She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back into the sofa. He hoped it bruised her kidneys. “I can’t wait to hear about the second issue.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, my hope is that they find her soon and I can choose how and when to tell my story, giving me some control over how it plays out in the media. But that isn’t so clear cut, I’m afraid.”
“Exactly what are you implying?”
At that moment, Richard was positive she’d had work done. Tamara was trying her best to scowl, but her forehead looked as icy-smooth as a hockey rink after a Zamboni run. He wondered when she might get around to having her lip wrinkles removed. They really did age her.
He needed to refocus, because he wanted out of there. “I’m not implying anything. What I am, in fact, saying is that if the days drag on and the FBI can’t locate her, then—”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“The first days are crucial. If I came forward as her father, it might help bring attention to the case, darling. If I went public, the abduction of a congressman’s child would become the lead news story and stay that way until she was found.”
Tamara pressed a thumb and forefinger into the bridge of her nose. “Absolutely not. Not before we’re divorced.”
“This is the safety of a little child we’re talking about.”
Tamara’s head snapped up. “And my dignity! And my family’s name!”
He held out his hands. “Tamara, it might get to the point where I really have no choice.”
“You always have a choice, darling.” She got up and returned to her desk chair. “I would tell you to pack up your things and get out but you don’t have much here these days, do you?”
“I never intended to hurt you. Believe me.”
She folded her hands on the desk, her lips peeled back in a sneer. “I’m not hurt, darling. Not in the least.”
“What are you, then?”
“I am thoroughly disgusted with myself for ever marrying you.”
Chapter Four
Clancy hung out on his mother’s porch while Tripod and Earl rolled around in the yard like they were still puppies. Unfortunately, he arrived while the meeting of the Bayberry Island Mermaid Society was still in full swing. He didn’t want to interrupt. Scratch that. He didn’t want anything to do with their mermaid crap.
On the other side of that bright blue painted door, the living room couches and chairs were packed with middle-aged women dressed in long wigs, sparkly spandex mermaid tails, and shell-shaped boob-catchers. That’s what his brother had called them when they were kids, at any rate. Clancy closed his eyes and tried like hell not to think about the whole subject.
Detective skills weren’t necessary to guess what was being talked about in there. Not only could he hear nearly every word being exchanged—these ladies were, and would forever be, loud—but they’d been having the same festival week discussion since he was born. There was certain to be bitching and moaning about last-minute changes to festival scheduling and who needed to be where, when, and doing what. They would certainly pledge not to make “the same mistake” next year, whatever this year’s mistake happened to be. And there were surely complaints about parade logistics, disagreement among the members of the clambake decoration committee, and any number of off-color comments about God-knows-what. Rising above it all was his mother’s unmistakable voice, calm and no-nonsense, cutting through the menopausal melee.
Though Mona Flynn had retired after thirty-five years as principal of the island’s only school, she hadn’t managed to shake her principal tone of voice. Clancy suspected it was permanent.