Summer Of Joanna

“Easy. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you saw me coming.”

Kate squinted. He was standing with the sun behind him, and at first she didn’t recognize him. Then she caught his reference to water and managed a weak smile. The man from the church. “Thanks, but I’m all right. I was…lost in my thoughts.”

He stepped out of the sun to join her in the patch of shade. “Need a lift anywhere?”

“I have a car, but thanks, anyway.” Remembering the police officer, she turned her head to peer around his shoulder toward the limo drivers across the lot. Sure enough, she saw one of them talking to the officer. Then the driver sauntered toward the limo parked in front of her car.

“The black limo?” he asked, following her gaze.

Kate had to smile. “No. The white Escort behind it.”

“Aah. I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself sooner,” he said. “Matt Sinclair.” He extended a hand.

Kate placed her hand in his. “Kate Reilly.”

“A friend, but not a close one,” he added. She smiled again. “Yes. You were a friend of Joanna’s?”

“I knew her,” he said, finally letting go of her hand. “Family connection.”

He was being vague and Kate couldn’t understand why. Instinctively she stepped back, taking a second, longer look at Matt Sinclair. Unlike the policeman, he seemed cool and unperturbed by the sweltering heat. Everything about him spelled good grooming, from the cut of his lightweight summer suit to the plain silk tie knotted unobtrusively at the throat of a crisp white shirt. Grooming, she thought, and money, too. One of those limos in the lot probably belonged to him. His thick black hair was perfectly trimmed, and his eyes, still fixed on hers, were definitely gray. But not a cold gray, she thought, recalling how they’d looked in the church. Now they seemed to flicker with specks of color. Or was that glint amusement, instead?

“Do I pass?” he asked.

Kate looked away. She was certain her face had reddened, and not from the heat. “So you’re related to Joanna, after all. You mentioned a family connection?”

He folded his arms across his chest and stared across the parking lot. Kate turned her head, too, watching the black limo roll into another place. He shifted his attention back to her and mumbled, “By marriage.”

“By marriage?” she repeated. “A cousin or something?”

He shook his head. “She was married to my father.” He paused, fixing his eyes on hers. “For two years.”

“When?”

“Eighteen years ago. I was seventeen at the time. Pretty much out of the picture. Thank God,” he muttered bitterly.

“Obviously you didn’t care for Joanna,” she said.

“Frankly, no. Sorry if that offends you.”

Kate inhaled deeply. She hadn’t come to Joanna’s funeral for any kind of confrontation. All she’d wanted to do was to quietly mourn and pay her last respects to someone she’d met and liked.

“I do—did—care for Joanna,” she said, “and I don’t believe in speaking ill of the dead. Especially at a funeral.” She brushed past him to head for her car.

“Those are fine sentiments,” he replied, raising his voice as she kept walking. “And you’re welcome to them. But Joanna Barnes ruined my father. I’ll never forgive her for that.”

Kate kept walking, fixing her eyes on the white Escort and not noticing the policeman until she bumped against him as he passed.

“Goodbye, then, Miss Reilly. Maybe we’ll meet again,” Matt Sinclair called after her.

She reached the door of her car and slipped the keys from the side pocket of her purse. She wanted only to leave as quickly as possible, determined not to look back at the two men behind her. Both of whom, she suspected, were staring after her.

When the engine and the air-conditioning were running, Kate accelerated out of the lot and made a sharp turn onto the main street. She glanced at the rearview mirror and saw that the two men were now standing together as they watched her car drive away.

When the church and parking lot were out of sight, Kate pulled over at the first convenience store. She told herself she was desperate for a cold drink, but what she really needed was to wait for the trembling to stop.

CHAPTER TWO

MATT WATCHED her car zip out of the lot and disappear down the quiet, tree-lined street. A swirl of conflicting emotions threatened the grim determination he’d felt earlier when she’d rushed to defend Joanna Barnes. He wondered why he cared so much. Probably everybody else at the funeral had also been friends with Joanna.

He wiped away the sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. For the first time he questioned his motives. He didn’t like the uneasy feeling in his gut when he envisioned Kate Reilly’s pinched red face and the angry flicker in her jade-green eyes. It wasn’t the anger that had struck a nerve, but the almost simultaneous hurt. As if she couldn’t comprehend why he was attacking someone she obviously cared for.

