The Address, page 30
“No.” Luther looked over at Emily, as if for permission to speak.
“He’s fine,” said his older sister. “He was playing in the library, among Papa’s things. Papa doesn’t like that.”
“Your father grabbed you?”
A flash from the day of the boat parade crossed her mind. When they’d descended from the brougham, Luther had flinched when Theo had held out his hand to help him down. It had only been a moment, a second.
Emily rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. “Lula and Luther are always getting into trouble.”
Although she was tempted to bring up the subject over sherry with Theo, she didn’t. But later, upstairs in her sitting room, Sara mulled over Emily’s statement. The sewing machine sat in one corner. She hadn’t had the energy or time to make anything new since the children’s outfits. The outing in New York Harbor seemed like years ago.
That day, the day of the boat parade, Theo had said something strange. Like the boy’s flinch, she’d not examined it closely.
A mistake.
On the yacht, Theo had said, “What a mistake that would have been” if he’d lost her. An odd choice of words. Whose mistake?
She had been mistakenly sent away. Then Daisy had been found guilty of a similar crime. Daisy, with her romantic aspirations and helpful nature.
What if Daisy had been railroaded, just as Sara had, and was now sitting in prison for a crime she did not commit?
Sara sighed. She was overtired, overthinking things. Theo had lost his temper, as many men do, and taken it out on his child. It was a bruise, nothing else, and he probably regretted it the moment after.
But that night she dreamed of Daisy calling to her. Showing her the bruises on her pale arm.
And crying out for help.
CHAPTER THIRTY
New York City, September 1985
Bailey’s work at Melinda’s apartment was wrapping up. Luckily, most of the major design decisions had already been made, as Melinda was now distracted by plans for her blowout birthday party, to be held at the Palladium’s Michael Todd Room in two days’ time. Renzo had stopped by the apartment with the building architect a few days earlier for an inspection—the first time they’d seen each other since the high tea at Kenneth’s—and they’d been polite at first. But his laughter had gotten louder and crazier with each room he entered. Which had made Bailey laugh. It’d been a relief to make fun of the renovation, instead of feeling guilty for having given a grand old lady the face-lift from hell.
They’d met for coffee the next day, but kept the conversation light. Renzo was politely sympathetic about her father’s refusal to be tested and didn’t push further, but the disappointment in his eyes made her want to burst into tears. He knew the truth about her. Her weaknesses, her struggles. Which was reason enough for Bailey to keep her distance. She’d had plenty of time to think the past few days, and she’d come to the conclusion that her dad and Renzo had been right to question her motives. This crazy goose chase to figure out her lineage was in fact a way to avoid dealing with who she really was, and the misguided effort had left her drained and lost.
She hadn’t spoken to Jack since the disastrous conversation about the DNA testing, but she planned on heading down to the shore next weekend, to make peace and apologize. Better to do so in person.
“Where did you go? I need help with this.”
Melinda’s voice cut through Bailey’s fog of thoughts. Right. The drawer pulls for the kitchen cabinets still needed to be picked out. They’d headed to Simon’s Hardware on Third Avenue early so that Melinda could make it to Fred’s office by eleven. Bailey pointed to a couple of options that she thought might work, but didn’t push back when Melinda chose lime-green plastic ones instead.
“And I forgot to tell you, Fred wants you in the room at the meeting today.”
A shard of guilt-induced panic sliced through Bailey. “Why?”
“No idea. Maybe he wants you as a witness, since you were there when we found everything. Tony will be there as well.”
When Bailey found everything. She didn’t bother to correct her.
Great. One more humiliation to suffer through. Then again, in the past couple of weeks, Melinda had been more than kind. Probably felt sorry for her dirt-poor, messed-up cousin, and she even suggested Bailey stay on for a couple of months in the guest room. But Bailey knew where that road lay: mornings of waking up to wineglasses piled up in the sink and a coating of white powder on the Lucite coffee table. Bailey’s life had been artificially propped up post-rehab, as the Dakota had become her refuge from the storms that raged outside its thick walls. It was time to move on with her life and start over again.
