Zinnia by Jayne Castle Page A

never have married your mother.” Orrin’s face worked furiously. “He knew his duty. He would never have given the Chastain name to some cheap hooker he met in a Western Islands bar.”
    The blood suddenly pounded in Nick’s ears. He was on his feet before he had time to think. He rounded the corner of the desk and seized a fistful of Orrin’s expensive shirt.
    “My mother was not a hooker,” he said very, very softly. “Don’t ever call her that. Do you hear me, Uncle Orrin? Don’t ever call my mother a hooker or, so help me, you and everyone else on the legitimate side of the Chastain family will pay.”
    Orrin’s mouth opened and closed. His eyes bulged. “I’ll have my secretary summon security.”
    “My parents planned to marry when my father returned from his last expedition. But Bartholomew Chastain didn’t make it back alive.” Nick leaned closer. “No one knows exactly what happened, but we all know who benefited, don’t we?”
    Orrin’s mouth opened and closed twice more be fore he managed to put a coherent sentence together. “How dare you imply that I might have had anything to do with Bart’s death or that I was glad he never returned. That’s a goddamned lie.”
    “Is it?”
    “Face the facts, Nick. There never was a Third Chastain Expedition. It’s just a legend. The most likely explanation for Bart’s disappearance is that he walked off into the jungle one afternoon and committed suicide. He was a matrix. Everyone knows they’re not real stable.”
    “If you believe that there was no Third Expedition, why are you after his journal?”
    “Look, I’m not saying that Bart didn’t leave a personal diary of some kind,” Orrin snapped. “God knows, he was obsessive about keeping notes on everything. But it couldn’t be a record of the Third Expedition because that venture never took place.”
    The roaring in Nick’s ears diminished. He noticed that his hand was clenched much too tightly around the fine fabric of Orrin’s shirt front. Disgusted with the loss of self-control, he released his grip and took a step back.
    A glint of gold caught his eye. He glanced at Orrin’s expensive cuff links. They were each elegantly embossed with a large C and the initial O. Every man in the Chastain family received a pair of gold cuff links when he came of age. Nick wondered what had become of his father’s set. Damned if he would ask Orrin.
    He met his uncle’s eyes. “So we come back to the basic question,” he said softly. “Why would you be willing to pay a lot of money for my father’s journal?”
    “Because it’s a family heirloom.” Orrin straightened his tie and collar. “If you had any sense of responsibility toward the family you’d understand that. Now get out of here before I have you thrown out.”
    “I’m on my way.” Nick walked to the door. He paused briefly just before he opened it. “I almost forgot to ask, how are things going with Glendower? Any luck convincing him to pour money into Chastain, Inc.?”
    Orrin stared at him with stunned shock. Then a slow flush rose in his face. “What do you know about Glendower?”
    Nick shrugged. “I’m aware that Chastain, Inc. is in bad shape since the acquisition of Meltin-Lowe. You paid far too much for the company, didn’t you? Meltin-Lowe turned out to be a very deep hole. Now you’re in trouble. You need cash so you’re wooing potential investors. I believe Glendower is the third one you’ve talked to in the past six weeks.”
    “That is none of your business, damn it.”
    “Relax, I’m family, remember?” Nick smiled. “But a word of warning, Uncle. I know you’ve got a cash-flow problem, but if you’re after Bartholomew Chastain’s journal because you believe those old rumors about the treasure, save your time and energy. The legend that my father discovered a fortune in fire crystal is just that, a legend. Old Demented DeForest invented that part of the story just like he did the part about aliens