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59
MANVERS HOUSE
WEDNESDAY NIGHT
Rebekah, Beck, and Rich Manvers sat at the dining room table, a fresh bouquet of red roses in the middle and the warm glow of the art deco chandelier overhead.
“Well, you’ve certainly become famous, Rebekah, or maybe I should say infamous,” Beck said as he chewed on the excellent prime rib provided by the Manvers’s cook, Mrs. Bybee. “My new girlfriend won’t shut up about your adventure last Thursday. She wants all the gory details, straight from the horse’s mouth, well, the mare’s mouth. I told her maybe my dad wanted you out of the way and picked a dramatic way to do it.” He grinned at Rebekah and his father, forked down another healthy bite of prime rib. “Or maybe you and Dad put it all on together to garner sympathy votes for his next election.”
“Not funny, Beck,” Rich said.
Rebekah, her mind miles away, looked at Beck, cocked her head, and said, “Would you like some salad? It’s Mrs. Bybee’s special Caesar.”
Beck arched a dark brow at her, exactly like his father, and laughed. “Sorry, just trying to lighten things up, get us in the Thanksgiving spirit, but you’re off on another planet. You want to talk about my new girlfriend? Her name’s Paula Land, and she’s younger than you are, Rebekah, all of twenty-two, fresh out of Princeton. Don’t worry, Dad, she wouldn’t be a millstone around your neck if I married her; her family has more money than God. Oil wells and refineries.”
Rebekah wouldn’t have cared if Paula were ninety-six. “That’s nice, Beck.”
Beck gave up trying to get a rise out of Rebekah, turned to his father. “Seriously, Dad, about last Thursday. The FBI and Metro cops still have their thumbs in their mouths? Still no leads?”
Rich said, “Nothing definite, no. The two men who attacked Rebekah didn’t leave a trail, at least not one easily discovered.”
Beck patted his mouth with his napkin and sat back in his chair. “At least that FBI agent, Savich, stopped them, so he was good for something. And that other agent, Hammersmith, who’s been guarding her, Kit called him a rare hunk, a girl’s fantasy. So what do you think of him, Dad? Think you could be in trouble?”
Rich took a bite of his Caesar salad and shook his head at his son. “Don’t you ever get tired of trying to stir the pot? Fact is, I’m very relieved Agent Hammersmith is here to keep her safe. And don’t you have to get to your date, Beck? To Paula? You don’t want to be late.”
Beck grinned at him again. “I promised her I’d find out as much as I could, but I see you’re not going to tell me much of anything, so I’ll have to make something up.”
Rich sighed and took a sip of his cabernet.
“Rebekah, do you want to give me some juicy details? For Paula?”
Rebekah brought her attention to her stepson’s face. “Not in this lifetime, Beck, sorry.”
“You guys aren’t any fun,” Beck said, took a last bite of prime rib, tossed his napkin on the table, and stood. He looked at his father as he walked around the table to where Rebekah sat. He leaned down and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth. “Bye, Stepmom. Dad.” He left the dining room, whistling.
Rebekah called out after him, “You need to work on your technique, Beck, if you’re hoping for a second date.”
They heard a laugh, then the front door closed.
“Good parting shot, sweetheart. Sorry about Beck. He’s been a pain in the ass ever since he lost his mother. The shrinks couldn’t cure him of it. Did I tell you he let on that he’s condo hunting? Keep your fingers crossed.” He toyed with his mashed potatoes. “Sorry I wasn’t home for you when you got back from seeing your grandmother. I wanted to call you, find out what happened, but I didn’t have a chance. I trust Agent Hammersmith stayed with you?”
“He left not ten minutes before you arrived. Turns out he had a date, too, so I insisted. I think it might have been Kit, but I didn’t ask. And yes, Beck was here, and I locked the front door.”
“We’re finally alone. Tell me what happened.”
“I know you were busy. I tried to call you, too, but your gatekeeper told me you were in an important meeting with the speaker and couldn’t be disturbed unless someone died. Then I couldn’t very well talk about it while Beck was here.” She drew a deep breath. “Here it is. Rich, my grandfather wasn’t my grandfather, he was my father. That means Gemma isn’t my grandmother, and hallelujah to that.”
He stared at her over the rim of his wineglass. “What? Who told you that? And you believe it? I don’t understand, Rebekah. You found all this out today?”
“Believe it or not, Gemma told me. And she was happy to tell me.”
He set down his wineglass. “She told you in front of the two FBI agents?”
Rebekah gave him a blazing smile. “I think she told me because I stopped being a wimp. I didn’t fold my tent when she ordered all of us to leave her office. I faced her down, Rich, and that’s when she said it. She took pleasure in telling me. Probably believed I’d fall apart. Imagine, Caitlin isn’t my mother; she’s my half sister. Of course, Gemma knew all along. Only the three of them knew and never said a word to anyone.” She paused a moment, then sighed. “I only wish Grandfather had been the one to tell me.” Saying the words aloud sent a torrent of jangled memories through her. It was as if she’d been living someone else’s life in those memories, and now she had her own life, but she wasn’t sure what that life was. She felt like a phantom, hovering over herself, a different self now she hardly knew.
Rich’s voice snapped her back. “You’re all right with this? Really?”
“Oh yes. Well, there is a lot to think about. Rich, he was my father, not my grandfather, and he never told me.”
