Janice Carter - Past, Present And A Future

Gil turned over the engine of his Mercedes and sat a minute longer, picturing the look in her face when she’d made that damned comment. He’d seen right away that she was trying for indifference but those eyes said it all. You’re a liar and a cheat and you don’t mean anything to me anymore. Precisely what she’d flung at him seventeen years ago, right after his release from jail. Words he’d never forget.

He shifted into Drive and edged away from the curb. At least he now knew where he stood. After tomorrow, Clare Morgan would be out of his life once again—which was just as well, for his sake.

CLARE CLOSED the car door behind her and lowered her head onto the steering wheel, its cool surface the perfect balm for the pounding at her temples. The christening ceremony had been relatively brief, for which she was grateful. Holding a squirming two-month-old for more than ten minutes would have been a challenge. Especially under the somewhat bemused gaze of Gil, who hadn’t bothered to offer any help. As soon as her part had finished, Clare quickly thrust the baby back into Laura’s arms. She thought she heard a low snort from Gil as she did so, but couldn’t be certain.

After the service, people clustered outside the church in small groups. In spite of her reluctance to return to Twin Falls, Clare was pleased to see Laura’s parents and family members again. She’d had many happy childhood memories with the Dundas family. When Gil came up to ask if she needed a ride to the Kingsways’, where the reception was being held, Clare was also grateful that she’d driven her rental car. His very presence seemed to strike a nerve.

Laura and Dave’s house was teeming with people when Clare walked in the front door. She placed her christening gift—a hand-smocked designer dress with matching sweater—onto the hall table along with the other presents and was making her way to the dining room where drinks were being served when Gil arrived.

His charcoal-gray designer suit seemed out of place in the small-town crowd but she had to admit, he was breathtakingly attractive in it. He gave a curt nod, clutching the handle of a gift bag. Clare could see the fluffy brown ears of a stuffed animal poking through the tissue paper. Her eyes connected briefly with his before she turned away and made for the dining room.

Dave was pouring mimosas from a tall crystal pitcher, assisted by a slightly older man who bore a striking resemblance to him. “Clare! Here, you must have one of these.” He handed her a champagne flute and tilted his head to the other man. “You remember my brother, Rick?”

Clare smiled and nodded. “Kind of. You were a couple of grades ahead of me at school.”

“That’s right,” he said. “I know your name because of your connection to Dave and Laura, but I have to admit I don’t recall too many kids from your year.” He chuckled, adding, “Well, except for Rina Thomas and I guess everyone knew her.”

Clare saw Dave give his brother a subtle nudge as he smiled nervously at someone behind her. She turned to see Gil standing in the doorway. The slight pulse at his jaw line—a sign of emotion held in check that Clare recalled all too well—told her immediately that he’d heard. He gave a polite but stiff nod as Dave introduced Rick.

“No, thanks,” he said to the offer of alcohol. “Coffee for me.” And without another word, headed for the kitchen.

Sensing that Dave was about to explain the faux pas to his brother and unwilling to be part of it, Clare smiled vaguely and, glass in hand, drifted into the living room. Laura shrieked a greeting from across the room.

“Clare!” She was with her older sister, Anne-Marie, whom Clare hadn’t seen since Laura’s wedding.

They hugged and made small talk for a moment before Anne-Marie asked, “How’s your book doing? I haven’t read it yet, but I brought my copy with me so don’t forget to sign it before we leave.”

“Sure,” Clare said. “You look great. Life in Greenwich must be agreeable.”

“A bit quiet, but it beats Twin Falls for action. I still don’t understand why Laura and Dave came back here. Do you like living in New York, Clare?”

“It’s great. Always something to do or see.”

“Did you know Gil Harper was there, too?” Without waiting for a reply, Anne-Marie ducked her head closer to Clare’s. “He’s even more to die for than he was as a teenager, isn’t he?” Then, realizing what she’d just said, added, “Sorry I wasn’t intending any bad pun there, believe me Clare.”

Obviously the past was never going to leave her alone, Clare was thinking, as she smiled mutely at Laura and her sister, who wasn’t taking the hint. “I know that sounds indiscreet, but the whole business has been resurrected anyway by the article in today’s paper.”

“What article?” Laura asked.

Jeff Withers’s flushed and eager face rose before Clare. I knew that was going to come back to haunt me. “The one I mentioned at dinner last night,” Clare said. “My interview with Jeff Withers.”

Laura blinked. “What did he write? Do you have the paper here?”

“No,” Anne-Marie said, “we left it in the motel. Don’t you get it delivered?”

“Not anymore, but get to the point—what did he write?”

Anne-Marie’s eyes flicked from Laura to Clare. “He was supposed to be interviewing you about your book, right?”

Clare nodded.

“But most of the article is a rehash about the Rina Thomas murder. He basically came right out and said that the whole story is right in your novel. Is that true?”

“Of course not! I’ve drawn on some of my experiences growing up here. Writers do that, you know. And there is a death in my novel, but an accidental one. The circumstances are very different,” she added.

Anne-Marie shrugged. “The article suggests there’s a parallel between your novel and what really happened. Withers plays up the notion that the death in your book may have been murder, too.”

“This is so frustrating,” Clare said. “What kind of journalist is he?”

“Clare, you need to read the article. He even mentioned your own connection to the Rina Thomas case. He implied you had inside information about the actual murder and used some of it in your book.”

Fighting to keep her voice even, Clare said, “That’s ridiculous!”

“I think it’s time to cut the cake and bring out the lunch stuff,” Laura cheerily interjected.

“I need to use the washroom,” Clare mumbled and charged blindly through the crowded living room and up the stairs.

Someone was already in the bathroom and Clare sagged against the wall outside, gulping in oxygen. The door opened and Gil Harper was suddenly standing next to her, his hand on her arm.

“Clare? What’s wrong? You look upset.”

She closed her eyes. Of all the luck.

“Please don’t say nothing is wrong,” he went on. “I’ve a lot of weaknesses, but stupidity isn’t one of them.”

That drew a faint smile. “No, stupidity was never one.” She hesitated, then admitted, “Just something Laura’s sister said. About that damn newspaper interview.”

His brow furled for an instant, then cleared. “Ah, yes. You were talking about it last night. What did the guy do? Trash your book?”

“If only. I could have handled that. No, he…uh, he tried to link my plot to Rina Thomas’s murder.” Her eyes shifted briefly to the framed print on the opposite wall. He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t respond. But to his credit, he didn’t evade the issue now that it was out in the open.

“But aren’t the story lines somewhat similar?”

It was a fair question from Gil, someone briefly connected to the murder, and he deserved frankness. “When I wrote the novel,” she began, “my intention was to tell a story about growing up in a small town. I lived in the South for a few years after graduation and grew to love the people and their generous hospitality. That’s the reason I set the novel in the South.”