And for the first time in years, she had a plan, instead of blowing wherever the wind took her. She’d found a fifth-floor walk-up apartment in the West Eighties that would be available next month, and sweet-talked the landlord into giving her first dibs. Once Melinda’s job was completed, she’d sign up at a temp agency and answer phones or type letters, whatever it took to support herself and pay off her debt to Tristan while she cultivated clients for her new business, Bailey Camden Design.
The waiting room of Fred’s office offered a floor-to-ceiling view north. Bailey stood close to the glass, taking in the expanse of the landscape, from New Jersey to the Bronx to Long Island, while Tony and Melinda gabbed on about the upcoming party, their voices too loud for the hushed environment.
The elevator opened and a man stepped out, looking completely out of place. He wore a ratty denim jacket, and the lower half of his face was covered in a bushy ginger beard.
But the eyes were the same celestial blue as Melinda’s.
“Manvel!”
Bailey went and gave him a big hug. He smelled of leather and peppermint. She’d always enjoyed spending time with Melinda’s twin, even though most often his sister would insist they play hide-and-seek and then run off to the roof of the Dakota, leaving him behind. But now that Bailey knew she and Manvel shared a connection with Kenneth, and that Manvel had found refuge in his downstairs apartment, she felt closer to him than to Melinda. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.” He scratched at his beard. “Can’t wait to get out of here and head south again, though.”
Melinda gave him a cursory hug and introduced him to Tony. “Sorry to drag you back to the big, bad city, my shaggy brother, but we had some excitement and I figured you’d want a piece of the action.”
Manvel shook his head. “Action’s not my thing. This is all for you, sis.”
Melinda purred with delight. “Well, thank you for that.”
“No thanks necessary. I knew you would’ve showed up in Montgomery and drawn my blood yourself if I didn’t do your bidding.”
“You know me so well. Now here we are, together again. About to get the results that tell us if we’re rich, or really rich.”
The receptionist spoke, her voice a whispered rebuke. “He’ll see you now.”
The group awkwardly maneuvered through the door of Fred’s office in order of rank: Melinda, Tony, Manvel, then Bailey.
“Uncle Jack?”
Bailey’s father sat in the same chair Bailey had been in a few weeks ago. He was dressed in the suit he’d worn at her mother’s funeral, including the tie that Bailey had chosen for him in tears, trying to avoid looking at her mother’s clothes in her parents’ walk-in closet.
Melinda looked over at Fred. “What’s going on?”
Bailey gnawed at her thumbnail, a childish habit she’d thought she’d shaken. Her father was here, so he must’ve done what she’d asked. But why? This made no sense.
“Please, take a seat, everyone,” directed Fred.
Bailey hunkered down into a love seat against the wall, feeling like an impostor, while Melinda took the chair next to Bailey’s father. Tony perched on the arm of the sofa, arms crossed, and Manvel stood near the door, as if eager to escape as soon as he possibly could.
“Why is Uncle Jack here?” demanded Melinda.
Fred cleared his throat before answering. “I wanted to make sure all parties were present.”
“‘All parties’?”
“I hope everyone will keep in mind that while we have some answers, this matter is far from settled, as the provenance of the sheath is murky, to say the least. Others may come forward and try to claim it, as well as the knife.”
“What others?” asked Melinda.
“The Tibetan government, descendants of anyone who might have owned it before it came into the Rutherfords’ possession, for example.”
Tony waved his hand. “That was hundreds of years ago. Never mind about that. What are the test results?”
Fred opened up a file on his desk and then peered at them over his reading glasses. “The lab in England did extensive testing on the finger bone and what they could of the blood residue. The genetic line was then traced using yDNA technology, meaning along the male line. If there was no match, the sheath would not be considered part of the Camden family estate and would become property of the Dakota cooperative.”
