Don't Say a Word - Barbara Freethy [21]
"I don't remember seeing it before," Liz said.
Julia took it out of Liz's hand. She opened the top and found another doll inside, then another one, and another. "It's a nesting doll," she said. "It's called a matryoshka doll."
"What? How do you know that?"
"I don't know how I know that." Julia looked from the doll to her sister, feeling like she was about to fall over the edge of a cliff. "But I know what it is. It's a Russian doll. And it's mine."
Chapter 4
"I need to look through Dad's negatives," Alex said to his mother as she ushered him into the living room of her two-story house in Presidio Heights.
"And good morning to you, too," Kate Manning said sharply. She sat down on a spotlessly clean white couch that took up one wall of the large room, and crossed her arms in front of her. Dressed in a light blue silky pants outfit with a pair of impractical spike heels, she looked very sophisticated. Alex couldn't remember ever seeing her in sweats or tennis shoes, and certainly never without her makeup. She had always been very conscious of her appearance.
Alex sat down in the antique chair across from her, sensing this would not be the easy visit he'd hoped for. Time had not mellowed his mother's attitude, and he was reminded of why he rarely chose to visit her. If he wanted to get anywhere with her, he better backtrack and Start over. "Sorry, Mother. How are you?"
"I'm fine, not that you care. It's been months since we've spoken."
"We saw each other last night."
"Before that. Don't get cute with me, Alex. You don't return my calls. You don't answer my e-mail, and you couldn't be bothered to remember my birthday."
"I sent you a card."
"Three weeks late."
"I was in a remote jungle in Africa. The mail Service wasn't good."
"You always have an answer to everything," she said with a wave of her well-manicured hand. "Just like your father."
Alex sighed. How many times had he heard that phrase? Just like your father. Well, he was proud to be just like his father. But that wasn't an issue he intended to discuss with her. "Do you still have Dad's negatives?"
Her mouth drew into a tight frown. "I might. Why would you want them after all these years?"
"I'd like to take a look at something."
"At what? Are you here about that photo taken in Moscow? The one you were asking about last night?"
"Maybe." He saw something flicker in her eyes, and he couldn't help wondering what it was.
"Your father was very upset after that trip," she murmured. "Or maybe it was later-when the photo was published in the magazine. I overheard him yelling at Stan about it. He never told me what the problem was." She paused, a question in her eyes, a question he still couldn't answer. When he didn't speak, she added, "Then it was too late to ask. Your father was gone, and you were so angry with me, you wouldn't look at me-not even at the funeral." Her voice caught, and he saw an expression of pain in her eyes. "When you did speak to me, you told me I'd broken up the family. But that wasn't completely true, Alex. I didn't do it alone."
"I don't want to get into our family history," he said quickly.
"Then you shouldn't be digging up the past. Your father had a lot of secrets. That last year of his life- he was different. I didn't know what caused the change. Maybe it was his job. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was another woman," she said with a bitter edge to her voice.
"You don't have any proof there was ever another woman." He couldn't refrain from defending his father. He'd heard her make the comment a number of times, and it irritated the hell out of him.
"I may not have proof, but I know something was off. Charles used to get calls from a woman late at night. I heard her voice more than once. He said she was a business associate, but he was a freelancer, and there were no female editors working at any of the magazines."
"You can't be sure of that."
"Oh, I am. I checked." She paused, her mouth tightening in a hard line. "I'm not sure I ever told you this,