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 Sorry, I should have picked up on that sooner. So
Reva took her revenge out on R. J. by refusing to reveal
his son s whereabouts.
 No! she cried, taken aback, eyes wide in shock.
 That s not how it was at all! I thought giving up her
only grandchild would kill her. It nearly did. But she
made the sacrifice because he deserved two responsi­
ble adult parents. What chance would he have had with
a teenage mother and a playboy who denied being his
father?
 She couldn t bear to watch Kaithlin sacrifice every­
thing to raise a child alone. She had tried it, did every­
thing any woman could do, and failed. She spent hours
with the priest, seeking the strength and courage to give
him away. He said adoption was best.
 But she could have forced R. J. to pay child sup­
port. Hired a lawyer, called the Jordans . . .
Myrna shook her head as she poured steaming water
over fresh tea bags in cups for us both. It was
chamomile.  The law didn t work for her, and she knew
it wouldn t for Kaithlin. The Jordans were too power­
ful. She tried to talk to R. J., but he was crude and hu­
miliated her. She had her pride. She always made her
own way and never asked for help. It broke her heart to
lose him, but Reva said her grandson went to a wonder­
ful home.
I stared down at my notebook.  But if it wasn t re­
venge, why wouldn t she help them find him?
 Because, by the time R. J. changed his mind, there
YOU ONLY DIE TWICE 181
was no baby anymore, she said indignantly.  He
would have been a little boy in school. Six years old.
You don t uproot a child, take him from the only family
he knows. You don t do that to the parents who love
him. How could Reva let R. J. change his mind on a
whim? What if he changed it again later? You can t play
with human life that way.
 So Reva was protecting the boy?
 Her grandson, at all costs, she said solemnly.  She
destroyed the paperwork on the adoption so it would
never be found. If something happened to her, she
didn t want her grandson s life ever disrupted by
strangers with briefcases. Later, she suspected that was
why R. J. killed Kaithlin, to take her child away, the
way he accused her of taking his son. I can t tell you all
the times she sat right where you re sitting, crying her
eyes out.
I closed my eyes as the image evoked a shiver.  Do
you remember Amy Hastings? I asked.  She testified
at the trial.
 Kaithlin s little friend. Myrna nodded.  Always
had their heads together, whispers and giggles. Not as
smart or as pretty as Kaithlin, but she promised she d
stay close to Reva afterward, even swore she d be her
surrogate daughter, because they d both loved Kaithlin.
I thought she might be a comfort, but after the trial
Reva never heard from her again. Not a call, not so
much as a Christmas card. She was a flighty little thing.
Ditzy, if you ask me.
I drove along Biscayne Boulevard, bathed in the cozy
glow of anti-crime lights, wondering why everyone but
182 EDNA BUCHANAN
her own husband felt loyal to Kaithlin. Back at the of­
fice, I went to the trial transcript and found the address
of the condo R. J. had bought for Dallas Suarez, the
mistress who later testified against him. Beachfront, in
Key Biscayne. No phone listed for her there, or any­
where else in Miami-Dade. The high-flying adven­
turess and flight instructor could be anywhere by now, I
thought. Her public image at the time of the trial was
that of a sensation seeker, an expert pilot, diver, and
skier who also thrived on the thrills of illicit romance. I
got out the trusty city directory. The building had only
twenty-five units on five floors. I lied through my teeth,
posing as an old friend in search of a long-lost chum.
 She s my neighbor! trilled the first woman I spoke
to.  She s still here! Married now, to a lovely guy. Lives
here with her husband. Want me to tell her you called?
 No, please don t. I checked the time. Too late to
drop by tonight.  I want to surprise her.
I called Eunice, but her answering service picked up.
I left messages for her and R. J., then addressed an en­
velope to Myrna Lewis. Before dropping the photo of
little Kaithlin and her mother in the outgoing mail, I
again studied Reva Warren s solemn face and plain ap­
pearance, in contrast to Kaithlin s lively beauty and
mischievous charm. Who would believe they were
mother and daughter? When had I thought that before?
I checked my mailbox and found a copy of the art
department s sketch of Kaithlin, along with a glossy [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]