Somebody's Daughter Read online

  It took a certain type of trained professional to treat the women who came here with dignity. Dignity was everything.

  If Cord hadn’t been born a McFarland, he might very well be one of the unfortunate souls who’d been referred to a similar shelter by volunteers from the various Salt Lake soup kitchens. Losing your job, your home, your ability to take care of yourself, let alone your family, could happen to anyone.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure. Yesterday a woman came to the door needing a bed. I told her we were full for the next week, and had her driven to the downtown Salvation Army, where they could accommodate her. This morning she’s back. I must say I’m surprised.

  “After asking her to sit down, I checked the master list to see if I could find her a bed for tonight. The Draper shelter had one, so I told her to go out through the west portico and Lynn would drive her there while he was dropping off other tenants for their job interviews.

  “A few minutes ago I had a call from Dwayne, who’s in back weeding. He caught a woman walking around where she’s not supposed to be. When he asked her why she hadn’t followed the rules in the brochure, she said she hadn’t been given one because she wasn’t staying with us. Apparently she got lost looking for the van.

  “He told her to wait a minute while he phoned me. From his description of her, she’s the same woman I was talking to earlier. I suppose she could have gone out the wrong door, but…”

  “But you don’t buy it?” Cord finished for her. “I tend to agree with you.”

  “Please forgive me if you think I’m out of line, but according to some of the staff who’ve been here several years longer than I have, it wouldn’t be the first time a reporter looking for an inside story on the McFarlands tried to infiltrate.”

  “Or an overly ambitious graduate student doing her thesis on the homeless, who pretended to be destitute,” Cord informed her. “That happened to us once, but we found her out during the initial screening, thus preventing her from taking a bed needed by someone else.”

  “It’s hard to believe what some people will do.”

  Cord grimaced. “In the past, there’ve been two incidents at the foundation where a female volunteer ended up claiming to be Kathryn. Both had mental problems. In one of the cases Mother wanted it to be true so badly she suffered a serious setback.”

  “How awful for your family.” Gwen shook her head. “I have to admit I’m perplexed over this woman’s behavior. Do you think she might have been taking pictures when Dwayne caught her walking on the grounds?”

  “Maybe.”

  “If she’s not out for a story, I think there could be one other explanation.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It has occurred to me she might be a secret admirer of yours who’s desperate to meet you, and thought this would be the perfect way to gain an introduction.”

  The thought was abhorrent to Cord. When he scoffed, Gwen said, “Don’t discount the possibility. I know you don’t want to hear it, but you’d be surprised what some women will do to get the attention of an attractive eligible bachelor with your family’s prominence.”

  Cord’s ex-fianceé had said much the same thing. In fact, irrational jealousy over the attention he paid to the shelter and the women it housed had been at the source of their breakup a year ago. She’d even become resentful of his relationship with Maggie.

  At the time there’d been no way to convince her he wasn’t interested in another woman. As for being too close to his sister, he’d suggested they go for professional counseling to help solve Lisa’s paranoia. But she wouldn’t hear of it, and their relationship degenerated from there.

  When he’d first met her, he hadn’t realized she felt so insecure. A marriage between them would never have lasted, and it had been a relief to call off their engagement. His mother, however, had suffered over the loss of a potential daughter-in-law.

  Everything seemed to add to her depression, which was slowly growing worse with time. In order to help improve her mental outlook, his father had chosen not to run for a fifth term in the senate. He realized he needed to be home with his wife on a full-time basis.

  But Cord had an idea his parents were sinking into an abyss now that Cord’s brother, Ben, was thinking of filling their father’s vacant seat.

  Ben would be a natural, and would easily win the election, but his wife, Julie, was against her husband’s political ambitions, and with good reason. He’d been neglecting his family for too long. Since their marriage he’d buried himself in work. Over time, his neglect had taken its toll on her and the kids.

  Cord and Maggie were caught in the middle because they loved them and the children. Deep down, Cord was afraid his brother was on a path to self-destruction. His behavior only confirmed Maggie’s belief that it was better not to marry or have children. One way or another, you ended up losing them.

  Cord didn’t need a psychiatrist to tell him Kathryn’s abduction had unleashed certain forces their family could still feel after twenty-six years.

  Knowing your baby sister was kidnapped from her crib while you slept in the next room had done fundamental damage to Cord and Ben, who’d been seven and nine at the time. Old enough to feel guilt that they hadn’t heard anything, or done anything, to alert their parents.

  It was an irony that Cord could feel extra protective of Maggie, yet be suspicious of a strange woman who could be the proverbial wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  “I’m sorry this situation has reminded you of the past, Cord.”

  Gwen’s comment brought him back to the present. “You have nothing to be sorry for. How old is this woman?”

  “I’d say mid-twenties, maybe younger.”

  He couldn’t help but think about his kidnapped sibling. If by any chance Kathryn was still alive, she would have just turned twenty-six. Like Cord’s mother, the rest of the family had never stopped holding out for a miracle. That’s why he’d started Renaissance House eight years ago—knowing his parents lived in the hope their daughter might one day learn she’d been kidnapped and come walking through the doors, home to the family.

