Unspoken Read Free Page A

lazily, and shade from the live oaks and pecan trees eased some of the summer heat that rose from the terra cotta that skirted the pool and reflected in sharp rays off the shimmering blue water.
    Her father was seated at a small table. Dressed in a black suit and white shirt, a black Stetson on the table, his cane with its carved ivory handle lying across his lap, he was deep in conversation with two men. Not three henchmen, but, she supposed, two yes-men dressed in jeans and shirts with their sleeves rolled up. One had a brown moustache and thinning hair, the other wore a silvering goatee and dark sunglasses.
    At the sound of the door closing behind her, they all looked up. Two faces scowled slightly, then gave her the once-over as if in tandem. Their sour expressions ebbed slowly to interest.
    She ignored them both.
    Her father looked over his shoulder. “Shelby!”
    She ached inside when she saw the pure joy that lit his face. God, he’d aged. His face had become jowly with the years, his belly larger than it had been. His eyelids had sagged a bit and lines weaved through his neck and across his forehead. His red hair had faded and grayed, but he was still an imposing man. and as he pulled himself to his full height of six feet, three inches, she remembered how intimidating he’d been on the bench..
    “My God, girl, it’s good to see you.” He opened his arms wide, but Shelby held her ground and stood away from him.
    “We need to talk.”
    “What the hell are you doin’ here, darlin’?” Disappointment clouded his blue eyes, and a part of her wanted to run to him and throw her arms around his neck and say oh, Daddy, I’ve missed you. But she didn’t. Instead she swallowed back the urge to break down altogether and stiffened her spine. She was no longer a frightened little girl.
    “Alone, Judge. We need to talk alone.” She stared pointedly at his latest gofers.
    The men, dismissed by a nod from their boss, kicked out their chairs, and with muffled words and hasty assurances from Judge Cole that they’d get together later, walked stiffly around the back of the house and through a gate. In the ensuing stillness, when the sound of bees humming and a woodpecker drumming were all that could be heard, Shelby didn’t waste any time. She reached into her briefcase, pulled out the manila envelope, ripped it open and spilled its contents onto the glass-topped table where the ice in three half-consumed drinks was still melting.
    The black-and-white photo of a girl of nine or ten stared up at them, and the Judge sucked in his breath as he slowly sat down again. Shelby noticed that his wedding band had cut a groove in the ring finger of his left hand, a ring that hadn’t been removed in over thirty years, and on his right, he sported a flashy diamond that most Hollywood brides would envy.
    Shelby leaned over the table so that the tip of her nose was nearly touching her father’s. With one finger she pointed to the black-and-white picture. “This is my daughter,” she said, her insides quaking, her voice unsteady. “Your granddaughter.”
    She looked for any sign of recognition in the old man’s face. There was none. “She looks just like me. Just like Mom.”
    The judge glanced at the photo. “There’s a resemblance.”
    “No resemblance, Judge. This girl is a dead ringer. And here”—she edged a piece of paper from beneath the photograph—“ this is a copy of her birth certificate. And this ... the death notice of her as a baby. Read it—Elizabeth Jasmine Cole. She was supposed to have died, Judge—of complications, heart problems—right after birth. You ... you told me she hadn’t made it. That those ashes I spread in the hills ... oh, . God, whose were they?” she asked, then shook her head, not wanting to hear any more lies. “Don’t ... oh, God.” Shelby’s throat was clogged and she thought she might throw up. “You lied to me, Dad. Why?”
    “I didn’t—”
    “Don‘t! Just don’t,