"So far as I know, he's in excellent health," Garvin said.
"I assume his wife will be here tonight. I remember her as being rather charming. I knew she had her eye on John. She's protective of him, I'm sure. Selling the house was her idea."
"It's a symbol of the past—"
She stopped suddenly, raised her eyes to him. "You can try to wipe the slate clean, Garvin, but you can never succeed. My brother does have a past."
Even with her disability, she managed to push on ahead. She looked around as if she were taking in every inch of the glittering lobby, as if she'd never seen such opulence before. Yet she'd lived most of her life in one of San Francisco's most opulent mansions. Garvin decided he wasn't going to waste his time trying to make sense of Sarah Linwood.
Annie eased in beside him. She looked tense, uncomfortable. He touched her arm. "You can still change your mind and sit this one out."
"I will if Sarah wants me to. She does have certain rights."
"Rights? So you think I've coerced her into coming tonight?"
"You have."
"She had a choice."
Annie's eyes cooled, more gray than blue, as they narrowed on him. "No, she didn't."
Before he could respond, Sarah dropped back, glancing suspiciously from Annie back to Garvin. She sighed, frowning. "If you two are bickering about me, please stop. You've been my only consolation this past week. Knowing I brought you two together has made it easier for me to tolerate the guilt I feel over the mess I've created. So, please." Her small smile took some of the edge off her words. "Get along."
But Annie was intent upon her own agenda. "Sarah, if you don't want to do this, I'll take you home. We'll call a cab."
Garvin resisted stepping in to argue his case. Annie, he noted, was avoiding his eye.
Sarah shook her head. "I want to see my brother." She leaned on her cane and looked up at Garvin, and if there was a flicker of reluctance in her vivid blue eyes, there was no fear. "Shall we?"
Given her physical condition, they bypassed the open staircase and took the elevator to the small, private dining room on the second floor. They were running late; laugher and the clinking of glasses drifted up the corridor. As Sarah shuffled along, Garvin felt a sudden, unexpected urge to protect her. Whatever lingering doubts he had about her and what she knew about the deaths of her father and niece, she was infirm and maybe a bit off center, and she could very well be walking into the lion's mouth. But she showed no outward signs of nervousness as she moved slowly forward on her cane.
Neither, for that matter, did Annie. Garvin felt a surge of protectiveness toward her, too, never mind that it would only annoy her if she knew. In her mind he was the coercive bastard; she was the self-reliant Mainer. She was in no mood to know he was willing to get bloodied on her behalf.
When they came to the dining room, Annie hung back in front of the open double doors. Garvin narrowed his eyes on her, but she gave a tight shake of her head. "No—you and Sarah go on. I'll wait here until the dust settles. The Linwoods aren't my family."
They weren't his, either. But this wasn't the time to argue, to explain, to finally make her understand that Haley Linwood had been his wife but was no longer.
"If you're sure," he said.
She nodded. "I'm sure."
"This shouldn't take long. John's either going to kick us both out or invite us all to dinner. Either way, people will know Sarah Linwood's back in town." He turned to Sarah, who was staring silently into the dining room. "Are you ready?"
Some of the old dignity asserted itself as she raised her chin, wisps of reddish gray hair in her eyes. "Yes."
They entered the dining room side by side. Glittering chandeliers provided soft lighting for the fifty or so who had gathered for the dinner. They were friends of the Linwoods, wealthy residents of the Bay Area, the executive staff of the foundation, and Sarah's brother and sister-in-law, all the immediate family she had left.
A stunned silence followed their entrance. Garvin put a hand under Sarah's elbow in case she teetered, but she didn't. She held her head high and leaned on her cane in her bag-lady dress and bright red jacket. She would appreciate the drama of it all, Garvin thought with a lack of cynicism that surprised him. Considering the life she'd led for so long, she deserved the attention.
Unless she'd played a direct role in the deaths of her father and niece.
But that was a reckoning for another day. Garvin pushed the thought out of his mind as he heard a shocked, "Sarah." He saw her smile. She looked pleased, relieved, even happy, and she said in a clear, steady voice, "Hello, John."