“Right, and what did you find out?” Melinda spoke to him as if he were twelve.
Fred looked up from his notes. “The co-op has no claim to the sheath.”
Melinda yelped. “Fantastic. I knew Renzo was talking bullshit. Now we can have him fired.” She turned around to Bailey. “I know you like him, but he should never have meddled. He’s toast.”
“Not so fast.” Fred held up one hand and swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing above his silk tie. “It’s not your property either, Melinda.”
“What the hell does that mean? Whose is it, then?”
Fred looked straight at Bailey. “It’s Jack Camden’s.”
Melinda swiveled around and regarded Bailey and Jack the way a python might a mouse. “They weren’t part of the testing process.”
“As a matter of fact, Jack was.” Fred turned the paper on his desk around so she could see the results. “And Jack Camden is a match to both the blood evidence and the bone.”
Bailey felt like she was sinking into quicksand, and not just because the couch seemed to be swallowing her whole.
“That was not part of the deal,” Melinda screeched. She turned to Jack, eyes bulging. “How the hell did your blood get added to the test results?”
“What did you do?” Tony glared at Bailey.
Bailey squirmed forward and tried to sit upright, but the cushion on the love seat was too soft. She sank back and tried to find her voice. “I told Fred what I’d found. He said that it had to be done through the male line, so I asked my dad. But he said no.”
Fred jumped in. “As a matter of fact, this was not entirely Bailey’s doing. I was intrigued by the evidence she presented, and it led me to review the old files. As we’ve represented the family for over a hundred years, the archived documents were still in existence. I discovered a letter in the files, dated from 1900, from Minnie Camden, stating that she wished to set up an annuity for Christopher Camden when he turned twenty-one. But she died before it was established.”
Christopher had been considered part of the family. He hadn’t been intentionally cast out. Bailey let out a deep exhale, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.
Fred continued on. “That, along with the evidence presented by Bailey, convinced me to request a DNA sample from her father for testing.”
She stared at the back of Jack’s head. He’d done it after all. She wished he’d turn around and look at her so she could get a sense of what he was thinking. Was he still furious with her for foisting the truth on him?
Melinda’s nostrils flared. “We did not agree to pay for that. You were not allowed to pay for this scavenger hunt with money from the trust.”
“I paid for it myself.” Jack’s deep baritone rumbled around the room like thunder. Bailey remembered that voice, the one he used when neighbors stopped by to give their condolences after her mother had died. He’d sent them away, casseroles in hand, while Bailey hid up in her room.
Yet Fred’s announcement couldn’t be right. If Melinda and Bailey were related, both sides of the family would match. If Bailey wasn’t related to Theodore Camden, Melinda would match and Jack would not. Those were the only outcomes Bailey had considered.
“You bitch.” Melinda looked like she was about to swallow Bailey whole.
“That’s enough, now.” Fred jabbed a finger at the papers on his desk. “You signed a document to abide by the results. There was nothing amiss.”
Melinda’s oversized hoop earrings swung with each turn of her head: to Bailey, then back to Fred. “So now Bailey and her father get the sheath?”
Bailey didn’t care about the sheath. She’d wanted to be part of a legacy, to feel some connection with her past.
Still, it was worth it to see the look on Tony and Melinda’s faces. Take that for desecrating the family apartment.
Tony went white. “This isn’t only about the sheath, though, is it?”
The earrings swung again, in Tony’s direction. “What do you mean?”
“This means that Bailey and her father get the trust. Not you or Manvel.”
Melinda leaped up, towering over them all in her four-inch heels. “That’s not true. I’m the great-granddaughter of Theodore Camden. Manvel and I are due our trust in two days, when we turn thirty. That’s the way it’s always been. This doesn’t change anything.”
