Part 23 (1/2)
”I should have called first. I see you're busy.” Morgan's tone was self-effacing, not at all what Rae had expected.
”No, uh...” Like a smitten schoolboy, unflappable Sam Garvin was tongue-tied.
Rae stepped forward and offered her hand. ”I'm Rae Esposito. You must be Mrs. Bayfield-Farris.”
Morgan grasped Rae's hand firmly and flashed a smile. ”Of course. I didn't mean to interrupt your meeting.”
Rae noted Morgan's camel-colored pantsuit with matching silk scarf. Definitely not off the rack at Kohl's. And the pale beige gloves. Unusual summer accessory.
”Mrs. Esposito came in to re-interview Fredricka,” Sam explained.
”But she's on vacation, isn't she?” said Morgan.
Sam placed a hand on Morgan's elbow and steered her toward the hallway that led to his office.
”If you'll have a seat,” Sam said to Rae, ”we just have a few things to go over. Then I'll be at your disposal.”
As the two left the room, Rae was almost certain she detected a tremor in Sam's hand as he touched Morgan.
At the sound of Sam's door closing, Rae let down her guard. She shook her head to clear the thoughts that were pouring in. Then she glanced at that picture she'd noticed on the wall beside the entrance. The one that had been so puzzling on her first visit. Jerome Bayfield, the patriarch, with an arm around his daughter, Elisabeth, and teenage granddaughter, Morgan. The caption: Groundbreaking-Bayfield Commons-1966.
The dark-haired young man with the widow's peak and the dimples whom she'd wondered about-that was Sam Garvin.
And the years of pent-up longing in the man's eyes as he'd looked at Morgan told the tale. Rae wondered what ghosts of the past, what feelings spilled from Morgan's eyes when she removed those Serengetis.
Moving closer to the picture of the Bayfield Commons groundbreaking, she stared intently at the images. An eerie familiarity p.r.i.c.kled her spine. Familiarity with what? What could those inert figures tell her? More to the point, what would they tell her-those still alive?
”Worth a thousand words.”
Sam's voice right behind her startled Rae. No telltale sounds of doors or footsteps. She glanced around and beyond Sam.
”Where's Mrs. Bayfield-Farris?”
”My office has a rear entrance. She was feeling a bit emotional. She knows you've seen the tape. Deidre's tape.”
”Oh.” Rae distanced herself from the picture on the wall as if this could prevent Sam from guessing her thoughts. What did it matter if he knew that she'd figured out he was the young man in the picture? Somehow, instinct told her it did matter.
”She loved her daughter.” Sam's voice, like fine sandpaper on her ears.
She had a pretty strange way of showing it. Rae bit back the sarcastic remark. She really didn't know these people. Besides, it would be unprofessional. Just do your job, Rae.
”Can we just cut to the chase, Sam?”
She thought she detected a slight intake of breath as Sam looked a question at her.
”I mean, how long have you known about Deidre's true parentage?”
A bony hand hid his crooked smile, m.u.f.fled something like a laugh devoid of humor. ”As you've seen by that picture,” Sam gestured toward the wall behind her, ”I've been around a long time. I've known Deidre all her life...known who she was.”
Rae resisted the urge to turn back toward the photograph as she focused on Sam's pale eyes. ”Then you're aware of the implications,” she continued.
”I am.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Soft, as it may once have been before something sucked all the juice out of him. ”But are you, Mrs. Esposito?”
The pale eyes, the angular face, the black hair, the widow's peak coalesced in her brain. OhmiG.o.d. He's Deidre's father.
”Mrs. Esposito?”
Rae struggled for composure. ”The implications...I think so. The GST tax.”
Sam took a step back, again giving her the lop-sided grin, this time not bothering to cover it. ”The GST tax?”
”It must have been a whopper. I'll need to take a look at Jerome Bayfield's 706.”
Sam had stopped smiling and was looking through her.
”I can understand your wanting to protect Mrs. Bayfield-Farris by not putting a disclosure like that on her grandfather's estate tax return. Who could fault you for making a mistake? Worst case scenario, you'll pay a preparer penalty.” Rae backtracked, hoping her panic didn't show. People didn't kill over a tax return error, did they?
”Are you wearing a wire, Mrs. Esposito?”
”A...whoa...you think I'd tell you if I was?” Rae backed toward the front door. Too late, she realized Sam wasn't looking through her, but at someone behind her.
”I'll bet she's not.” Morgan's voice fanned her ear, chilled mint on the stale office air.
Rae whirled around to face Morgan. ”How do you know that?”
”They don't send accountants in wearing wires.” Morgan's voice sounded frayed at the edges.
Rae watched a cloud pa.s.s quickly over Sam's expression as he asked Morgan, ”Did you forget something?”
”The books are clean. You can't blow that check all out of proportion,” Morgan continued, ignoring Sam's question.
”Fredricka has explained about the check.” Rae fought for calm as she watched Morgan clench and unclench her hands on the handle of her beige leather handbag.
Then, Rae decided calm wasn't going anywhere. ”If I were you, I'd be more concerned with the GST tax omission.”
”GST tax?” Morgan's volume cranked up a notch, a decibel away from completely doing in her serene image.
”She has no idea what that is,” said Sam to Rae.
”What's she talking about?” Morgan demanded, brus.h.i.+ng past Rae to get to his side.
Rae watched Sam guide Morgan into the chair behind Freddie's desk. ”It's going to be all right,” he said.
”That's what we thought when Jerome died.”
The hateful tone Morgan used confirmed Rae's picture of Jerome Bayfield as a cold, miserly tyrant.
”It's going to be fine, dear.” Sam rubbed Morgan's arm.