Allie was listening attentively

She frowned slightly in concentration, but gave no suggestion that the names meant anything at all to her. Still, Joel noticed her tapping the business card against her other hand until she tucked it into the pocket of the windbreaker she was wearing. Was her anxiety level increasing? he wondered.

“Katrina was the only child of Spiro Kostakis,” he clarified. “George’s great-uncle, and patriarch of the Kostakis clan in Grosse Point. George said there’d been a granddaughter—Elena—who’d disappeared from the family home when she was only three. Spirited away, apparently,” Joel added, “by her father, one Eddie Hughes—Katrina’s husband and Elena’s father.”

At that, Allie’s head turned his way, her expression almost challenging him to continue. “So far I get no connection to me, other than the fact that I coincidentally resemble this woman—what was her name again?”

“Katrina Kostakis. Or Trina, as she was sometimes called.”

“Was?”

“She’s dead. Killed in a car crash twenty-six years ago.”

“And she is—was—supposed to be…”

“Your mother,” Joel said softly.

Dear Reader,

The one question that is most frequently asked of me is, “Where do you get your ideas?”

Often, that’s a tough one to answer, simply because once in a while—if I’m lucky!—an idea for a story line just occurs to me. But generally, ideas for novels are not so easily acquired. I firmly believe that writers are observers of life. We tend to sit back and watch events take place around us—whether in a family context, at parties with friends or even sitting in a train station. There’s always something or someone to see and observe. And with observation comes—in my case, anyway—speculation.

Why is that woman sitting on the bench looking so glum? What’s going through my young nephew’s mind as he listens, transfixed, to a story recounted by his favorite uncle?

The questions go on, eventually leading to a story. Sometimes I find the seed of a story in a newspaper or magazine article. Such was the case with The Real Allie Newman. I’d read an article about two sisters in their twenties who discovered their father had abducted them as small children. Unknown to them, there’d been another whole family searching for them for years—including a mother.

That article got me thinking. What would it be like to learn that your whole childhood had been based on a lie? That the parent you adored was not so exemplary after all? Most of all, would you ever be able to reconnect with the other side of your family?

These were some of the questions I tried to address in this novel. As always, my deep and abiding love and respect for family—the ties that really do bind—motivated me to write The Real Allie Newman.

Janice Carter

The Real Allie Newman
Janice Carter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedication:

For family and friends

Acknowledgment

A big thank-you to Linda Christensen,

Pat and Linn Hynds of Grosse Point Farms, Michigan

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

ALLIE LOWERED her head, tucking her chin in until the strap of her helmet bit into her skin. The wind still carried with it the nip of winter, even though April had just arrived and summer was more than a promise away. She figured she was crazy to go cycling on such a misty morning—the streets were slick and the ground was saturated with a week’s worth of torrential rains—but she hadn’t trained once that week and the triathlon was drawing closer.

Her feet eased on the pedals as the cycle whizzed around the bend of the paved bike and footpath that bordered the east side of the Cataraqui River. Allie raised her head just enough to view the stretch of path ahead and swore. The dim outline of a man walking his dog appeared out of the swirling mist scarcely a hundred yards ahead. To make things worse, the man was on the outer edge of the path nearest the riverbank. She’d have to slow down or risk nudging him off the bank. It meant losing time and writing off her goal for the cycling part of her session that morning.

She began to apply the brakes, slowing down as gently as possible to avoid skidding on the wet asphalt, keeping her eyes on the man’s back as he plodded into the plumes of vapor wafting up from the river below. Allie rang her bell, but the sound seemed muted in the damp, heavy air.

The distance between her and the figures shortened. She was just thinking that any second she’d call out a warning and skim past the pair when a rumbling vibration beneath her caused her to brake hard. A section of the riverbank and footpath ahead suddenly broke loose. Allie stared in shocked horror as the man and his dog slid silently down the embankment and disappeared into the shroud of fog blanketing the river.

The bike skidded to a stop inches from the jagged tear of mud, tree roots and broken asphalt. Allie leaped off. She couldn’t hear any shouts for help above the roar of the brown, frothy river, but in the first panicked seconds of the disaster, she shouted for help herself before plunging down the mucky slope into the freezing water. When she surfaced, Allie fought to catch her breath. The man was thrashing in the water just feet away and she kicked hard, propelling herself toward him.

The current had pushed him into the crook of a partially submerged tree and was pummeling him. Allie shouted for him to hang on, but from the way his head kept bobbing back and forth, she doubted he’d heard. She managed to grab on to the collar of his overcoat just as the branch he was caught on broke loose and was carried downstream.

His arms shot out at her touch, clutching at her, pushing her down. Allie swallowed a mouthful of water. The Styrofoam lining of her helmet kept her head up, but the dead weight of his body threatened to send them both careening along with the current. Using all her strength, she pushed his hands up and off her shoulders, grabbing onto his coat again before he could be swept away. She pulled herself closer to him, shouting into his ear to relax, that she was going to try to get him ashore.

He understood then and stopped struggling as she pulled him slowly to the riverbank. Then Allie stretched out her free arm, digging her fingers into the muck where land met water, and pulled. And pulled again for what seemed an eternity of slipping, gouging again and again into the thick, claylike mud until at last she heaved herself and the man onto the narrow strip of shore at the base of the embankment.

He collapsed face forward, gasping for air. Allie rolled onto her back beside him, registering for the first time that he was elderly, his white hair slicked with mud and bits of leaves and other debris. He raised his head and turned filmy eyes in her direction.

The pounding in Allie’s head intensified. The man was blind.

“Jeb?” he asked, his hoarse voice pitched with fear. “Jeb?”

The dog. A Seeing Eye dog. Allie sat up. Less than fifty feet downriver she could see the animal’s small dark head.

“Where’s Jeb?” the man cried.

“It’s okay,” Allie said, “I see him.” She jogged along the shore, slipping and sliding all the way. The closer she got to the dog, the more she could hear its frantic yowling. It seemed to be caught on something, too, which had saved it from speeding down the river and out of sight. Fortunately, the dog was only a few feet from the shore and Allie was able to reach it by wading into the river up to her waist. The leather inverted U handle attached to the dog’s harness had snagged onto the forked tip of a deadhead, and the dog, struggling to keep its head above water, was treading water in a futile effort to reach shore.

It was a young chocolate-brown Lab, and Allie almost wept at its grateful whimpers as she struggled to release the handle. Her fingers were stiff and numb with cold, but after three attempts, she managed to disengage the handle from the end of the deadhead.

The dog barked twice and began paddling toward shore. Allie held on to the handle and was half-pulled along as she and the dog finally crawled up out of the river. Jeb leaped against her as if to thank her, shook himself briskly and then bounded along the strip of shore to his master.

By the time Allie reached them, she could hear the distant whoop of a fire-department rescue unit. Someone, she thought, must have spotted the commotion, probably from the condominium complex on the other side of the river. Exhausted, she fell back onto the muddy slope, half-aware of the dog’s excited yelps and licks as it leaped from master to rescuer, expressing an uninhibited gratitude that Allie sensed she’d likely never experience again.

She unclasped her helmet and let it fall to her side, sucking in deep, calming breaths as she wondered distractedly if she could count this unexpected incident as her workout for the day.

ALLIE PUSHED OPEN the screen door of Evergreen Natural Foods and paused, scanning the store for her stepmother, Susan. When she saw her bent over one of the flour bins, Allie headed straight for her.

“That fifteen-minutes-of-fame thing is highly over-rated,” Allie said, waving the rolled-up People magazine she held. “No sane person would want more than five.” Then she realized that Susan was struggling with a ten-pound sack of flour. “Want some help with that?”

The sack thudded onto the hardwood floor. Susan tried to straighten, groaning audibly. Allie dropped the magazine to help. Susan clutched at Allie’s extended forearm, pulling herself to a vertical position, and let Allie lead her to the stool behind the cash counter.

“You really should go to the doctor and talk about that back surgery again,” Allie murmured. A twinge of guilt that she hadn’t really been noticing Susan’s difficulty colored her face. She should have been more observant, instead of going on about the People magazine.

What was there about seeing yourself in print in an international magazine, anyway? she wondered. And how could she justify her own self-indulgence after bad-mouthing the phenomenon of instant celebrity ever since she’d pulled Harry Maguire and his dog Jeb from the Cataraqui River? The shameful truth was that she’d been irresistibly drawn to the magazine blurb about her rescue of the blind man and his Seeing Eye dog. Even if it had only been one paragraph in the sidebar of a larger article on heroic acts.

“Susan, why don’t you take some time off and stay at home to nurse your back?” Allie asked. “As soon as I’ve finished marking the last of my exam papers, I’ll be a free agent. Beth and I can run the store.”

Susan Matthews grimaced. “I hate to put you out, Allie. You’ve got that triathlon and all the training. And you deserve a break, too. You’ve been working hard this year, especially since your dad…”

Susan’s voice dropped off. A lump rose in Allie’s throat. She and Susan had seldom mentioned Rob Newman since his death ten months ago. It was too painful a subject for either of them, Allie supposed, though there’d been many times when she’d wanted to talk about him with the woman who’d been his constant companion for the past twenty years. Allie may have referred to Susan as her stepmother, but she was, in fact, the only mother Allie had really known.

Allie dropped to her knees in front of her. “Look, the papers will be finished by the end of the week. Beth can manage on her own with the high-school kids when I’m training. Take two weeks.”

Susan smiled. “One week will be all I need, trust me. I’d go crazy sitting around any longer than that. And yes,” she put in as Allie began to interrupt, “I promise not to do any more lifting or bending.”

Allie sighed, knowing the compromise was all she’d get from her. “Right—there’re plenty of young bodies around here to do the heavy labor for you.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Susan half laughed, half moaned. “I’m only fifty.”

“Well, I just want you to get fit so we can go dancing at AJ’s.”

That brought a real smile. “Yeah, right.”

It was an ongoing family joke. Whenever Allie had been late coming home, she offered the excuse that she and Beth had been dancing at AJ’s, a local Kingston nightspot. The line had become a catchphrase for Susan, Rob and Allie, and was always used for any lateness or absence.

“I’ll drive you home and come back here to close up. I could pick up a pizza or something and bring it over for dinner. Okay?”

Susan looked fondly at her. “That would be nice, Allie. We haven’t done that in ages.”

Another shaft of guilt struck. Allie had moved back home for a few weeks after her father’s fatal heart attack, but at Susan’s insistence, eventually returned to her own apartment. Now she wondered if she’d been wrong to assume that her stepmother was managing fine on her own. “It’s a deal, then. Why don’t you get your things while I finish this? Beth should be back from her dentist appointment any moment and she can take over.”

“All right.” Susan rose slowly from the stool, using the counter to brace herself.

Allie watched her walk gingerly toward the rear of the store. A rush of love for the woman who had meant so much to her, especially since her teen years, overwhelmed her. While Allie was just beginning to reclaim her life after the unexpected loss of her father, it was obvious that Susan was having more difficulty. And why not? Allie asked herself. She’d been his wife in every way but on paper. In fact, Allie had often wondered why the two had never made the relationship official.