  Though the statistics were against it, Cord hadn’t quite given up that same naive dream.

  “Did you get any information on this woman this morning?”

  “Unfortunately not. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. If there wasn’t room for her, you had no reason to put her name in the computer.”

  Renaissance House was his baby. He’d established the rules long ago. No person eighteen years or older would be denied help, even if it meant finding her a place at another shelter.

  There were accommodations for forty people in the three-story mansion, including quarters for a live-in staff member on each floor. The main floor contained the kitchen, communal dining room, playroom, entertainment room, living room and offices.

  Women with children were housed on the second floor. Single women lived on the third floor. The shelter provided a stopgap for women and mothers in dire circumstances. They could stay three weeks.

  In that time they enjoyed hot showers and good food, were given clothes if necessary, received short-term medical care and were helped to find a job and a place to live. It wasn’t too much to ask of those who’d been given more than their fair share of life’s abundance.

  But this time there was no room at the inn, so why not the stable?

  Cord had his own home in Alta, at the top of Little Cottonwood Canyon. On occasion he slept over at Maggie’s penthouse. But most weeknights he stayed in the old coachman’s house behind the mansion. It was a simple cottage the housekeeping staff kept cleaned and ready for him.

  “What do you want me to do about her, Cord?”

  “Tell you what—she wants in so badly, I’ll put her in the cottage around the back. During times of emergency I’ve opened it up to other tenants if they were ill and needed a doctor. That way I can keep an eye on her until I figure out what she’s up to.”

/>   A surprised look broke out on Gwen’s face. “Won’t that be giving her exactly what she wants?”

  Cord cocked his head. “If this woman is an innocent homeless person who wasn’t paying attention and got lost, we’ll know soon enough. If she turns out to be an unscrupulous reporter, I’ll make certain I get what I want by forcing her to produce a brilliant story on the plight of the homeless rather than an exposé of our family.”

  “I do hope I’m wrong about her and she really did get confused about where to go. In the meantime, how can I help?”

  He looked directly at her. “Be your normal self and don’t breathe a word of this to a soul.”

  “You have my promise.”

  Cord had always felt he could trust Gwen. So far she’d never disappointed him, but sometimes a person let something slip without meaning to. Since Kathryn’s abduction, Cord had trust issues that would never go away.

  “I’ll take care of the matter right now,” he stated. “That leaves you to start the staff meeting. Tell Ron I’ll be there shortly with the list of repairs I promised him.”

  While he phoned Dwayne to tell him he was coming, Cord printed off the list for Ron, his head building contractor. There was always something to be done on the mansion and grounds. The family estate where he’d been raised required a crew of workmen year-round to keep everything in good condition.

  Running a shelter meant there were dozens of things to do every day. That was good. It kept Cord from worrying about his family nonstop.

  KIT HAD NO IDEA the husky, fiftyish-looking man in shirtsleeves and jeans she’d seen working on the grounds of the mansion had been watching her. But as soon as she’d started walking around to acquaint herself with the house she might have lived in for the first month of her life, he’d approached her.

  The lie she’d told him about being lost hadn’t persuaded him to let her go. He’d indicated he would have to report her to security, and she had no choice but to accompany him along the stone path to the drive at the rear of the mansion. He was nice about it, but en route he called someone on his cell phone.

  Kit presumed she would end up being taken to the police station for trespassing, the last thing she’d want to have happen.

  A month ago, the day after she’d visited the Venice library, she’d hired an attorney to subpoena the doctor who’d done the autopsy on her mother. He was the one who’d written up the toxicology report.

  Through his cooperation a DNA sample was taken from some of her mother’s wax-preserved tissue. Together with Kit’s DNA, a test was done for a match. When the results came back and she’d learned that she couldn’t possibly be Rena’s offspring, she’d gone into shock because she’d been so positive the outcome would prove a blood relationship.

  The DNA test results meant that the information on her birth certificate was a lie. Rena Burke couldn’t have given birth to her at Mercy Hospital in Venice Beach.

  Kit didn’t think she’d ever get over the fact that the woman who’d raised her all these years wasn’t her biological mother. So what did that say about Frankie Burke, the man whose name was written on the birth certificate, claiming he was the father?

  Had she been adopted?

  Determined to get answers, Kit had done many searches. The first place she’d turned was Mercy Hospital. To her surprise there was no record of a Rena Harris or a Rena Harris Burke having given birth to an infant daughter.

  Further investigation proved the doctor of record was never on the staff at Mercy Hospital, even though Kit’s birth certificate appeared to have been made out there. She could find no evidence of him through a search of doctors in the state of California.

  At that point Kit went to the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Los Angeles to find her parents’ marriage record, but nothing came up there or in the offices of the surrounding counties. She could find no birth records of a Rena Harris or a Frank or Frankie Burke.

  Every time she tried to unravel one mystery, it only raised another unanswered question. If Kit was adopted, she had no documents to go on. Without money and a good attorney she couldn’t get any information from state adoption agencies, let alone private ones.

