The Real Allie Newman. Janice Carter
do, so why don’t you go and let me get back to my life?”
“Too late, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you’re never going to be able to go back.”
“Of course I am. I’m a very determined person when I want to be.”
“I know,” Joel conceded. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have rescued that man and his dog.”
That made her pause. Most people gushed about her bravery when all along, Allie had known the force that drove her into the icy Cataraqui twice had been something different. Instinctively she’d known that there was no way she was going to let Harry Maguire and Jeb die.
“And that very determination,” she said, her voice rising, “will see me through this…this situation.”
“If you were the kind of person who didn’t care about others, you might pull it off. But I suspect that even if I leave without telling you the rest of the story, you’ll always wonder. That unavoidably huge question of why your father ran away from his wife and family—and abducted you—will hang over you the rest of your life. You know it and I know it.” He turned to descend the porch steps.
“Wait!”
He paused.
Allie was back in the icy Cataraqui again. Only this time, she herself was being swept downstream with no hope of rescue in sight. “You’d better come upstairs,” she murmured, turning away from him so he couldn’t see her face.
SHE WAS EITHER a minimalist or unsentimental, Joel instantly decided, surveying her second-floor apartment. Throw in neat freak, too, he mused. No knickknacks to collect dust, not that a speck of it would be allowed to linger. The clean, crisp style of the decor matched her physical self—unadorned, tidy and in spectacular condition.
Joel repressed a smile. He sounded as if he was composing ad copy. But really, he was relieved that she seemed to be a no-nonsense kind of woman. More than likely, he’d be spending quite a few hours with her in the days ahead, and he dreaded the possibility that she might be overly emotional about everything she was about to learn. It was hard enough juggling the various roles he’d assumed without having to worry about Allie Newman’s state of mind.
“More coffee?” she asked, closing the apartment door behind her.
“Uh, sure,” he said, not really wanting another coffee so soon but anxious to postpone the inevitable. She headed into the hall—toward the kitchen, he guessed—and he took the opportunity to check out the small living room that overlooked the street. A faded plump sofa in front of the bay window had a worn but comfy air. He almost felt like sinking into it, putting up his feet and having a snooze.
Joel scanned the pine bookshelves lining the wall opposite the window. If he hadn’t already known she was some kind of college professor, he’d have concluded so after one glance at the titles. Many were familiar—classics that he’d once stacked on his own shelf years ago as a college undergrad.
“You take it black, right?” she called out.
She must have noticed his preference at the coffee shop earlier. Following her voice along a dark, wood-paneled hall, he appeared in the doorway of a medium-size, old-fashioned kitchen.
“Yes, thanks,” he said.
Her head shot up from pouring coffee into two mugs. “I didn’t hear you coming down the hall.”
He took the mug she held out and shrugged. “Professional habit, I guess.”
One corner of her mouth seemed to twist under as she muttered, “Yeah,” and after splashing some milk into her own coffee, led the way back to the front of the house.
Joel glanced left and right along the hallway. There were two closed doors and an open one leading into a sunlit bathroom. “You live alone?” he asked.
“Yes.” She sank into the sofa and propped her feet on a coffee table stacked with magazines, books and what appeared to be exam papers.
Joel settled into a black leather armchair adjacent to the sofa. No roommate. That was good. No complications.
“Nice place,” he remarked. Then, nodding to the pile of papers, he asked, “Are those exam papers?”
“Yes.”
He went on, unfazed by her terseness. “You a teacher or something?”
Her sigh echoed in the room. “I’m sure you know all about me, Mr. Kennedy. Shall we get to why you’re here?”
“Joel,” he murmured, flashing what he hoped was a placating smile. “High school?” he ventured, pushing her just a tad more.
“I teach math at Queen’s—it’s a local university.”
“Ah! Professor?”
“Hardly. But someday perhaps. I haven’t done my doctoral thesis yet.” She stretched forward to set her mug on the coffee table, brought her feet back to the floor and sat up straight. “Now, about my mother…”
“Right.” Joel leaned over and set his half-empty mug on the floor. “As I said, your father’s real name was Eddie Hughes. Thirty-two years ago he married Katrina Kostakis, the only child of Spiro and Vangelia Kostakis. Apparently Katrina had always been fragile, and shortly after your birth, she spiraled into a serious postnatal depression. From what I’ve been told by the family, she kept this a secret for quite some time, but when you were just a year old or so, it was evident that Katrina had problems. She was put on antidepressants and they seemed to help for a bit. Then—” he paused, noting how Allie’s eyes seemed to disappear into her face at each new sentence “—she began to drink. You can imagine how things became much worse very quickly.”
Allie’s face paled.
Joel hesitated. “Do you want me to get you something? A glass of cold water?”
She waved a limp hand. “No, just continue. But thanks, anyway.”
He was beginning to wish he had a cold drink right then himself, though water wasn’t what he had in mind. “Adding to the equation was the fact that Eddie—your father—worked for Spiro in a fairly high managerial position.”
“Managerial? My father? He was, like, the ultimate hippie,” Allie said. She shook her head. “This is all too much. What kind of business does this Spiro operate?”
“Your grandfather has a number of enterprises. I did some checking on him after he first consulted me. He has a chain of Greek restaurants in Michigan, along with a few importing-exporting companies. Some corporate real estate.”
“So what part did my father supposedly manage?”
There was more than a hint of disbelief in the question. Joel knew enough to make his answer vague. “I’m not really sure, to be honest. Just before he took off, he was being touted as Spiro’s new right-hand man.”
Allie frowned. “Then why would he take off?”
Joel leaned forward in the chair, sensing he’d hooked her at last. She was starting to ask important questions. “I was told there was an argument between Spiro and Eddie about handling some business deal. Spiro made some comment about Eddie not being any more adept at managing his own marriage. Eddie blew up and implied that the marriage wasn’t going to last the year, anyway. Then Spiro reminded him that he had enough connections—politically and legally—to ensure that Eddie would walk away from the marriage with nothing, not even visitation rights to his daughter.”
Joel waited for a reaction, though none came. Instead, he saw that she’d been drawn completely into the story as if it was a tale about some strangers, not her own family. He went on. “Eddie replied that Katrina would never get custody of you, given her depression and alcoholism.”
“That’s true, I’m sure,” Allie put in.
“Perhaps, but Spiro made it clear