Except it’s Joanna, buddy. The last person he could think of to deserve such fierce loyalty from a friend. Matt expelled a mouthful of bitter air and spun around to go back to the church. The man standing to his right said, “She’s definitely worth pursuin’, don’tcha think?”

Matt grimaced and kept right on walking.

THE FLAT THROBBED with heat. Kate headed straight for the kitchen and flicked on the small air-conditioning unit she’d just bought. She peeled off her dress and, seconds later, was standing under a cool shower in the bathroom. Was it her imagination, she wondered, or were those really wisps of steam pluming off her body? Or was she still angry at how the afternoon had played out?

She raised her face to the fine spray, and the band of pain across her brow began to ebb. But a pulse of disappointment was still there, right at her temple, when she finally stepped onto the bath mat. It came from the sense that she’d been robbed of her day of grieving for Joanna.

Kate rubbed a towel over herself before slipping into a cotton nightie that instantly stuck to her damp skin. She was suddenly reminded of the short, pudgy police officer at the funeral and grimaced as the pounding in her head amplified. Together with the Ivy League lawyer-type, the two men had succeeded in wiping out all thoughts of Joanna, leaving behind an ugly smear of doubt and innuendo.

The air-conditioning was going full blast by the time Kate returned to the kitchen to get a glass of ice water. Splurging on the unit had been an act of desperation, driven by forecasts of a hot summer in the Big Apple. So far, she hadn’t regretted the purchase, even though it had removed a significant chunk from her already tight budget. Kate took a long swallow from the frosty glass, then rolled it across her forehead.

Perhaps she ought to have signed up for another summer-school course, after all. At least she’d have had a few hours of daily relief working in an air-conditioned building. But having the whole summer off had been part of the plan. Time for Carla, as promised. And time with Joanna. As promised.

Kate closed her eyes, fighting a stab of pain. A week ago, the whole summer was an uncharted map. The thrill of anticipation—of promise—had yet to draw lines on that map; to mark days and nights of events that Kate had only recently allowed herself to dream about. She’d been finally going to see Joanna again. Finally to tell her how that summer’s meeting long ago had changed her life. How it had fixed a real place in her childhood, a place called hope.

Maybe Joanna could be repaid through Carla, Kate thought. Carla. She hadn’t telephoned to confirm their weekly get-together. Signing on as a mentor and Big Sister to thirteen-year-old Carla Lopez had stemmed from another promise Kate had made to herself, years ago. Somehow, in some way, she’d help another troubled teenager the way Joanna Barnes had motivated her.

Glass in hand, Kate strolled to the living room to check her voice mail. She quickly punched in her password when the beeper indicated a message. Carla’s piping tones unspooled from the tape.

“Hi—Kate? I know tomorrow’s our day, but something’s come up so, uh, I can’t make it. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Kate frowned. She called Carla’s foster home and, after several rings, finally reached Rita Santos, the teen’s foster mother.

“Nope, she isn’t here, Kate. Took off about an hour ago. Didn’t say where she was headed. As usual.”

There was a moment’s silence. Thoughts of Carla filled the void. Kate felt more annoyed than worried. Carla’s street sense was twice what hers had been at the same age. Of course, by thirteen Kate had already met Joanna and was working on her goal to get out of Queens.

“No doubt she’ll turn up with some excuse,” Rita said. “If not, guess I’ll have to call her worker again. Sorry she let you down, Kate.”

“No no, don’t say that. Carla’s not letting anyone down—except maybe herself. I’ll call back in the morning, but if…you know, there’s a problem, please call me. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

“Sure. Meantime, I wouldn’t sit up worrying, I was you.”

“Okay, Rita. Talk to you soon.” Kate hung on to the receiver a few moments longer, thinking about the ominous turn Carla’s behavior had taken over the past few months. Rita had had about as much as she could take from the girl, who’d been with her for almost a year.

The pity of it was that Kate knew Carla really liked her current foster home. Only she liked her gang of friends more. Keeping Carla away from that gang had been an ongoing project for Rita, Kate and Carla’s social worker, Kim, for several months.