Free Children of Dynasty by Christine Carroll Page A

head.
    Mariah ran her gaze along the words carved below “beloved wife.” “Catharine Mariah Stockton Grant,” she murmured.
    He must know she had heard it a thousand times, but, “We named you for her middle name, also her mother’s name.”
    Mariah might be the end of the line; if she continued as she had for the past eight years, devoted to career and loving no man, there might be no more passing on of family names.
    She came out of her reverie to find Grant’s director of public relations April Perry at her elbow. Copper-haired, with a porcelain complexion and prime time television makeup, April wore a bright blue dress that looked out of place among the mourners. She had not attended the funeral, staying behind at the office this morning.
    “What are you doing here?” Mariah asked.
    “There’s a pack of news crews camped out at Grant,” April said. “Not the usual one or two lurking reporters. I couldn’t reach your cells.”
    John reached to his belt to turn his electronic leash back on. “After ‘On The Spot’ failed to run that footage from the funeral home last night, I was hoping things were settling down.”
    April looked troubled. “I guess they want to make hay out of the service being today.”
    “I’m surprised that Cypress Lawn security kept them out of here,” Mariah said.
    John sighed. “We’ll have to show our faces sooner or later. How about if we go and get it over with?”
    Wendy clutched Tom’s arm. “Not you.”
    “Not you today either, Dad.” There wasn’t any use in putting it off, but she thought he needed at least the weekend of rest. “What if we all check into a hotel until Monday morning?” she suggested.
    “How about the Nikko?” Tom agreed. The tall white tower with its modern décor and exclusive Japanese restaurant was a common stop for Oriental travelers. “We locals ought to be able to hide out there.”
    The mention of hiding out made her think of Rory’s invitation. From their position on the hill, she could see blue ocean, hazy in the distance. Charley would never again see the rippling of the bay or a sail’s billow, but for her, life, motion, and the man she once loved beckoned.
    A few minutes later, after the limousine had returned to the Barrett’s house, she told her father casually, “I’m going to run by my place for an overnight bag. I’ll see you at the Nikko later.”
    “Watch out for the press,” John cautioned.
    She flashed a grin. “What can they do to me? If I see them I’ll say I have ‘no comment’.”
    Leaving the Barretts, she did drive toward her Marina District apartment. Though it was eleven thirty, she thought there’d be time to change into sailing clothes and pack for the weekend at the Nikko before phoning Rory.
    Turning into her street, she saw two TV vans parked in front of her house.
    “Full court press,” she muttered, slamming on the brakes.
    With a fast U-turn she headed back the other way. She couldn’t tell if they’d seen her as she went around a corner.
    Rory’s business card lay on the seat beside her. She managed to read and stab out the number for his cell phone on hers. On the fourth ring, he answered.
    “The press are camped out at my place,” she told him. “I’m not sure if they saw me.”
    “Listen carefully.” He was all business. “I’m at my townhouse. On Vallejo, up high, on the right.”
    She checked her rearview mirror and saw a white van with roof-mounted satellite equipment a few lengths back in the other lane. Speeding up, she whipped her car around the first turn on the way to Vallejo.
    “Where should I park?” she asked Rory.
    “I have a two-car garage. You drive in, I’ll close it.”
    All the way to Vallejo, the news crew stayed with her, so close that she was able to identify the “On The Spot” logo. They were right behind her when she drove into the open garage and watched daylight disappear with the lowering metal panel.
    Rory waited in the doorway from the garage