Take Two

Book 3: Sonya Iverson Novels

by Elsa Klensch

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

Working on a story about the anniversary of a celebrity thrift shop, TV producer Sonya Iverson finds herself caught up in the Woodruff family's disintegration. Hilda Woodruff, who manages the family's magazine empire, is locked in a bitter feud with her sisters, Ellin and Julia, over which of their sons should succeed her as head of the family.

When the family friend who runs the thrift shop is murdered, her body is found by volunteer Kathryn Petite—who is Hilda Woodruff's secret daughter, placed for adoption when Hilda was a teenager. Hilda refuses to meet this specter from her past, so Kathryn is volunteering at the thrift shop in an attempt to get close to her birth family. Sonya investigates the murder, annoying the charming NYPD detective assigned to the case. But although Sonya's connection to the family lets her understand clues others miss, she is unable to prevent another murder.

In the end, Sonya's nose for news ferrets out the Woodruff family's darkest secrets…and the identity if the killer in their midst.

At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

Release date: October 30, 2007

Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

Print pages: 272

Sample

Take Two

Chapter 1
Washington, D.C. Thursday, noon


"Thank you for everything, Marta," Kathryn said with genuine feeling. "I couldn't have gotten through it without you."
Marta's hand shook as she poured scotch into crystal glasses. She put a couple of ice cubes into one tumbler and handed it to Kathryn.
"I need a strong drink and so do you," she said.
Kathryn didn't want the scotch. She was desperate to go home, take a sleeping pill, and escape for a few hours. But she took the glass and sat on the sofa.
Marta sat beside her and took a long swallow. "I loved Zoe as a sister, but ..." Her voice trailed off.
Kathryn closed her eyes. What was coming now? For God's sake, they had just said a final good-bye to her mother at the funeral home. How strong Marta, her godmother, had been at the funeral service, standing at the podium in her stylish yellow suit. She'd worn it, she said in her tribute, as her way of thanking Zoe Pettibone for being a "constant ray of sunshine in my life."
Now Marta's energy had dissipated and she looked exhausted, distraught.Kathryn felt she should hold her, but something about Marta's manner held her back.
"Marta, what do you mean you 'loved her as a sister, but'?" she asked. "What do you want to say?"
Marta didn't answer. She gulped down the rest of her drink, then poured another. Clutching the glass, she turned to face Kathryn.
"I'd never have called Zoe a coward, but at times she just couldn't face the truth," she said. "Now, as I realize what I have to tell you today, I know I'll never forgive her for that."
Kathryn rose and walked toward her as Marta sank into a chair.
"Marta," Kathryn said, "if anyone knew my mother, I did. She had faults, but she wasn't a liar. She worked hard at her job as a fundraiser. She got out there and fought for what she believed in. I'm proud of her. Nothing you can say will change that."
Marta snorted. "Be proud. But you have to accept the fact that she lied to the person who mattered most to her."
Kathryn's chest tightened. She didn't want to talk about her mother's weaknesses, now or ever. Marta knew how she'd suffered through her parents' unhappy marriage and bitter divorce. Now both were dead. What could be left to discuss? She knelt by Marta's chair.
"What are you talking about?"
Marta put her hand on Kathryn's shoulder. "Do you remember how your parents fought? How they were never at peace with each other?"
"How could I forget? It was one ceaseless battle for the seventeen years before I went to college and Dad left."
"You were the problem between them."
"Marta," she protested, "what are you talking about? I don't believe that. Both of them loved me, and I loved them. It was the differences between them, their ages, their backgrounds, even their political views, that caused their problems. Not me."
Marta shook her head.
"No. You were the problem. Not you as a person, but the fact that they had so much trouble having a child. That's why your mother could never summon the courage to tell you this herself." She paused, then gave a short laugh. "Now I understand why."
Kathryn sat back on her heels to hide her frustration. She just wanted Marta to get on with her story, whatever it was.
"Marta, out with it. You know you can tell me anything."
"Your mother was terrified of losing you. Remember that, Kathryn. It will help you understand."
"Marta, tell me. Please."
Marta leaned back and closed her eyes.
"Kathryn, you're adopted. You're not your mother's birth child."
Kathryn looked at her blankly. "Adopted? What do you mean?"
"I mean adopted. When we were stationed at the Embassy in Paris. I helped your mother make the arrangements."
Kathryn fought the disbelief that was sweeping over her.
"Why didn't she tell me?"
"Your father wanted to, but your mother was against it. She told me she'd tried many times, but never had the courage." Seeing the horror on Kathryn's face, she added, "Kathryn, she loved you as much as any mother could love a child."
