Page 45 of You'll Find Out

The silence was electrifying, and the heat in the small, enclosed room pounded relentlessly against Mara’s temples. Several times she attempted to respond to Dena’s insinuation, and several times she failed, choking on a denial of the truth. Dena slumped in the chair, her face flushed, and her expectant green eyes the only sign that she wanted a response from Mara. The gaze silently pleaded with Mara for the truth.

Mara reached for her purse and tucked the small, leather bag under her arm. Finally, when the shock of the question had worn thin, Mara looked at Dena and smiled sadly. “You’re right, Dena. Angie is Shane’s child. I was pregnant with her and before I could reach him to tell him the news, I found out that he was dead. lt’s . . . it’s a long story, and in the long run the only thing that matters to you is that I married your brother.”

“But Peter? Did he know?”

“That the child belonged to another man?” Mara closed her eyes tightly and fought back the tears that began to well every time she remembered those long, desperate days and the feeling of despair that caught hold of her when she thought Shane was gone. It was Peter, young, supple, and strong, who had helped her get over her loss and find a reason for living in the fact that she was carrying Shane’s child. “Yes,” Mara whispered huskily. “Peter knew, and I believe that in his own way, he cared for and loved Angie.”

“But . . . how could you? How could he . . .”

Mara shook her head and silenced her sister-in-law. Unwilling tears began to slide down her cheeks. “You have to remember that we, both Peter and I, thought that Shane was dead.”

After a thoughtful silence, Dena asked the question that was uppermost on her mind. “What about Mother? Are you going to tell her?” It was more of a demand than a question.

“Of course.” Once again Mara was apprehensive.

“When?” Dena demanded.

“I don’t know . . . soon, I hope.”

“Would you ever have told her if I hadn’t put two and two together and realized that Angie was Shane’s kid?” Dena asked, her usual air of sarcasm falling neatly back into place. She got up from the chair, reached in the pocket of her jeans for her keys, and stood, waiting insolently, leaning against the door.

Mara’s tone was icy. The very least she expected from Dena was a little compassion after hearing the truth. “I planned on telling her by the end of the week.”

“Give me a break!” Dena said with a mirthless laugh. “I bet you planned on marrying Shane before you told Mother the whole sorry story, and then I doubt you would have had the backbone to be honest.”

Mara winced at Dena’s sharp words. “You’re right,” she allowed calmly, “I was hesitant to tell June about Angie.” Dena smiled wickedly. “But not for the reasons you think. Have you ever taken the time or consideration to talk to your mother and ask her about her health? She’s ill.”

“Oh, come off it, Mara. Don’t give me any of your feeble excuses! You didn’t tell mother because you’re afraid of her and what she can do to you. Without the Wilcox wealth, honey, you and that kid are practically paupers!” Dena sneered.

Mara rose above the taunts of Dena’s insults. “Your mother isn’t well, Dena. I’ve tried to convince her to make an appointment with Dr. Bernard, but so far I’m sure she hasn’t seen him.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Dena exploded. “What you and I are talking about is the fact that you have lied to my entire family by passing off your kid as an heir to the Wilcox fortune!” Dena accused viciously. She pointed a long, bejeweled finger at Mara and shook the keys that she had wrapped in her palm to add emphasis to her belabored point. A thin smile of victory curled her lips, and unconsciously her tongue wet her lips. Never in her wildest imaginings had she expected Mara to give her an out-and-out full-blown confession. Green eyes glinted with triumph at the thought!

“No. I never intended to—”

“Oh, yeah, I know,” Dena interrupted icily. “Your intentions were honorable. Well, just try and explain all that to the board. All of the family is involved here, and we’ve all been deceived. The board is going to be in an uproar, and you can bet that they will find some legal loophole to contest Peter’s will! What you’ve done is considered fraud!”

Mara’s initial shock at Dena’s impassioned speech had faded and boiling anger and indignation took over. Her thin, worn patience gave way. “Are you threatening me?” she challenged.

“You bet I am!”

“Why?”

“Because I want it, Mara. I want it all! It’s my birthright. Imagination Toys is in my blood—”

“In your blood?” Mara managed with a laugh. “Are you kidding? You were willing to sell the entire company to the first interested buyer. Don’t try to convince me of your loyalty.”

Dena’s grin spread slowly over her face. “Oh, but that was before I was sure that Angie wasn’t Peter’s child. Before, it was only conjecture—now, I know the facts!”

“And you plan on using ‘the facts’ against me, is that it?”

Dena’s face froze in an overdramatized affront. She looked positively stricken, but just for the moment. “Against you—heavens, no.” Once again the evil grin. “For me—yes!”

“How?” Mara asked, wondering why she was even listening to her sister-in-law. Clearly, Dena was obsessed with gaining control of Imagination.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” Dena asked, her eyes narrowing. “Years! All the time that we were growing up, I lived with the obvious fact that Peter was Father’s favorite child. And then, when Dad died, his will was another slap in my face! He gave me less than a quarter of the estate, while Peter got it all! That wasn’t bad enough, though. The topper came when Peter died young and his wife, a woman not even related to the family, inherited the bulk of the company along with the house. Do you know how angry I was? How unfair it all was? Of course not! No one could.” Dena’s lips drew back tightly, white against the even row of her teeth.

For the first time in over four years, Mara saw her sister-in-law clearly. And despite Dena’s threats and power plays, Mara felt a rush of pity for the obsessed woman. “Dena,” she suggested gently, “have you ever talked this over with someone professionally?”

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