The one activity LuAnn had picked up in her travels was what she was heading to do right now. The horse barn was about five hundred yards behind the main house and surrounded on three sides by a thick grove of trees. Her long strides took her there quickly. She employed several people full-time to care for the grounds and horse barn, but they were not yet at work. She pulled the gear from the tack room and expertly saddled her horse, Joy, named for her mother. She snagged a wide-brimmed Stetson hat and leather gloves off the wall, and swung herself up onto her ride. She had had Joy for several years now; the horse had traveled with them to several countries, not an easy task, but one that was quite manageable when your pocketbook was bottomless. LuAnn and company had arrived in the United States via plane. Joy had made the crossing by boat.
One reason she and Charlie had decided upon the property was its myriad of riding trails, some probably dating from Thomas Jefferson’s days.
She started off at a good pace and soon left the house behind. Twin clouds of breath escorted the pair as they made their way down a gradual decline and then around a curve, the trees hugging either side of the trail. The morning’s briskness helped to clear LuAnn’s head, let her think about things.
She had not recognized the man, not that she had expected to. Counterintuitively, she had always expected discovery to come from unknown quarters. He had known her real name. Whether that was a recent discovery on his part or he had found out long ago, she had no way of knowing.
Many times she had thought about going back to Georgia and telling the truth, just making a clean breast of it and attempting to put all of it behind her. But these thoughts had never managed to work themselves into cohesive actions and the reasons were clear. Although she had killed the man in self-defense, the words of the person calling himself Mr. Rainbow had continually come back to her. She had run. Thus, the police would assume the worst. On top of that, she was vastly rich, and who would have any sympathy or compassion for her now? Especially people from her hometown. The Shirley Watsons of the world were not so rare. Added to that was the fact that she had done something that was absolutely wrong. The horse she was riding, the clothes she was wearing, the home she was living in, the education and worldliness she had obtained over the years for herself and Lisa, all had been bought and paid for with what amounted to stolen dollars. In stark fiscal terms, she was one of the biggest crooks in history. If need be, she could endure prosecution for all that, but then Lisa’s face sprung up in her thoughts. Almost simultaneously, the imagined words of Benny Tyler that day at the graveyard came filtering back to her.
Do it for Big Daddy. When did I ever lie to you, baby doll? Daddy loves you.
She pulled Joy to a halt and sunk her head in her hands as a painful vision entered her head.
Lisa, sweetheart, your whole life is a lie. You were born in a trailer in the woods because I couldn’t afford to have you anywhere else. Your father was a no-account loser who got murdered over drugs. I used to stick you under the counter at the Number One Truck Stop in Rikersville, Georgia, while I waited tables. I’ve killed a man and run from the police over it. Mommy stole all this money, more money than you could dream of. Everything you and I have came from that stolen money.
When did Mommy ever lie to you, baby doll? Mommy loves you.
LuAnn slowly dismounted and collapsed on a large stone that jutted at an angle from the ground. Only after several minutes did she slowly come around, her head swaying in long, slow movements, as though she were drunk.
She finally rose and took a handful of pebbles from the ground. She idly skipped the stones across the smooth surface of a small pond, sending each one farther and farther with quick, graceful flicks of her wrist. She could never go back now. There was nothing to go back to. She had given herself a new life, but it had come with a terrifyingly high cost. Her past was total fabrication, thus her future was uncertain. Her day-to-day existence vacillated between fear of total collapse of the flimsy veneer shrouding her true identity and immense guilt for what she had done. But if she lived for anything, it was to ensure that Lisa’s life would not be harmed in any way by her mother’s past—or future—actions. Whatever else happened, her little girl would not suffer because of her.