by Rickie Blair
An uncomfortable silence descended.
The General shifted on his haunches, his gaze flickering between us.
“I was a child,” I said, finally.
“You were my child,” Frank said. He turned to face me, his blue eyes clouding with grief. “And I swore to protect you. I’m sorry.”
Tears pricked my eyes, welling over despite my best efforts to stop them. Before long, I was sobbing.
He jumped to his feet to place a hand on my shoulder.
I pushed it away. Helplessly, I floundered about for tissues. Frank reached for the box on the counter, then held it out. I grabbed a handful before resuming my crying. It was as if all those years of waiting—of wondering what I’d done wrong—had suddenly reached up to grab me by the throat.
A pile of sodden tissues grew by my chair.
Frank paced with a hand clasped to his mouth.
Finally, I dried my eyes and blew my nose for the last time. With a shaking hand, I reached for my cold coffee and drained it. Swiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I replaced my mug on the table and slumped with a sigh that emptied my soul. I felt drained of all emotion. “Why didn’t you?” I asked.
“Why didn’t I what?”
“Protect me.” Searchingly, I focused on his eyes.
“I swear, Verity. I had no control over what happened. It’s…” He turned his face away.
“Complicated?” I asked sarcastically.
A flicker of annoyance crossed his expression before disappearing. “I deserved that.”
I raised my eyebrows, but I said nothing.
“Your mother and I agreed I should leave. That much is true. I wanted to tell you before I left, but when I went to your room and saw you sleeping—I couldn’t.” He shrugged. “You’re right—I am a coward.”
I stared at him, my brow furrowed. For years I had cherished a sleep-addled memory of my father standing in my bedroom doorway, his figure outlined in the light from the hall. My eyes were half-open, and I struggled to wake. But before I could speak, the door closed, he was gone, and I fell back asleep. I’d always assumed it was a dream born of wishful thinking. Now I knew he really had been there.
What I didn’t know was if it mattered any more.
Frank shook his head. “This business of an affair—who told you that?”
“One of Mom’s associates. Adeline denied it, but she said you were jealous.” I paused. “It wasn’t true, you know. There was no affair. You left Mom for nothing. And now—she’s dead.”
“She’s been dead for ten years,” he said in a monotone.
“No. Not Mom. I meant—her associate at the university is dead. She was murdered last night. Irina Lasher.”
“Murdered?” The blood drained from his face as he stared at me. “How do you know this?”
“I’m a prime suspect. That’s how I know.”
He turned the chair to face me and sagged into it, his gaze riveted to mine. “That’s not possible. Nobody thinks you’re a killer.”
I rolled my eyes at this. “Oh, it’s possible. I went to visit her, and, twenty minutes later, she was dead.” I hesitated. “Did you know Irina Lasher?”
My father’s poker face was back. “No. What archaeology professor?”
“Randall Dignam. Don’t pretend you’ve never heard of him.”
“Randy Dignam? Of course I’ve heard of him. Is that what this is about?” He shook his head. “Ettie—you have to leave this alone.”
“Why? And don’t call me that. I haven’t been ‘Ettie’ since you left. You were the only one who used that name.” Another spasm gripped my chest. I swallowed hard, determined not to give in to tears again.
“I loved your mother,” he said softly. “And she loved me, hard as that may be for you to understand.”
I’d seen pictures of my parents together. I had no doubt their passion was shared—in the beginning, at least. Even though his departure transformed her overnight into a stressed single mom, my mother never criticized Frank to me. Which only made their separation harder to understand.
So, I asked the one question I’d always wanted answered.
“Were those birthday cards really from you?”
He looked startled. “Of course they were. Didn’t you see the postmarks?”
“Could have been faked.”
“Crikey, Verity. I’m not a monster.” He hesitated. “I wanted to send you more than just cards. But it was—well, I never had any money. Moving to Australia was not the best idea. I had trouble getting work, at first, and I missed you both. A lot.”
I snorted. “You married someone else. Twice.”
He heaved a sigh. “Once, actually. And that didn’t last long.”
I straightened in my chair. “What do you mean? What about wife number three?”
“There is no wife number three.” He fixed me with those blue eyes. “There never was.”
“I don’t understand. Your cards—”
“I made it all up. I needed an excuse to stay away. I did marry again after… after Claire died, but it only lasted a few months.” He stared off into space. “I always thought I’d see Claire again, that I’d see you again, that there’d be time to fix everything.” He sighed. “It’s too late.”
The General jumped into my lap. Absently, I stroked his fur. “Adeline says it’s never too late.” I was musing to myself, but when I lifted my head, my father was scrutinizing me intently.
“Do you believe that?”
Briefly, I wondered how my life would change if I simply forgave my father. Did I really want to turn him away—possibly for the last time? But all I said was, “I don’t know.”
I put the General on the floor. “Tell me about that chop shop in Strathcona you worked for.”
Frank reared back as if struck. “Who told you that?”
I eyed him intently. “It’s true, then.”
He rose to his feet. “I have to get what I came for,” he said in a monotone, heading for the basement stairs.
I followed. If I tried to stop him, he’d only return another time. I had no intention of letting him search the basement by himself.
