Children of Dynasty Read Free Page A

false smile curving her lips, she walked blindly through the foyer toward the exit.
    From behind, she heard Rory call for her to wait. For the barest instant, she hesitated, but too many unanswered questions sent her on into the spring night.

     
    The day after the party, Mariah drove through the Sunday evening rain to the Stonestown neighborhood where she had grown up. The older, but pleasant, district lay south of Golden Gate Park and east of Ocean Beach. Once rolling sand dunes, the terrain now marched up and down gentle hills where modest stucco homes built with post World War II financing lined quiet streets.
    Parking in front of her father’s bungalow, she was struck once more by the contrast between the simple way he lived, plowing every spare dime back into Grant Development, and Davis Campbell’s lifestyle. Her jaw set as she prepared to break the news about Campbell and Chatsworth’s scheme to defame him.
    Dodging raindrops up the walk between double rows of pampered rosebushes, she let herself into the house and pocketed her key.
    In the narrow hall, she paused beside a wooden chessboard to study the move her father had made since she was last there. This set was dedicated to an ongoing match that only moved forward when she dropped by home. When she was in L.A., this had lain dormant for months. Of course, then they had played on the computer, sending moves back and forth by e-mail. Mariah studied the board, lifted a knight, and moved it two spaces forward and one to the right, a little closer to her father’s king.
    From the hall, she followed the familiar mouth-watering smell of marinara sauce to the kitchen. Golden oak cabinets glowed and produce spilled over white marble countertops.
    “You didn’t call.” John smiled from where he was stirring the contents of a saucepan. “I hope I have enough pasta.” He wore his usual at-home uniform of khaki slacks and a worn out blue dress shirt, the ceiling spotlights accentuating his shock of silver hair.
    Setting her keys and purse down, she stretched to kiss his cheek. “How are you feeling?”
    “Fine as can be.” He appeared well rested, his gray eyes alert and clear.
    “You do look better than you did Saturday,” she tempered, checking the sauce, and finding a generous amount of Italian sausage.
    He saw her gaze. “Fat’s where the flavor is.”
    The familiar sight of him stirring a pot touched her heart, reminding her of days when he cooked, and she did homework at the kitchen table. Now he asked her to make a salad with cherry tomatoes and peppers and to boil salted water laced with olive oil.
    While she was washing lettuce, he held out a spoonful of sauce. “Taste.”
    “I don’t have to. It needs more sugar.”
    “Wrong.” He grinned. “When I saw your car pull up, I added some.”
    Turning back to the stove, he took an experimental sample of his creation and added another pinch of salt. “Now, tell me about last night at Campbell’s. I expected you to call earlier.”
    Mariah rummaged under the cabinet for a cutting board. “Quite a turnout, and an amazing place. I didn’t realize the Campbells lived so high.”
    “Who all was there?”
    She sliced tomatoes. “Well, of course I didn’t know many folks.”
    Not wanting to spoil her father’s appetite after he’d gone to so much trouble, Mariah managed to entertain him with details unrelated to Davis Campbell for the time it took to get the meal ready.
    John carried plates heaped with linguini and sauce to the butcher-block table. As they sat down, he beamed at her proudly. “You don’t know what it means to finally have you at Grant Development.”
    “You don’t know how glad I am to be here.” This past winter when she’d finished work on the Desert Hot Springs Convention Center her father came down for a tour. In the grand ballroom beneath a crystal chandelier, he took both her hands. “It’s time.”
    He twirled pasta with a spoon. “With you here, we’ll beat out