“Excuse me.” A voice broke into Allie’s thoughts.

Swinging her head sharply to the right, Allie saw a man standing on the other side of the counter, holding up the People magazine.

“Is this yours?”

Allie blinked. She hadn’t even seen him come into the store, unless he’d come in earlier and had been behind the higher shelving units at the front. She flushed at the thought of someone overhearing her conversation with Susan.

“Yes,” she said, extending her hand for the magazine.

But he didn’t pass it over right away. Instead, he uncurled it, exposing the page she’d been looking at before she’d entered the store.

“Is that you?” he asked, pointing to the photo accompanying the paragraph about her rescue of Harry Maguire.

Still unaccustomed to the questions people had been asking since the local newspaper had featured her on its front page a month ago, Allie shrugged. “Uh, yeah,” she answered, making herself sound nonchalant as she again extended her hand.

He didn’t seem to get the message that he ought to give back the magazine. His dark-brown eyes continued to scan her face like a bar code. Allie mentally shook herself. She’d been putting in too many long hours at the cash register. And he’d definitely been staring too long.

“My magazine?” she prompted.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, blinking as if he’d been caught in a daydream. “I was imagining what it must have been like—diving into a river to save a blind man.”

Allie smiled and came up with the answer she’d framed weeks ago. “Cold.”

Unlike the many people who’d posed that same question in the past four weeks, he seemed satisfied with her response. For that, Allie warmed to him.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“Actually, I was just looking around.” As if to prove his point, he craned his head to look behind him. “This is a beautiful place. Reminds me of those Western movies with general stores. The wooden bins and barrels. Especially the old brick walls.”

“Well, it is an old building. That part is authentic at least.”

“Is it yours?” he asked.

“No, my…my parents’,” she replied, unwilling to get into a long explanation of relationships. Her father had left his half to Susan, along with the house they’d shared for two decades. “Shall I leave you to browse, then?”

He frowned, looking indecisive. “Uh, well…”

The door at the front of the store swung open, and Beth, Allie’s longtime friend and Susan’s assistant, breezed in. “That’s that for another six months,” she announced, bustling toward the counter. “Everything okay here?” she asked, her eyes flicking from the customer to Allie and back again.

“Thanks,” he said, nodding at Allie, and moved past Beth to the door.

As it closed behind him, Beth winked at Allie. “Never seen him in here before, and I’d remember a face like that! Is he new in town or what?” She headed behind the counter and plopped her handbag and sweater on a chair.

“No idea,” Allie mumbled.

“You two looked like you were in deep conversation when I walked in,” Beth teased.

For some reason, Allie was annoyed by the remark. She’d barely noticed how good-looking the man was. But that was Beth, always trying to matchmake.

“He saw the magazine article.”

“Oh,” was all Beth said, knowing how Allie felt about the fanfare.

Susan returned, carrying her purse and all-weather coat. “Beth, thank goodness you’re here. Allie’s driving me home, then she’ll come back to close up with you. My back,” she explained at Beth’s look of concern.

“Sue’s going to take a week off and I’ll fill in for her,” Allie said.

“Want me to call in some extra help in the morning?” Beth asked.

“That would be great. When will the full-time summer help be starting, do you recall?”

“We asked the two university students to start on Monday. The high-school kids are taking the weekends and Friday night.”

Susan nodded. “We should be okay for help, then.”

“We’ll be just fine,” Allie said quickly, afraid Susan might change her mind about taking time off. “It’s been pretty quiet, so by the time I get back, we’ll probably be ready to close.” She grasped Susan’s elbow and accompanied her to the door.

JOEL DUCKED his head as soon as he saw the two women round the corner of the health-food store and enter the tiny paved parking lot next to it. Fortunately he’d found a place for his car in the far corner, guessing that owners of the stores adjacent to the lot would use the four reserved spaces.

He watched as the Newman girl solicitously helped the older woman into the hunter-green van, its paneled sides emblazoned in bright yellow with “Evergreen Natural Foods,” and then climbed into the driver side.

Of course he’d recognized her as soon as he’d stepped into the store, although she was leaning over the other woman at the time and hadn’t noticed his arrival. He’d wondered what had been on her mind those few seconds she’d watched the other woman limp toward the back of the store. Concern and worry, he’d figured, for when she’d swung around, her forehead was furrowed.

The magazine photo hadn’t done her justice at all. It hadn’t caught the glossy sheen of her dark-brown hair or the tiny dots of amber in her hazel eyes. It hadn’t even picked up the pale, crescent-shaped scar at the corner of one eye. Allie Newman was definitely more interesting in real life, he thought, as were most things.

The van roared to life and started to back out. He waited until it was angled onto the one-way main street—what was it called again? Princess?—waiting for a break in the rush-hour traffic. At least what counted for rush hour in a city the size of Kingston, Ontario. Then, he turned the key in the ignition and followed the van out of the lot, leaving at least three car lengths between them.

Not that he expected her to notice him following her. Few people did, unless the cars were alone on a country road or something—unlike the movies, where actors were always peering into their rearview mirrors and spotting a tail. Of course, he didn’t even need to be following her, because he already knew where she lived, having passed by the house on Wellington Street on his way to the store. But he didn’t know about the other woman then—Susan, he thought she’d called her—and decided to check her out.

The van took a left at the waterfront and headed toward the army base on the outskirts of town. Joel frowned. He hadn’t expected to be leaving the city, but then, he had no one to answer to and no time commitments. Not yet, anyway. The van drove over the metal lift bridge spanning the Cataraqui. Joel looked upriver to his left, wondering where exactly Newman had jumped in after the old guy.

She had nerve, that was all he could say. The days were still brisk in early May; he couldn’t imagine how frigid the water must have been a month earlier. Cold, as she’d so curtly informed him. He’d smiled to himself at that, figuring she was fed up with answering the same questions over and over. And for some damn inexplicable reason he’d felt himself admiring her for not succumbing to the preening affectation of celebrityhood.

The van chugged up the hill past the Canadian Forces base and stopped at the traffic light that marked the intersecting road to Fort Henry. He’d been there last night, acting the tourist for once and almost enjoying it. When the light changed, the van made a sudden left. Caught unawares, Joel was glad he was far enough behind to make the turn, too. Was this an impulse turn, he wondered, or had she forgotten to signal?

The sign at the corner had indicated she was heading toward Barriefield. Joel liked the sound of that. In his mind, he imagined a different spelling—Berryfield—and pictured the fields planted with strawberries that people would come to pick in late June. Except the land was currently under development, and the fields that might have once produced crops were now harvesting partially built houses.

The van swung right onto a gravel road, jolting him from his brief philosophical interlude. Joel swore, reminding himself to stay alert. He’d found himself drifting off into these dreamlike states too often over the past year, ever since Trish had walked out on him for the last time, taking Ben with her. This time they hadn’t even gone through the pretense of a marriage counselor. Joel had signed the papers without any protest, especially when Trish had agreed to let him have six-year-old Ben for one weekend a month and three weeks in the summer.

Access to his son had been the only dispute in their divorce, and Joel knew, given the uncertainties of his job, that he couldn’t and shouldn’t ask for more. As it was, he’d had to constantly juggle his schedule. But for once, Trish was willing to be flexible, letting him shift weekends when necessary.

The van was less than a quarter of a mile ahead of him on the gravel road now, so Joel slowed down. There was no more traffic to hide behind. This section was undeveloped, and the fields were sprouting with crops that had a whole growing season ahead of them. What few houses there were, were hundreds of yards apart, well back from the road, and accompanied by small barns and sheds. No big farming operations here, Joel noted. Maybe the people who lived here were what people called gentlemen farmers.

Joel spotted the van turning into a narrow lane, and he pulled onto the shoulder next to a stand of fir trees. He had a good line of vision through the trees as he watched the van stop in front of a two-story limestone farmhouse with a couple of sheds out back. A big golden retriever bounded out the front door as soon as it was opened; good to know about the dog, Joel thought, in case he had to return here at night, which was unlikely.

The Newman girl—Allie, short for Alyse, his notes had stated—got out to help the woman called Susan into the house. Joel remembered her saying she’d go back to the store to close up and decided to give her fifteen minutes. If she didn’t reappear by then, he’d have to do it here and he didn’t really want to, not with the other woman present. He checked his watch and leaned against the soft leather of the seat’s headrest.

The Cadillac was a great car and he loved driving it. The monotony of his journey all the way from Michigan had been greatly diminished by the luxury of the car and its terrific sound system. Too bad it wasn’t his, he thought, sighing at the realization that he would never own a car like this one as long as he was making child-support payments. Hey, buddy, are you saying you’d rather have a car than your kid? No? So quit complaining.

He didn’t have to wait fifteen minutes. She was out the door in less than ten, revving up the van like a Harley-Davidson and reversing down the drive with scarcely a backward glance. Maybe a tad too accustomed to lack of traffic in the area, Joel figured, making a mental note of that last fact. He had just gotten the Caddie back onto the road when she passed him. He drove another fifty feet before making a sharp U-turn and followed her dust into town.

She didn’t bother parking in the lot this time, finding a spot on the west side of Princess across from the store. Luckily he noticed a car pulling out just ahead of him, also on the west side, and was angling into the space when she jumped from the van to dash across the street.

Joel switched off the engine and waited. The sign on the door of the health-food store had posted a closing time of six, and it was about forty-five minutes to that now. If his lucky streak continued, the other woman would leave first. Then he’d have the Newman girl to himself. He got out of the car and leaned against it, ready to dodge the traffic when the moment was right.

Unexpectedly he felt a twinge of guilt about what he was about to do. Chastising himself, he was reminded that Allie Newman wasn’t the first pretty girl whose dreams he’d shattered. Or whose life he’d changed irrevocably. And likely she wouldn’t be the last. Joel couldn’t figure out why he felt so down about the whole thing all of a sudden. Perhaps he was getting too old for this business. Certainly he’d lost his taste for the thrill of the hunt.

On the dot of six the front door opened and closed again behind the woman who had come into the store when Joel was talking to Allie, waving a goodbye as she left. Joel was across the street and inside the store, flipping the Open sign over to read Closed before Allie had a chance to lock up.

She was standing behind the counter totaling what looked like the day’s receipts, and her head shot up at the sound of the door. Her big hazel eyes widened in recognition. And something else, he thought. Puzzlement? Or fear?

“Uh, we’re closed,” she said. “Sorry. Can you come back in the morning?”

Joel didn’t say anything, just turned to bolt the door behind him.

“I said we’re closed,” she repeated, her voice a bit higher now.

Definitely fear. But well-contained, Joel thought, noticing the way she kept her hand poised above the cash register while her other hand fumbled under the counter for something. Not a gun, he decided, considering this was Canada. But maybe a police-alert button or something.

“Please, don’t worry. I’m not here to hurt you.” Liar, his conscience reprimanded. “I meant to ask you something before and didn’t get a chance to because that other woman came in. It’s personal. My name is Joel Kennedy and I’m a private investigator.”

