Piece of My Heart (Under Suspicion #7) - Mary Higgins Clark Page 0,83
sweet, beautiful daughter. They were supposed to have spent their entire lives together.
She still woke up in the middle of the night, anxious from the guilt about leaving him. She told herself again and again that he’d given her no choice. She had to leave, not only for her safety, but for Bella’s. At the same time, though, she had come to accept that loneliness would be her punishment for the divorce. If she didn’t spend the rest of her days with Daniel, she would have to spend them without romantic love.
But then she met Ben. It was serious now. He knew Bella and adored her. Of course he adored her. Who didn’t? And last weekend, in San Francisco, she finally told him the truth about her past. The irony? Ben’s last name was Robinson, just like hers used to be when she was Roseanne Robinson, or Ro-Ro as her friends all called her. Oh, how she still missed that nickname, but she’d left it in the past, along with Daniel.
* * *
She found Bella slapping butter onto a hot Pop-Tart on the kitchen counter.
“Can you at least use a plate or a paper towel or something?”
She tapped her face with an index finger, and Bella planted a good morning kiss on her cheek.
As her daughter perched on her tiptoes to reach for a plate, she said, “Mom, shouldn’t you care more about me eating junk food and not a few crumbs?”
Bella was nine, going on thirty. In some ways, it felt like yesterday that she was riding around on her Frozen-themed toy Jeep. In others, it was a lifetime ago.
“lf buttered toaster pastries are my daughter’s only vice, I’d say I’m doing pretty fine in the mothering department.”
“Better than fine. The very best. You look nice, by the way. I know that’s your favorite dress. Oh, that’s right! You have the winery meeting today! You’re going to wow them.”
Asked to pitch marketing ideas to a small but growing winery, her hope was to convince the owners to launch a high-end weeklong luxury winefest to draw oenophiles from all over the country.
“Thanks, sweetie. My lucky dress and I can’t wow them if we’re late, though.” She needed to drop Bella off at her science camp before making the drive down to Willamette Valley.
“I’ll grab my backpack, then I’m ready.”
She was wiping a few pre-plate pastry crumbs from the counter when the phone rang. Her heart leapt at the sight of the 302 area code. Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. Her former life. Her nerves settled when she realized she recognized the rest of the number.
“Hello?”
“It’s April. Sorry to call so early.”
April Meyer, the owner of the Sand Bucket and her favorite former client. What began as a marketing job for a new restaurant in a vacation town had led to a close friendship. The Meyers were one of only three pairs of friends who knew how to reach the woman who used to be Roseanne Robinson.
“I work full-time and have a nine-year-old who acts like a CEO. It’s never too early. Nighttime? Now, that’s another issue. I’m comatose by nine-thirty.”
“Someone called me about you,” April said.
This was the message she had been dreading since “Alicia Nelson” moved all the way across the country to the Pacific Northwest. Daniel had found her. He was going to ruin her life again. She braced herself for the news as April continued.
“Her name’s Marcy Buckley. She’s lives in Washington, D.C.”
“I don’t know who that is, but, April, you know how careful I’ve been about protecting my identity here. You’re probably the most honest person on the planet, but can you please tell a little white lie and say you don’t know where I am? For all I know, she’s working for Daniel to find me—”
“She’s not. Her son is missing. But it is related to Daniel. Honey, you might want to sit down.”
Chapter 54
Leo was struck by the overpowering smell of disinfectant as he entered the Bleecker Street Boxing Gym.
A man laced up his boxing shoes from a bench inside the door. Noticing Leo’s wrinkled nose, he said, “Trust me, bud, it’s better than the alternative. You’ll get used to it. Haven’t seen you here before. Are you looking for a sparring partner? My dad still likes to get in the ring, even though he’s turning seventy next month. You might be a good match for him.”
“You want me to fight a septuagenarian? Friend, I’m only forty-seven years old.”
The man immediately began to apologize, stumbling to