The Address(51)

“Really?”

“No. I don’t have any candles. Just kidding.”

She went to the pantry and pulled out two Snickers bars. “Do you want me to sing to you? Because you know I will.”

He laughed as he unwrapped the candy. “Only if you want to encourage the feral cats that live behind the D’Agostinos’ house.”

When they used to go out in the family car, Jack would turn up the radio as loud as it could go to drown out Bailey’s voice, and she’d hit the wrong notes on purpose, egging him on as her mother screeched for him to turn it down.

His teasing softened her anxiety, lowered her guard. “You know, Dad, I’m sorry I haven’t been around.”

“You’re doing your own thing these days, as you should.” He shrugged.

“Actually, I’ve been digging around some of the old family trunks in the Dakota, ones that belonged to Melinda’s great-grandparents, Theodore and Minnie Camden. They’re the ones who raised Granddad, right?”

“I guess you could call it that. Theodore Camden died when he was a baby, so your grandfather was really raised by the wife.”

“Right. When did Minnie die?”

Jack considered the question as he chewed on his birthday candy bar. “When my dad was fifteen or so. He’d been raised as if he were one of her children, but when she died, he found out he got nothing. All of the inheritance went to the other three kids. Hit him hard.”

Before finding the trunk, Bailey hadn’t thought much of her family tree. They’d been ghosts, not important in her life or her future. But touching the items in the trunks had changed all that. Not to mention seeing that photo. “Then he joined the navy?”

“Nope. He joined the merchant marine.”

“What’s the difference?”

“During peacetime they work on ships that carry goods. Only in wartime are they called out to transport troops and equipment.”

“Huh. How did he end up in New Jersey?”

“He met my mother while at port in New York and they settled down here, where she’d grown up.”

“Then he opened up the auto shop.”

“That’s right. Why all the questions?”

She chose her words carefully. “I found this weird photograph in one of the trunks. It’s really old, but the woman looks like me.”

“Who is she?”

“Name was Sara Smythe. She worked in the Dakota, for a time. In the photo, she’s holding Granddad, and the other kids of Theodore Camden’s are standing next to her.”

“And she looks like you?”

“Yeah. The super of the building pointed it out. He’s right. Looks like you, too.”

He sat back and rubbed his belly with one hand, an amused grin on his face. Which made his right eyebrow stand up.

“Even more intriguing, she’s the one who killed Theodore Camden. And get this, before dinner, I noticed that sketch of the cottage at the top of the stairs. It’s signed by Theo Camden and in the drawing he’s written For Sara, kind of like Hirschfeld does his Ninas.”

“Who?”

“He’s this artist who draws Broadway stars and in every one . . .” She waved her hand. “Never mind. What if Sara Smythe killed him in a fit of passion because they’d been having some mad affair?”

He shook his head. “You’ve been reading too many romance novels. Christopher was a ward of the family, not a member of it.”

“How do we know? Did he know anything about his birth family?”

“Never mentioned it.”

She wished he were alive now so she could ask him all the questions that were burning inside her. “Because if Theodore had an affair, and had Granddad Christopher, who had you, who then had me, it means I’m related to Theodore Camden.”

Jack considered her for a moment. “You’d like that, would you?” His tone had turned cold.

She’d pushed too far. “I guess. I don’t know.”

He stared at his hands, studying the dirty fingernails and the cracked skin as if they belonged to someone else. “Your mother loved the few months she lived in New York City, and to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure that she’d be happy returning home, settling down. When she learned about the connection to the Camdens, she insisted we get back in touch. I think she imagined we’d be welcomed like long-lost relatives, invited over for cocktails and dinner parties. Little did she know.”

“Granddad hadn’t stayed in touch at all?”

“Nope. He felt rejected, orphaned twice over after Mrs. Camden’s death. Can’t say I blame him. The others, the ones we called our ‘cousins,’ had an easy life. While he was left to scrimp by.” He crumpled the Snickers wrapper in his hand, then took her wrapper and did the same before getting up and walking over to the garbage. “I’m not like them, and I’m proud of that. No need to be fancy.”

Meaning Bailey was. She twisted in her seat but couldn’t see his face.

He continued on. “Your mother wanted to be part of their family, to be accepted. She did this because she wanted better things for you. I guess that all worked out.”

“I guess so.”

Two thoughts struck her at the same time: That she hadn’t thought of drinking in more than three hours, a record to date. And that she really wanted a beer.