That stayed the other hand. She was more relaxed, though still wary. “I wonder if I could talk to Mr. Newman—would that be your father?”

“My father’s dead.”

She announced this without a flinch. Joel sensed the part she didn’t verbalize was, So buzz off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. When, uh…?”

“Almost a year ago. Heart attack,” she said, looking down at the magazine on the counter.

“And your mother?” Joel asked, knowing the answer.

She took a deep breath before raising her head. Her eyes were darker than ever, her cheeks bright red. “Look, I think you should leave. As I’ve said, my father’s dead and Susan isn’t here to answer any questions.”

“Is Susan your mother?”

“My stepmother. Since you seem so keen to find out, my real mother left my father and ran away with another man when I was three. Now, was there something else I can help you with?”

Joel could tell from her tone that she just wanted to get rid of him. He ignored the sarcasm in her voice, keeping his eyes on hers for a long moment before saying the words he’d come all the way from Michigan to say. “Actually, it wasn’t your mother who ran away. It was your father.” He paused. “And he took you with him.”

CHAPTER TWO

FOR A MOMENT Allie was swept back into the Cataraqui River, the roaring in her ears just as it had been that day. The man’s lips were moving, but whatever he was saying was obliterated by a thunderous noise. Her mind flashed to Harry Maguire shouting at her over the boom of rushing water. But now, all she could do was stand absolutely still, frozen by the implication of what she’d just heard.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice foreign to her ears.

“It’s a long story,” he began. “Perhaps we could go somewhere?”

Allie thought of Susan, waiting at the farmhouse, anticipating a cozy evening together. That would be impossible now, Allie realized.

“I’ve got to call Susan and let her know I won’t be coming tonight. She’s expecting me.”

“Fair enough. I can wait.”

Allie looked from his face to the receipts now squeezed into a ball in her hand. She tossed them onto the counter. “I’ll be right back,” she said, and marched to the office at the back of the store.

Fortunately Susan wasn’t the prying type. She accepted Allie’s explanation that something had come up with her usual grace. Allie promised to call her first thing in the morning, grabbed her backpack and returned to the front of the store. She’d had a crazy hope while she was on the phone that the guy might have taken his wild story and disappeared. No such luck.

He was standing in front of the naturopathic medicines. “You take any of this stuff?” he asked.

“Not really. But you didn’t come here to learn about holistic medicine, did you?”

He stifled a grin. “Where would you like to talk?”

“There’s a coffee shop down the street,” she said, and led the way out of the store, stopping to lock it behind them.

“I was thinking of someplace more private,” he said as they started down the street.

Allie cocked her head, looking up at him. “Such as?”

“The park by the water. Or my hotel room. I’m staying at the Ramada down by the marina.”

Your hotel. Yeah, right. “The park,” Allie said. “But first I want to pick up a coffee, if that’s okay.”

He nodded. “I could use one, too.”

They reached the coffee shop and went in to order. When the coffee came, he swiftly handed the clerk a large bill to pay for both, and Allie muttered a grudging thank-you as she headed for the door. He seemed to get the message she wasn’t interested in small talk and remained silent for the rest of the walk down Princess to Confederation Park on the waterfront. Allie headed for a bench in the sun, facing the water, and sat down without a backward glance.

“Is that Lake Ontario out there?” he asked, setting his backpack on the grass at his feet as he sat down beside her.

“The St. Lawrence River. The lake starts farther down that way,” she said, swinging her arm across his line of vision to the west. “See the outline of those islands? The biggest one is Amherst and the lake officially starts there.”

“So where are the famous Thousand Islands then?”

She squinted at him. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Nope. First time in these parts, though I’ve been to Northern Ontario.”

Allie frowned. “Are you American?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“No. Usually I can pick out Americans right away because of their accent. But you don’t have one.”

“Maybe not, but you do.”

The grin took at least five years off him, Allie thought, which would put him in his midthirties. It also made him, as Beth might say, unforgettable in the looks department.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, just…uh…wondering why an American has something to tell me about my mother.”

He liked that she got straight to the point, dismissing any attempt at niceties. “Right. Let’s get to it, then.” He flipped the plastic tab on his coffee cup and took a long swallow before turning to look at her.

“As I said before, I’m a private investigator. Here,” he said, pulling a slim leather billfold from the inside pocket of his jacket. He flipped it open and withdrew a business card, which he handed to Allie.

“Not long after that article about you in People magazine came out, I was contacted by a man in Grosse Pointe, Michigan. His name was George Kostakis and he was acting on behalf of his great-uncle, Spiro Kostakis.” He paused, watching her face for any hint of recognition and, when none came, went on. “He told me that you looked just like his second cousin, Katrina Kostakis.” Joel took another sip of coffee and studied Allie’s face in profile.

She was listening attentively, frowning slightly in concentration but giving no suggestion that the names meant anything at all to her. But Joel noticed her tapping his business card against her other hand until she tucked it into the pocket of the windbreaker she was wearing. Anxiety level increasing? he wondered.

“Katrina was the only child of Spiro Kostakis, George’s great-uncle and patriarch of the Kostakis clan in Grosse Pointe. George said that there’d been a granddaughter— Elena—who’d disappeared from the family home when she was only three. Spirited away, apparently,” Joel added, wanting to give some benefit of doubt for Allie’s sake, “by her father, one Eddie Hughes—Katrina’s husband and Elena’s father.”

At that, Allie’s head turned his way, her expression almost challenging him. “So far I get no connection to me, other than the fact that I coincidentally resemble this woman—what was her name again?”

“Katrina Kostakis. Or Trina, as she was sometimes called.”

“Was?”

“She’s dead. Killed in a car crash twenty-six years ago.”

“And she is—was—supposed to be…”

“Your mother,” Joel said softly, keeping his gaze on her face.

Allie broke eye contact first, turning her gaze toward the water. But not before Joel caught the devastation in her face. He stared bleakly at the water, too, hating himself for what he’d said. What he still had to say.

“My father’s name was Rob Newman,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. “Rob Newman.”

Joel sighed. He rose from the bench, strode over to a garbage can and chucked his empty coffee cup into it. She watched him as he leaned over, picked up his pack from the grass and unzipped an outer pocket. He pulled out an envelope and paused, noticing the slight trembling of her chin. But when she tilted her head, defiantly raising her face to his, Joel flicked open the envelope and withdrew the photograph, handing it to her in a swift movement that caught her unawares. She fumbled, letting it float to the ground.

He started to bend down for it, but she beat him to it, sweeping up the picture and bringing it to the tip of her nose as if inspecting it through a magnifying glass. Then she leaped to her feet and, clutching the photo in her right hand, began to jog across the grassy park lawn to the sidewalk beyond.

“Hey!” Joel shouted, but she didn’t turn around. It seemed as if she increased her stride at the sound of his voice. She was running now, dodging the busy traffic to cross the road, and heading down a side street. Joel swore. He swung his small pack over a shoulder, grabbed the one she’d left behind and took off after her. Though judging by her pace, he doubted he’d catch up to her.

He was about half a block behind and starting to sweat with the extra load of packs, while she seemed to be just getting into a rhythm, loping ahead of him as effortlessly and gracefully as an antelope. He swore, realizing how all of those postponed sessions at the fitness center were working against him. When she turned right at Wellington, he slowed down, knowing where she was headed. Her apartment.

Allie, once inside her apartment, knew exactly where to look. Whisking the photograph from the journal in her desk drawer, she charged back down the stairs and onto the front porch. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, but she knew it wasn’t from the run. That had scarcely raised a sweat.

The private investigator hadn’t fared as well, she noted. His breath sounded ragged, as though he were barely holding himself together. Although he didn’t appear to be on the verge of total collapse, his eyes were beginning to get that wild look that unfit people sometimes get when their bodies are screaming at them to stop. She waited on the top step while he got his breathing under control.

“I guess you recognized the photo,” he finally said.

At least he had some sense of humor. “I have the same one,” she said, extending her right arm. “At least, part of it.”

He took the fragment of photo from her. “You must be—what? About two when that was taken?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“And the other half? Do you know—”

“Who snipped my mother out?” Allie shrugged. “Dad, I guess. I found that in his papers after he died. At the time, it was just another reminder that he wanted to forget my mother. Maybe he did it out of love for me—wanting to protect me from questions he couldn’t answer,” she added.

The P.I. was heading up the steps now, standing so close she could feel the heat from his run still evaporating off him. Allie instinctively backed away.

“Or maybe he just didn’t want you asking any questions, in case you stumbled on it one day. You have to admit, the resemblance is—”

“Striking,” Allie put in.

“Which is why your grandfather was certain you were Katrina’s daughter.”

Allie waited a moment, letting that register. “So now what?” she asked, striving for calm.

“There’s more,” Joel said. “My client—your grandfather—has a proposal for you, so to speak. We’ll need somewhere quiet to talk.”

The roaring in her ears came back and with it, a surge in blood pressure. Allie covered her face with her hands. She didn’t want to hear or discover anything more. Enough was enough. She breathed deeply, using her tented hands to ease the hyperventilation. That is, until they were gently lifted up and away, and folded into Joel’s as he pulled her closer.

“I know,” he murmured, his breath whispering across the top of her head. “It’s all too much to take in. You just want me to go away so you can get back to your life.”

He was so close to her any passerby would have thought they were about to kiss. For a second he seemed almost like an old friend—there to give comfort and refuge. Then she remembered why he was really there and eased her hands out of his clasp, stepping back at the same time.

“Yes,” Allie said. “I do, so why don’t you go and let me get back to my life?”

“Too late, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you’re never going to be able to go back.”

“Of course I am. I’m a very determined person when I want to be.”

“I know,” Joel conceded. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have rescued that man and his dog.”

That made her pause. Most people gushed about her bravery when all along, Allie had known the force that drove her into the icy Cataraqui twice had been something different. Instinctively she’d known that there was no way she was going to let Harry Maguire and Jeb die.

“And that very determination,” she said, her voice rising, “will see me through this…this situation.”

“If you were the kind of person who didn’t care about others, you might pull it off. But I suspect that even if I leave without telling you the rest of the story, you’ll always wonder. That unavoidably huge question of why your father ran away from his wife and family—and abducted you—will hang over you the rest of your life. You know it and I know it.” He turned to descend the porch steps.

“Wait!”

He paused.

Allie was back in the icy Cataraqui again. Only this time, she herself was being swept downstream with no hope of rescue in sight. “You’d better come upstairs,” she murmured, turning away from him so he couldn’t see her face.

SHE WAS EITHER a minimalist or unsentimental, Joel instantly decided, surveying her second-floor apartment. Throw in neat freak, too, he mused. No knickknacks to collect dust, not that a speck of it would be allowed to linger. The clean, crisp style of the decor matched her physical self—unadorned, tidy and in spectacular condition.

Joel repressed a smile. He sounded as if he was composing ad copy. But really, he was relieved that she seemed to be a no-nonsense kind of woman. More than likely, he’d be spending quite a few hours with her in the days ahead, and he dreaded the possibility that she might be overly emotional about everything she was about to learn. It was hard enough juggling the various roles he’d assumed without having to worry about Allie Newman’s state of mind.

