The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [81]
And something else tugged at Dina’s memory.
“Dogs barking . . .”
“We have always had a large kennel of hounds.”
“. . . and white birds in a cage.”
“My mother raised doves. Her birds lived long after she did.”
Emotions threatening to overcome her, Betsy turned the wheels in the direction of the sitting room. “Please, come in and sit.”
Dina and Jude followed Betsy into the small room off the hall and sat side by side on a floral love seat.
“Dina, I have to say that I’m amazed that you remember so very much. You were only here a few times.”
“I’m surprised myself. I’ve never consciously thought about being here.”
“Has Jude told you how like your mother you are?” Betsy shook her head as if not quite believing the resemblance. She reached out to touch Dina’s face, and as she leaned slightly forward, Dina said, “You came to see us, when I was little.”
“Several times.” Betsy nodded.
“I thought you were my fairy godmother.”
“Ahhh, that’s right,” Betsy chuckled. “That’s what you called me, then.”
“Why did you stop coming?”
“Because we—Jude and I, that is—felt that as you got older, things would become much too confusing for you. How to explain to you who I was?” Betsy appeared to choose her words carefully. “We just didn’t feel we could tell you the truth.”
“Oh, I’ve already told her that you wanted to tell her everything years ago”—Jude turned to Betsy—“but I appreciate the attempt to cover for me. She already knows that keeping you from her was entirely my idea.”
“Does she know that it was Graham’s wish that in the event of his death or Blythe’s, she not know who her parents were?”
“Yes.” Dina nodded. “He shouldn’t have made you promise. It was wrong to keep this from me.”
“I agree, yes, but who’s to say there wasn’t some justification? After my sister died—the way she died— well, who knows what might have happened to you?” Betsy wheeled closer to the window, seeking the small patch of sun like a cat. “Your father became positively paranoid about you, saw danger behind every rock when it came to you. He trusted no one.”
“If the danger’s real, I suppose it’s not really paranoia, is it?” Jude noted. “We’re learning that the hard way, aren’t we, Dina?”
“What are you talking about?” Betsy turned her chair to directly face Jude.
Dina told Betsy about the mystery van that attempted to run her over.
“My God, just like Blythe . . .” Betsy’s face turned white, and her hands trembled.
“Yes. Just like Blythe. Dina, thank God, was quicker than she.” A touch of bitterness rose in Jude’s voice. “I believe we have you to thank for that, Betsy.”
“What are you implying?”
“That you led Simon Keller to my door. All those years, I managed to keep her safe. And then Simon Keller showed up.”
“Are you saying that you think Keller tried to run her over?”
“No. I’m saying that whoever was driving that van had followed him.” Jude paused. “Yesterday morning, Simon came to my house. I was on a phone call, upstairs, and did not answer the door. Simon was parked in the lot at the park across the street. I watched him drive away. There was a van parked toward the back of the lot. It was late-model, dark green, just like the one that Dina described.”
Jude’s face flushed with anger. “Why did you tell Simon Keller where to find us?”
“Because it was time, Jude. I couldn’t wait any longer for you to tell Dina on your own. I’m not going to live forever, and neither are you. She deserves to know who she is. She deserves to know who Blythe was. You weren’t coming to me, weren’t returning my phone calls, so I felt I had to take matters into my own hands. And I was weary of wondering about what really happened to my sister. Obviously, I never intended for a threat to be made on Dina, but it was time.”
“But a journalist? You picked a journalist to tell? Do you know how lucky we are that this hasn’t