Part 33 (2/2)

'Her mother.'

She closed her eyes against the enormity of it all.

The best gift she could give to both of them was to find the person who had killed her father, and to find the sister she hadn't known existed. The two must be linked.

But would it result in more deaths?

What had Lulu Starnes known that was so dangerous? Was there a clue in her home? In a sc.r.a.pbook?

And her father. She knew how meticulous he was about his cases. He was a compulsive note taker. Had he left information somewhere?

She knew she was asking the questions to keep other emotions at bay. Her father had never been warm. He had never been much of a father.

But he'd been 'her' father.

She had loved him.

And her mother, for all practical purposes, was gone.

It frightened her that no tears fell. She didn't want to be as cool and detached as they had been. At one time, she had wanted that. It was protection from hurt. Now she wanted to feel sorrow, grief. Instead there was a great chasm inside. Black and fathomless.

”Cry,” Gage said. ”Let it go.”

But she couldn't. She couldn't until she knew why.

Still, she leaned back in his arms and warmth crept into her.

Not the warmth of pa.s.sion, but the warmth of comfort.

*Chapter Eighteen*

'TUCSON'.

Trying to keep her nervousness from showing, Holly entered the Social Security office in Tucson.

A friend of Marty's was baby-sitting Harry at her house. Holly had not wanted to leave Harry in their own rented cottage. She still lived in fear that her husband would find them, s.n.a.t.c.h her son, then lay in wait for her.

She was loath to leave him at all. But a Social Security card was now urgent. She had to have one to get a bankcard, then a driver's license. Holly had rehea.r.s.ed her story over and over again. If it sounded implausible to her, how would it sound to a clerk? But the book she read said that if you failed at one office, try another. Some clerks asked questions; others just accepted the fee and gave you a card.

She had her story together, the birth certificate, a baptismal certificate, a library card, and a rent receipt.

She'd practiced an accent for days. She had been excellent in French in high school and had continued her French studies during the two years she attended college.

She took a seat and waited for the first available clerk, then approached, holding an envelope with her pitiable doc.u.ments.

”'Mademoiselle', I hope you can a.s.sist me,” she said with a slight accent.

The woman looked surprised and she gave Holly a smile. ”I'll try.”

”I have just returned to the States after living abroad since I was a child. My father was American but my mother was French. She left him when I was a child and I grew up in France, even married there. But like my mother, I was unlucky with love, you see. My husband took all we had and ran away with another woman. It was very sad, and I decided to come home. But now I need a job. I was told I must have a card.”

The woman looked sympathetic. ”You've never had one?”

”'Non', I think not. We left America when I was a child.”

”Do you have identification?”

”'Oui'. I have a birth certificate, a baptismal certificate made before we left this country and my library card. I am trying to relearn English again. I hope you will forgive my ... poor--”

”You speak very well,” the woman said, glancing over the doc.u.ments. ”We really need something with a photo on it, but...”

”I tried to get a bankcard, but the people at the bank said I need one of these numbers, and so does the driver's license office. I have been going around and around, and I am so ... desperate.”

”How did you happen to come to Arizona?”

Holly gave her a bright smile. ”I read books about... your cowboys. And cactus. I thought, This looks a fine place to live. Not so much rain as France.”

The woman hesitated, then nodded. ”I think this will be enough.”

Holly sighed with grat.i.tude. ”'Merci'. I mean, thank you.”

”'Merci' will do nicely,” the woman said. She gave Holly forms to fill out, then took them back when Holly had completed them.

”Bring by your driver's license when you receive one, and I'll add it to the file,” she said.

”You are very kind, 'Mademoiselle' ...” Holly peered at the sign on the desk. ”'Mademoiselle' Mackay.”

”It is Mrs.,” she said. ”Welcome back to America.”

”I will be very happy here if everyone is like you.”

Holly took back her doc.u.ments. The birth certificate. The baptismal certificate she had purchased at a Christian book and gift store, then aged by leaving it outside in the sun.

And was handed her Social Security card.

Her lifeline.

'BISBEE'.

Liz Baker's reaction to her son's brief disappearance had raised a warning flag for Doug Menelo.

She never talked about her past. Never mentioned her husband's name or anything about him. At their first meeting, she'd been more than a little skittish around him. Wary. Even scared.

He had chalked it up to recent widowhood and the uncertainty of facing the dating world again. Now he wondered.

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