“More coffee?” she asked, closing the apartment door behind her.

“Uh, sure,” he said, not really wanting another coffee so soon but anxious to postpone the inevitable. She headed into the hall—toward the kitchen, he guessed—and he took the opportunity to check out the small living room that overlooked the street. A faded plump sofa in front of the bay window had a worn but comfy air. He almost felt like sinking into it, putting up his feet and having a snooze.

Joel scanned the pine bookshelves lining the wall opposite the window. If he hadn’t already known she was some kind of college professor, he’d have concluded so after one glance at the titles. Many were familiar—classics that he’d once stacked on his own shelf years ago as a college undergrad.

“You take it black, right?” she called out.

She must have noticed his preference at the coffee shop earlier. Following her voice along a dark, wood-paneled hall, he appeared in the doorway of a medium-size, old-fashioned kitchen.

“Yes, thanks,” he said.

Her head shot up from pouring coffee into two mugs. “I didn’t hear you coming down the hall.”

He took the mug she held out and shrugged. “Professional habit, I guess.”

One corner of her mouth seemed to twist under as she muttered, “Yeah,” and after splashing some milk into her own coffee, led the way back to the front of the house.

Joel glanced left and right along the hallway. There were two closed doors and an open one leading into a sunlit bathroom. “You live alone?” he asked.

“Yes.” She sank into the sofa and propped her feet on a coffee table stacked with magazines, books and what appeared to be exam papers.

Joel settled into a black leather armchair adjacent to the sofa. No roommate. That was good. No complications.

“Nice place,” he remarked. Then, nodding to the pile of papers, he asked, “Are those exam papers?”

“Yes.”

He went on, unfazed by her terseness. “You a teacher or something?”

Her sigh echoed in the room. “I’m sure you know all about me, Mr. Kennedy. Shall we get to why you’re here?”

“Joel,” he murmured, flashing what he hoped was a placating smile. “High school?” he ventured, pushing her just a tad more.

“I teach math at Queen’s—it’s a local university.”

“Ah! Professor?”

“Hardly. But someday perhaps. I haven’t done my doctoral thesis yet.” She stretched forward to set her mug on the coffee table, brought her feet back to the floor and sat up straight. “Now, about my mother…”

“Right.” Joel leaned over and set his half-empty mug on the floor. “As I said, your father’s real name was Eddie Hughes. Thirty-two years ago he married Katrina Kostakis, the only child of Spiro and Vangelia Kostakis. Apparently Katrina had always been fragile, and shortly after your birth, she spiraled into a serious postnatal depression. From what I’ve been told by the family, she kept this a secret for quite some time, but when you were just a year old or so, it was evident that Katrina had problems. She was put on antidepressants and they seemed to help for a bit. Then—” he paused, noting how Allie’s eyes seemed to disappear into her face at each new sentence “—she began to drink. You can imagine how things became much worse very quickly.”

Allie’s face paled.

Joel hesitated. “Do you want me to get you something? A glass of cold water?”

She waved a limp hand. “No, just continue. But thanks, anyway.”

He was beginning to wish he had a cold drink right then himself, though water wasn’t what he had in mind. “Adding to the equation was the fact that Eddie—your father—worked for Spiro in a fairly high managerial position.”

“Managerial? My father? He was, like, the ultimate hippie,” Allie said. She shook her head. “This is all too much. What kind of business does this Spiro operate?”

“Your grandfather has a number of enterprises. I did some checking on him after he first consulted me. He has a chain of Greek restaurants in Michigan, along with a few importing-exporting companies. Some corporate real estate.”

“So what part did my father supposedly manage?”

There was more than a hint of disbelief in the question. Joel knew enough to make his answer vague. “I’m not really sure, to be honest. Just before he took off, he was being touted as Spiro’s new right-hand man.”

Allie frowned. “Then why would he take off?”

Joel leaned forward in the chair, sensing he’d hooked her at last. She was starting to ask important questions. “I was told there was an argument between Spiro and Eddie about handling some business deal. Spiro made some comment about Eddie not being any more adept at managing his own marriage. Eddie blew up and implied that the marriage wasn’t going to last the year, anyway. Then Spiro reminded him that he had enough connections—politically and legally—to ensure that Eddie would walk away from the marriage with nothing, not even visitation rights to his daughter.”

Joel waited for a reaction, though none came. Instead, he saw that she’d been drawn completely into the story as if it was a tale about some strangers, not her own family. He went on. “Eddie replied that Katrina would never get custody of you, given her depression and alcoholism.”

“That’s true, I’m sure,” Allie put in.

“Perhaps, but Spiro made it clear that he and your grandmother would sue for custody and would have no problem getting it.”

“So he ran off with me,” she whispered.

“Apparently.”

Allie sat staring into space, imagining a tableau of how it might have been, trying to put faces on the people whose names she was hearing for the first time. Then her eyes must have focused, for she realized she was looking directly at Joel Kennedy. If only her mind would focus, as well, so she could decide which of the thousand questions clamoring inside to pose first.

“How did you get this information?” she asked. Not a great question, she knew at once, but a start. And it seemed to take him aback, because he blinked a few times before replying.

“From Spiro at our first meeting. I also interviewed a few people who worked with Eddie at the time. Also, your aunt—Ephtimea, or Effie—provided some background.”

“My aunt?”

“Well, I guess cousin, or second cousin is more like it. She was married to Spiro’s nephew, Tony. Their two sons—George and Christopher, or Christo—work for Spiro.”

“A real family enterprise,” she mused.

“A wealthy and powerful family enterprise,” Joel added.

He must have picked up the bitterness in my voice, Allie thought. All those years when the only blood relative she had was her father. “How can you be sure this Spiro’s account is true? My father isn’t here to defend himself.”

“I don’t think you should take this as an indictment against your father. You lived with him all these years—you know what kind of man he was.”

Allie felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She did know. He would never have run away unless he was desperate or feared for her well-being. In that case, she reasoned, Spiro Kostakis must be a man to be wary of. But she wasn’t about to reveal that thought to the investigator who’d been hired by Kostakis to find her.

“Precisely,” she said. “Which leads me to the next point—why did he hire you to find out if I was his granddaughter now? It’s been twenty-seven years.”

“Until that magazine article appeared, your grandparents and mother believed that you and Eddie were dead.”

Allie stared at Joel, unable to speak, trying to absorb what he’d said.

“The night Eddie disappeared with you, the police set roadblocks and searched for hours. In the early hours of the morning, Eddie’s car was discovered partly submerged in the Detroit River. Divers went in and found suitcases of clothing, including clothes belonging to a child, toys, Eddie’s wallet and personal papers. Even money. He’d cleaned out his joint bank account before leaving. Days later the search was called off, though Spiro had private investigators continue for a few months. By then Katrina’s condition had deteriorated so much that Spiro devoted his efforts to getting her well.”

Joel’s account of their flight was so vivid that for a moment, Allie forgot the larger implication of the whole disappearing act. That it had all been a lie—a deliberate hoax. She felt light-headed and disconnected. While she was attempting to keep herself from being carried away in this wave of new information, she had not noticed that Joel had vanished and returned, and was now handing her a glass of ice water.

She drank slowly, letting the cool liquid soothe the drumming in her head and the heat in her face. When she finished, she set the glass down and looked at Joel. There was concern in his face, and for the first time since she’d met him, she liked him. Not his story, she quickly added to herself, but him.

“My father must have been very afraid to pull off something like that,” she finally said.

“He obviously felt he had no choice,” Joel said.

She thought for a long moment before asking what she knew she had to learn. “And my mother?”

“Grew more despondent. Stopped taking her medication. Drank more. The police report of her car crash a year later was inconclusive about the cause.”

“So it might have been an accident or…or not,” Allie murmured.

“Yes.”

She knew then she needed to be alone. “If you don’t mind…” she said, standing up.

Joel got up, too. “There’s something more. I might as well tell you all of it right now.”

Allie didn’t have the energy to protest. She simply stared at him, wishing he’d disappear himself.

“After your aunt showed the People magazine article to him, Spiro was determined to find you. Also, there were circumstances that prompted him to rush more than he might have.”

“Circumstances?”

“A few years ago Spiro was diagnosed with leukemia. None of the traditional treatments have worked. His only chance of surviving another few years is a bone marrow transplant.” He waited a moment. “George and Christo aren’t a match,” he prompted. Then, “You’re his only living blood relative.”

Allie sat back down.

Joel sat down on the sofa next to her. Allie flinched at his closeness, though she knew he meant to be sympathetic. Still, the one person in the world she wanted at her side right now was buried in a cemetery on the outskirts of town. It had been months since she’d felt such a pain of longing for her father.

Joel Kennedy’s revelations magnified not only her loss but the futility of ever knowing the truth. No matter how much more information came her way in the days ahead—and she knew now she wasn’t going to shake off this whole thing anytime soon—she’d never be able to hear her father’s own account.

Unless Susan knows something. The thought of her stepmother distracted her from Kennedy’s announcement. “You haven’t approached Susan, have you? About any of this?”

“Susan?”

“My stepmother!”

He grabbed her hands, which she was waving in front of his face. “No, Allie. I wouldn’t do that. This is your—”

“Problem.”

He pursed his lips as she pulled her hands free. “I’m only the messenger, Allie. None of this is my doing, either.”

Again Allie got to her feet. She needed to get the whole rotten business over with. “Tell me what this…this Spiro Kostakis wants of me.” She stood on the far side of the coffee table opposite him, her arms folded across her chest.

“He wants you to come to Grosse Pointe, to meet the rest of the family and to undergo a test to see if you’re a bone marrow match.”

“Hah! Not a lot to ask, is it, from someone I’ve never met? From someone who threatened to take me away from my father?” Allie heard her voice border on hysteria, but she felt powerless to stop herself.

Joel was on his feet at once, inches from her face and clutching her upper arms as if to keep her grounded. “You need to be alone, to take all of this in and to decide what you plan to do. You have complete control over this, Allie. Whatever happens is up to you. If your answer is no, then I’ll be driving out of Kingston ten minutes later.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Talk it over with Susan if you want to. If you decide yes, then I’m hoping you’ll be willing to drive back to Michigan with me. Or come on your own. Whatever. Just remember that none of this has to diminish your memory or feelings for your father in any way. And it shouldn’t. It seems to me he did an admirable job of raising his daughter.” With that, Joel brushed past her.

Allie heard the door close behind him. She felt herself sinking slowly back to earth, relief at Joel’s departure snapping every taut nerve in her body. And yet, she thought, sagging into the sofa cushions, his hands had been warm and comforting. If he’d held on a millisecond longer, she knew she’d have gratefully leaned into his arms, too.

She lay back into the indentation he’d just left and stared at the ceiling. Gradually her mind regained control of her body as she decided her first move had to be to talk with Susan, but that would have to wait until morning.

