Blood Vines

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

Friday, March 12

10:30 A.M.

Three hours later Lyla Reed opened her front door and greeted Alex warmly. “You called on just the right day,” she said, grasping Alex’s hand. “The rest of the week I’ve had board meetings and luncheons. It’s endless, really.”

She led Alex inside the grand home. Today it smelled of flowers and lemon polish. “Thank you so much, Lyla,” Alex said. “I really appreciate you letting me do this.”

“I’m happy to, really. I told you how close your mother and I were.”

Alex opened her mouth to ask for assurances, then closed it fearing her desperation would show. That she would say something to raise the woman’s suspicions.

“Are you settling in?”

“Very nicely.”

“I heard about you finding poor Max. It must have been horrible.”

“It was. I’d gone to ask him about my mother’s ring. The one with the grapevines and snake.”

“I don’t recall her having a ring like that.”

“But you commented on it at the party.”

Lyla looked startled. “I did?”

“Yes. I’m certain you did.”

She frowned slightly. “You must be confused.”

“I must be,” Alex said. “Several people commented on it… I guess I just… I thought you…”

She let the thought trail off, feeling a little silly. But she was sure Lyla had been one of those who had noted the ring.

Lyla patted her arm. “No worries, dear. You know, I have one of Max’s designs. A brooch. He was so talented and our families were friends. Here we are.”

They entered the room. Lyla crossed to bookshelves on the right. She selected three leatherbound volumes from one of the shelves. “These are the Patsy years, as I call them. Some of the happiest times of our lives.”

She set them on a table in front of the velvet couch. “If you don’t need me-”

“I’m fine. Please, go. You have things to do.”

Lyla smiled and squeezed her hand. “I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

“Wait.” Alex held on to her hand. “Lyla, you and my mother were such good friends. Did she ever mention my father?”

The woman’s gaze went soft with sympathy. “Never. I always wondered about him. I even hinted around the subject, but she simply wouldn’t go there.”

“Why?” Alex asked. “Why so secretive? If the relationship was in the past, what difference would it have made?”

“I decided he must have hurt her badly. She was happy and wanted to leave that time of her life far behind.”

But Alex had been the creation of that part of her life. Where did that leave her?

As if reading her thoughts, Lyla squeezed her hand again. “I’m sorry. She loved you very much, I promise you. We all saw how much.”

Alex sat and reached for the first volume: 1982. Working to keep her hopefulness in check, she opened it.

The photographs looked decidedly old-fashioned. The hair and clothes. The furnishings and events.

She flipped through. Interesting how, in the short time she’d been here, she had learned who all the players were. Reed and his older brother. Clark and Rachel. Max Cragan, she realized, recognizing him from the photograph that day at his house, in his hallway.

The pages crackled as she turned them. She found herself riveted by the beautiful, smiling people. And the story the pictures depicted. Of a close-knit group. One that spent a lot of time together partying-she couldn’t really call it anything else. It was the rare photograph that didn’t include someone-or several someones-with a glass in their hand. In many of them they were hugging one another, laughing or mugging for the camera.

Obviously feeling no pain.

Alex studied her mother. She had been a beautiful woman, certainly the most beautiful of their circle. The youngest, as well. She’d been only twenty-four then, Alex realized. Younger than Alex was now, and already married and a mother.

Not that she was in any way matronly, Alex thought, as she landed on a photo of the group poolside. Her mother wore a skimpy bikini and in several shots was draped over a couple of the other husbands.

A knot settled in her stomach. Alex turned the page. There she was again, this time in a cover-up, sitting on Treven’s lap. She was laughing; he looked irritated.

The things Reed had said raced around her head. She pushed them back. But she wasn’t alone. The other wives were carrying on as well. No one looked scandalized.

As Alex moved on to the second album, then the third, the photos evolved. Her mother seemed to become less carefree and more introspective. Candid shots caught expressions of worry, unguarded anxiety, furtiveness.

Alex passed a hand over her face. Or was she imagining it all? Had Reed’s story caused her to look at the photos differently? Change her presumption about her mother’s life?

“Hey, Alex. This is a nice surprise.”

Reed’s younger brother, she saw. Alex smiled and closed the last album. “Hey back, Ferris. Your mother offered me a peek at the family photo albums.”

“Still trying to catch up on your past?”

“Yup, still trying.” She stood and carried the three albums back to the bookcase. She reshelved them, then turned to find him standing directly behind her, close enough to lift her hand and touch.

“Any luck?” he asked.

Uncomfortable with their proximity, she inched backward. “Truthfully? Not a lot. But it was fun seeing them.”

“Would you like to go out to dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. Tonight?”

“I don’t think that’d be a good idea. Thanks anyway.” She stepped around him and crossed back to the couch to collect her purse.

He followed, not looking at all bothered by her answer. She wondered whether he was one of those guys who was always putting the query out there, or if he had heard the stories about her mother.

“I knew it,” he said. “You have something going on with Dan.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” He grinned. “Say, if you want to see some more memorabilia from those days, you should pay a visit to the Sommer Winery, they have a museum area, the walls are covered with photos. In fact, I think they have one of your mother’s paintings in the tasting room.”

Treven had told her that as well. She had forgotten.

“I could even take you-”

“Ferris, your brother is waiting for you out in the conference room.”

Wayne Reed stood in the doorway, frowning at his son. Ferris straightened. “Duty calls. Good seeing you, Alex.”

When he reached the doorway, he stopped, murmured something to his father that she couldn’t make out and left.

Wayne Reed turned his attention to her. “Stay away from my sons.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. They’ve been hurt enough.”

To say she was shocked would be an understatement. “I don’t understand why you would say that to me.”

“I think it would be pretty obvious, considering what your mother was.”

Angry color flooded her face. “How dare you.”

“How dare you,” he countered. “Go back to San Francisco. There’s nothing for you here.”

She supposed she could have been hurt or intimidated. She was spitting mad instead. “I didn’t have any part in what you say my mother was involved in. Which, frankly, I don’t believe is true.”

“Oh, it is true.” He advanced on her, stopping so close she felt his breath stir against her cheek. “What do you think it’s like for them? For all of us? Being reminded of-”

He leaned closer; it took all her strength of will not to back away. “Your mother didn’t just fuck our sons. She fucked them up.”

He turned on his heel and strode to the door. When he reached it, she stopped him by calling out, “It’s not true.”

He froze, then turned slowly to look at her. “Excuse me?”

“What you said about my mother. I know it’s not true. And I’ll prove it.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re no longer welcome here, Ms. Clarkson. I’ll have one of the staff escort you out.”

“Don’t bother.” She strode past him and through the door, passing so closely he could have grabbed her. And for one crazy moment, she wondered if he would.

He didn’t, and minutes later she collapsed in her car, trembling so violently she gripped the steering wheel for support.

She’d be damned if she would run and hide. Scurry back to San Francisco and pretend none of this had happened. The way her mother had. No. What they were saying about her mother wasn’t true. She didn’t know how she would prove it, but she would.