Kathryn struggled to her feet and walked to the sofa. Sitting, she ran her hand over the brocade on the seat to reassure herself where she was.
Suddenly she was filled with anger at Marta. "Why tell me now, and on this of all days? Couldn't you have waited?"
Marta's answer was quick. "No, I couldn't wait. I knew if I didn't tell you today I never would. Try to understand, I promised Zoe and I couldn't break my promise." She paused. "Anyway, I always believed you had a right to know, and I'm glad that I'm the one to finally tell you."
Kathryn sat in silence. She might have known her mother, but she thought, as she had so often in the past, that she had never completely understood her. Zoe Pettibone had been a full-bodied, temperamental woman whose sudden bursts of anger were followed by unexpected treats. How robust, how full of life she'd been. And then she died, still and shrunken on the hospital bed, stripped of her strength by two crippling strokes.
Kathryn looked at her godmother. Marta put her hand to her eyes and wiped away the tears. "When I made the promise, I did it so lightly. I didn't for a moment think she'd go before I did. She was a year or two older, but physically she was always stronger." The horror of what she was saying crept into her voice. "I didn't dream I'd ever have to do this. Never. Kathryn, please, I've tried to do it with compassion."
Kathryn wasn't listening. Resentment surged through her. "It was cruel of her not to tell me as a child, but it was brutal to have you tell me after she died."
Marta sat beside her.
"Don't judge her now. You'll understand in time. Zoe couldn't admit to herself, let alone to you, that she wasn't your birth mother. As wrong as it may seem, having to adopt a child made her feel she wasn't a complete woman. What's more, your father didn't make it easy for her."
Marta leaned over and took Kathryn's hands in hers, rubbing them as if to warm them. "When Zoe married your father, he was over forty and desperate to have an heir. He was the last of the Pettibone line and he wanted it to continue. But Zoe had miscarriage after miscarriage. It seemed impossible that she would carry a child to full term. She blamed herself and became deeply depressed. We were afraid she was suicidal.
"Then she became pregnant again. She stayed in bed for monthsand only when the doctor told her the baby was fine did she go shopping. Just for a few hours, to buy baby clothes. I'll never forget it. She was deliriously happy. She knew the baby was a boy and that he would fulfill her husband's dream."
"This all happened in Paris?"
"Yes. But the baby was premature and lived for just a few hours. Lewis blamed her, shouting that she should never have left her bed, that she had killed his son. Zoe nearly went mad. Eventually, Lewis agreed to adopt a child. But he wouldn't consider a son; he insisted a Pettibone male had to have Pettibone blood. I looked for a little girl and I found you."
Kathryn sat silent, overwhelmed with sadness, struggling to understand everything Marta had told her. Then she asked quietly, "Do you know anything about my birth parents?"
"Yes. Your mother was so young--just a teenager at an American school in Switzerland. As for your father, I know nothing."
"What was her name?"
"She was a Woodruff, from the New York publishing family. But let's not go into that now. You need time to absorb all this. Be gentle with yourself. I'll tell you everything I know later."
Kathryn got up and walked to the window. In the courtyard below, a father tossed a ball to three children, a boy and two girls. They laughed as the boy missed the catch and the smaller girl ran after it. A family, playing together, Kathryn thought. They hadn't a care in the world. She bit her lip.
"I feel empty," she said.
Marta came and stood by her.
"Your mother loved you as no one ever will again. Remember that." She put her arm around Kathryn's shoulder. "You need time to deal with this. Please don't judge me harshly. I had to keep my promise to tell you."
"I don't judge you at all. I know how much telling me must have cost you. And you know how much I love you."
Marta pulled her close and they stood for a moment holding each other. Then Kathryn broke free.
"I'm going to walk home. You said I need time to think, and I do."
"Kathryn, please stay with me. You shouldn't be alone."
"No," Kathryn said. "I must be by myself."
Marta kissed her on the forehead. "I'll let you go then, and with my love. This has been a dreadful day for you. But it's over, and you're young and strong enough to put it into the past."
Kathryn nodded, blinking back the tears.
"Call me the minute you get home. I must know you're safe. I won't stop thinking of you and what I've done."
Kathryn kissed her good-bye and walked blindly out of the building. The sun was bright on her face. She pushed past people without seeing them. Tears ran down her face.
"Mother, Mother, Mother," she cried out loud, "I want you back so we can talk. Why didn't you tell me? Why did you leave me to face it alone?"
Copyright © 2007 by Elsa Klensch