'll call Hugh,” Dana decided, ”and as for where to go, try my grandmother's house. She'd love to have you there until you figure things out.”

Corinne was looking at her strangely. ”Why are you offering this? You don't like me.”

Dana felt small. ”Did I ever say that?”

”No. But I sensed it. You knew I was a fake.”

”I was jealous. I was feeling scattered, and you were together. And about staying at Ellie Jo's-” She had been about to say that Corinne could be a help when Corinne cut her off.

”I can't, Dana. You're sweet to offer, but I can't.”

”Why not?”

She smiled sadly. ”I can't face those people. It would be too humiliating.”

”They're good people. They'd understand.”

But Corinne shook her head with conviction and finality. ”Thank you. Your offer is kind. But I can't.”

Dana was humbled. Nothing she had experienced in the last month-not even the DNA test-came close to Corinne's problems. The self-pity she had felt seemed petty, the anger pure spite. In comparison to Corinne, she had so much.

Driving back to the yarn shop, she remembered her grandmother always saying, Things happen for a reason. That boy did you a favor by not asking you out, because look at the boy who did. Or, That college rejected you because this one's far better for your skills. Or even, You would not be as independent or strong a woman if your mother hadn't died.

Dana had lost the Cunningham job and, soon after, a place at the Designers' Showhouse, which meant that other than wrapping up a few last jobs, she had no commitments. Being free, she couldn't think of anything she wanted to do more than run The St.i.tchery.

She wouldn't change much, but there would always be new yarns to buy, new patterns, notions, and books. She might increase the inventory of decorative b.u.t.tons for cardigans and specialized ribbons for scarves. She would attend buying shows twice a year, and her shopping sprees with Tara would produce new designs. Dana might even introduce a line of patterns based on things, like the Faroese shawl, that her mother had made.

It was an exciting prospect, a Joseph heritage to pa.s.s down to her own child one day.

Later, outside the shop, she found a patch of sun and propped Lizzie on her lap. ”This is good, sweet baby.”

And it was. Dana was finding herself. She was getting answers to questions that had plagued her for years. She felt more in control of her life. She was continuing to talk to Father Jack, and while she still didn't know if she wanted him in her life, she did know who he was. And his advice wasn't bad.

Lizzie made a cooing sound. She was clearly enjoying the air. Smiling at her daughter, Dana thought of Hugh, who was on his way to Lowell-reluctantly, if she interpreted his message correctly. But he was doing what he believed was right.

So here was another good thing about Hugh. Once he made up his mind, he was committed. Now that he had accepted Lizzie, he would always take care of her.

A breeze rustled the trees, sending out a wave of fragrance. The orchard was ripe with apples, nearly every variety ready for picking. On a screened-in sill of the house, Veronica dozed in the shade.

Dana smiled when Tara's silver van turned off the road. She got up to greet her.

Tara rolled down her window. ”You called?”

Dana nodded. It wasn't official yet, but if she was going to own the shop, she wanted Tara on the payroll. That would mean Tara could quit the accounting job that she hated, and though Dana didn't know if she could match the pay, Tara was already spending so much time at The St.i.tchery that what she netted would come close. Dana wanted to tell her this. But it was too soon to break the news.

So she smiled. ”Just wanted you here,” she said, and stepped back to let Tara climb out.

The instant Hugh turned the corner and got a view of the courthouse, he spotted the media. He wasn't surprised. He had figured that the press would get wind of the possible lawsuit. The same whispers that had prompted Sean Manley's call would have been buzzing around the courthouse. The senator might not be mentioned by name, but a lot of folks would guess.

Hugh found a s.p.a.ce down the street and parked, but he didn't climb out. It was only one-fifty. He had told Drummond he would file at two.

One-fifty-one. Hugh drummed a finger on the wheel. One-fifty-four. Several more reporters arrived. One-fifty-seven. The hot-dog vendor wheeled his cart closer.

At one-fifty-eight, Hugh grabbed his briefcase and climbed out of the car. He fed the meter and set off.

”Hugh!” came a call.

Ted Heath was a local lawyer with whom Hugh had worked. Hugh put out a hand but didn't stop walking. ”How's it going?”

Ted shook his hand and he fell into step. ”Can't complain. What brings you here?”

”This 'n' that.”

”Hah. Confidential. Must be something big, with the vultures circling over there.” He spotted his client, slapped Hugh on the shoulder, and trotted ahead.

Hugh kept walking. He avoided many of the reporters, but two flanked him as he reached the stone steps.

”What's the case, Hugh?”

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