Fred spoke succinctly, clearly. “This changes everything. The trust states that it’s solely for descendants of Theodore Camden by blood. Neither you nor Manvel are. Therefore, it’s no longer your rightful property, Miss Camden.”
Bailey looked over at Manvel, who had a wide grin on his face. He seemed amused by the turn of events. Or at least at his sister’s indignation.
“Who am I, then?” Melinda looked blindly around the room. “If Theodore Camden isn’t my great-grandfather, who the hell is?”
Fred refused to rise to her level of aggression. “Sometimes we don’t know the answers. It was a long time ago.”
Melinda squawked a few times before finding her voice. “We will fight this. Won’t we, Tony? We’ll hire a lawyer and fight this. I don’t care what I signed or what the DNA says. I know who I am.”
Tony’s eyes shifted back between Fred and Melinda. Never one to hide his feelings well, Bailey could tell he was adding up the cost of the renovations he’d paid for as well as all the other loans he’d probably extended Melinda this past year.
“We will fight it,” Melinda repeated, less emphatically this time. “After all, it was your stupid idea to get the DNA testing in the first place, Tony. You owe me that, at the very least.”
Fred cleared his throat. “There is good news, however.”
“What’s that?” snapped Melinda.
“The Dakota apartment remains yours and Manvel’s. It’s outside the trust, so you both own a considerable asset.”
“Great. A stinky apartment in the shitty part of town. Thanks a lot.”
Melinda grabbed her purse and stomped out. Before she left the room, she leaned over Bailey, who was still wedged in the couch. “You’ll be sorry for this, for meddling. After everything I’ve done for you? I will take you down so fast you’ll end up in the streets, begging for handouts.”
Tony followed her, calling for her to wait for him.
Bailey took another deep breath, letting the air clear from all the arguing and harsh words. Melinda, even with all her faults, had been a friend and the only one who’d stuck by her after rehab, and the injustice of the revelation stung. She’d have to find a way to make this right. She heaved herself to the edge of the couch and sat there, numb. “So my dad and I are the heirs?”
Fred smiled. “Yes. The way the trust works, the money goes to your father, and then, upon his death, to you.”
Manvel sat beside her and patted her on the back. “Congratulations, Bailey. Nice detective work.”
“I didn’t mean for you and Melinda to lose everything. Your trust, your identity.”
“You kidding? I’m happy to take off the mantle of being a Camden. Never meant much to me to begin with. Maybe I’ll invent a new name, like Bowie did.”
Jack rose, extending his hand. “We really should make up for it. Include you in some way.”
“We can donate to your outsider artists,” offered Bailey.
Manvel stood and shook Jack’s hand, covering it with his own. “It’s not about money, what they do, and I’ve learned a lot from that. These artists want to create art because they’ve got an image or idea in their head and it just has to get out. They paint it or turn it into a giant mobile of scrap metal, but it comes from in here.” He tapped his head. “They don’t care about furthering their careers or making a ton of cash.”
A wave of tenderness swept over Bailey. “Kenneth is so proud of you, everything you’ve accomplished.”
“You’ve met Kenneth? I’m stopping by to say hello before I head out. Can I tell him the news?”
“Sure. Will you be staying at the apartment while you’re in town?”
“Nah, it’s not my home anymore. Never really was. I prefer a life on the road.”
“I like that,” said Jack. “Hey, I consider myself an outsider artist, working on cars all day. It’s its own kind of art.”
Manvel poked him in the chest, giddy. “That’s it exactly, man.”
He thanked Fred for his time before hitching his backpack over one shoulder and sauntering out. After he’d left, Bailey and Jack took the seats across from Fred’s desk.
Manvel was right; the news of actually being a Camden was bittersweet, considering the awful legacy of the family. She addressed Fred, avoiding her father’s eyes. “How are Melinda and Manvel not part of the family? I figured if I was related, we’d all be able to share the trust. Who are they, then?” The photo of Sara and the children took on new significance with these revelations.