  It was incredible that her mother had waited until the last few moments of her life to knock the foundations out from under Kit.

  Though she was desperate for answers about her mother and father, she realized she first had to satisfy the big question about her parents’ possible culpability in the abduction of Kathryn McFarland.

  After a lot of soul searching, she’d decided to use her two-week paid vacation from work to travel to Salt Lake.

  It was so awful to think her parents might have stolen her from her real parents, she could scarcely function for the pain. But if the McFarlands really were her flesh and blood, she owed it to them and herself to find out the truth.

  After discussing it with Janene, Kit felt the only approach would be to remain anonymous while she learned what she could about the McFarlands. You didn’t reveal yourself to a family who’d been bereaved and devastated for years and say, “Hi! Guess what? I think I could be your kidnapped daughter and sister, Kathryn!”

  Legal and criminal ramifications aside, if her mother’s confession wasn’t true, Kit couldn’t imagine how horrible that would be for the McFarlands. They would be forced to relive their terrible tragedy and suffer pain all over again for nothing.

  Kit didn’t want to injure this family. Just recently she’d read in the Los Angeles Times about a Kansas woman who’d claimed to be the long-lost kidnapped daughter of a couple. It turned out the woman was an ex-felon with a multiple personality disorder, who’d preyed on the minds and hearts of other vulnerable couples in the past, causing them inestimable grief.

  The thought of doing something that would bring the McFarlands more anguish and heartache sickened Kit.

  After reading in old newspapers and magazines every possible account of Kathryn’s abduction, Kit had come to the conclusion that she needed to gather inside information about the kidnapping from a family member without him or her being aware. Anything to tie together the loose fragments of the bomb her mother had dropped.

  Short of a DNA test, which would be the final proof she was the McFarlands’ daughter, how else could she be assured of the veracity of her mother’s words? Without irrefutable evidence, Kit would be viewed as an opportunistic extortionist. That’s why she wanted to be ninety-nine percent certain of her relationship to the McFarland family before she identified herself and asked that a blood test be done to confirm her suspicions.

  She could have offered to volunteer for the foundation, but pretending to be a homeless person seemed a much more anonymous way of gaining entrée to the one family member she hadn’t seen in any pictures. That is, if she ever got to meet the son who ran Renaissance House.

  But being the titular head of the shelter didn’t necessarily mean he worked on the premises. None of it mattered now, anyway, not if she was going to be hauled away. She would have to tell the police the truth and they would call in Mr. McFarland. She would get to meet him, all right. And despite her efforts to be discreet, she would be exposed and still cause their family more grief.

  While she stood there awaiting her fate, she couldn’t help but feast her eyes on the sea of huge pink and yellow Dutch tulips separating her from a tiny French-looking cottage. The gleaming limestone exterior with its hint of rose peeped out from the enormous shade trees beyond the drive.

  Everywhere else she looked, blossom-studded fruit trees filled the air with their fragrance. The gardeners, like the one who’d caught her walking around, kept up the glorious flower beds of the grounds and did immaculate work.

  With a beautiful blue sky above, and a balmy June breeze rustling the leaves, Kit felt a little like the story-book character Alice who’d fallen down a rabbit hole into a fantastic wonderland.

  An unfamiliar male voice broke the quiet. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

  CHAPTER TWO

 
SURPRISED THE GARDENER’S thoughts were attuned to hers despite her precarious situation, Kit wheeled around to answer him. He’d vanished. Another man had taken his place, one who was taller, leaner.

  Still feeling as if she were in a make-believe world, Kit found herself imagining him to be a prince—the prince of hearts in a land of tulips rather than roses. He was dressed in thigh-molding jeans, with shirtsleeves pushed up to the elbows, emphasizing the well-honed physique of a man in his mid-thirties.

  She looked up to study rugged features beneath hair the color of rich South American coffee. It was almost as curly as her own, though not as short. Between dark lashes she glimpsed deep-set eyes more hazel than blue. As they continued to appraise her with seeming interest, the breath rushed from her lungs.

  “Oh!” she cried, and took a step back because a large bumblebee had decided to investigate her on its way to another flower.

  The man’s compelling mouth broke into a smile, changing the rhythm of her heartbeat. “No doubt it could smell strawberries from the shampoo you use.” He could tell? “I don’t blame our furry little friend for wanting to take a dive at you.”

  Kit let out a gentle laugh before she remembered the reason why she was being detained. Averting her eyes, she said, “I know I’m in trouble, but I told the gardener I didn’t mean any harm. I must have gone through the wrong door to find the van and found myself out here. The grounds are breathtak—”

  “It’s all right,” he said in a deep voice. “Anyone who stays at Renaissance House is welcome to take walks along the designated paths.”

  “But I’m not a resident.”

  “You are now.”

  Her head jerked up in surprise. “I don’t understand. The receptionist who answered the door said every bed was taken. She made arrangements for me to go to another shelter.”

  His gaze played over her upturned features. “There’s one more bed for emergencies. It’s all been arranged for you to have it.”