Secrets of Paternity(7)

He wondered why Kevin didn't want his mother to know they'd met, but he  was grateful she'd considered Paul's promise sacred. Realistically,  however, how long did Kevin think he could keep it from his mother?

Kevin came into sight, hands shoved in his pockets, sunglasses in place,  a Dodgers cap on his head. Where had he parked? There were empty spots  in front of the house, but he was on foot. The bigger question,  though-should James open the door before Kevin reached it or wait for  him to knock? He hated that he didn't know how to behave with Kevin.  Would Kevin want to know how anxious James was to see him-or would he  think James's expectations were too high?

He decided to let the boy ring the bell, then opened the door almost  instantly. "How's it going?" James asked, heading toward the kitchen,  letting Kevin follow.

"Okay."

"I figured you might be hungry." He pointed toward the snacks. "What do you drink?"

"Orange juice."

Hiding a smile, James opened the refrigerator and grabbed the juice,  shutting the door on six different brands of soda he'd bought, hoping  that one was Kevin's favorite. He poured a tall glass, was pleased that  Kevin was already eating the chips and salsa, which seemed an odd  combination with orange juice.

"You going to college full-time?" James asked.

"Eighteen units."

"What's your major?"

"Criminal justice." His gaze strayed to the folder James had left on the counter. "You find out anything?"

Criminal justice. Same as Paul and me. James didn't sit in the chair  next to Kevin, but left an empty seat between them. "I found out a lot,  but I doubt it's anything you don't already know."

The doorbell rang. James excused himself. "I'm expecting a package," he said. "I'll be right back."

It was a package, all right, but not the one he expected. This one was  about five feet seven, reed slender and dressed in her waitress garb of  white blouse and black skirt. "Mysterious," he said as coolly as he  could. She'd irritated him the other night with her flirtation game, or  whatever it was, but he couldn't seem to convince his tap-dancing  hormones that he should stay detached.

"Hi. I happened to be in the neighborhood." She smiled nervously.

"I've got company. Could you come back in a while?"

Impatience flickered in her eyes. "How much time do you need to give me  an answer? Yes, I owe you more money, and how much-or, no, I don't."

He could give her an answer. He didn't want to. Not yet. Obviously there  was something between them. He needed to know why she was resisting  exploring their attraction. "I-"

"You followed me?"

Kevin stormed up beside James, but the shouted words were directed to the Harley wrecker.

"Kevin!" Her eyes went from Kevin to James and back again. "I didn't. I didn't know you were-"                       
       
           



       

"I told you, Mom! I told you. I have to find my father's killer."

Mom? Well, everything made sense to James now. Or maybe not everything,  but a lot. One thing was crystal clear, however. Kevin's accusation of  his mother following him was way off base. James could see her genuine  shock that Kevin was there.

"I'm eighteen," Kevin said. "You can't tell me what to do anymore."

"I did not follow you." Her voice was steady, her posture stiff, her color high, almost matching her red lipstick.

He turned on James, glaring. "So you were part of this? You called her, too? Thanks for nothing."

James grabbed his arm as he started to leave. "Not so fast. I don't know  for sure what's going on, but I can guess. Both of you come in and  we'll talk this out."

Kevin tried to jerk his arm free. "Let go of me."

"Son-"

"I'm not your son."

It was only a slip of the tongue, brought about perhaps by a little  wishful thinking. "I apologize, Kevin. But listen for a second. Your  mother and I met the other day, but I had no idea who she was. She's  here because she backed into my bike, and she's paying for the damages,  not because we were conspiring together over you." He fired a look at  Caryn. "Or maybe she'll contact her insurance company instead, now."

Caryn couldn't have cared less about the bike repairs. Seeing the hurt  and anger in Kevin's eyes brought back the other times in the past year  when she'd had to stop him from going off on his own to investigate  Paul's death. She'd thought he'd finally accepted the police findings  that his father died in an accident, not by sabotage, not with intent to  kill him.

Obviously Kevin hadn't. She needed to stop him, needed for him to believe the police before something happened to him, too.

"I'm outta here," he said, rushing off, leaving a red haze of anger in the air behind him.

"Kevin-"

"I'm going home. That's all."

"Come in," James said to Caryn, unsmiling, his voice steady.

His house was like something out of Architectural Digest. Large and airy  rooms decorated in a classic style, with hardwood floors, large area  rugs, and comfortable but stylish furnishings. Rich fabrics invited  touch; gleaming wood drew the eye. The interior suited the architecture  of the house, if not the man, at least what little she knew of him.

She sat on a suede-covered sofa. He took a seat in a chair nearby and leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs.

"So," he said.

She waited for the punch line.

"A few things you forgot to mention, Mysterious?"

"If I hadn't hit your fender, you wouldn't have known I existed," she said. Hardly a winning argument.

"But you did hit my fender. Why didn't you just tell me who you were?"

Fight fire with fire, she decided. She needed to work through her shock  and anger first that Kevin had been there. "Why did you give Paul a  wrong address?"

He frowned. "Excuse me?"

"In the letter you sent to Paul with your new address, you gave him the number of a house across the street. Why?"

"I rented there while my house was being renovated. I moved in here a  couple of months ago. I … forgot to send another note. I would've  remembered soon, though, I promise you that. And my phone number was the  same as I wrote. Now, again, why didn't you just tell me who you were?"

"I wanted to, but the decision to have contact with you was Kevin's to  make. I went home and reported to him everything I knew, because it was  the right thing to do. He told me he didn't want to meet you."

He sat back. Was that disappointment in his eyes? "But he did come to meet me."

"He didn't tell me he had. Probably because he knew I wouldn't have  approved-not for the reason I figure he decided to see you, anyway."

"To get my help in finding Paul's killer."

She nodded. She wasn't sure how much to tell him about her own suspicions.

"Do you think he was murdered, Caryn?"

"It has been ruled an accident."

"That wasn't my question."

She gave him as much truth as she thought necessary. "Paul was a gambler."

"And that ties in to his death how?"

"I don't know." It was speculation on her part, which she didn't want to  share with him. He would probably come up with the same answers as the  police about Paul's death. If so, it should end Kevin's interest  forever, and he would be safe.                       
       
           



       

"I think you do know." James leaned forward again. His eyes searched hers. "Was Paul in debt?"

"Yes. But that debt is paid now."

"How?"

"I paid it."

He studied her in silence. She didn't break eye contact.

"Did you have anything left?" he asked.

"Enough."

"Enough for what?"

She pushed herself off the couch then didn't know what to do, so she  walked to the fireplace and took a closer look at the painting hanging  there, a scene out of Greece, she thought, with red-tile roofs, white  buildings and cypress trees. She wished she were there. "Enough to get  Kevin through college. Enough to buy a duplex here."

"But nothing for your future."

"Both of those items qualify as future to me."

"I mean something toward your own retirement." He stood then, too, and came up beside her.

She tried to look nonchalant, but his proximity tempted her in ways she  shouldn't be tempted. Not with him, of all people. "I've got a long ways  until retirement."

"You work as a waitress?"

"Yeah, so? It's a decent profession. I waited tables a lot when I was young."

"I was not insulting you, Caryn. I'm curious about your life, especially life with Paul."

"We boarded horses. It was something we both-all three of us-did. It was a lot of work."