The Neighbor - Lisa Gardner [93]
“When was Ree born?” D.D. pressed.
“On the date listed on her birth certificate,” he said crisply. “Which I’m sure you’ve already read.”
She smiled at him again. “June twentieth, two thousand and four, I believe.”
He said nothing.
“And the day you first met Sandy?”
“Spring two thousand and three.” He made sure he looked her in the eye and absolutely, positively didn’t look down.
D.D. arched that skeptical brow again. “Sandy would’ve been only seventeen.”
“Never said the old man didn’t have reason to hate me.”
“So why does Maxwell believe you’re not Ree’s father?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“Humor me. Obviously you know him better than I do.”
“Can’t say that I know him at all. Sandy and I didn’t exactly have a meet-the-parents courtship.”
“You never met Sandy’s father before today?”
“Only in passing.”
She studied him. “What about your family?”
“Don’t have any.”
“You’re the product of immaculate conception?”
“Miracles happen every day.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “All right, Sandy’s father, then. Grandpa Black. You took his daughter from him,” she stated. “Moved to a godforsaken Yankee state and then never notified him when his granddaughter was born.”
Jason shrugged.
“I think Judge Black has good reason to be angry with both you and Sandy. Maybe that’s why he returned now. His daughter’s gone, and his son-in-law is the prime suspect. One family’s tragedy is another man’s opportunity.”
“I will not grant him access to Ree.”
“Got a restraining order?”
“I will not grant him access to Ree.”
“What if he demands a paternity test?”
“Can’t. You read the birth certificate.”
“You’re listed as the father, ergo he has no probable cause. The Howard K. Stern defense.”
Another shrug.
D.D. smiled at him. “As I recall, the other guy won that argument.”
“Ask me who put the jams in the windows.”
“What?”
“Ask me who put the jams in the windows. You keep circling around to it. You keep digging at it like it tells you something about me.”
“All right. Who put the jams in your windows?”
“Sandy did. Day after we moved in. She was nine months pregnant, we had an entire house to set up, and first thing she did was secure all the windows.”
D.D. thought about it. “All these years later, she’s still locking Daddy out?”
“You said it, not me.”
D.D. finally rose from the chair. “Well, it didn’t work, because Daddy’s back and he has more clout than you think.”
“How so?”
“Turns out he went to law school with one of our district court judges.” She flashed her paper. “Who do you think signed our warrant?”
Jason managed not to say a word, but it probably didn’t matter, as the color draining from his face gave him away.
“Still don’t know where your wife is?” D.D. asked from the doorway.
He shook his head.
“Too bad. Really would be best for everyone if we found her. Particularly considering her condition and all.”
“Her condition?”
D.D. arched a brow yet again. This time, there was no mistaking the flash of triumph in her eyes. “It’s another thing they teach you in detective school. How to seize a person’s trash and how to read a pregnancy test strip.”
“What? You mean …”
“That’s right, Jason. Sandy’s pregnant.”
| CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO |
Fucking strangers isn’t an easy proposition for a woman. Men have it easier. They pull out, wipe off, move along. For women, the entire process is different. By nature, we are receptacles, meant to take a man inside of us, to receive him, to accept him, to keep him. It’s harder to wipe off. It’s more difficult to move along.
I think this often on my spa nights, generally when I’m checking out of the hotel, making my way home, trying to transition from wanton floozy to respectable mom.
Have I given too much of myself away? Is that why I feel so transparent, as if a gust of wind will blow me away?