The Parks Empire: Secrets, Lies and Loves. Marie Ferrarella

whole situation.” She stirred the latte, then took a sip of the hot brew, feeling its warmth flow all the way to her tummy.

      “It’s pretty hard to realize the man you thought was your father wasn’t in actuality. And that the man who is really your sire killed the one you thought was. Man, try explaining all that to a jury,” he finished grimly.

      “Are you going to confront Walter Parks about your paternity?”

      “Yes.”

      “When?”

      “Soon. I want to see the bastard’s reaction when he realizes his sins have come back to haunt him.”

      “Tyler, be careful. He’s killed once—”

      “That we know of,” Tyler interrupted.

      “It’s probably easier the second time,” she warned. Anger and grief brought tears to her eyes. “Sometimes I’m so filled with hate,” she said. “Other times, I think it might be better to go away and forget everything. It was so far in the past and there are so many innocent people who may be hurt by bringing it into the open.”

      Tyler studied her for a long minute. “Like your neighbor?” He gestured toward the town house in the other side of the duplex.

      “Like his little girl.”

      “Why should they get off scot-free?” he demanded. “Our family didn’t. Justice will be done.” He slapped the ball of his fist down on his knee.

      Tension filled the beautiful town house which had been arranged in feng shui fashion for the maximum tranquillity of the human soul.

      “Justice can be harsh,” she murmured. “There’s an ancient Chinese saying that sounds as if it’s a blessing, but it’s really a curse.”

      “What’s that?” he asked when she paused.

      “‘May you live in interesting times.’ To the sages, interesting times were those filled with chaos and troubles. Their greatest wish was for serenity. I think, little brother, that we’re in for some interesting times.”

      He finished the drink and stood as the clock on the mantel chimed ten times. “Good. We’ll see who’s standing when the Parks house of cards comes tumbling down.”

      After she saw him out, watching as his taillights disappeared around a corner, Sara stood at the door for another minute. Down the street, the fog encircled the streetlight in a dim haze. The faint glow gave the promise of warmth and succor to the lone man who walked toward it with quick strides. He paused at the corner and looked over his shoulder, then hurried on.

      She wondered what demons he feared might come after him out of the swirling dampness of the night.

      On Friday, Sara reacquainted herself with the city. Not that she remembered much from twenty-five years ago, but she tried. She visited the zoo and took the scenic drive in a loop around the city and surrounding urban streets.

      One of the two windmills near the old Cliff House spa resort had been restored. The fresh and saltwater pools had long fallen into ruins, but the house remained, having been rebuilt a couple of times due to fire. She ate lunch at the restaurant and knew she’d eaten there in her childhood, although she couldn’t dredge up a specific occasion. Perhaps someone’s birthday.

      Past the windmill, facing the ocean, the houses were being gentrified. New construction was going on in the area. None of that was familiar to her.

      However, another neighborhood, down the Great Pacific Coast Highway toward Half Moon Bay, brought back sharp, poignant memories. There, in an expensive enclave of homes on five-acre estates carved from sage brush and artichoke farms, she located her former home with the help of an address she’d found in her mother’s possessions.

      Standing at the locked gate of the imposing but run-down mansion, images flooded her mind. She’d been riding a tricycle on the sidewalk. Her father was yelling for her to stop as she gained speed on the downward slope. She’d shot through the open wrought-iron gates and gone off the curb in a tangle of arms, legs and tricycle wheels and had a terrific crash on the pavement.

      Her parents had taken her to the emergency room for a broken collarbone. She’d tried not to cry, but it had been the worst pain she’d ever experienced.

      Running her fingers over the long-repaired bone, she reviewed her life since that time. Her mother’s fears. Her weeping. Moving from one cheap apartment to another. Settling at last in Denver. Her own childish delight in the snow, which she’d never seen, and the birth of the twins. Another delight for her, but more pain for her mother.

      The mansion was unoccupied and in disrepair. The old man who had bought it by paying the back taxes had lived here alone after his wife died. He’d passed away a few years ago, and his children were in a battle over the property, according to Tyler. So the place sat empty and forlorn, looking like an aging beauty waiting for her fickle bridegroom to return and make things right again.

      “May I help you?” a voice asked, startling her.

      A policeman had stopped at the curb and called to her from the open window of his cruiser. A stab of fear hit her. She reminded herself she wasn’t doing anything wrong.

      Sara shook her head. “I used to live here. A long time ago,” she added when he looked skeptical. “Since I was in the city, I decided to see if I could remember the place.”

      “This house has been empty a long time. I try to keep an eye on it. An unoccupied house is an invitation for drug dealers to move in.”

      “That would be terrible.”

      “You had better move on,” he told her, but in a kind manner. “Your staring has made the lady down the street nervous. She reported someone was ‘casing’ the estate. That’s why I came by.”

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” Sara told the officer.

      She walked back to her car, parked at the curb near where she’d fallen so many years ago. She felt close to tears as the nostalgic mood lingered.

      Heading for the town house in her old but dependable vehicle, she had to laugh. Obviously she and her family had fallen on leaner times since their days in the mansion. The policeman would probably tell his fellow cops about the encounter and spend the afternoon painting scenarios of what had happened to them. Someone at the station might even recall the disappearance of Jeremy Carlton and the mystery surrounding his death, presumably by drowning, but the body was never found.

      Sara had questions of her own. What had happened to her father’s business? His money? How had her mother managed with four children and no job?

      The latter was answered when she and Tyler had discovered funds in a brokerage account after their mother’s death. She’d lived very frugally off the interest, using extra money only during emergencies.

      Sara thought her mom would have been better off if she’d had to work, to get out and interact with people so that she wouldn’t spend hours alone in the tiny rental house where they’d finally settled in a suburb of Denver.

      At the town house, she pulled into the short driveway and turned off the engine. Stacy was sitting on the marble stoop, chin in her hands, elbows propped on her knees. She smiled broadly when Sara came up the walk.

      “I ringed…rang your doorbell but you weren’t home,” she said, moving over so Sara could sit.

      Sara enjoyed the coolness of the stone through her slacks as she joined the child. By midafternoon the temperature had climbed into the upper seventies and the shade of the alcove was nice after her day of exploration.

      “I’ve been on the scenic tour of the city,” she told Stacy. “I saw Fisherman’s Wharf and the Golden Gate Bridge and had lunch at Cliff House. My table was by the window so I could see the ocean.”

      “Did you see any ships?”

      “Yes.