Back Where She Belongs(29)

“We’re pretty proud of it,” he said. “You should meet the boss.” He led her to the office, where she saw Dylan talking to a tall gaunt man with salt-and-pepper hair wearing a blue jumpsuit.

“Dylan,” she said when he noticed her. “We meet again. I swear I’m not stalking you.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.” He gave her that look again and it made her nerve endings throb.

“We ran into each other earlier,” she explained to Matt, guessing she had blushed redder than he had.

“We’re old friends,” Dylan said, holding her gaze.

“From high school,” she blurted, not quite able to pull away.

“Jeb Harris,” the other man said, holding out a hand. “Not to interrupt.” He looked amused.

“Tara Wharton,” she said, shaking his hand. “You have a remarkable operation from what I’ve seen.”

“Glad you think so. Maybe you could convince this guy.” He motioned at Dylan.

“Tweak your specs and I’ll be sold,” Dylan said.

Jeb shook his head. The two seemed amiably annoyed with each other.

“Soon as I finish showing Ms. Wharton around, I’m taking off,” Matt said to Jeb. “It’s another ultrasound.”

“If it’s necessary,” Jeb said tersely.

“It is.” Matt blushed furiously, clearly nervous that he’d displeased his boss. “This way,” he said to her, striding quickly away.

She hurried to join him near a car with its hood up. “This is where we install batteries for test runs,” he said, glancing at his watch. A tech bolted in a battery, while another checked dials on a machine.

Matt was clearly eager to leave, and she wanted to return to the building to speak with the key managers. “I should head back, if that’s okay,” she said. “You need to get going, too, right? The ultrasound?”

“Yeah. My wife’s twenty-four weeks along, but it’s been tough. The doctor asked to see her every two weeks.” They started back toward the cart.

“It’s good of you to take off work to support your wife.”

“Jeb’s not happy about it with us so busy, but family’s the most important thing.” The earnest look on his face touched Tara and made her feel guilty about her own behavior toward her family.

“Of course,” she said. She wondered now if she should have given them another chance, visited despite the tension, pushed past the barriers. Maybe she was dreaming.

As they passed the office, Dylan stuck out his head. “How about Ruby’s for dinner? Give us a chance to catch up. Say six?”

Catch up? They’d been together the night before, but maybe he had more news. “Sounds good,” she said, secretly eager for more time with him.

“My best to your wife,” Dylan said to Matt.

“Thanks,” he said, not meeting Dylan’s gaze. What was that about?

“Dylan knows your wife?” she asked.

“Yeah. Melissa was at a cookware party at his ex-wife’s.”

“Small towns, I guess,” she said, still not understanding the hostility.

“He’s a nice guy and all. It’s just that he’s selling us defective units. That’s what they were arguing over, Jeb and him.” He frowned.

“It’s a big problem?” she asked.

“They can talk all they want, but standards are standards. Ryland buys cheap components out of Tennessee and blames the tests when they turn out bad.” He glanced at her. “No offense to your friend.”

“None taken.” But it sounded like Dylan had his work cut out for him if what Matt said was true. Both companies had a lot riding on the project.

It was almost four o’clock when Tara got home, her head jammed with data and plans. She’d made headway with Davis Mann and the two people Miriam said Joseph trusted. It would take a couple days for the idea to percolate up to Joseph. If all went well, she wouldn’t have to say a word. He would approach her.

Judith met her at the front door holding out a paper sack with a receipt stapled to it. She looked oddly pale. “The funeral guy dropped this by. He didn’t want Rachel to have to fetch it. It’s from the medical examiner.... It’s, you know...from the body. What Mr. Wharton had on. I don’t want your mother to see it.”

“No. That’s smart.” She took the sack, fighting queasiness, and carried it to her room. She had to see what clues might be here...her father’s wallet...possibly Faye’s phone. Steeling herself, she yanked the sack open, popping the staple. A sour, earthy smell filled her nose—moist earth, leaves and the metallic scent of blood.

On top were her father’s shoes. They were dusty, not bloody, thank God. Beneath them were tan slacks that had been cut apart. The waist area of the pants was stained with blood. The shirt below was crusty with it. So much blood. Her heart lurched in her chest. An envelope, also bloodstained, stuck out of his shirt pocket. She made out part of the return address—CGC Gen—before bile rose in the back of her throat. She turned her head, deciding to feel for what else was there. She touched a belt...coins...then a wallet, which she pulled out. It was clean. Thin, finely stitched and well worn. Inside she found several fresh twenties, a black American Express card, a driver’s license and a few photos—her father in cap and gown, a wedding picture, a family portrait with Faye as a toddler. No pictures of Tara, but then, these shots were quite old. Her father likely hadn’t changed anything since he first used the wallet.

The only other items in the wallet were two business cards. Looking at the first, she was startled to see her own name. Her father had kept her business card. She stared at it a long time, swallowing against a lump in her throat.

The second card was from a Randall Scott. She’d seen that name before...

In her father’s desk drawer. Yeah. This time, she noticed Family Law below the name. That was code for divorce lawyer, right? On the back of the card was written an appointment from three weeks ago.

What the hell? Her father had seen a divorce attorney? Why? Had something happened?

Her mother hadn’t said a word to her. Maybe she didn’t know. A divorce would have devastated her mother, whose social status meant everything to her. The stigma, the gossip, would be more than she could bear.

Tara felt chilled to the bone. Her father wanted a divorce? How serious had he been? She checked the clock: four-thirty. Still business hours. She called the number, asked for the billing office and told the bookkeeper she needed to confirm the total charges on Mr. Wharton’s account, holding her breath that the ruse would work.

It did. The bookkeeper told her that her father had seen the attorney at his office twice and had three phone conferences. That sounded serious, especially with her father as frugal as he was. There were no charges for filing fees, so he hadn’t done anything official yet at least.

Her parents hadn’t seemed close, but their marriage stood for something, a bond that mattered to the two of them. They’d been married almost forty years. Talk about standing the test of time.

But if her father was unhappy enough to take such drastic action...something terrible must have happened.

She remembered Bill Fallon and how solicitous he’d been of her mother. And her mother had talked about him in a strange dreamy voice. What if he’d been more than a friend to her?

No. Her mother would not cheat on her father. That would violate the social requirements of the life her mother had chosen.

Tara didn’t dare ask her mother about this. If she didn’t know that her husband wanted to end the marriage, Tara would rather die than tell her. Some truths caused useless harm.

Her head spun, but slowly, as if through fog. Dread seemed to press her into the floor, compressing her lungs. She had to sort this out, make some sense of it, clear her head, decide what to do about what she’d learned.

She needed Dylan. He would listen. He would help. Thank goodness they had dinner plans. He was her port in the storm even now.

* * *

WHEN TARA STEPPED into Ruby’s, Dylan felt a shift in the energy of the restaurant, similar to the way a theater audience reacted when the curtain opened. Conversations faded. Heads turned. Breaths were held. Tara’s striking beauty would draw attention anywhere, especially from men, but this was different. This was Wharton.

Everyone knew her or of her. They were curious, titillated, or envious. For the first time, he imagined how difficult this would be for her. He’d always thought she made too much of her name and people’s opinions of her.

Now, with what she was going through—losing her father, her sister so ill, her theories about the accident—this much scrutiny and speculation would be a trial.

He saw her hesitate, take in the room, almost shudder. Then she threw back her shoulders and strode forward, sexy and confident. A girl at the bar called to her, so she stopped to talk for a few seconds. A few feet farther and someone in a booth spoke. After that a girl he remembered from high school stopped Tara in the aisle for a hug, some words, a laugh.