CHAPTER THREE

SUSAN GOT UP to make a pot of tea. She was amazing, Allie thought, watching her go through the steps without uttering a word. In fact, it had been Susan who’d reached for the box of tissues as Allie recited the whole story in a robotlike trance, until she got to the end where she’d unexpectedly burst into tears.

Allie had stopped the story just short of Joel’s last words to her, about Rob Newman’s admirable job of raising his daughter.

Susan brought the tea to the table and, echoing Allie’s thoughts, said, “Your father can’t be here to advocate for himself, so we shall have to do it for him. He was a good, decent and honest man. We know that and so does everyone who knew him. That’s not to say some of this Kennedy’s story isn’t true.” She stirred a spoonful of honey into her cup and blew on the tea gently before sipping.

“I guessed about six months after we’d started dating that your father had a former life he wanted to forget.”

Allie glanced up from spooning honey out of the jar. Susan had never spoken about her personal relationship with her father, not even after his death. She had never once uttered an irritated or perplexed word about the man who shared her life for twenty years. Allie, who often prided herself on her intuition, felt a pang of guilt that she’d so blindly assumed Susan’s calm nature had signified unconditional acceptance of Rob and his daughter. What doubts and questions ran through her mind all these years? Allie wondered.

“He was always so vague about his origins. Said his parents had both died, and he had no siblings or family nearby. Of course, I gathered immediately that he’d grown up in the States.” She looked across the table at Allie and smiled. “His accent.”

“How come I never noticed it?”

“You grew up with it. Besides, he never used the colloquial expressions that Canadians use. Although he told me he was from Northern Ontario, he never spoke like anyone from there.”

“Did you ever ask him?”

“No. Somehow I never had the courage to confront him directly.” She gave a small, deprecating laugh. “Maybe I was afraid of frightening him off, even losing him. And you.”

“Dad wasn’t like that,” Allie blurted out, reaching out her hand to stroke Susan’s. “He loved you. You know that.”

“I know, but this was early in our relationship. Suddenly this big bear of a man with a tiny waif of a daughter was attracted to me—the stereotypical librarian—and I didn’t want the fairy tale to end.” She laughed again.

“And it didn’t,” Allie said. “You were the love of his life.”

Susan smiled fondly at her stepdaughter. “I know that. As you were. He’d have done anything for you.” She took another sip of tea, then said, “That’s why I can believe this private investigator’s story.”

Blood rushed into Allie’s head. “But—”

Susan raised a hand. “Hear me out, sweetie. When I realized your father was probably an American, I thought he might have been a draft dodger. The war in Vietnam was winding down then, but American soldiers were still being sent over. My suspicion was reinforced by his almost paranoid fear of authority. He drove very carefully, so as never to be stopped by any traffic police. He kept to himself out here on the farm. Some people in town thought he was reclusive, but I knew he was too social to be a real hermit. It was just that he avoided big public functions or occasions.”

“Lots of people are like that,” Allie protested.

“Yes, but he was very protective of you. Don’t you remember all those sleepover parties you had here, rather than going to someone else’s house?” She nodded at the glimmer of recollection in Allie’s face.

“He came with me to every swim meet. And I always had to check in with him if I went out of town for any reason. I used to think that’s why he got Casey for me. She was meant to be a friend, as well as a protector.”

“Of course she was. You were fifteen the Christmas you got that dog. Just starting to be interested in boys.” Susan chuckled. “That was no coincidence, my dear.”

“I guess not. I’m happy that you raised one of Casey’s pups. Tiggy looks just like her.” Allie smiled at Susan, warming to the reminiscences they were sharing at last.

“Remember the argument you had with him when you told him you were moving into town?” Susan asked gently.

Allie sobered at the memory. It had been the one serious quarrel she’d had with her father. “I was twenty-four years old and still living at home. I was a freak,” she whispered. “God, that was an awful fight.” Allie laid her head on her forearms. Susan stroked her hair back from her face, the way she’d done whenever Allie had been sick or upset. If only I could turn back the clock, Allie thought. And make everything right again. Make Dad come back.

“I guess we’ll never really know the whole story now,” Susan said with an audible sigh. “That’s why we must never doubt our faith in Rob. We must always believe that whatever he did, he acted out of love and concern for you.”

“I do believe that!” Allie cried. “I just wish Joel Kennedy would leave Kingston and let us go on with our lives.”

Susan gave a quiet laugh. “You know that’s never going to happen, Allie. It’s too late. Whatever choice you make will stay with you the rest of your life.”

Allie shivered at this playback of Joel Kennedy’s words. “But I don’t want to have to make a choice. That’s the problem. I just want things to go on—unchanged.” She sat up to look at Susan.

Her stepmother smiled. “There’s that ten-year-old face I remember so well! You’ve always resisted change, Allie. And always had difficulties making decisions. Remember when we’d go for ice cream?”

“That’s because there were too many flavors. If there’d been only a few, I could’ve managed a quicker decision.”

“So you shouldn’t have difficulty with this. Aren’t there only two choices?”

“But a man’s life may depend on me!” That fact struck Allie for the first time. The horror that such a decision was up to her brought her hands to her face.

Susan waited a few seconds before murmuring, “Then maybe there’s no choice at all.”

Allie locked eyes with her stepmother, knowing then what she had to do.

JOEL HUNG UP the phone and shifted back onto the pillows plumped up against the headboard of his bed. He felt a tinge of satisfaction that his judgment of Allie Newman had been spot on, but at the same time, a tiny part of whatever conscience was still operating inside him held back his usual grin of satisfaction at a job well done.

She was coming with him to Grosse Pointe. He knew from the moment he walked out her door that she would. Mainly because she hadn’t shouted after him or angrily protested his parting comment. Walking down the stairs, he’d thought that he might have overdone it, but his parting line had just popped out. Such spontaneous remarks were rare for him, and that worried him. For some reason Allie Newman’s very presence seemed to prompt stirrings he hadn’t felt since he was a gangly teenager. She had a way of making him feel, well—he hated to admit it—out of control. As if the game could go any way and it made no difference how he played his hand.

Joel rubbed his face. He’d taken an afternoon nap, unusual for him, while he waited for her phone call. It was now almost four o’clock and probably a good time to call Grosse Pointe with the news. He should be exulting, but instead, he felt flat inside. Probably because he knew the game was just starting. There were so many more cards to deal and he hoped Allie Newman could stay in the play. Then he thought, she’s a grown woman, she can handle things. Save your concern for yourself, chum.

JOEL SAUNTERED UP to the front of the car ferry. It was a bright morning, warmer than the day before. Puffy cotton-ball clouds drifted across an achingly blue sky. The ferry was almost empty. There were only two other cars, a Canada Post truck, a small transport and an RV with an American license plate. People on holiday, he guessed.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a real holiday. Probably before his divorce. Wolfe Island loomed ahead. He’d spotted it from his hotel and, needing to kill a few hours, had impulsively joined the line of cars waiting at the ferry dock in Kingston.

It was either that or take one of the Thousand Island cruises, but he was afraid of being stuck on a boat for three hours with nothing to do but look at scenery. He returned to the Caddie and sat patiently waiting for the boat to finish docking. Heaven only knew what he’d do when he disembarked, but he figured the round trip would take up most of the morning. Then, he was assuming there would be another day and a half before he’d be heading back to Michigan with Allie.

She’d said she’d come only if she could have a day or so to get some things in order. Apparently there were still a few exams to finish marking, and she had to arrange for extra help at the store—something about Susan’s back. He’d noticed that the woman had been walking a bit gingerly when he’d followed them the other day.

God, was it only two days ago? He felt as though he’d been in Kingston for ages. Must be the boredom, he decided. Or restlessness to get on with the job. More likely a combination. Maybe even a bit of anxiety about what lay ahead. He wondered what Allie would make of her newfound family.

Perhaps he ought to prepare her a bit more for what was coming. Certainly he’d told her as much as he needed to, and it had all been true, more or less. If things went well, she might never fill in the gaps, though he somehow doubted that. She was too sharp. And when those gaping holes were exposed, would she turn on him? Probably. And he wouldn’t blame her.

Joel sighed, then shifted into Drive as the truck ahead of him rolled off the ferry. Allie wouldn’t be the first woman to view him as a betrayer. Yet, for some damn reason, he hoped she might be an exception.

He drove a few yards to an intersection and stopped. A sign read Marysville, and Joel made a quick right just to get the Cadillac out of the way of the vehicles behind. He pulled up in front of a general store called Fargo’s and climbed out of the car. Marysville seemed little more than a handful of buildings. A paved road stretched east and west as far as he could see. There was a line of cars across the street waiting to board the return ferry, and Joel considered joining it. It was at least another forty-five minutes before the ferry back to Kingston left, and he doubted the two or three stores he saw here would fill the time. Of course there was a diner across the road that might offer a good cup of coffee, and he could always tour the island itself. That might use up twenty minutes.

Joel swung through the sagging screen door into Fargo’s in search of a newspaper. He wandered about, admiring the weathered hardwood floors and the sturdy wooden cabinets and shelving units. There was an old-fashioned butcher’s counter complete with weigh scales, a roll of paper and twine. An aproned man stood behind the counter waiting on a woman, while her children prowled about sucking lollipops.

The whole scene was so gosh-darn wholesome that Joel felt as if he’d walked onto the set of some 1970s family-values sitcom. He handed the teenage girl at the cash register fifty cents for the newspaper and headed for the door. He had his hand on the handle just as a gang of people appeared on the other side of the screen, about to enter. Joel stepped back inside to let the group pass.

Several young women and men, all attired in sleek cycling outfits, clomped in with Allie Newman bringing up the rear. She did a double take when she saw Joel. He found her smile ambivalent, not quite as if he was the last person on earth she wanted to see at that moment, but almost.

“What are you doing here?” she asked without preamble.

“Checking out the local sites,” he said, aware of several helmeted heads turning his way.

“That shouldn’t take more than five minutes,” she quipped. She unstrapped her headgear and shook loose her hair. It bounced softly against her neck and settled in a feathery web around her face, sticking to parts of her cheek where perspiration lingered.

Joel was tempted to brush those wisps away but knew the gesture would seem too familiar. Still, he couldn’t keep his eyes from skimming across the skin-tight spandex suit she was wearing. No doubt because of the excellence of her physical condition, he decided.

“Nothing better to do?” she asked, grinning.

He felt his face heat up. Was she talking about sightseeing on Wolfe Island or his perusal of her cycling suit? “And you?” he couldn’t help asking. “Putting things in order?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m supposed to participate in a triathlon at the end of June, and I missed my training session yesterday.” She shot him a look as if he were to blame.

Was there no end of wonders about this woman? He muttered something vaguely congratulatory and started to squeeze past her for the door.

“Are you really driving around the island?” she asked, stopping him before he had his hand on the door.

“Uh, guess so, since I’ve almost an hour before the next ferry. Why? Tired?”

A patient smile crossed her face. “Not yet, but one of my friends has a serious leg cramp and she’s waiting about two miles down the road. We were going to see if anyone here could go for her.”