Downstairs, he crouched to study the underside of the console.
“Mom never told you what that was for.”
He glanced at me over his shoulder. “How do you know she didn’t?”
I frowned at this suggestion. But then, husbands and wives shared things like that. With a pang, I thought of Jeff. How much of this conversation would I share with him? I smiled. All of it, naturally.
Lying on his back on the floor, Frank ran his fingers along the bottom of the desk. “Found it!” he announced.
My heart thudded in my chest as I took an excited step forward—too excited to notice footsteps behind me.
“Stop that,” a voice boomed.
Before I could turn around, rough hands shoved me out of the way, and I stumbled. While I tried to regain my footing, a figure dressed in black pounced on Frank’s legs.
I tried to sprint forward, but someone grabbed me from behind and twisted my arms behind my back. I struggled. “Please don’t,” a voice said politely in my ear. I paused, momentarily confused by his courteous air.
The first figure dragged Frank out from under the desk by his feet.
“What the hell are you doing?” Frank yelled, grabbing the nearest desk leg. Hanging on to it, he hollered, “Let go of me.”
Too late. His attacker flipped Frank onto his stomach, then sat squarely in the middle of his back. The figure yanked off a black balaclava with one hand—revealing Aunt Adeline’s streaked gray hair and satisfied smile.
I whirled to face my own attacker. Gideon—also dressed in black—retreated hastily with both hands up. “Don’t hit me. It wasn’t my idea.”
“Stop fooling around, Gideon,” my aunt said. “Help me with this jackass.”
After pulling off his own balaclava and winking at me, Gideon strode over to lend a hand.
Frank w
as still struggling. “Get off me, woman.” With a heave, he freed one arm. Reaching up, he tugged on something under the desk.
With a metallic screech, two flaps sprang open.
A small wooden box fell out, hitting the floor with a thud.
Chapter Eighteen
We froze, staring at the wooden box that had clattered onto the floor. My aunt recovered first, leaping off Frank to dive for it.
“Got it,” she yelled, springing up with the box in her hands.
Frank scrambled to his feet, instantly lunging for it.
They tussled over it—until Adeline kneed him in the groin.
Gideon and I winced as Frank doubled over with a howl of pain.
Finally, “Crikey, woman,” he said with a gasp. “What did you do that for?”
She turned the box over, examining it carefully. “Because it works.”
Annoyed, I stepped up. “If the theatrics are over—would someone tell me what that thing is? And where it came from?”
Frank straightened with a groan.
“I barely hit you,” Adeline said. “Stop whining.”
“What is that thing?” I repeated, pointing to the box in her hands.
My aunt shook her head, brows narrowed. “A block of wood. It’s light, though. Not heavy enough to be solid.” Holding it up to her ear, she shook it. “There’s something inside.”
Frank reached for it. “Give it me. I can open it.”
My aunt held it away from him. “How? By bashing it with a hammer?” After handing it to Gideon, she confronted Frank. “You have no right to touch it.”
“No right? You didn’t even know about it.”
“Well, now I do. And we’ll take it from here, thank you.”
Frank took a step toward her. “You will not.”
I cleared my throat. “Hang on a minute.”
Everyone looked at me.
“Aunt Adeline gave me Rose Cottage free and clear. And everything in it. Which includes that.”
This wasn’t completely true. Her gift did not include the moose-shaped china tea set—a sore point between us—but close enough. Holding out my hand for the box, I raised my eyebrows.
Gideon glanced between Adeline and me. “She’s right, you know. It belongs to Verity.” He handed it to me.
“No, it doesn’t,” my aunt countered. “How could I give her something I didn’t know existed? That box could be important. Verity—you know what I mean by important,” she added in a knowing tone, flexing her eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture that fooled no one.
“Honestly, Aunt Adeline, if it belonged to Control, they would have retrieved it long ago.” I turned the box over to study its intricate carvings. “But it seems no one knew it was here, except—”
“Exactly,” Frank broke in. “None of you knew it existed. Until I came along. Therefore, it belongs to me.”
Adeline gave a howl of outrage.
Ignoring her, I raised my gaze to Frank’s. “How did you know where to look?”
“Lucky guess.”
“You found an object within minutes that was hidden for years in a secret compartment nobody knew existed. You must have known where to look.”
“I suspected. Because Claire hated Control.”
At Adeline’s strangled cry, he added with an offhand wave, “I knew all about your ridiculous black-ops outfit. And I didn’t care. Claire believed they endangered you for no reason,” he said. “She worried about you all the time.” He snorted. “I told her you could look after yourself.”
Adeline sniffed, but she didn’t disagree.
He glanced at the console. “She must have enjoyed hiding that right under their noses.”
I found this explanation unlikely. “Mom couldn’t have built a secret compartment.”
He gave a half-shrug. “Maybe that compartment was always there. Did you think of that?”
Adeline and I exchanged glances. “It’s possible,” she admitted.
Frank extended his hand for the box. “Give it to me. Please.”
I clasped it to my chest. “Nobody’s getting this. Not yet.”
“Verity,” he said in an even tone. “I can open it.”
