Family Tree Part 36

Hugh skimmed the piece. "Oliver James?"

"His wife is at the yarn shop all the time, or used to be." Dana was stunned. "Lately, she's hardly come in. She must have known this was coming. What do you think he did?"

"Art fraud usually involves pa.s.sing fakes off as original art." Hugh looked down at Dana. "Have I met the wife?"

"Her name is Corinne. You'd remember her if you had. This is amazing," Dana said, but couldn't quite gloat. She remembered thinking Corinne seemed fragile. "Her husband, indicted? She must be dying."

"Will you call her?"

"I don't even know her number. They live over on Greendale."

"Big mansions there," Hugh remarked.

"Uh-huh." Big mansions, big lawns, big cars, which went to show that big money didn't always buy peace of mind. Dana was trying to imagine what Corinne was feeling when there was a knock on the door. Susan Johnson, David's ex-wife, was there.

Susan looked harder than she was. Her hair was long and straight, and she was dressed in black-yoga pants, tank top, cropped hoodie, espadrilles. Back at David's, there would be a large black pouch filled with necessities. By contrast, her smile was lighthearted and bright. She was definitely Ali's mom.

"Susan," Dana said, opening the screen. "I didn't know you were in town."

"Well, David kept saying Ali didn't want to go back to New York, and the situation wasn't getting better. John and I figured we'd drive up to defuse things. I mean, she's supposed to return this week."

"Is she still balking?"

"Not since we figured out the problem."

Hugh had joined them. "The school?"

"Totally. I mean, it's a fabulous school, the absolute best, which is why I was thrilled when John was able to pull strings and get her in. Then David called, and we decided to get some stats on the place. And, yeah, they're not as heavy on minorities as I'd like. Ali must have felt it when we visited this spring, like, out of place. Someone has to break the color barrier, but maybe my daughter isn't ready. The school she's been at is a good one, too, and she loves it." Susan smiled. "So she's going back there, and is very excited about seeing her friends."

"I'm glad," Dana said.

"Me, too. I should have realized there might be a problem. It just didn't occur to me," she said. "Anyway, I wanted to thank you both. You've been good for Ali."

"She's been good for us," Hugh said.

Susan began walking backward, eyes now on Dana. "I need the name of a yarn store in the city. She already told me that."

"I'll get you one." Dana waved. When Susan jogged back toward David's, she turned to Hugh. "That's a little scary."

"Susan not antic.i.p.ating the problem? Very scary. She's smart and she's aware, like we pride ourselves on being, but who's to say we wouldn't make a similar mistake?"

"I guess there are ways to prevent it-do our homework, get all the facts before pa.s.sing judgment."

"You sound like a lawyer," Hugh remarked, but he wasn't smiling. "It kills me to think of Lizzie on the outside looking in, but it's bound to happen. Some circles are still very closed."

"All kids experience that, Hugh. It's part of growing up."

"But race makes it different. And it involves my child."

"We can't protect her all the time. She'll have to learn that prejudice exists."

"Maybe things will be different by the time she's grown up."

If it was a question, Dana didn't know the answer. She did know that she shared Hugh's fear. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she pressed her face to his neck.

Hugh definitely loved Lizzie. This was one good thing.

Eaton was sitting in front of a blank screen when Dorothy appeared at the library door.

"I'm going out," she announced.

"Where to?" he asked, trying to be casual in his curiosity. Lately, she was a loose cannon.

"I don't know. I'll decide when I get there."

Let it go, he told himself. But he couldn't. "That doesn't make sense, you know."

She drew in her chin. "Does it have to?"

"It always did. You're an organized woman."

"That was when I filled my day doing ch.o.r.es for my husband. I don't have to be organized when I'm doing things for myself."

"Which you are now, after finding that your husband has feet of clay."

"If that's a reference to race, I reject it flat out. I'm doing things for me because I'm tired of putting you first. You don't deserve it-and if you think that's a reference to color, you're sorely mistaken."

"Dorothy," he said with some pique. She had become an independent-minded woman at a time when he needed his old, familiar wife.

"What?"

He didn't know where to begin. "My book's coming out in a week. And did you know that my brother called earlier?"

That gave her visible pause. "No."

"He told me to keep my mouth shut about what I learned."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"Do you think I should?"

She opened her mouth to give a quick retort, then closed it again. "Are you asking my opinion?"

"Yes."

She thought for a minute. "Would you please repeat the question?"

He knew enough not to smile, though he came close. His wife was so deep into rebellion that her concentration was shot. It was endearing. "I asked what you thought I ought to do about what I learned about my father."

She considered it. "You have to do what your conscience dictates."

"That tells me nothing."

