Rachel gasped softly. “That’s so awful,” she said. “How could she do that to you? How could she pretend Dylan never existed? I’m sorry, but that just seems cruel to me.”
Alex fought falling apart. Her thoughts exactly-which was why the words hurt so much.
This time it was Harlan who attempted to comfort by laying a hand on his daughter’s arm. Alex noticed it shook.
“Dylan was a sweet little boy. Happy. Hardly ever fussed. Slept through the night from his third week. A joy.”
He looked away, as if gazing deeply into the past, then met her eyes once more. “You doted on him. So did Rachel. His mother and I, of course. We all took it hard, but Patsy the hardest. Somehow, she blamed herself. For going out that night. Not being there. She didn’t bounce back.”
“You tried to make the marriage work?”
“Of course. Tried everything I could think of. Time. Counseling. Gifts. The truth is, I loved her, but she couldn’t get beyond her grief”-he cleared his throat-“to love me back.” He sighed. “I don’t know what else to tell you.”
“Do you have any pictures?”
Rachel stood and crossed to an ornately carved desk. She selected a framed photo and brought it to her.
The photo depicted a young girl-Rachel, Alex presumed-holding a beautiful, cherubic infant. Alex lightly touched the glass. “I found a photo album in the attic,” she said softly. “Hidden away in a trunk. It held a photo similar to this one, only I was holding him.”
“It took me years to be able to bring that out,” Harlan murmured, “to look at it without falling apart. I thank God that I’m able to now. It seems unfair to his memory to pretend he didn’t exist.”
Again, tears burned Alex’s eyes. Ones of grief-and anger. At her mother for having done this-it was an affront to Dylan’s memory.
She blinked them away and held out her hand, displaying the ring. “You mentioned gifts. Did you give this to my mother? I found it in the trunk with Dylan’s things. It appears to be grapevines and a sna-”
“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t recognize it.”
“You’re certain you’ve never-”
“Yes, I’m certain.” He paused a moment as if to give her time to come to grips with his words. When he spoke again, his voice held a note of finality. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Alexandra?”
“Yes. Do you know who my father is?”
She held her breath; his expression altered slightly. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“But you were married, surely she-”
“It wasn’t important to me. I loved her.”
He said it simply and in a way that left no doubt he really had loved her mother. But it didn’t answer her question. “I appreciate that. But I find it hard to believe she never talked to you about him.”
“Alexandra,” he said gently, “I don’t think she knew who your father was.”
Alex thought of the things Rita the librarian had told her about her mother’s love affair. He knew more than he was saying, she thought. He knew what he’d just said was a lie. But why keep the truth from her?
Maybe because he was her father?
“She was young,” Rachel murmured. “Things happen. You know that.”
“But why wouldn’t she just tell me the tru-”
She didn’t finish the question, hearing how inane it sounded-she’d already revealed how much her mother had kept hidden from her.
“It didn’t matter to me,” Harlan said again. “I fell in love with her. And with you, Alex.”
His words washed over her in a bittersweet wave, and she struggled to speak. “Then why… all these years…”
“When it became obvious Dylan wasn’t coming home, Patsy took you. Legally, you were her daughter, not mine, What could I do?”
“She wanted nothing to do with any of us,” Rachel said. “She left us, Alex. All of us.”
There was no denying the edge in the other woman’s voice. For the first time it occurred to Alex that Rachel had lost two mothers-and how painful that must have been.
“We never forgot you. But as Dad said, what could we do?”
What indeed, Alex wondered, reaching for her wineglass and bringing it to her lips, only then realizing she had already emptied it.
“It’s so odd.” Rachel went on. “You’ve forgotten it all. Even your own brother. I’d have thought all that trauma would be burned onto your brain. I know it is mine.”
Reed stepped in. “Maybe that’s the very reason she forgot.”
They fell silent. The fire hissed and crackled. The mantel clock struck the hour.
When the sixth chime faded away, Harlan leaned forward in his chair. “Is there anything we can do for you, Alexandra?” he asked. “Anything you need?”
She stiffened at the question, and at the pity in his eyes. “I wanted to meet you, learn what I could about my brother. That’s all.” She stood. “Thank you.”
Their goodbye moment felt as awkward as their hello had, maybe more so. At least with hello had come expectation.
But of what? she wondered, gazing out the car window. A warm family reunion? A shocking revelation?
Certainly not for what she’d gotten-surprise, sympathy and a small dose of suspicion.
“Would you like to get something to eat?” Reed asked.
She realized they had reached the Sonoma square and the girl & the fig. “I don’t think so, no. But thanks.”
“Are you all right to drive? It’s been a big day.”
She smiled slightly, appreciative of his empathy. “I’m fine. I need to process.”
He nodded, then indicated the restaurant. “If you come back, you’ll have to try the place. It’s really good.”
She glanced at the front window, saw past the Help Wanted sign to the bar and dining room beyond. Warm-toned wood, tiny amber lights, small, white linen-covered tables, nestled together, bistro style. Charming.
“I will.”
“I’m going to have a crime scene tech come by and collect the pacifier. Maybe some other things as well.”
“I’ll get them back?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you for everything, Detective Reed.” She held out her hand. “Please let me know what happens with the identification.”
“I will. Absolutely.” He released her hand. “Goodbye, Alex.”
She watched him drive away, then climbed into her own vehicle for the long drive back to San Francisco.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Monday, February 22
9:20 A.M.
“Morning, Tanner,” Reed said, parking himself in the doorway of her cubicle. “How’s life?”
“Not bad. For a Monday.” She picked up her coffee cup. “Crime lab has the pacifier.”
“And?”
“Said there’s a slim chance they’ll be able to retrieve any DNA from it. Marginal at best, their words.”
“But a chance, nonetheless.”
“Exactly.”
Reed yawned. “Spent the weekend reviewing interview transcripts in the Dylan Sommer case. Specifically interviews of Alexandra Clarkson.” He crossed to her desk and dropped a manila folder on it. “Basically got nothing new. One social worker found her to be unusually ‘dissociative.’ ”
Tanner opened the folder and began scanning his notes. “But everyone else described her as a happy, talkative and well adjusted child.”
“True. Although, when asked if she knew where her brother was, she said he was ‘sleeping.’ ”
“Interesting.” She tapped the notes. “Kids are tough interviews. You can only push so hard.”
The VCI receptionist stuck her head in the door. “You two need to take a ride. Hilldale Winery. The B &B.”
“What’s up?”
“Someone mutilated a baby doll, left it strung up in the vines.”