“You’re making that up,” Adeline spluttered.
“I am not.”
They glared at each other.
“Stop.” I pressed a palm against my forehead. “I have a splitting headache.”
My aunt peered intently at my face. “Have you been crying?” She whirled on Frank. “What have you done now?”
“Me? What makes you think it was me?”
“It’s always you.”
“Stop it,” I roared.
My aunt stumbled back with a look of shock.
“Leave me alone,” I mumbled, embarrassed by my outburst. “All of you.”
I trudged up the stairs and through the kitchen, not stopping until I reached the bedroom and could slam the door behind me. Hearing scratches on the other side of the door, I opened it to admit the General. Then slammed it again. Seated on the bed with the cat’s comforting, furry presence beside me, I ignored the sounds of muttering, shuffling, and cursing outside my door.
“Verity?”
“Go away,” I called.
The shuffling resumed, followed by a muttered, “Watch it.”
I raised my voice. “Leave. Now.”
Silence. Footsteps echoed in the hall. The front door opened and closed. After a full minute, I opened the door a crack. The General stepped through my legs, crooking his neck to eye the hallway.
“Are they gone?”
“Mrack.”
Which could have have been a yes. But, more likely, it meant, Is there anymore salmon?
I didn’t have a headache, of course. Although I was angry at the lot of them. Well, not Gideon. He was between a rock and a hard place when it came to my aunt. He adored her, even though he agreed with my view she was overprotective. Gideon and I had an understanding. He didn’t criticize Adeline’s safety measures, and I didn’t tell her that he warned me about her surprise spot checks.
His warning texts were cryptic—worthy of a secret agent. smkrs, for instance, meant my aunt was headed over to check the batteries in my smoke detectors—and would lecture me if they had not been replaced in a timely fashion. Which she would know, because she wrote the expiration dates on them with black Sharpies.
Of course, since Jeff moved in with me, I no longer leapt off the sofa at the ping of Gideon’s texts. Jeff would never let the batteries in our smoke detectors run low. We now had six—two in the basement, three on the main floor, and one in the attic. In addition, our front door was no longer left unlocked, and the brakes on my landscaping truck were state-of-the-art. He even broached the topic of a security camera—but backed off after the look I’d shot him.
Jeff was a great comfort to my aunt.
But I had no time to worry about Adeline’s concerns. Or Jeff’s, for that matter. I was on a mission. Reaching for my phone, I tapped out a text.
Me: coast is clear.
Emy: we’ll bring back the truck.
Me: can u keep boomer a little longer?
Emy: sure. what’s up?
Me: i’m making another trip to strathcona. right now.
Chapter Nineteen
It wasn’t hard to locate my objective. The Palmerston Corp. skyscraper that dominated the Strathcona skyline was visible for miles. After pulling into the building’s underground parking garage—where the per-hour fees made the university’s rates seem like a bargain—I turned off the truck’s engine, taking a moment to review my strategy.
My text to Tracy Palmer—Emy’s friend from the bakery—had been enthusiastically received. Tracy responded almost immediately.
looking forward to it. meet you in reception.
Which gave me pause. After all, I was here under pretense. Tracy had promised to show me her grandfather’s collection, but I had little interest in artifacts. I wanted to know about my mother’s relationship wit
h Randall Dignam. The person I really needed to see was Tracy’s father, the Palmerston CEO—even if that meant barging right in.
I puffed out a breath. This had the potential to be awkward. Although—what did I care? Emy had admitted she and Tracy weren’t close. If I put my foot in it, Emy wouldn’t mind. In fact, she was used to it.
I stepped out of the truck.
The parking lot was jammed, but I was the sole pedestrian. My footsteps echoed off the silent walls. Somewhere an engine started. Nervously, I glanced over my shoulder and quickened my steps.
Upstairs, though, the marble-lined foyer was so crowded I had to line up for the express elevator to the Palmerston executive offices on the topmost floors. After a rapid ascent, its door opened onto a two-story rotunda. Stepping out, I craned my neck to admire the curved glass ceiling thirty feet above.
I approached the receptionist sitting behind a sweeping desk of polished black slate. Behind her loomed a twenty-foot-high statue carved from similar stone. I recognized the distinctive style of a world-renowned Haida artist whose works were airport staples. This one must have cost a fortune.
I approached the receptionist. “I’m here to see Tracy Palmer.”
She tilted her head. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I have an invitation. Verity Hawkes.”
She spoke into her headset, “Verity Hawkes to see Tracy.” After a pause, she gestured to a huge wooden door. “Go in, please.”
The polished wooden slab swung easily, as if it were on ball bearings. A memory flashed before my eyes of my father spelling that as barings and my mother crossing it out in my workbook. I felt a flash of anxiety as I realized I couldn’t see her face in that memory.
Focus, Verity.
After taking a deep breath, I moved through the door.
A second receptionist smiled as I entered. Before I could reach her, a woman’s voice trilled at my elbow.
“Verity—I’m so pleased you decided to take me up on my invitation.” Tracy, beaming behind her oversized red-framed glasses, held out her hand.
“Thanks for letting me drop by on such short notice.”