“Two miles,” he repeated. “She could probably manage on her own when the cramp subsides.”

“She’s just getting over a hamstring injury and has to be careful, but don’t worry about it.” Allie turned away, seemingly intent on joining the group clustered around the ice-cream freezer.

“Sorry,” Joel said quickly, touching her shoulder. “That was petty. Of course I’ll go for her. Maybe you could direct me?”

She nodded and pushed through the screen door. Joel followed meekly, wishing he could replay the past few minutes. He was reminding himself that Allie Newman had an uncanny talent for bringing out weird responses in him when he noticed she was already seated in the Cadillac.

“Good guess,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

“The only one with an American plate. Make a left here and go east as far as you can. The road will curve inland toward the south side of the island. She’ll be waiting on that stretch.”

In less than a minute Marysville was merely a snapshot in his rearview mirror. “Not a lot to do hereabouts,” he commented.

“Not if you’re a tourist,” she said. “Though if you live here, I imagine working a farm keeps you busy.”

He decided to keep quiet the rest of the way, which took scarcely five minutes along a paved road that stretched across flat acres of farmland.

“There she is!” Allie pointed.

A young woman was sitting under a tree beside the shoulder just ahead. Joel slowed and pulled well over, in spite of the lack of traffic. He helped Allie load the bike into the trunk and then tie the lid down with a bungee cord he just happened to find in the trunk. Allie sat in the back seat with the other woman and began to massage her calf muscles.

Before he climbed into the car himself, Joel noticed how expertly Allie’s long slim fingers moved up and down the injured leg. Finally he forced his gaze away and got in behind the wheel, wishing he could trade places with the injured woman.

See? he chastised himself. There you go again. It was almost as if he was bewitched. Get a grip, fella. There were long days ahead—turbulent ones—and his part in them was just beginning.

They pulled up in front of Fargo’s and Allie helped her friend out of the car while Joel retrieved the bike from the trunk. The friend thanked them and hobbled away to join the rest of the group, standing around the outdoor pop cooler. Allie hovered near the car.

“Guess I’d better get in line,” Joel said, jerking his head at the cars waiting for the return trip.

He hoped she’d suggest they wait together, but she only nodded and said, “See you on the boat,” as he climbed back into the Caddie.

As he reversed the car, he saw her wheel her bicycle toward the group. During the wait to get aboard, Joel had a long talk with himself about letting his guard slip every time Allie Newman was in his presence.

When the boat returned, he took his time parking the Caddie on board and heading for the upper deck. There, he saw the gang of cyclists lounging on the benches on the far side of the ferry. Joel leaned over the railing to view the Kingston skyline.

It was a pretty town, he thought. Or small city. There were lots of old limestone buildings and a waterfront that had so far managed to escape major development. This was a place where tourists flocked during the summer months, and to accommodate them, outdoor restaurants and sport bars stood in abundance. Having grown up in Philadelphia, Joel couldn’t imagine a childhood in such a small place. That reflection led him to wonder what kind of childhood Allie had with a parent on the run, ever vigilant about the past catching up to him.

A burst of laughter from the other side of the deck caught his attention. Allie stood in the midst of the cyclists, regaling them with some story that had them in stitches. Joel watched her hands gesturing to elaborate her tale, throwing her head back to laugh with them. He envied that ability to hold a group in thrall. He’d once had a partner who could do that. Joel contented himself with observing, taking in the nuances of expression and body language of the group. That was what he did best. Watch and observe. Draw conclusions. Then act.

Feeling hadn’t been a part of the routine for years, it seemed. He sighed and looked away, back to the city skyline. Back to the job ahead.

ALLIE WHEELED her bike along the pedestrian path of the ferry dock, occasionally glancing around for Joel’s car. She’d noticed him standing alone at the front of the deck on the return trip. For a moment she’d considered calling him over, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. She doubted he’d have wanted to join them, and more, she was reluctant to have to make some explanation about who he was or how she knew him. Not that any of the gang would have asked; they were basically cycling pals. But her friend Linda might well have picked up on the vibes between her and the private investigator.

And what vibes there were! Allie was shocked at the way she’d behaved around the man, why she let him get to her as he so obviously did. Perhaps it was simply a matter of that old cliché—about killing the messenger. She certainly had good reason to wish Joel Kennedy’s message had never been delivered. As for the messenger, well, he’d be gone from her life as soon as they arrived in Grosse Pointe. Which suited Allie just fine.

The cycle group split up at the end of the dock, after agreeing to meet the following week. Linda raised a brow at Allie’s comment that she’d be out of town but said nothing. Allie figured her friend would be calling her later that day, and what would she tell her? She’d have to come up with some explanation for Beth and the staff at the store, as well. She was about to strap on her helmet when a car horn beeped lightly behind her.

Joel Kennedy smiled at her from the open driver’s window. “Want a lift?”

Allie reminded herself to relax and take the offer at face value. “Thanks, anyway, but by the time we get this into the trunk, I could already be home.”

The smile froze on his face. Allie saw that he was regretting the invite. Plus, she suddenly felt her words had sounded ungracious. “Look,” she said, “I didn’t mean that to sound as bad as it did. I just don’t want to inconvenience you.”

He waved a hand. “No problem. So shall I call you later to work out exactly when we could leave for Grosse Pointe?”

Impulsively she changed her mind. “Maybe I will take that lift, and we can figure something out on the way.”

The car pulled over and Joel got out to help Allie with the bike. The second she was sitting next to him and on the way up Brock Street to Wellington, she thought she ought to have cycled, after all. The spandex suit was hot and itchy. Worse, she feared her trusty deodorant might not have been up to the task of dealing with the twenty-mile route around Wolfe Island.

He didn’t speak for a long while, adding to her discomfort. But when they were almost at her corner, he said, “If you’re free tonight, I’d appreciate having company for dinner. We could make our plans then. Interested?”

And surprisingly, she was.

“THAT’S THE OWNER—Zal.” Allie nodded to a heavyset bearded man walking toward the center doors of the restaurant. “He used to be a member of a 1960s rock group called the Lovin’ Spoonful. Ever hear of it?”

Joel frowned. “Vaguely. So he retired from that to go into the restaurant business? I bet this is harder work.” He glanced around the patio courtyard where they were sitting beneath a lattice of wisteria and vines. “Very pretty, though.”

“And the food’s great,” Allie added.

“The name’s a bit odd.”

“I suppose, to an outsider. But here in Kingston, Chez Piggy is so famous no one questions the name.”

Joel flipped open the menu. “Okay, so let’s get into it. Prove the name right. I’m starving.”

“Me, too.” Allie picked up her glass of wine and sipped leisurely. It was a lovely balmy evening and she wanted to savor every second of it. Her dining experience was enhanced, she had to admit, by the man sitting across from her. Allie hadn’t missed the discreet looks he’d been receiving from some of the other female patrons.

She’d met Joel outside the nineteenth-century tunnel-style walkway that led into the restaurant and had been surprised at her thrill of pleasure when he approached. His beaming smile reassured her that the afternoon’s edginess had disappeared. He didn’t look like a private investigator, in his pressed tan trousers and crisp, pale-yellow short-sleeved shirt, at least not like Allie’s television-inspired notion of one.

His perusal of the menu gave her a chance to study him closer. He was an introvert, she decided. His dark-brown eyes, set deeply in his face, gave little away in terms of what he was feeling or thinking. Except when he raised his head and caught her in the act. Then he let her know right away that he figured she was sizing him up, and the idea obviously amused him. Allie feigned sudden interest in the antics of some children at an adjacent table.

“You don’t seem like the maternal type,” he remarked.

The comment took her aback. “Well, maybe not yet, but I hope to be someday.”

“It’s a serious job, parenting.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

He seemed to regret the opener, giving a slight shrug that she couldn’t interpret. Finally he said, “Actually, I have a six-year-old son, Ben. He lives with his mother most of the time, but I see him one weekend a month and a couple weeks every summer.” He paused, adding in a more somber voice, “If my schedule can work the visit in.”

Allie didn’t know what to say. For some reason she’d never considered that Joel Kennedy might be married with a child. Or rather, divorced with a child.

“You must miss him.”

The observation hit home. He gave a brusque, “Yeah,” before turning his head to signal the waitress.

After they ordered, the subject was dropped and Allie devoted her attention to the bread basket. She sighed, thinking about the long trip she’d soon be making with him.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No…no,” she stammered, raising her eyes to his. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Shall we decide when to leave? I was thinking about the day after tomorrow, if you need the time. Or,” he paused, “even tomorrow, if you’re finished what you had to do.”

Better to get the whole thing over with. “I’ve actually finished what I need to do. We can leave tomorrow if you like. But after my run, which I usually do about six or six-thirty.”

He gave a mock shudder. “Okay. How about I pick you up at eight? We’ll stop for coffee on the way to the highway.”

“Fine.” Allie returned a smile, but wasn’t feeling as optimistic as she had moments ago. Did she really know him well enough to spend five or six hours alone with him in a car?

The waitress arrived with their dinners, and for the next half hour they focused on eating. But after their plates were whisked away and they were lingering over coffee, Allie blurted, “Tell me more about Spiro Kostakis.”

“Curious?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Forty-eight hours ago you were doubting his relationship to you.”

“A lot can change in forty-eight hours,” she murmured, and peered down at her coffee.

“Yes. A lot can,” he agreed.

Something in his tone brought her head up, but his expression was impassive. He cleared his throat. “How about if we leave the business part till tomorrow? I don’t like mixing business with pleasure if I can help it.”

Allie felt unexpectedly flattered that she was part of the pleasure that night. Tomorrow would be soon enough to get the lowdown on this new family of hers.

Joel insisted on picking up the tab for dinner. “Expenses,” he said, settling the matter, and because the evening was so mild, they decided to walk.

“Is it always this quiet on a Thursday night?” he asked.

“This time of year it is, because most of the university students have gone home for the summer. The weekends are busy, but the real tourist crowd doesn’t arrive until June. Then all the outdoor restaurants, clubs and bars are full.”

“I was watching the marina from my hotel room. I guess it’s hopping in the summer, too.”

“Oh, yes,” Allie said, nodding. “I once spent a hectic summer working there when I was a student. The boating crowd tends to attract some pretty eccentric types.”

“I don’t get the draw,” Joel said. “To big luxury boats, I mean.”

“Some people call those huge speedboats ‘babe magnets.’”

“Ouch! Expensive way to ensure a good love life,” he muttered.

She laughed, but thought he’d probably never had to worry about attracting women.

They’d reached her house and now stood awkwardly in front of it. Allie briefly considered asking him in, but had too much to do. He solved the impasse by commenting, “I imagine you have things to get ready. And you have to pack for a couple of weeks.”

“Really? I didn’t think it would take that long.”

Joel frowned. “I hope I never implied that, Allie. If I did, I’m sorry. First they have to do blood tests to see if you’re a match. This is assuming Spiro is still in remission so they can go ahead with the transplant. Plus, you’ll need a few days to recuperate.”

