The Heiress. Cathy Gillen Thacker
of built-in bookshelves and several black-metal vertical files. The living room had a sectional sofa in the same slate-gray hue as the exterior of the house, an impressively outfitted entertainment center, upholstered reading chair and matching ottoman and not much else. Behind that was a surprisingly well-equipped kitchen and dining area at the rear of the house. A laundry room was located in the middle, just off the covered back porch. Farther down the hallway that ran the width of the home, was a single bathroom with a tub and shower combination, commode and sink all located in a very tiny space, and what appeared to be not just the master bedroom but the only bedroom, Daisy noted.
Daisy studied the king-size bed, with the brown, burgundy and taupe paisley sheets and coverlet. It looked comfortable and seemed to dominate the room. How comfortable it would be if the two of them were in it together, she did not know.
His hand just above her elbow, Jack directed her back to the hall. “The clean linens, towels and washcloths are in here. If you want to go first—” He tilted his head at the shower.
Daisy did.
“I’ll bring in your things.”
DAISY WASTED NO TIME getting into the shower, taking advantage of the time alone no doubt. Jack went to his study at the front of the house to the vertical files. He made sure they were locked then sat down to try to figure out what he was going to do with all the information locked inside. He couldn’t take it to the Deveraux-Heyward Shipping offices, his or Tom’s. There was too much of a chance of it being spotted by someone else. He didn’t want to leave it in a storage facility, where anyone could break in and or come across it and wonder just what the hell Jack had been doing the past ten years at Tom Deveraux’s behest. And he didn’t want to destroy the information, either. Some of it meant too much to him.
One thing was for certain, though, he didn’t want Daisy laying eyes on it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
GINGER ZARING WAS STARING at the balance in her bank account, wondering how she could magically conjure up the sum she needed, when her daughter, Alyssa, walked into the kitchen, a stack of mail in her hands. She set the envelopes on the counter then went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough. Ignoring Ginger’s frown—Ginger preferred they eat their cookies baked—Alyssa chopped off a liberal chunk and set it on a plate.
“Anything interesting in the mail?” Ginger asked her daughter.
“Yeah.” Alyssa tugged off the butter-stained polo she had to wear for her movie-theater concessions job and, still clad in a black T-shirt and black cotton slacks, collapsed wearily onto one of the breakfast-bar stools. She paused to pop a chunk of dough into her mouth. “I got another reminder from Yale. The rest of my tuition is due in two weeks, and they want my room and board to be paid in full, too.”
Ginger nodded, as if it were no big deal, but inside, her heart was sinking. She had fully expected to have all the money she needed by now, to pay those bills. But she didn’t, and now, as the time approached for her only child to leave for college, the clock was ticking ominously.
Alyssa studied her mother, at eighteen seeing a lot more than Ginger cared to admit. “Maybe it’s not too late for me to go to USC with the rest of my friends,” Alyssa said quietly.
Ginger shook her head, vetoing that. Alyssa had opportunities here that most of her high-school graduating class could only dream about. “Honey, we’ve been through this. I told you if you got accepted to Yale, you’d go.” And Ginger had promised her daughter that, knowing full well that expenses for the year would exceed her thirty-five-thousand-dollar salary. But she’d been determined to provide for her only child, and provide she would.
“But…” Alyssa’s lower lip trembled; her hazel eyes suddenly filled with tears. “We don’t have the money yet. Do we?”
Ginger refused to make this her daughter’s problem—hadn’t she already hurt Alyssa enough by marrying and divorcing such a loser? She explained patiently, “I told you. I don’t want you worrying about this.”
“How can I not worry,” Alyssa demanded plaintively, “when we’re not poor enough to be eligible for any of the need-based scholarships or financial aid, and not rich enough to qualify for the private loans?”
Exactly the problem, Ginger thought. Fortunately for the two of them, where there was a will there was always a way. “Look, I know this is tricky, but I have arranged to get the funds for you.”
“From that private funding source,” Alyssa ascertained uneasily.
“Right,” Ginger said.
“And you’re sure the money has been guaranteed to us?”
“Absolutely.” Ginger smiled.
Alyssa continued to regard her mother suspiciously. “It’s not a loan shark or anything, is it?”
“No. Of course not,” Ginger said firmly. She might be willing to take a little risk, but not that much! “Just a wealthy friend of a friend with a philanthropic streak.”
“Then what’s taking so long?” Alyssa demanded petulantly.
Exactly what I’d like to know, Ginger thought, secretly feeling more than a little irked herself. She’d been working darn hard to hold up her end of that particular bargain for months now. But thus far, despite the generous promises made to her, she had actually garnered only nine thousand in cash from Alyssa and Ginger’s secret benefactor. Not that she was about to let him fail to pony up! Twice last week, he’d told Ginger he was going to bring her the balance of the money when they met. Twice, he had forgotten. Ginger wasn’t about to let him do so again.
“Maybe we could ask Daddy to help us,” Alyssa said hesitantly.
Ginger would have given anything if that were possible. But she knew she couldn’t count on Mack Zaring for anything, and the sad truth was she never had been able to. During the ten years they’d been married he had spent every dime they both brought in, and then some, leaving the three of them deeper and deeper in debt with every year that passed. The final straw, however, had come when Mack turned thirty and decided he hated his life. Telling Ginger privately that the mundaneness of their life together was suffocating him, he walked out on Ginger and eight-year-old Alyssa. Quit his job as an electrical engineer, moved to a shack in the Blue Ridge Mountains and began working on and off as a fishing guide. Since then, he’d been chronically late with child support payments, criminally unenthusiastic about their daughter’s many stellar achievements and completely unsupportive of Alyssa’s goals and ambitions for the future. Personally, Ginger didn’t care if she never saw Mack again, but for Alyssa’s sake, she knew she had to keep some connection going. It was important, Ginger knew, that Alyssa think her father loved her every bit as much as Mack should have loved her. “Honey, I’m sure he would help us if he could,” Ginger fibbed gently. “But your daddy doesn’t have that kind of money. You know that.”
Alyssa ducked her head, discouraged, and Ginger understood full well how dejected Alyssa felt. Her own parents’ lack of money and ingenuity had kept her from going to a great private university. No way was the same thing happening to her daughter. Alyssa, Ginger determined resolutely, was going to have the opportunities in life that Ginger had never had. Alyssa was going to get the Ivy League education, and the prestige and hefty salary that went along with a degree. Even if it meant Ginger had to forfeit her pride and keep moonlighting at her second “job” in addition to her work as an airlines reservation agent. Deciding it was best to simply change the subject to something more hopeful, Ginger asked, “Do you still have that list of things you’re going to need for your dorm room—like extra-long twin sheets—for your bed?”
Alyssa nodded. “It’s on my desk.”
“Well, why don’t you go get it?” Ginger suggested cheerfully. “And we’ll go to the outlet mall and get what you need as soon as I finish up here.”
Alyssa’s face broke out into a relieved smile, sure now that everything was going to be all right. “You mean that?” she asked excitedly.