Page 3 of You'll Find Out
The blond girl rubbed her eyes with her small fists and then held out her arms expressively to her grandmother. June bent down and groaned slightly as she lifted the child into her arms. Mara wondered fleetingly to herself if her mother-in-law should overextend herself—Dr. Bernard had mentioned something about pills. But Mara’s thoughts were interrupted as June smiled at Angie and continued talking to the girl as she carried the small, sleepy child out of the room. “Why don’t you and I go outside for a while,” she suggested, reaching for Angie’s coat. “Mommy and Aunt Dee Dee have some . . . er, business to discuss.”
Dena visibly cringed at the cutesy-pie name that Angie had bestowed upon her. After grandmother and child were safely out of earshot, on the opposite side of the French doors, Dena whirled back on Mara.
“I mean it, Mara!” Dena hissed. “I want to know all about that man!”
“Dena!” Mara’s thin patience snapped and the tone of her voice chilled. “For the last time,whatman?”
The redhead paused and let her clear green eyes reappraise Mara. Her full lips pursed and the finely plucked brows drew together thoughtfully. As if finally understanding that Mara knew nothing of the stranger, she began to explain in a decidedly calmer voice. “There was a man here today—a tall fellow. Good-looking, but unconventional, if you know what I mean. He asked to see you, practically insisted!” Green eyes watched Mara closely, as if gauging her reaction. “Mother refused to let him in because she didn’t know him, and he declined to introduce himself—said his business was with only you! You were with Angie at the time. I thought that perhaps he might have been your attorney,” she suggested.
“You know that I use the family attorney! Are you sure that he wasn’t a business associate of Peter’s? I certainly don’t know anyone—”
Dena cut in. “Well, he acted as if he knewyou!He became demanding, insisting to see you. When mother refused he stormed off in a huff. Now, are you sure you don’t know him?” Dena inquired, arching her eyebrows suspiciously as she studied Mara’s pensive face.
“I really couldn’t hazard a guess,” Mara said evenly, but a puzzled expression crowded her features. “Must have been a friend of Peter’s,” she mused, half to herself.
“I doubt that,” Dena disputed and walked lazily over to a table laden with uneaten appetizers. She regarded Mara with feigned innocence as she popped a shrimp canapé into her mouth. “This man, he wouldn’t fit in with Pete’s usual crowd, if you know what I mean.”
“That’s just the point,” Mara sighed. “I don’t know what you mean. As a matter of fact, I really haven’t understood anything that you’ve been saying,orimplying,” she admitted, and touched her suddenly throbbing temple. Any discussion with Dena seemed to always end in a headache.
“Well,” Dena said, fingering several different hors d’oeuvres and stalling for theatrical effect. “This man, he was different.” She thought for a moment and a smile curved her full lips. “A little rough around the edges . . .”
“Coarse?”
“Hmmm . . . no,” Dena shook her deep-red curls, absorbed in thought. “Just, how can I explain it? Tougher, I suppose. He looked as if he knew what he wanted in life and wouldn’t let anything or anyone get in his way!”
“Nice guy,” Mara murmured sarcastically.
“I wouldn’t know,” Dena rejoined, and shrugged her slim shoulders, “but he was definitely more interesting than the usual crowd that Peter hung out with.” She let a polished fingernail linger on her lips as if savoring a very pleasant thought.
Mara was tired of the game playing, and Dena’s interest in the stranger didn’t concern her. “It doesn’t matter, Dena. I’ve no idea who that man was or is. If he wants to see me so badly, then he’ll certainly be back. If not—who cares? Honestly, I don’t see why he should upset you so much.”
“He’s not the reason I’m upset, and you know it!” Dena shot back at Mara, her pensive smile dropping from her face.
“The will?” Mara surmised, and Dena’s spine seemed to stiffen slightly.
“I mean it, Mara,” Dena threatened. “Peter may have inherited the bulk of the company shares from Daddy, but I still have some say in what goes on!”
“And I’ll bet that you’ll say plenty,” Mara returned ruefully.
“You can count on it! Imagination Toys is as much a part of my life as it was Peter’s. And if you think I’m going to sit idly by while you turn a profitable toy empire into a . . . a . . .”
“A tax loss?” Mara prompted. “As Peter was doing?”
“Peter was sick!”
“Yes . . . that he was,” Mara agreed in a controlled and unwavering voice. “But not in the beginning, when profits first began to fall off.”
“That’s not the point!”
“Then what exactly is the point, Dena? I’m tired, and I want to spend some time with Angie. So why don’t you get right to the crux of the problem?”
“Angie! Angie! It’s always that kid with you, isn’t it? I really wonder why you married Peter in the first place. Oh, yes, now I recall. You were pregnant, weren’t you? But why in the world did you have to marry Peter, for God’s sake? It’s not as if Angie was his child!”
“That’s enough!” Mara felt her cheeks begin to stain with unwanted color at Dena’s cruel supposition. “Let’s leave Angie, and for that matter, Peter, out of this argument. I’m going to take a few days off—maybe even a week or two. I’m not really sure. But I’m going to spend that time alone with my daughter!” Mara’s voice was stretched as tightly as a piano wire, but she tried to keep her rising temper under control. “It’s been a long, hard day, and we’ve both said some things that we shouldn’t have. When I get back to the office, you and I will talk about the company. We’ll settle our differences then.”
“And who will run the company while you’re off vacationing with the kid?” was the insolent inquiry.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s all been decided. John Hammel is perfectly capable . . .”