Her eyes flashed. "Well, I'm just not very smart. If I was, you might have asked my opinion about other things in the last forty years, starting with whether I was worried that those rumors you heard growing up might be true. Honestly, Eaton, you are insufferable. Know what your problem is?"

Eaton could think of a couple, but he said, "No."

"You don't know the difference between docility and stupidity. I may have been docile over the years, because that's what married women my age were expected to be-well, actually not all women, only the women in our social circle, which is something that is starting to really bother me. But I have been docile. That doesn't mean I don't have opinions, and it doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"I just asked for your opinion, and you couldn't give it," he pointed out.

"Couldn't?" she asked, raising a brow. "I certainly could, if I wanted."

He sighed in frustration. "Then please. What am I supposed to do about my less-than-ill.u.s.trious past?"

Her eyes went wide. "Stop thinking about it as less than ill.u.s.trious."

"Dot."

"I'm serious, Eaton. Why is this a tragedy? Isn't it an opportunity to learn about yourself? It's not like someone's coming along to call you an impostor and take away your money."

"I'm not worried about my money."

She smiled. "Good. That's progress."

He wanted-needed-to get to the other. "But don't you think it's a little shocking that my father isn't who I thought he was?"

"Of course. But is it worth all this brooding? I think not," she said. "Do you want the truth, Eaton? You're interesting because you write about interesting people. Accept who you are, learn a little about your past, maybe alter a little of your future, and you could actually be an interesting person all on your own."

With that, she left.

Chapter 28.

Hutchinson-Loy pa.s.sed by a three-vote margin. This pleased Hugh. If Hutch was feeling victorious, he might be more generous dealing with Crystal Kostas and her son.

Or so his theory went.

Dan Drummond poked a hole in it Wednesday morning, calling soon after Hugh arrived at work. "The senator will fight the allegation," the lawyer said. "He doesn't remember this woman and doesn't believe her son is his."

Hugh was disappointed. He had hoped for a quiet settlement. "Does he deny he was at Mac's Bar and Grille on the night in question?"

"No."

"Will he deny having relationships with the women from whom we have signed affidavits?"

"No. But he'll present the names of other women who have made claims which were subsequently proven frivolous, like this one is."

Hugh ignored that. "He'll 'present'? You're talking about a hearing. Hearings are public."

"Given the senator's status," Drummond advised, "I think we can get an exception."

"You do that," Hugh said, swiveling to open a file cabinet behind him, "and I hold a press conference."

"We'll get a gag order."

"I'll hold a press conference to denounce the gag order," Hugh countered. He hadn't wanted it this way. But he could play hardball for the sake of the boy.

He pulled out the folder containing the complaint. "I'm ready to go, Dan. I'll be at Probate Court in Lowell at two this afternoon to file an emergency motion for an adjudication of paternity and immediate support, based on the medical needs of a four-year-old child. Good guy that I am, I'll ask for a quick ruling so that the test can be done to accommodate the senator while he's in town Friday."

"You won't get the ruling," Drummond stated.

"Why not?"

"Because you're dealing with a United States senator."

When the call ended, Hugh was uneasy. Dan Drummond was known for being c.o.c.ky, but there had been a smugness in this interchange that didn't sit right with Hugh. It suggested Drummond knew something Hugh didn't. Someone at the Probate Court must be pulling strings for the senator.

He was wondering if he should call his contact there when the man actually called him.

"Sean Manley is on the line," said his secretary.

Sean Manley was an a.s.sistant clerk at the court. Hugh had come to know him several years earlier while representing his father on a vehicular homicide charge. Picking up the phone, he said, "This is mental telepathy, Sean. I was about to call you."

"I owe you, Hugh. You did right by my dad. Word is you're filing a complaint against a certain senator. I think you should know, Quidlark's grabbing the case."

The Honorable Judge Quidlark was old school and misogynistic. He also happened to be a longtime pal of J. Stan Hutchinson, who had, in fact, been the force behind Quidlark's appointment to the bench however many years before.

Hugh smelled a rat. "Thanks, Sean. I appreciate this." Ending the call, he phoned the Probate Court's chief justice. This man's primary job was administrative. Among other things, he saw to court a.s.signments. Hugh had gone to law school with his son.

"Hugh Clarke," the judge said with enthusiasm, "it's been too long since we talked."

"My fault," Hugh replied. "How's Mary?"

"She's fine. And your wife?"

"Great. We have a new baby."

"Well, that's good news. But it isn't why you called."

"No. I hate to hit you with this, but I've gotten word of a possible fix." He outlined his case, stressing the urgent nature of the situation. He didn't reveal his source, and the judge didn't ask. He did ask several questions pertaining to Hugh's evidence, then promised an immediate inquiry.

"I'll be filing an emergency motion at two," Hugh said. "All I ask is a fair hearing."