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“Why did you want to see me?” she asked as the waiter disappeared.
“Haven’t you guessed?” Anthony’s dark eyes twinkled devilishly and he chuckled.
Mario came to the rescue. “It’s because we know you’ve come to Portland for your birthright. That you’re claiming to be London Danvers.”
Adria took a sip of the Chianti. “Why would you care?”
“Try the bread,” Anthony ordered, ignoring her question for the moment. “It’s the best in the city. Probably in all of the Northwest.” He reached for a slice himself.
“Does the Danvers family still bother you?”
She was rewarded with one of his smiles. “I always care what happens to the family of my old rival.” He glanced up at her and dusted the crumbs from his fingers. “It was a shock to me when the little girl was abducted and yet I was considered a suspect.” Shaking his head at the folly of it all, he added, “Despite my protests and alibi, Witt and his henchman, Jack Logan, seemed to think I had something to do with the girl’s disappearance. Even Mario, though he was in Hawaii at the time, was regarded as a suspect. The fact that the second son, Zachary, claimed he was roughed up by some Italians immediately put my family at the top of the list of possible kidnappers. Never mind that the two men whom he claimed to have attacked him had airtight alibis and were seen at several restaurants around the city.” He wagged a finger in the air. “Didn’t matter. A Danvers had made the accusation and in this town that makes a difference—a big difference.” He raised his palms to the ceiling. “So, I would like to clear the Polidori name. And, if you are indeed London, I would like to help you.” He bit into his bread and sighed happily, as if he’d forgotten the conversation, but Adria knew differently. When she didn’t respond, he said, “I doubt the Danvers family is eager for you to be their half-sister.”
She hedged. “There’s been a little resistance.”
Mario snorted a laugh at her understatement. “A little? Come on.”
Waving off his son’s sarcasm, Anthony said, “Of course, I know nothing of your financial situation, but it’s no secret that the Danverses are exceedingly wealthy and influential. If they decide to fight you on this—and believe me, they will fight you like wounded wolves, with everything they’ve got—I’m willing to help you.”
“Help me?” she said, not sure she understood correctly.
“Absolutely.”
Mario leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes squinting thoughtfully in her direction. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Our family has some power in this town, too. In fact, we think our lawyers are the best in the city. If you need legal help, or a loan—”
“I don’t think that would be such a good idea.” It was beginning to sound as if they wanted her in their camp and she suddenly felt anxious.
“Do you want to prove you’re London or not?” Anthony asked and his dark eyes gleamed with a frosty inner light that was as cold as death.
“Of course.”
“Then you should take my offer.”
She wanted to turn him down flat. Though he and Mario were both trying their best to be charming, she felt as if he was attempting to orchestrate the conversation and push her into a position where she’d be in debt to him forever. However, she wasn’t foolish enough to reject his offer outright. Not yet. She’d learned that patience was a virtue, though sometimes hard to attain. The fact of the matter was that she was in no position to turn away help of any kind. Though the Polidoris had axes to grind with the Danvers family, she needed allies in her search—any allies she could get. She had only to think of the dead rat to remind herself. “You’re very generous.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“Not quite. You know, most of the family still thinks you were behind London’s kidnapping.”
Polidori’s smiled faded. He studied the red wine in his glass. “I had nothing to do with the kidnapping. I would never hurt a child. Anyone’s child.”
“What about Robert Danvers?” she asked the old man.
Polidori snorted. “Julius’s oldest son had a boating accident, if I recall.”
“Some people think you arranged it.”
“People like to make something of nothing.”
She plunged onward. “Julius had three children. Only one—Witt—survived.”
With a long sigh, Anthony said, “Julius’s second boy, Peter, was killed in the war.” He frowned. “I had nothing to do with that, either, you know. Though I’m sure the Danvers family would like to think I was in league with Mussolini and Hitler, I didn’t hire the Nazis to shoot Peter’s plane down. Nor did I do anything to the boat that Robert was driving on the river the summer he was killed. The way I heard the story was that he’d been drinking heavily and came too close to the shore of the Columbia. His boat crashed against the rocks. In the accident, his neck was broken. He was killed instantly.”
“An accident that left Witt as the only Danvers heir.”
“Precisely. Look, if I was so vile as to have arranged all these deaths, why wouldn’t I kill Witt as well?”
Adria considered, then decided to gamble. “Maybe you wanted him to twist in the wind a little. There are rumors about your rivalry with Witt. It isn’t out of the question to think that you might want to watch one of Julius’s sons face a little pain in his life.” She didn’t mention Anthony’s affair with Witt’s first wife, Eunice, but it hung on the air between them—suspended by invisible threads of innuendo.