Allie’s stomach gave a small lurch. She hadn’t thought through the physical implications of the whole business. “I hope this doesn’t jeopardize my… I mean, I’m supposed to…”

“Your triathlon? We’ll find out as soon as we get there, but I’ve a hunch it won’t. End of June, you said?”

She nodded.

“It should be okay. Don’t worry.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek. “Thanks for a great evening. I enjoyed it.”

Allie simply stared. It wasn’t only the unexpected kiss that puzzled her, but the stiffly presented compliment that came with it. For want of anything wittier, she said, “Was that business or pleasure?”

A stain of red crept up his neck. “Definitely pleasure,” he replied. Then, turning on his heel, he said, “I’ll be here at eight.”

Allie watched his retreating back, thinking he was the oddest man she’d met in a long time. And if that was pleasure, she was thinking, what does he do to really let loose?

JOEL MADE THE CALL about ten o’clock. Their estimated time of arrival in Grosse Pointe, he’d said, would be about four in the afternoon, allowing for lunch and rest-room breaks. Spiro was pleased, as Joel guessed he would be, but reserved.

He’d asked what Allie was like, and Joel had to think for a moment. In the end, he suggested that Spiro should draw his own conclusions, but that she was definitely Katrina’s daughter. Joel told him about the duplicate photograph, omitting the fact that Allie’s mother had been torn out of the picture. When Spiro mentioned that the whole family would be on hand to greet her the next day, Joel felt a tug of sympathy for her. He hung up the phone and swung his legs off the bed.

Allie had no idea what she was getting into, yet still had agreed to go with him. A gutsy woman, definitely. Beautiful, too, though not in the Hollywood way. If he hadn’t been such a prig about following the rules, he might still be with her, instead of alone in his hotel room.

Maybe what he really needed was a long cold shower to rid his head of Allie Newman. Though he doubted the shower would be enough.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALLIE FIDGETED against the smooth leather upholstery of the car. She was tempted to take her Walkman out of her pack and listen to it, but was afraid Joel might be offended. She certainly wouldn’t be interrupting a flow of conversation, though. Since leaving Kingston an hour ago, he’d uttered scarcely half-a-dozen words. She leaned back and closed her eyes, thinking of last night.

After Joel had left, she’d been overcome by a fit of energy. She couldn’t understand the tumult of emotions his leaving had produced. Or was it the fraternal peck on her cheek? Why would that bother her at all? The kiss had been so neutral it couldn’t even be considered inappropriate. Allie sighed, opening her eyes just enough to sneak a glance at the man beside her.

He’d nicked himself shaving that morning, she noticed, spotting a small cut on the lower edge of his jaw. And the slightly puffy semicircles beneath his eyes indicated a rough night. Insomnia? she wondered, or had he hit the bars after leaving her? She dismissed the latter, deciding he was far too disciplined. Yet if he had been tossing and turning, what thoughts had kept him from sleep?

She doubted they were the same confused thoughts that had her pacing the apartment until finally she hopped on her bike and rode out to the farm. Susan had greeted her with pleased surprise, tinged with some dismay when she heard that Allie planned to leave the next morning for Michigan.

“Are you sure you can trust this man, dear? Do you feel you know him well enough for a six-hour drive? Why not take a bus?”

Allie hesitated. She felt that she could trust Joel Kennedy, although she realized, in the face of Susan’s questions, that she really had no basis for feeling that way. What exactly was it about him that had produced this belief that he was trustworthy? Not his warm, engaging manner, to be sure.

“How do you even know his story is legitimate?”

Allie didn’t like where Susan was going with this. In fact, it strongly reminded her of the old days when her father grilled her about a new date. “The photograph, remember? The one I found in Dad’s papers? And by the way, did you ever find anything else?”

Susan shook her head. “Nothing but some old receipts, insurance papers and so on. Did I tell you that there wasn’t a single income-tax return?”

“I guess you can’t file a return if you’re living under an alias.” Allie fell silent then, thinking of all the different jobs her father had held. Each one probably paid in cash.

“I suppose not,” Susan whispered. “It probably also explains why he refused to own a credit card and insisted on paying in cash for everything. When we bought the business together, I used his half for a cash deposit. He said he wanted the business to be in my name.” Her sigh sounded sad and regretful.

Allie hugged her. “Susan, I wish he were here to explain everything. And why he did it.”

“Me too.” Susan pulled away, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “Anyway, what about this Kennedy? Have you checked to see if he really is a private investigator?”

“No, I never thought of it.” Allie hesitated. She wasn’t even certain she wanted to check. But Susan was looking at her, obviously expecting her to do so. “I have his business card,” she said, and found it in her wallet.

“Is there an address on it?”

“No, just his name and two phone numbers. I’m not sure what state the area code represents. I guess it would be Michigan.” Allie suddenly realized she didn’t know very much at all about how Joel Kennedy came to be hired by Spiro Kostakis. She thought of all the questions she ought to have asked before agreeing to travel to Grosse Pointe with the man. Too late now.

“There’s no point dialing the cell phone number, because I’ll just reach him,” Allie said. “I’ll try the other number.” After several rings, an automated voice informed her that the number was no longer in service. Allie hung up.

“What is it?” Susan asked.

“Out of service. Maybe this is an old business card.”

“Maybe,” Susan murmured. Her forehead was creased with worry. “I don’t know about this.” She thought for a moment. “What about calling Spiro Kostakis—your grandfather?”

Allie was alarmed at the idea. “I can’t just call out of the blue. What would I say? This is the granddaughter you thought was dead for twenty-seven years?”

“It wouldn’t be a shock. I’m sure he already knows you’re coming. This Kennedy man would have called.”

Allie rubbed her temples. Why were things getting so complicated? “Look, Susan, I’ll be all right. I can’t explain it, but I feel in my gut that Joel Kennedy isn’t going to harm me. And I know he’s a good driver because I’ve already been in a car with him.” She forced a laugh, hoping to ease Susan’s anxiety. Rob Newman had always posed a last question to Allie’s dates just as they were walking out the door. Are you a good driver?

Susan’s smile suggested she was willing to back off even if she wasn’t happy about it. But the ride back into town gave Allie an opportunity to mull over some of their talk. She’d agreed to borrow Susan’s cell phone and had assured her that she could still perform the basic karate moves she’d learned a few years ago. Though if I really wanted to put him off, I’d just have to pucker up for a good kiss and he’d be gone in a flash. Allie snorted.

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Is something funny?” Joel took his eyes off the road for a moment, holding Allie’s gaze long enough for her to have second thoughts about his driving abilities.

“No no. Just thinking of something silly. Uh, something I read in one of my exam papers.”

Something funny on a math exam? His eyes left the windshield again, back to her. He grinned. “What was it?”

Allie waved a hand. “Nothing really. Um, funny only to…”

“A mathematician?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, and turned her head to look out the passenger-side window.

Fortunately he didn’t pursue the matter, but popped a CD into the player, instead. Allie leaned her head back, closed her eyes again and let the mellow cadences of a female jazz singer make the time pass just a little more quickly.

The deceleration of the car jolted her awake. Her eyes blinked open and for an instant she forgot where she was. Her neck swiveled along the edge of the headrest, first to the window, then to her left. Joel was peering through the windshield looking for a parking space in a service center, but cast a quick glance her way and smiled.

“Have a good sleep?”

“Mmm. Where are we?”

“About halfway there. I need to gas up the car and thought we’d get some lunch. I’m not sure what kind of eating places are ahead of us, but this was familiar.”

Allie stared at the sign of a fast-food chain and sighed. There goes half a day’s training, she thought.

However, the menu board inside indicated salads and vegetarian options, so she was able to order something that wouldn’t cause too much damage.

“Training lunch?” Joel asked, digging into his man-size cheeseburger and fries.

“Sort of, but I’m not into fast food, anyway.”

“Good for you. As for me, I eat whatever’s handy when I’m hungry.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have done you any harm.”

He swallowed a mouthful of Coke and said, “I noticed you had more than an edge on me the other day.”

She frowned.

“The park?” he said. “The photograph?”

“Ohh. You weren’t that far behind me.”

His turn to smile. “You’re being kind. By the way, you bring the photo?”

Allie toyed with her salad. “I forgot it.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded.

He lowered the remains of his burger and stared at her for an uncomfortable moment. Then he said, “Shouldn’t make a difference.”

“Why the concern, then?”

“I just thought Spiro would be interested in seeing it. Because he owns the identical one I showed you,” he added.

Not quite identical, she mused, considering my mother was removed from my copy. Which was why Allie had purposely left it behind, even though he’d suggested bringing it. She didn’t want Spiro Kostakis to see what her father had done.

“Speaking of my grandfather, you said you’d tell me more about him.”

“I only know what I managed to pick up from some of my contacts in the business.”

“The business?”

“Uh, the investigation business.”

“Oh. Do you always investigate your clients?”

“I like to know something about them. You know, such as, am I going to get paid? Is the check going to bounce? That sort of thing.”

“Does it happen often?”

“Often enough. Anyway, Spiro and his older brother, Niko, came to America from Greece in 1947, just after the war. They did the usual new immigrant thing at first, taking whatever jobs they could get. They saved some money and sent for their Greek fiancées to join them in Detroit. Eventually they got into the restaurant business, were very successful and opened another location. Niko took over the food part of the Kostakis empire after Spiro got into importing and exporting. By then, they’d both married and had children. Sometime in the late fifties, Spiro moved into his mansion in Grosse Pointe Farms.”

“Grosse Pointe Farms?”

“Don’t be fooled by the word farms. It’s a very affluent area of Grosse Pointe. Anyway, a few years after that, Niko had a fatal heart attack, so his widow and son, Tony, moved in with Spiro and his wife.”

“What about Niko’s share of the business?”

“Good question. For some unknown reason, Spiro was Niko’s beneficiary, with allowances going to his spouse and children.”

“That’s unusual. It must have caused some family friction.”

He nodded. “The brothers probably did that as some kind of insurance when they got here. No other family and only each other to rely on.”

“You’d think Niko would have changed his will after his son was born.”

“I guess he never got around to it. Anyway, when Tony was in his late twenties, he married and had two boys—your cousins—George and Christo. By then, he was working his way up in the business.”

“What happened to him?”

“Rumor has it he and Spiro had a major falling-out one night over money. Tony disappeared and was never seen again.” Joel dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, checked the time and said, “I’ll finish on the way. I promised Spiro we’d be there before dinner.”

Allie followed him silently to the car. The story was unfolding like a soap opera, and she had a suspicion it was going to get even more incredible. At the same time, she was fascinated. Until she remembered that she herself was about to be drawn into it.

He remained silent for the first few miles. She decided to prompt him. “So, are you implying that Spiro had something to do with his nephew’s disappearance?”

Joel turned his head slightly to look at her. “That’s not what I was implying.”

“Is seems pretty obvious, doesn’t it?”

He turned back to the windshield. “Not necessarily. Apparently Tony had racked up a huge gambling debt. He also had more than a few unsavory friends. It may have been one big coincidence.”

