“Mom,” Beth interrupted firmly, “the press has crucified us over the paternity of a babe left on our doorstep. You can’t believe they’ll ignore an accusation of murder.”
“No one has accused you of anything!” Megan cried. “You’ve been questioned. We all have. That’s all it is or will be.”
“Let’s face facts, Mother,” Beth said gently. “I’m suspected of murdering my ex-fiancé’s new wife in my office. The press is going to play this only one way.”
“Let them,” Megan insisted sternly. “Everyone who knows you will realize how absurd their implications are.”
“But those who don’t know me will wonder,” Beth pointed out, “and that could hurt the clinic. Just when we’re ready to lay one scandal to rest, another pops up. At the very least, the twenty-fifth-anniversary celebration will suffer.”
“Not at all,” Megan assured her. “Most of the invitations have already been accepted. After today’s announcement that the parents of our darling Chase have come forward, the rest will come around. You’ll see.”
All Beth could see at the moment was that she wasn’t going to be able to shake her mother’s staunch belief in the victory of truth and the ultimate invulnerability of her family. But then, she didn’t really want to. Unfortunately, all she could do was pray that nothing and no one else did it for her, and that was exactly what she did for the remainder of the trip to the clinic.
Traffic was worse than usual. The limo crawled or stood still more often than not, so they were almost late for their own press conference. They had time to run through the clinic to the back hall. The other members of the family were waiting for them, and they gathered around as soon as Beth drew near, offering hugs and asking questions.
“Are you all right?” Ellie, Beth’s twin, immediately demanded. Identical to Beth except for the shorter hair and lighter lipstick, Ellie seemed to have found a new confidence since her marriage to Sloan Cassidy. Not wanting to subject the family to any more publicity, the two of them had secretly eloped over the New Year, much to everyone’s delight. Beth smiled and nodded to reassure her sister. Ellie’s tailored, sleek business attire and short, neat hair contrasted sharply with her own, eclectic ensemble of broomstick skirt, boots, cropped sweater and corduroy jacket. Ellie, to Beth’s mind, was the intelligent one, the professional one, not that Beth would have traded places with her. She loved working with children. Ellie’s career choice as Maitland Maternity’s administrator seemed deadly dull and unnecessarily stressful, but Beth couldn’t help feeling that Ellie secretly garnered more respect than she did as the director of the day-care center. That belief, however, did not color her great love for—and pride in—her sister.
“What happened at the police station?” her brother R.J. wanted to know.
Mitchell was right beside him. “Those idiots didn’t charge you, did they?” he asked.
Beth shook her head. “No.”
“Of course they didn’t,” her older sister, Abby, insisted. “Who in his right mind would suspect our Beth of murder?”
“You might be surprised,” Jake said, holding himself, as usual, at a little distance from his siblings. He had whispered to her as she was leaving for her interview with the police detectives that, if push came to shove, he had a few connections who might help them get at the truth, but Beth knew that she wouldn’t ask him to pull any hidden strings for her unless she saw no other hope. Jake was much too protective of his shadowy life, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that privacy.
“This will have to wait,” Megan instructed calmly. “We have a press conference to conduct. We’re going out there and present a united front to that mob of jackals. We have nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of or worried about. Remember that, all of you.”
Anna, who usually skipped these occasions since she, like their brother Jake, had no professional connection to Maitland Maternity, stepped up to link her arm with Beth’s. Ellie took the other arm. Abby stood next to their mother, with R.J. and Mitchell flanking them, and Jake brought up the rear. Megan lifted her chin, as regal as any queen, then she put out her hand, shoving open the door and leading them all onto the railed landing that lent itself so perfectly to this sort of thing.
Flashes went off. Cameras started rolling. There was a general jostling of bodies as reporters surged closer, jockeying for position, microphones swaying over their heads. Megan stepped to the microphone mounted on the railing and lifted both arms in a gesture of welcome.
“Thank you for coming.” Immediately she was bombarded with questions.
“Mrs. Maitland, have the baby’s parents been identified?”
“Who has been charged with the murder at the clinic?”
Chelsea Markum, cool and professionally commanding with her vibrant auburn hair and beauty-queen looks, elbowed her way to the front and demanded, “Is Jake Maitland involved with some terrorist organization? And who is this mystery woman he’s brought into your midst? Does it have anything to do with the murder?”
Jake muttered something best unheard and edged away from the lights. Megan laughed. “My goodness, Chelsea, what an active imagination you have.” She ignored Chelsea’s pout and waved down the remainder of the questions. “I’m here to announce that the parents of the infant child left on this very doorstep at our last meeting have, indeed, come forward.”
“Who’s the father?” someone called.
“The father is a distant relative who desires to remain nameless,” Megan went on calmly. “He and the child’s mother are working to put their lives back together and provide a loving home for their son. Surely you realize that this was an act of desperation on the mother’s part. Now that the father is aware of the child’s existence, the couple are working through their differences. Please, I beg you, allow them the privacy necessary to accomplish this.”
“Are you saying that none of your sons fathered this mystery child?” someone asked.
Megan seemed to pause, then said in a strong, clear voice, “None of the fine young men you see standing here with me today had anything to do with that child’s conception. Now, that’s all I’m going to say.”
“But what about the murder?” Chelsea Markum demanded, having recovered from her set down. “Can Maitland Maternity survive this new crisis?”
Beth stiffened, but Megan shook her head. “The tragedy that occurred here last night has nothing whatsoever to do with Maitland Maternity.”
“Isn’t it true that the dead woman caused the breakup of your daughter Beth’s engagement?”
Pointing to another reporter instead of acknowledging Chelsea Markum, Megan tried to ignore the question, but Beth knew it was hopeless. She stepped next to her mother and leaned toward the microphone.
“No, that isn’t true,” she said evenly.
“But the police suspect you, don’t they?”
“You’ll have to ask them that,” Beth said dismissively.
“In fact,” Megan said, once more taking control, “these questions really ought to be directed at the police. I believe the detectives working this case are one Ty Redstone and Paul Jester. Why don’t you ask them these things?”
Beth chuckled inwardly. Poor Redstone and Jester! Her mother had effectively sicced the press on them. She wondered if Ty Redstone would blame her for it, then purposefully pushed thoughts of the attractive detective from her mind. She had more important matters to address—and the perfect forum in which to do it. Once she’d made a public statement, her mother could not gainsay her, and Beth was utterly convinced that this was for the best.
“I have something else to say,” she announced over the buzz of questions flying at them. She shot her mother an apologetic glance. She hated to do this, but she knew that she must.