Back Where She Belongs(33)

“So write me notes.” Tara pulled the list closer.

“No.” Her mother took it back. “These are my friends. They can’t turn me down. You’re a virtual stranger.” She glanced at the list. “Beverly Crowley’s the next call. She’d likely hang up on you.”

“Because of the protest? Really?”

“She’d like to hang up on me, but she doesn’t dare. I’m too well-connected. So instead she refuses to look me in the eye.”

“That was twelve years ago, Mom.”

“You threatened the Crowleys’ livelihood. People don’t forget that.”

“Their livelihood? The whole town shops at their store. They were rolling in it. All we did was get him to treat his employees fairly—”

“Enough.” Her mother raised her hands. “You can’t even admit you were wrong now, after ten years. You haven’t changed a bit.”

Tara bristled, then calmed herself. Her mother was displacing her grief and anxiety on Tara, something she’d done to Dylan just last night. Maybe she had more in common with her mother than Tara had realized.

“What can I do instead?” Tara said.

“Nothing. Go about your business.”

Tara picked up the folder labeled Silent Auction and flipped it open to a list of businesses. “I can call these companies for donations. How’s that?”

Her mother firmly took back the folder.

“You need help and I’m offering it,” she said, trying to be kind, but anger lined her words. “I’m your daughter. We should be able to help each other. Or at least talk to each other. Instead you keep shutting me out.”

“I don’t have time for one of your scenes, Tara,” her mother snapped, abruptly angry. “You’re here for a few days. This is my life. This is my home. I have to make my way through this on my own. Don’t pretend to help me.”

Her mother’s words stung. Still. Tara clenched her fists and her jaw. Her mother didn’t want to make peace. Tara’s fantasy of a tearful reconciliation, a loving mother-daughter bond, was just that, a fantasy. Her mother was the same person she’d always been, except with years of built-up resentment of her AWOL daughter. What did Tara expect?

Heavy with disappointment, she breathed in the delicious aroma of the food Judith had prepared. Judith wasn’t put off by Tara’s mother’s bristles. She went about her business, taking care of Tara’s mother as best she could.

The tray held a delicate-looking omelet and fresh strawberries, along with a latte and orange juice. She had to take her mother as she was. That had to be enough. “You really should eat, Mom,” she said quietly, all hostility gone. “Do it for Judith. She’s worried about you.”

Her mother glanced at the food, then at Tara, then out the window. She seemed to be thinking hard. Finally she turned to Tara. “All right. You can do the auction calls. I am running out of time.” She slowly pushed the file toward Tara, then stopped. “But only if you can be diplomatic.”

“I can do that. I’m good at it. I have clients, remember?”

“That’s right. Your sister said you’re quite good. Okay.” She pushed the file the rest of the way to Tara and gave it a pat. That was it. The closest thing to a peace offering Tara would get from her mother. Permission to harass local businesses for donations. At the moment, that was enough for Tara.

* * *

TARA SAT BESIDE Faye’s bed, her heart full and aching. She’d come straight from the reading of the will to the hospital. Joseph was driving her mother home. It troubled Tara how little time her mother spent with Faye. Was it her guilt over the argument she’d had that night with Faye? Did she think Faye had been so upset she’d driven poorly? Or was it the horror at the possibility of Faye dying? She would expect her mother to show at least as much courage as she’d displayed making phone calls about a stupid society event.

It’s how she copes. She sees it as her job.

Tara was getting better at accepting people for who they were, good and bad, she thought. That was a tiny point of pride amid her mistakes. Besides, in the lawyer’s office just now, she’d learned something about her father that had touched her deeply, opened her up to new realizations.

Tara took her sister’s hand, the orange nail polish gleaming. “We went over Dad’s will today. I wish you’d been there.”

Tara had been surprised to learn how little money her family had. “Dad sold all his stocks to invest in the company. Did you know that? He was worried, wasn’t he? You all were.”

She pressed Faye’s hand to her own cheek. “Mom will be okay. She owns the house, free and clear. There’s the life insurance, of course. The car accident settlement is likely to be huge, too.” Her mother had sat like a soldier, barely speaking, the entire meeting. Only her hands twisting in her lap showed her distress.

“You and Mom own the company,” Tara said to Faye. The ownership was to be divided evenly between and among Rachel Ann Kingsley Wharton and any Wharton child who has made a valuable contribution to the success of Wharton Electronics. The lawyer had apologized to Tara, saying he had invited her father to update his will numerous times, but that her father had declined.

“No money for me, Faye, but that’s how I wanted it.” She put Faye’s hand back down. “Did he know you wanted to hire me? Would he have wanted that? He kept my card. At least I have that.”

And there was something else. Something that made her grin. “He gave you the ship bottles, of course, but you won’t believe what he gave me. His library. All those books. He noticed that I was a big reader, too. I can’t believe that. And...the antique shotgun. The one he wouldn’t use for fear it might break? He must have known I’d learned to shoot. The guy who owned the range must have told him.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Can you believe that? You probably can. You were always generous with him. But I can’t. And I just wish he’d said one word to me. About my business. About my interests. Hell, about my marksmanship.” One kind word would have meant so much to her.

That’s not his way. She didn’t need Faye to tell her that.

Her parents were her parents. She could write them off or she could accept them as they were. She’d decided to accept them, warts and all.

And her father had gifted her with two of his most valuable possessions. There was always that card in his wallet, too. That had to be enough.

Her cell phone rang. She saw it was Dylan.

“The Tesla’s at Roadrunner Wrecking on the outskirts of Tucson,” he said without even saying hello.

Her mind switched gears instantly. “How’d you find out?”

“I had my secretary pull up the bill from the yard where Wharton P.D. tows vehicles and called on the off chance they would know where the car had gone from there. Turns out it’s still on the lot. Your insurance company has a contract with them.”

“Great detective work, Dylan. Thank you.” At last they could get somewhere.

“So, I’m on my way there right now with Tony Carmichael and—”

“I’ll meet you there. I’m at the hospital with Faye, so I’m close,” she said, her nerves jumping at the prospect.

“The car will be smashed up. It might be...gory.”

“I need to be there.”

“I can’t talk you out of it?”

“Not a chance.”

He sighed. “You know I had to try.”

“I know you did.”

“I’m bringing a camera to take stills and video of the car and Tony’s comments.”

“Good idea. We can study it later or show it to Fallon or any experts we deal with.” And if the scene was too much for Tara, she’d be able to look at the stills and footage when she felt braver. “We make a good team, Dylan.”

“Yeah...”

“When I’m not stomping out of restaurants and calling you a sellout.”

“Nobody’s perfect.”

She smiled. It reassured her that they could get past their arguments more easily. That wouldn’t be the case if they were sleeping together, she knew. They would be too tense with each other, weighing every word for a double meaning, a change in feeling. Something.

With the address in the GPS, Roadrunner Wrecking was a snap to find and in a half hour, she met Dylan and Tony Carmichael at the high chain-link fence that marked the entrance to the salvage yard. Tony was a stocky man in overalls and a Grateful Dead T-shirt, a long blond ponytail pulled back by a do-rag of the American flag. Dylan introduced them and Tara shook his rough palm with her nerve-clammy one. “We appreciate you taking time for this,” she said. “We’ll pay you, of course.”

“No big deal. It’s a beautiful machine. I serviced her a couple weeks ago. I’d like to see how she held up under pressure.”