A Forgotten Murder by Jude Deveraux

Author:Jude Deveraux [Deveraux, Jude]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MIRA Books
Published: 2019-12-16T21:17:52+00:00

* * *

Jack didn’t say that he’d noticed the young woman hadn’t locked her car. He opened the trunk and pulled out the cases. The misery on the young woman’s face bothered him. Nadine had a look of “please forgive me” but it was Teddy who appeared to be in pain. He thought it would be better if she weren’t left alone. He hadn’t said anything to Kate and Sara because he didn’t want to be accused of playing “rescuing hero.”

There was a woman cleaning the hallway and Jack lifted the two suitcases in question. She smiled warmly at him and said, “Josephine.”

He’d seen the sign on the door and knew it was at the top of the house. It was the only one of the former servants’ quarters that had been renovated.

When he knocked, there was no answer. He set the cases down and was about to leave when he heard a sob. Then another. There was no way he could walk away from that. As Kate would say, “Leaving a sobbing woman would make you lose your hero badge.”

The door opened easily. It was a small room, the walls painted with murals of a summer’s day. The big, canopied bed took up most of the space. Sprawled across it was Nadine’s daughter, her face buried in a pillow as she hid the tears that were making her body shake.

He sat down on the edge of the bed.

She felt the motion. “Whoever you are, go away!”

“I’m a good listener,” Jack said softly.

She turned just enough to peek at him. “Who are you? You work here?”

“No. I’m a guest.”

“I’m...” She put her face back into the pillow. “I don’t know who I am. My father isn’t really... I mean, my mother jilted my—” She cried harder.

“She seems to love you a lot.” There wasn’t any sympathy in Jack’s voice.

“How could you understand? You’re... You’re an American!”

“True,” he said mildly. “Any problems we have, we shoot it out. But then, we don’t have disagreements with each other or our parents. And nobody jumps into bed with anybody else. You English have the market cornered on passion. No, wait! You are a bunch of coldhearted, unfeeling—”

She turned on her back. “You are reinforcing all we think of Americans.”

“That we care?”

“That you have no sense of boundaries. You tell your life stories as soon as you meet.”

“Better than crying into a pillow in secret,” Jack said. “So what did your mother actually do?”

“I... She...”

Jack pulled half a dozen tissues out of the box on the side table and handed them to her.

She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. “I must look awful.”

“A real troll.”

She sort of smiled.

“My father—my beloved father who I adored...”

“Yes?”

“He...” She sniffed. “He isn’t my father. I’m not related to him.” Her voice was rising. “Granny isn’t mine. None of his family belongs to me.” Tears were beginning to flow again.

Jack couldn’t bear it. She needed all the comfort he could give. He leaned back against the headboard and extended an arm in invitation.

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