“I don’t know if I believe in coincidences.”

“You gotta be kidding! After saving that old man and his dog? Wouldn’t you call that a helluva big coincidence—that a topnotch athlete and a strong swimmer, the only person who could have saved their lives, happened to be around?”

“Well, yes, I suppose that was a stroke of good luck for poor Harry and Jeb.”

“Or a great coincidence.”

“You made your point,” she murmured, and peered out the window.

“Speaking of the guy, have you seen him since?”

Allie smiled, thinking of the friendship that had grown between the three of them. “Yes, actually, I have. Harry and Jeb live in a retirement complex near the very river where they fell in. I had dinner with them twice last month. He’s a darling and so is his dog.”

“I figured something like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t seem the type to walk away from things. It makes sense that you’d go on to forge a friendship with the man whose life you’d saved.”

She was surprised at the pleasure his comment gave her. Then she realized he’d very skillfully digressed from his story about her grandfather and the rest of the family. “What happened after Tony disappeared?”

His head swerved her way for an instant. “Not much. His family moved in with Spiro’s.”

“And Niko’s widow?”

“She left Michigan after the family gave up looking for Tony and now lives in a retirement colony in Florida.”

Allie frowned. “And…do I still have a grandmother?”

“Sorry, I should’ve mentioned that. Vangelia outlived your mother by one year. A heart attack, I believe.”

Allie thought for a long moment about people she’d never get to meet.

“So the family is pretty rich, huh?”

Joel snorted. “Rich! Baby, the guy’s loaded. This Cadillac? The low end of his fleet. Like I said, don’t be fooled by the word farms in Grosse Pointe Farms. The area used to have the summer retreats of the rich and famous. Now the places are permanent homes.” He shook his head. “Old Spiro is worth millions.”

“From the restaurant business?”

“Along with all the other companies he owns.” Then he added, “Ironic, though, that in spite of all his money, the one thing he needs most of all can’t be bought.”

“What’s that?”

His eyes met hers. “Your bone marrow,” he whispered. “His only hope of life.”

Allie turned away from his stare. She flashed back to that moment in the icy Catarqui when Harry Maguire’s frantic clutching pushed her under. That was what she was feeling all over again.

THEY CROSSED the border in midafternoon, and as the car rolled over the Ambassador Bridge into Detroit, Allie murmured, “This is the first time I’ve been out of Canada.”

“No kidding? You’ve led a sheltered life.”

“Not really. I just haven’t traveled much. Some people never even leave their hometowns.”

“I guess so. It’s just hard for me to imagine. Seems like I’ve been on the road my whole life.”

“Really? Where have you been?”

“I left home when I was seventeen to join the marines.”

“Seventeen!”

“Yeah, well, I left home out of self-preservation. My old man and I didn’t exactly hit it off.” He gave a harsh laugh.

Allie didn’t know what to say, so she kept quiet.

“After the marine stint,” he went on, “I worked my way through college. Majored in criminology and law.”

“Did you go on to being a private investigator from there?”

“Huh? Oh, well, kinda. I decided to go into law enforcement and spent a couple of years with the Philadelphia Police Department.”

“Why Philadelphia?”

“It’s my hometown,” he said. “My father had died and my mom needed looking after.”

“Is she…?”

“Yeah, she had a stroke and died about two years later.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Yep, one of each. Both living in Philly, still in the same old neighborhood. A bit like the kind of people you were talking about. They’re content to stay put with their families.”

“Whereas you…”

“I cut my family ties when I was seventeen. Once you’ve done that, you’re really only a visitor afterward.”

The terse reply didn’t encourage further conversation, so Allie sat silently, looking out the window as they headed east, away from the city and toward the suburbs. She didn’t speak again until the car turned onto a paved road that ran along beside water.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Is that the Detroit River?”

“No. Lake St. Clair. Grosse Pointe borders the lake.”

“So we’re getting close?”

“Not far now. Nervous?”

“Of course. Shouldn’t I be?”

“Perhaps.”

Something in the way he said that single word alarmed her. There was warning in it, she thought. He’d turned his head her way, but his sunglasses foiled any attempt to read his expression. Too late to go back now, she thought. She decided to make light of it.

“When I was a kid and I was nervous about something—no matter what it was—my father used to say that I could always change my mind.”

He nodded, his expression blank. “Good advice to remember,” he said, and turned the car into a tree-lined drive fronted by brick columns supporting a massive wrought-iron gate. The gate was open and the Cadillac passed through.

Allie felt her heart rate pick up. All she could see so far was a stretch of trimmed lawn and groves of trees that stretched farther than the acreage around the farm back home. Rounding a bend in the drive, she suddenly saw the lake again. And then the house.

She must have gasped, for Joel simply said, “Tudor Revival, they call it. Built in the early thirties for some auto magnate. Six-car garage with Spiro’s specialty cars over there, at the end of the west wing.” His arm stretched across her face to point. “Tennis court just behind a guest house—you can see it now—and the outdoor swimming pool is next to it.”

“You mean there’s an indoor pool?”

“Yup. It’s smaller and occupies most of a separate wing.”

Huge landscaped gardens that Allie knew Susan would love edged the section of drive that wound its way to the entrance of the house. As the Cadillac coasted to a halt in front of granite steps, double French doors at the top terrace swung open and a handful of people spilled out.

They organized themselves on the steps as if choreographed. As Joel parked the car and switched off the engine, Allie moistened dry lips and glanced at him.

“All set?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You’ll be fine. And remember, you’re here to give them something. Not to justify whatever happened twenty-seven years ago.”

She was grateful to him for that and, taking a deep breath, opened the car door. When she stepped out onto the paved drive, the group of people parted as if by silent command, giving way for a tall, thin, gray-haired man grasping a cane and walking slowly through them. Allie was thinking that particular moment was more frightening than diving into the Cataraqui after Harry Maguire. Still, pasting a smile on her face, she plunged forward.

The elderly man descended slowly to the first layer of steps. “Koritsiemou, Allie. My darling granddaughter.”

Up close, she could see the ravages of his illness. His skin was waxen and taut against prominent facial bones, but his eyes were bright and alert, as yet undiminished by illness. His raspy greeting activated the others and they clustered around Allie. There was a hubbub of talk and some nervous laughter, mainly from Allie, she realized afterward.

Spiro introduced the others. First, Allie was presented to a slight woman in her fifties with a blend of black and silver hair, who was wearing a simple but expensive-looking black dress.

“Ephtimea—Effie—is the wife of my late nephew, Anthony, and the mother of my two great-nephews, George and Christo.”

The woman stepped forward and shyly kissed Allie on both cheeks. “Welcome, my dear.”

“That’s George—” Spiro gestured to the man at Effie’s left, “—my nephew, Effie’s eldest son.”

A large-framed man with the darkest eyes Allie had ever seen nodded, but didn’t smile.

“And his fiancée, Lynn,” Spiro continued.

The curvaceous blonde that Allie had caught a glimpse of as she’d walked up the steps strode into the center of the group and held out her hand. “Nice to meetcha,” she said before backing up and taking a long draw on the cigarette she held in her other hand.

Allie saw Spiro frown, his upper lip curling in a grimace that everybody noticed except for Lynn, who was brushing something off the tight bosom of her lime-green sheath dress. Allie sneaked a peek at Spiro again. His downturned mouth tightened.

He turned to Allie and seemed to force a smile as he said, “Christo, Effie’s youngest,” and the shorter, handsomer man standing off to one side leaped forward. His grin implied that he, too, had enjoyed the little scene. He grasped Allie firmly by both shoulders, planting a solid kiss first on one cheek, then on the other.

She wondered for a moment if he was going to release her, but eventually he stood back and said, “Wonderful to meet you at last, cuz. We’ve been breathless with excitement, haven’t we, George?” He cocked his head to George who’d been staring intently at Lynn. Christo burst into laughter. “George! You poor lovesick puppy.”

George smiled weakly at Allie, though he managed to give his brother a playful punch in the shoulder.

Spiro shook his head. “Boys, boys.” He made a mock clucking sound but obviously enjoyed their antics. “Allie needs more time before she has to face the family in its true light,” he said.

Christo laughed again. “Sure, Uncle Spiro, but I’m still waiting for that day myself.”

Spiro wasn’t amused this time. Allie noted the subtle way his chin pulled downward and his gray eyes flashed. Still, he made no response and turned, instead, to introduce the other three people waiting dutifully in the background.

“Yolanda, my nurse,” Spiro said, gesturing to a stout woman in a lavender uniform. She beamed warmly at Allie, and Allie responded in kind. Then he gestured for a thin, gray-haired woman in black to move forward.

“This is Maria, who has managed my home for many years. The household can’t function without her, and whatever you need or want while you are here, speak to Maria.”

The older woman nodded solemnly, fixing her small, birdlike eyes on Allie, and extended a hand. No kiss on both cheeks here. She might have known my mother, Allie thought, unnerved by the woman’s stare.

Spiro gestured last to a burly man in a navy-blue uniform standing on a lower step between the terrace and the drive. “Marko, my driver.” The man merely tipped his head at Allie, not bothering to make eye contact.

“Shall we go inside?” Spiro asked, his voice sounding weary. “We’ll have drinks on the back terrace in half an hour. Maria will show you to your room, Allie.” He ushered Allie toward the door, his palm resting lightly at the small of her back. In the doorway, she suddenly wheeled around to see if Joel was coming, too.

He was still leaning against the side of the Cadillac, arms folded across his chest. She hadn’t anticipated his parting, though realized his job for Spiro Kostakis was likely completed. Still, she couldn’t simply wave goodbye without talking to him one last time, could she? She hesitated, aware that the others were waiting for her to enter.

Joel’s voice rang out. “Mr. Kostakis, may I have a word with you before I leave?”

Spiro frowned. “Come to my study,” he finally said, and with Yolanda’s assistance, shuffled through the open door. The others filed inside, taking Allie with them. She cast another look at Joel before she was herded into the cool, dark interior of the Kostakis mansion.

LIKE BAIT TO SHARKS, Joel thought, watching Allie being swarmed by the Kostakis clan and urged inside. When she’d turned around from the threshold to look at him, something in her face caught at him, and that was when he knew his part in this family drama mustn’t end. Impulsively he’d called out to Spiro. When he saw the relief wash across her face, he knew his instincts were right.

As everyone moved into the house, his brain went into overdrive, searching for some convincing reason to stay. Then he, too, headed up the granite staircase, ignoring a smirking Marko, and went inside. The foyer gleamed with polished hardwood, mahogany and oak trim and sparkling crystal. Joel had seen layouts of the house once in a trendy home-design magazine; the real thing was even more spectacular.

He’d been interviewed for the job by George at the Kostakis skyscraper in downtown Detroit, but had seen maps of the family compound. Hence his brief tour-guide recitation to Allie on the way in. Huge vases containing ornate flower arrangements were artfully placed throughout the foyer. A winding staircase swept up from the center of the hall, and Joel had a glimpse of a black skirt disappearing off the landing above. Maria, he wondered, or Effie?

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