The Unknown Daughter

“What’s going on, Carrinne?”

The controlled way she straightened was a decent attempt at nonchalance. A knock jerked their attention to the open door.

Tony stepped in, juggling a can of juice and a handful of snacks.

“What?” Eric barked.

“I offered to get Ms. Wilmington something to eat. She still wasn’t feeling well when we got out of the car.”

Eric waited for Tony to lay his bounty on the table. “Go see if Wilmington’s lawyer needs anything,” he said. He’d left Clifford Brimsley cooling his heels down the hall.

Tony hovered at Carrinne’s shoulder, glancing between Eric and their suspect, who had already pounced on a packet of crackers as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

Putting all his impatience into a glare, Eric waited until Tony looked back his way.

“Um, right.” Tony backpedaled out of the room. “I’ll go check on Brimsley.”

The door shut, leaving them alone. Carrinne struggled to open the juice, her fingers shaking.

Resigned, Eric took the can, popped it, and returned it to the desk with a thump. “Let me know when you’re done with your picnic.”

Carrinne gave him a narrow look as she took a long sip. She polished off the last of the crackers in silence, color creeping into her cheeks with each bite. When she sat back and folded her hands in her lap, confidence swam in her expressive eyes. “What now?”

Any other time, any other place, any other woman, and he might enjoy puzzling out why she was challenging him at every turn. The possibilities were downright intriguing. Only with this woman, he’d be messing with dynamite.

The Carrinne of his youth had tunneled her way into his teenage heart, getting close enough for it to hurt like hell when he’d walked away. And he’d deserved the pain. He’d learned from an early age not to trust, but somehow he’d convinced himself he deserved to keep the soft-hearted angel Carrinne had been back then. He’d let himself believe she was a little piece of good in the world, created just for him.

But the tough package sitting across from him now was no longer the sheltered girl who’d begged him to show her how to live. Puzzling out anything about this woman would be an open invitation for disaster.

“Ready to face the music?” he asked both himself and Carrinne as he stood. “Brimsley’s waiting.”

“SO, YOU SEE? I meant no harm. I just wanted my mother’s diary.” Carrinne smiled at the scowling lawyer sitting on the other side of the interview room, forcing herself to ignore Eric hovering somewhere behind her.

Her game face firmly in place, she was playing the role of unconcerned innocent. The diary story was a convincing enough reason for what she’d done. She’d have to tell her grandfather more, but she could only deal with one unpleasant reality at a time.

“And breaking in was your solution to getting my client to cooperate with your needs?” Clifford Brimsley was just as creepy and unapproachable as ever.

His hair was cut short in the same style, complete now with a receding hairline. And as far as she could tell, he’d worn the exact same mortician-drab suit since the first day he’d started working for Oliver almost thirty years ago.

“Your client’s never stooped to cooperating with anyone, counselor.” She clenched her hands in her lap. She’d negotiated fees with uptown Manhattan businessmen who, one and all, thought choosing a small, private firm meant bargain-basement rates. She could handle one past-his-prime country attorney. “Let’s just say I preempted the inevitable argument and tried to save everyone a lot of time.”

“Let’s just say you were breaking and entering and trespassing, and move on to discussing whether or not you should be charged with a misdemeanor or a felony.”

“Now, Cliff,” Eric spoke up for the first time since leading her into the room. While she scrambled to think of a way to finesse felony into something less disturbing, he stepped away from his post at the door and relaxed into the vinyl chair beside hers. “There was minimal property damage. You’d be lucky to make a misdemeanor stick. Do you really think Oliver would want to waste his time and money taking this to court?”

“She knowingly and willingly broke the law, defacing Mr. Wilmington’s property in the process,” Brimsley argued.

“She was avoiding contact with an old man who we all know makes Frank Capra’s Mr. Potter look like Captain Kangaroo. At worst, she made a stupid choice.”

“Stupid!” A part of Carrinne knew she should let Eric handle this. Just not the part that itched to tell him exactly where he could shove his colorful observations.

“It’s a safe bet,” Eric continued as if she’d never spoken, “that any jury from Oakwood would be full of people who’ve been burned at one time or another by old man Wilmington. Either them or someone in their family. The only reason the town still does business with him is because he has more money and influence than God. You’ll be hard-pressed to find anyone willing to put his granddaughter in jail for breaking a windowsill so she could avoid confronting the old goat. This is a family matter between Carrinne and her grandfather.”

“I—” she began.

“My job is to protect my client’s best interests in this situation,” Brimsley said over her. “Don’t think just because she’s Mr. Wilmington’s granddaughter, or because you two had some kind of teenage fling, that you can talk me into dropping the charges.”

“I—” she tried again.

“Your client’s interests would be better served in this situation,” Eric cut in, “if we settled everything here tonight, instead of dragging things out.”

“I am not a situation,” Carrinne bit out. “And I’m right here, in case either of you is interested.”

Two stunned pairs of eyes swung in her direction.

“Ms. Wilmington.” Brimsley’s gaze shifted to Eric then back to her. “These are very serious charges. Before I’ll consider dropping them, I’ll need some assurances on my client’s behalf.”

“Such as?” She gave Eric a look to keep him quiet, which induced a bemused smile.

“Such as you paying to repair the damage to the solarium window. And you’ll have to agree to meet with your grandfather in the morning as soon as he’s able. He’ll be beside himself when he hears about this. Plus, I’ll need to know what you were really doing at the house.” He pointed an accusing finger. “I don’t believe for a second you’re back after all this time for some silly old journal.”

“Nothing about my mother or anything that belonged to her is silly, Mr. Brimsley. I’ll thank you to remember that.”

Dead silence choked the momentum out of whatever the man had been about to say next.

So much for her people skills.

“Spit it out, Cliff.” Eric’s voice sliced through the silence, efficient and calm in an unfair way. “You said you were willing to drop the charges. What else is it going to take to get us out of here? It’s after two in the morning, and we’ve all had a long night.”

“Well…I…” Brimsley made a production out of straightening his tie. “I’d settle for an explanation of why she wants this diary.”

“I’m looking for my father, all right?” Carrinne kept her voice level as she fed them one more detail she’d hoped to keep to herself. They’d know by morning anyway, once she’d met with Oliver. In a town as small as Oakwood, privacy had gone out the window with the arrival of the first telephone. “I came back to find my father, and I’m looking for my mother’s final diary, hoping there will be some clue to point me in the right direction.”

“Why the hell are you looking for your old man after all these years?” Eric’s stunned question gave Carrinne a jolt of satisfaction. She’d finally ruffled his composure. But when she turned, she found his control replaced with something worse—concern. Disbelief and concern.

“Because I need to find him. And the sooner I do—” horrified by the uneven break in her voice, she cleared her throat “—the sooner I can put this town and every memory I have of it behind me once and for all.”

“Cliff?” Eric continued to study Carrinne. His face was a mask of calm again, except for a muscle twitching along his jaw.

“Will she meet with her grandfather in the morning?” Brimsley asked.

“Yes.” Carrinne gave the lawyer her full attention. Looking at Eric made breathing hurt. He was every reason she’d never trust her heart to any man again.

“Then I have no problem with dropping the charges,” Brimsley said. “For now.”

“CAN I GET YOU anything, Ms. Wilmington?” Tony asked from the door of the interview room.

Carrinne was resting her head on her crossed arms. Pushing away from the table, she tried to stretch the kinks out of her neck. Eric had left with a disgruntled but marginally more cooperative Brimsley over half an hour ago.