“Not Marcus?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Pierce said patiently, “Because Marcus wasn’t interested. Marcus built and ran his own company until it went under nine years ago.”
“What company?”
“Whitewater Yachts. Marcus lost everything when the company went bankrupt.” Pierce’s tone changed. “Griff, never mind that for now. I have to talk to you.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve been instrumental in initiating DNA testing on Brian.”
That shocked him. “Without the permission of the family?”
“I convinced Detective Patrick that Brian’s paternity could be crucial to the investigation into his homicide.” Pierce hesitated. “That’s not the difficult part of what I need to tell you.”
“The difficult part?”
“Yes.”
Griff’s heart dropped. He yanked the wheel and skidded to the side of the road, parking on the shoulder. He found his voice at last. “You better not be about to tell me what I think you’re going to tell me.”
“I apologize,” Pierce said equally quietly. “I did it before we were involved. I told myself I was acting to protect my clients, but the fact is, I was acting to protect myself.”
Funny how he had believed he loved Levi and yet nothing Levi had done, including walking out on him, hurt even a fraction as much as hearing this from Pierce.
“I don’t understand you,” Griff said. “Is that why you invited me back to your house that first night? To get a sample of my DNA?”
“Of course not. I invited you back because I wanted to be with you. But the idea did occur to me and I did act on it.”
Griff remembered Pierce’s perfunctory attentions that night and laughed. At least the sound was intended as a laugh.
“Griff.” Pierce sounded like he was in pain.
“I can’t believe it. I came here to research a book. That was all. That was all I ever intended. What the fuck did you think you would discover?”
“Have you ever looked at your birth certificate? I mean really examined it.”
“Of course.” Not. Because who ever really examined those documents? You took them for granted. And the people in the town you grew up in took them for granted too. Because you’d been living there for twenty years and everyone knew you and knew your mother...
“I never had any intention of hurting you. I swear to God. It’s just...the more I learned about you, the more curious I became. Your birthday. Your middle name. The night terrors and anxiety attacks. The fact that you were home schooled until college, that your mother was afraid to take you to a doctor.”
“We’re done,” Griff said. “Don’t call me again.” He clicked off. Then he stared at the black screen, breathing as hard as if he’d had to fight tooth and nail to sever that connection. It was one thing to suspect a thing yourself. It was something else entirely to have someone grab you by the collar and force you to look into the mirror.
His phone rang. Pierce’s number flashed up.
He pressed Talk but before he could say anything, Pierce said, “I don’t know the results of the test. I’m calling you before I know anything for sure. Before I have any proof. I don’t care about the results. I’m calling you because I realize that I’ve violated your trust, and I don’t want to jeopardize what’s happening between us.”
“You should have thought of that before, Pierce.”
“Griff, I’m trying to help you. Whatever my original motive, I care for you. I care for you.”
Griff barely heard the words. “You had no right.”
“Maybe not. But I thought I was doing the right thing. The more the coincidences added up, the more I believed I was maybe even doing you a favor.”
“I don’t need...” Griff stopped. The fact was he didn’t know what he needed. Everything he’d thought he knew for a fact was sliding out from under his feet. He changed it to, “I don’t need this right now.” He disconnected.
Once again Pierce called back, but this time Griff let it go to message. He put the Karmann Ghia in gear and continued to Winden House.
Police stopped him at the gates, but he showed his ID and told them he was staying on the estate and needed to get his belongings from the guest house. He was waved through and he continued to the house. He parked in the star-shaped court and got out.
He walked through the twin griffins guarding the front entrance, stopped by the fountain, and walked back. He stared at the griffins for a moment, then continued up the steps. He walked around the side of the house and went in through the mud porch.
No one was in the kitchen. It smelled cold and stale as though it was a long time since anything nourishing or wholesome had been cooked there.
He left the kitchen and headed for the elegant entryway with the diamond parquet floor and low ceiling he had studied for so long in photographs.
The whole house felt empty, abandoned.
“Hello?” he called.
There was no answer. He didn’t expect one really.
Slowly, feeling almost as though he were sleep-walking, he climbed the curving marble staircase and walked down the hall to the nursery.
He hesitated outside the nursery door, and then he turned the sea glass knob and went inside.
Above his head the armada of tiny galleons flashed and glinted as they sailed through the dazzling spring sunlight, weathering the dust motes that drifted down around them. He stared at the treasure chest toy box at the foot of the child-sized bed, stared at the rocker before the fireplace, the sailboat leaning against the window seat. If it was all true, then he should be feeling something, shouldn’t he? He should remember something more than a broken clock and a ragged teddy bear.
He sat down on Brian’s bed and stared up at the sea mural. A rainbow of fish and smiling dolphins dived and danced on the turquoise waves, frozen forever in play. The sea monster, smiling urbanely and showing all his sharp, white teeth, seemed to wink at him.
I know a secret.
Griff pulled out his phone. Pierce’s message waited unopened. He ignored it, moving to photos and examining the copies he had made of pictures in the Arlington albums. One by one, he slid them past, stopping only when he came to the image of Matthew lying in a hammock, reading.
Griff flicked the screen, zooming on the photo until he could make out Matthew’s hand, and then larger again until he could view the book he held. An unmistakable indigo cover.
The Great Gatsby. There was no error. The cover was one of the most famous and reproduced in the world. He stared at the tiny reproduction of Cugat’s gouache painting. The world-weary eyes, the single luminous green tear, the dazzling carnival of lights twinkling in the night.
He felt as though he was looking at his entire life through a fun house mirror. Everything he had ever known, trusted, relied on was...wrong. A lie.
He closed the photo. Pierce’s message was still waiting. He scowled at it and pressed play.
Pierce sounded urgent, as though they were still speaking in real time. “And the other thing is, if I’m right, if we’re both right about what that test is going to show, you need to stay away from Winden House. Don’t go back there today. You said it yourself. Alvin wasn’t killed by Brian’s kidnapper. He was killed because someone can’t afford for Brian to come home. Do not go back there.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Molly the cook was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. She looked up and smiled at Griff.
“Mrs. Truscott?” he asked.
Molly made a sympathetic face. “The poor thing. She’s got a terrible migraine. She’s in her rooms.”
“Can I—?”
“Oh. I don’t know.” Molly was still hesitating over that as Griff turned and went down the hall that led to the mostly deserted servants’ quarters.
The door to Mrs. Truscott’s room was ajar. A terrible, terrible memory flashed through Griff’s mind. He made himself push the door open and to his relief saw her sitting at a small desk writing what looked to be a letter.