Rachel was already seated in the back of Tyler’s car along with Nick Banning, Sara noted when she and Tyler joined them. She sat in the front passenger seat.
“I recognized Cade Parks,” Nick said when they were on their way. “The child was his daughter, I presume?”
“Yes. Stacy. She’ll be in my class Monday.”
“I don’t think I’m ready to face a roomful of rowdy kids.” Rachel made a fearful grimace.
Nick chuckled, then became serious. “Mark is meeting us at the restaurant.”
“Has he learned anything?” Tyler demanded.
“I don’t know. He’ll tell us when he sees us.”
At the cozy Italian restaurant, complete with an accordion player, the two couples met Nick’s older brother.
“My brother, Mark,” Nick introduced them. “He’s a private detective and is helping us on the case.”
Mark Banning wasn’t old—early thirties, perhaps—but his eyes said he’d seen enough to last a lifetime. A terrible scar under his right eye spoke of his days with the New York police force, before he and Nick had moved to San Francisco and he’d opened his own detective agency.
Sara took Mark’s hand. Smiling into his eyes, she said, “Thank you for helping us.”
His manner was introspective and serious. “I believe in justice being done.”
After they were seated, she leaned close to him. “Have you found anything on Derek Ross?”
“Yes. At least, I think I have. Tyler mentioned your mother once said her brother was a book lover and collected antique volumes.”
Sara nodded. “Yes, she did.” She waited impatiently as they placed their orders with the waiter. “You’ve traced him?” she asked as soon as they were alone again.
“Not quite, but I did some checking with a dealer in rare books who I ran into while investigating a theft once.” Mark paused while he studied first Tyler, then Sara. “I asked him if he’d heard of Derek Ross. He hadn’t, but he had done business over the years with a man called Derek Moss.”
“Oh,” Sara said in disappointment.
“Lots of times, when people change their names, they use the same initials…or something very similar to their real names, usually by changing one or two letters.”
“You think…” she began, then stopped, almost afraid to voice the question.
Mark shrugged. “I’ve got a trace going on the man. The dealer couldn’t find an address in his records, but he’s pretty sure Derek Moss has, or had, a bookstore. Moss got a discount on the books due to having a retailer’s license.”
Sara’s mind whirled with the possibility of finishing the case so soon. She pictured the tall, older man she’d seen in the jewelry store behind bars, paying for his crimes against her family.
Tyler must have had the same thought. “It’s odd,” he said, “to discover that you belong to another family, that your father is a man you despise, that you have other brothers and sisters you’ve never known. And a five-year-old niece who’s bright and friendly…and innocent.”
At once another image imposed itself in her mind—Cade Parks and Stacy, their eyes accusing as they stared at her.
Pressing a hand to her chest, where a ball of pain and misery formed, she wondered for the hundredth time that week if she and Tyler were doing the right thing. People were going to be hurt….
“You and Rachel might have an additional worry,” Mark told them. “Cade Parks is on the board of directors at your school. Cause trouble for his family and he could get you fired.”
Chapter Four
Walter Parks paced the floor in quick, furious strides on Monday morning. Someone was checking into his life, both personal and business, and he didn’t like it, not one bit.
Get rid of one problem, it seemed, and two appeared. That was certainly the case in the present situation. Marla was dead, but her brats weren’t.
Just to be sure the past stayed in the past, he’d had the detective check on them. One, a rather well-known mystery writer, had moved from Denver to New York. One of the twin boys had stayed in Colorado. So far, so good.
He paced some more as rage rose to a choking level inside him. He wanted to punch somebody. He wanted to rip something to shreds, to destroy the things that stood in the way of his complete freedom and relief from worry.
Like the two Carltons who now lived in San Francisco.
Dammit, twenty-five years was long enough to suffer for a moment of madness. He’d paid for it. He’d spent his life always having to watch over his shoulder, wondering if Marla would speak up—
“Mr. Parks, Cade is here,” his secretary interrupted his pacing with the announcement.
He glanced toward the open door. Connie was forty-three, a single mother with a gifted son who attended the university at Berkeley, thanks to him. She’d worked for him for fifteen years. He provided her with a good living and a few other perks. In return, she was a totally reliable secretary and a discreet mistress.
Why couldn’t all of life be as simple?
“Tell him to come in,” Walter said impatiently. “Close the door,” he said to his son as soon as Cade was inside.
A fleeting expression of annoyance crossed the boy’s face. Well, he could just be annoyed. Walter was furious.
“Do you know who lives next door to you?” Walter demanded as soon as they were alone.
Cade was surprised by the question. “Yes, Sara Carlton,” he admitted warily. Knowing his father, he felt there was more to the question than paternal curiosity.
“Yes. Sara Carlton,” Walter repeated in a nasty tone.
Cade waited until the irritation settled before he asked, “What about her?”
His father paced the room like an angry lion, caged and resenting it, ready to lash out at anyone who got in his way. Cade was familiar with Walter’s temper. Usually he waited it out without saying much. At the moment, he didn’t like either his father’s attitude or the subject.
“Do you also know her brother is a detective on the police force here?”
Cade nodded.
“And you never thought to mention it to me?”
“No. Why should I?”
“Someone has been making inquiries about…about the family business,” Walter announced, his face becoming red as his anger rose higher. A vein throbbed in his neck.
Cade noted the hesitation and knew his father had changed what he’d been about to say. Lately, in dealing with the family patriarch, he’d had uneasy hunches that all was not well. His father’s mood swings had grown increasingly unpredictable.
“How do you know?” Cade asked.
His father paused again, as if deciding on how much to tell him. “Someone claiming to be with the IRS called the bank and asked about the company’s accounts and my personal ones. When I called the local IRS chief, he indicated they were looking into certain matters on companies dealing with imported diamonds. He wouldn’t say why.”
“There could be lots of reasons—money laundering or gem smuggling from countries engaged in war. The press calls them ‘conflict diamonds.’” Cade shrugged. “Since we don’t do business with those countries or with smugglers, and the taxes are in order, we don’t have anything to worry about.”
Walter stopped pacing and spun around. “A