Part 11 (2/2)
I walked to the leaded-gla.s.s entry and rang the bell. Instead of a butler, a tall, slender woman opened the door.
”Can I help you?” she asked.
”Sonja Kessler?”
”Yes.” She looked beyond me at the taxi in the drive. ”Who are you?”
”Sarah Booth Delaney, private investigator. I'm here about your interest in the Carlisle family.”
I thought at first she'd stopped breathing. Her blue gaze, as large and clear as Tinkie's, held on my face but registered no emotion.
”I can't talk with you,” she said at last. ”I have plans for this evening.” She began to shut the door.
I wedged my foot in the crack, wincing as the heavy door pressed against it. ”Talk to me now, or Sheriff Cole-man Peters will be here tomorrow.”
That shook her up. She viewed me through the three-inch gap. ”Why are you doing this?” she asked. ”The past is dead and gone. There's no changing it. Just let it lie.”
”I don't think so.”
She stepped back, and I pressed my advantage by pus.h.i.+ng the door open, revealing a beautifully decorated foyer. I followed her down a hallway into a small library where she'd obviously been working on some papers.
She was younger than I'd a.s.sumed. Much younger. A beautiful woman who must have begun her affair with Gregory Carlisle during her teens. Perhaps that was reason enough to pay her. A Delta planter and a teenage lover--the stories would have gotten ugly.
”Why have you come here?” She gathered the papers.
”The Carlisle estate has made payments to you for years. Why?”
She paused. ”It's not what you think.”
”Really?”
”Gregory was my father. He paid me not to come to Mississippi.” She stacked the papers into a neat bundle. ”Would you like a soda or some tea?”
11.
The tea was strong and not sweet, just the way I liked it. Sonja was direct. ”Once Gregory accepted that I was his daughter, he offered a yearly sum of money. Not a fortune, but enough. On his death I received a hundred thousand additional.” Sonja's smile was pensive and she distractedly rattled the ice in her tea gla.s.s. ”Hush money, some people would call it. Since I never knew Gregory, I took the money and let the rest go. I viewed it as a windfall.”
The library's mahogany shelves were filled with books, sculptures, and other artwork. Persian carpets covered the oak floor. It was a room of expensive comfort. Sonja may not have had the family name, but she'd acquired the Carlisle lifestyle, or as close as she could come in a city instead of on a plantation.
”My mother was a singer,” she said. From the mantel she picked up a photograph in a heavy silver frame and handed it to me. The woman at the piano was a cla.s.sic Nordic type. Sonja, with her peaches-and-cream complexion, favored her mom.
”She's lovely.”
”Mother didn't have good judgment when it came to men.” She hesitated. ”She fell in love easily and always with someone inaccessible. Then again, it's worked out for me.” She put the picture back. ”So you've tracked me down and discovered that I'm the b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughter of Gregory and a Chicago torch singer.” Her chin lifted. ”So what? Luther knows. The only person this will harm is Erin.”
She knew her siblings' names, though she claimed no interest in them. ”And you care about Erin?”
Pacing the room, she settled in front of the fireplace. ”I don't know her. We're the same age. I've always found that to be ironic.”
Irony was one way of describing it. ”What's your contact with the Carlisle family?”
”I receive the money. I've invested wisely.” She crossed the room again and I was struck by her confident carriage. She found a remote control on a side table and ignited a gas log in the fireplace. ”I won't ask you to keep what you've found a secret. You'll do what ever you feel you must. It'll only hurt Erin.”
Again, she expressed concern for Erin, a woman she'd never met--a half sister who'd grown up in the family from which Sonja had been excluded. ”I'm not interested in dredging up the Carlisle history, Ms. Kessler.”
”What did you hope to gain by coming here? Blackmail?”
”I'm searching for some link to the plantation that might explain a serious illness in Sunflower County. Best indications are that it's confined to the Carlisle land.”
”I've never been there. I know nothing of the estate except for a few remarks Mother made when I was a child.”
”Do you remember them?”
She looked out the curtained French doors of the library. Dusk was fading and night falling fast. ”Mother said my father was wealthy, that he owned a large tract of land where it was like stepping into the past.”
”And you were never tempted to go?”
”Never. I focus on things I can attain, not those beyond my reach.”
A healthy philosophy, if it was true. ”Before you were acknowledged by Gregory as an heir--”
”I made a good living as a retail buyer. Unlike my father, I'm very good at managing money.”
”And you've had no contact with Luther Carlisle about the land? He wants to sell it. You haven't attempted to claim any portion of it?”
”I wasn't named in the will. Luther has made it clear that I have no interests in Mississippi.”
”You might have legal standing.” I wasn't certain about paternity and inheritance laws, but a sharp lawyer could have made a case for her. ”Why didn't you come forward?”
”Once Gregory acknowledged me, I didn't try to make contact with him. I didn't want to cause trouble. I don't now. I'm more than comfortable, and arguing can't change a childhood of growing up without a father or siblings.”
”True.” But it was also true of human nature that most people wanted all they could get. ”Do you have DNA proof?”
”Gregory insisted.”
”And you've been perfectly happy not to know your father's family or any of your Carlisle relatives?”
”I didn't miss out on anything, Ms. Delaney. I had a mother who loved me.”
Outside the French doors the lawn's perfect lighting showed the exceptional landscaping. Sonja had security and beauty at her fingertips, but in that one moment, I understood the loss that had touched her. ”In that regard, you're luckier than a lot of people. When did your mother die?”
”I was seventeen. She was accidentally struck by a car while crossing a street.” If she felt pity for herself, she didn't show it. She glanced at her wrist.w.a.tch and frowned. ”I'm sorry, but I'm meeting a friend and I'm running late.”
”Thank you, Ms. Kessler. I'll be in touch if I need more information.”
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