Secrets of Paternity. Susan Crosby
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hostile and handsome. James put out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
The boy hesitated a few seconds, shook his hand, then jammed his own back in his pocket.
James tamped down his inner turbulence. “Would you like to come inside?” he asked. He’d faced an escaped murderer with less uncertainty about what to do next.
“Can we just sit here?”
“Sure.” James gestured to the spot beside him, resisted smiling when Kevin sat on the step above, as far away as he could get. Damn. What did you say to a boy you had fathered but never seen? How much inane chitchat had to be spoken before anything important could be said? Did he even have the right to ask questions of this young man who had yet to remove his sunglasses?
James was surprised Kevin had come on his own, although grateful that he had. Having Paul there, too, might have been even more awkward. “How is Paul?”
“My father died a year ago.”
James looked away, sadness rushing in. He closed his eyes. His throat tightened. He hadn’t seen Paul in almost nineteen years, but he could see his face, hear his voice. “I’m sorry. Very sorry.”
“Thanks.” Kevin shoved his sunglasses on top of his head. His jaw twitched. “I’m not here looking for a father to replace him.”
Kevin was angry. James understood that. His father was dead, and James lived. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. “I wouldn’t expect to take his place. He raised you.”
“I heard you’re a P.I.”
Surprise zipped through him. “How’d you find that out?”
“From my mom. Last week she found the agreement between you and Dad. She checked you out.”
Smart woman, not to let her son go blindly into a situation. But James wondered what she would’ve done if he hadn’t passed muster. “I hope to meet her sometime.”
One side of Kevin’s mouth lifted. “My mom’s kinda unpredictable.”
“Okay.” James didn’t know what else to say. Did unpredictable mean crazy? Would she be a problem? “Does she know you’re here?”
“No. And we’re going to keep it that way.”
“Why?”
“Because she wouldn’t approve.”
Which made no sense to James. “But you said she checked me out, and obviously she gave you my name and address. That sounds like approval to me.”
“She was keeping Dad’s promise, that’s all.”
“I see. But you’re here. Why?”
“Because there’s something you can do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Help me find my father’s killer.”
Stunned, James studied the boy, noting his fury and pain. “Killer?”
Kevin nodded once, sharply. “The cops say it was an accident. I know better.”
A group of trick-or-treaters approached. James divided the remainder of his candy among them, tossing a handful into each bag.
“Cool!” a couple of them said before running off. “Thanks!”
James stood. “Let’s go inside,” he said to Kevin.
After a moment Kevin stood, too. James saw his own DNA in the boy, not like looking in a mirror, but as if Kevin had stepped out of James’s high school yearbook. Did Kevin see it? Did it make him uncomfortable? James and Paul had shared some similarities, but not like this.
He turned off the porch light to discourage more trick-or-treaters, then watched Kevin look around his house, wondering what he thought of it. Sometimes the echoing quiet overwhelmed James.
“You live here alone?” Kevin asked, his hands shoved in his pockets again.
“Yes.” He gestured toward the living room.
“Got any kids?”
Just you. “No.”
“How come?”
“Until last year I worked as a bounty hunter. I wasn’t home much. Didn’t seem fair to a family to be gone so much.”
He hesitated a few seconds. “My dad was gone a lot, too.”
“What did he do?”
“Stuntman.”
James sat in an overstuffed chair, deciding he would seem less intimidating sitting down. Kevin moved slowly around the room, stopping to look at an item, then moving on.
“Hollywood type?” James asked.
“Yeah.”
“Seems like his death would’ve made news.”
Kevin picked up a piece of yellow quartz that sat on the mantel and examined it. “It did.”
“Maybe I was out of the country. Where’d you live?”
“In Southern California, in the Valley. Near Sylmar. We had a small ranch.”
“With horses?”
“Yeah. Can’t be an all-around stuntman if you can’t ride.” His tone of voice implied that James was being stupid for asking.
“I suppose not. You ride?”
“Of course.”
Of course. “Your mom, too?”
Kevin faced him squarely. “Will you help me?”
So, no more chitchat. Kevin didn’t care about James beyond what he could do for him, but it was enough for now. “Tell me what you know.”
The boy drew himself up. Obviously, even a year later, he had trouble talking about the accident.
“Dad was riding his bike down the canyon road. It was raining. He and the bike went over the side.”
“Why do you think it was intentional?”
“My dad was careful. Supercareful. He checked every stunt ten times. And he knew every inch of that road. No way that could’ve happened. No way.”
“Even though it was raining?”
“He would’ve been supercautious.”
The determination in his voice was convincing. “Yet the police think otherwise.”
“The police didn’t know my dad.” He planted his feet and crossed his arms. “Look, if you don’t want to help me, just say so.”
“Had he been acting differently, Kevin? Do you have something concrete to go on?”
“Yes. Different. I don’t know how to describe it. Just different.”
“In what way?”
He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Not there. I know that doesn’t make sense. He was there, around, but he wasn’t there. Like he was distracted all the time.”
“Did you talk to him about it?”
“Sort of. I asked him if something was wrong, but he said no. He was just tired.”
“You didn’t believe him?”
Kevin shook his head. “I let it go, because I thought I would just give him some time. He told me everything. I figured he’d tell me this, too.”
Not everything, apparently. Layered over the boy’s obvious grief was belligerence, probably to hide how much he hurt. James’s decision was easy. He would help Kevin—because if he didn’t, Kevin would probably disappear from his life as quickly as he’d come into