Part 30 (1/2)
”You don't drink scotch,” he said.
”How would you know?”
”I remember that you rarely took anything but wine.”
”As well as an occasional beer,” she said.
He found himself smiling at her. Despite what had happened the last few days, she was challenging him again.
”I like one, too, now and then,” he said.
”Would you rather have that?”
”No. Scotch is fine.”
She found a bottle of wine in the fridge and poured herself a gla.s.s, then led the way to the living room.
”To what do I owe the honor?”
”I'm worried about you,” he said, watching her face tighten as he said the words.
”Who told you?”
”A friend in the police department. He called me about the shooting, the burglary and now this latest incident.”
”It wasn't an 'incident.' A woman died. Probably because of me.”
His first impulse was to agree. If she hadn't probed ...
”It wasn't your fault,” he said instead. ”But I wish you would stop whatever you're doing.”
”Looking into my mother's request, you mean?”
”Yes.”
”I doubt if the attacks had anything to do with that,” she replied. ”The perpetrator could be the husband of one of my clients. You know I volunteer at the women's shelter.”
He nodded, and again saw the surprise in her face. ”I keep up with my only child,” he said.
”And your wife?” It was a bitter accusation.
”She wouldn't want me there,” he said. ”I am doing what I can from afar.”
”Why? Why wouldn't she want you there?”
”Do you want all the details?”
”I want to know what you know about Mom's past.”
”I don't know anything,” he said. He wondered whether his eyes conveyed the lie. He was a superb liar. He'd even been proud of the fact. Now he wasn't.
”Do you know who she dated before you?”
His mouth tightened. ”Is that why you visited the Starnes woman? To find the dirt in your mother's background?”
That wasn't what he meant to say. But fear suddenly overtook him. If she discovered what had happened thirty years ago, she would despise him. He wouldn't have even the little of her he had now. He had to be careful or he would lose her entirely.
She took a sip of wine, then another, obviously trying to control her emotions. ”What do you really want, Father?”
”I want you to stop looking into the past.”
”Why?”
”For me, Meredith. I want you to do it for me.”
She was silent for a moment, and he wished he knew what she was thinking.
”I can't,” she finally said. ”Mother wants me to do this.”
”And I don't.”
He knew when he threw out the words that he had lost. It was a foolish thing to say. He was asking her to choose between two parents, one of whom was dying. It was an impossible, selfish request. But he had been selfish all his life.
”I'm sorry,” she said in a toneless voice.
”You can get hurt,” he pleaded. ”You've obviously stepped into something you don't understand.”
”But you do, don't you, Father?” The accusation was in her voice.
”No. I just know everything that has happened to you has occurred since you talked to me that morning.”
”I don't believe you.”
The simple statement was like a sword in his gut. That it carried truth only made it more painful.
He took a gulp of scotch, something he seldom did. He was always very careful.
”Help me,” his daughter said.
He couldn't. If he did, she would be even more of a target than she already was.
”I'll pay for protection,” he said. ”I want you to have it on a twenty-four-hour-a-day basis.”
”That's not what I need.”
A wave of helplessness pa.s.sed through him. It was an increasingly familiar feeling.