Too Many Secrets

by E B Corbin

  With plenty of time to unpack before contacting Patterson, she chose one of the two guest rooms to make her own, taking her time to put away the few things she’d brought. Around eleven, she called the hospital.

  “I’d like Ralph Patterson’s room, please,” she told the woman at the switchboard.

  “Ralph Patterson?” The woman’s voice trembled. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, dear.”

  “Has he been released?”

  “No, dear.”

  The woman’s response irritated Roxanne. “Well, I’d like to talk to him then.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, dear…” The voice faded to a whisper. “He passed away last night.”

  “He’s dead?” Thrown off balance by the news, Roxanne sunk into the armchair next to the fireplace. “But that can’t be.”

  “It is, and this place has been crazy all day because of it.”

  “Crazy?” Surely the woman exaggerated. It was a hospital after all; people had died there before. “What’s going on?”

  “Cops everywhere. Both of our patrol officers have been talking to the night staff. The chief even came back from his hunting lodge to poke around. The state police arrived this morning with their crime scene people and took over the whole building.”

  “All that has to do with Ralph Patterson?” Roxanne finally got a word in.

  “Nothing official yet. Scuttlebutt says he suffocated last night.” The woman grew frazzled. “Oh, there’s another line ringing. I have to get that; do you want to hold?” She disconnected Roxanne without waiting for an answer.

  Roxanne shivered even though the house felt toasty warm. She should have waited for Callahan. Dammit, did he always have to be right?

  Roxanne sat staring into space, not sure what to do now. With the cops swarming the hospital, there had to be something fishy about Patterson’s death. Had someone murdered Patterson in a hospital full of people? Did it have to do with Roxy’s will? What about the Irishman, this Killen Walsh imposter? And the two punks who broke into her condo yesterday?

  Her hands shook as she tried Callahan’s cell. When it went to voice mail, she didn’t leave a message. What could she say? You were right. Patterson’s dead. I might be in danger again.

  She waved away the unnerving thought as she stood up. In a rush to get out of this deadly little town, she decided to take one more crack at finding the will, starting here in her aunt’s house.

  Off the living area sat a book-lined den with an ornate cherry desk in the middle. Roxanne figured if her aunt had a will, she would keep it in there. She walked to the den on shaky legs.

  A leather-bound book on Roxy’s desktop drew her attention. The Dublin Illustrated Edition of Ulysses by James Joyce was a big, heavy, well-thumbed version. Roxanne had tried to get through a paperback version of the book in college. She’d found it difficult to connect with the “stream of consciousness”-style of the writing, plus most of the puns and parodies went right over her head. Even though heralded as the best novel in the English language, most scholars also classified it as the hardest to read. She could attest to the latter; had no opinion on the former. However, her Aunt Roxy obviously enjoyed the Irish novel if the worn pages were any indication.

  Roxanne fanned the pages of the book on the chance the will had been used as a bookmark. No luck. She laid the book back on the desktop.

  Riffling the drawers, she found utility bills, credit card statements, brokerage account information, and insurance policies. She checked out the policies curious to see if any were life insurance, thumbing past a fire and theft policy on the diner, the cabin, and this place in town, as well as some kind of insurance on the farm. Last in the file, she came across life insurance for a million dollars with Roxanne’s mother as the beneficiary. She’d be willing to bet her mother didn’t know about this! She slipped it back into the folder to deal with later.

  Roxanne searched through every drawer in the desk. In frustration, she sprawled back in the chair. As her knee hit something underneath the desktop, a shallow drawer popped open at the bottom of the right side. She puffed out a surprised breath pulling out a sealed envelope addressed ‘To whom it may concern.’ Roxanne stared at the envelope, reluctant to open it. With a sigh, she laid it on the desktop.

  When her stomach growled, she also became aware of her dry throat caused by the dust she’d stirred up in the room. She needed to eat.

  In the kitchen she focused on finding tea bags and something to nibble on for lunch. Roxanne hardly ever drank tea, except her nerves were shot. Coffee would only make her more jittery. She searched the cabinets turning up plates, cups, bowls, glasses, baking dishes, and a large Cuisinart food processor. No tea bags or anything even close to edible.

  Then, almost hidden by the double-door refrigerator, she found a pantry stocked with everything imaginable. Oatmeal, white flour, whole wheat flour, white sugar, brown sugar, and quinoa sat in matching glass canisters, all labeled in a neat script. Another set of glass canisters held barley, brown rice, black beans, and buckwheat. Buckwheat? Roxanne had no idea what to do with buckwheat.

  Coffee beans and pods of coffee sat neatly stacked next to more canisters holding different teas. She didn’t have a clue how to use the loose tea either, although she’d read about the soothing quality of chamomile tea and wished she did.

  With no luck finding tea bags or any kind of junk food, she sighed. It seemed her aunt was some kind of health nut— or at least a partial health-food addict. She didn’t think a true health aficionado would have sugar and white flour in her repertoire. Her aunt became more of an enigma every day.

  She gave up on finding anything appetizing in the pantry and decided to go to the diner for lunch, leaving the unopened envelope on her aunt’s desk. She’d get back to it later.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A large black SUV turned into the alley as Roxanne backed out of the garage. Since the passageway spread only wide enough for one vehicle at a time, she waited for the SUV to continue forward.

  Instead the gas guzzler stopped preventing her departure.

  She tapped the Ridgeline’s horn in case the driver was unaware she needed to get out. The SUV stayed in place. She pressed the horn longer. Still the SUV blocked in her exit.

  Annoyed, Roxanne slid out of the truck to ask the driver to please pull out of her way. As she approached the vehicle, a large man in a nicely tailored dark suit stepped out from the driver’s door. A passenger, another behemoth wearing farmer’s overalls, did the same from the other side.

  “Excuse me—” she started.

  The driver asked in a deep, gruff voice, “Are you Roxanne Boudreaux?”

  She hesitated, thinking it might not be wise to confirm her identity.

  “She fits the description,” the passenger observed.

  The driver nodded his agreement. “We’d like you to come with us.”

  “I don’t think so.” Roxanne wondered if they considered her dimwitted. Get in the car with two strange men? Not in this lifetime.

  The driver replied, “Look, we don’t want any trouble. Just get in the car.” His demanding voice held a hint of a threat.

  “I’d rather not. If you would move up a bit…” Roxanne tried hard to sound confident, her heart pounding in her chest like a steel drum. When she turned back to the garage, the driver grabbed her arm with a vise-like grip. “Hey!” she cried, trying to pull away.

  His grip tightened. “We really need you to come with us.”

  The farmer added, “Please, miss, we’re not going to hurt you. Our boss wants to talk to you.”

  “And just who is your boss?” Roxanne demanded.

  Both men squirmed, and neither answered her question.

  Finally, the farmer said, “If you come with us, you’ll find out.”

  “You don’t really expect me to willingly get in a car with two strangers?” She attempted to jerk away again.

  The driver’s enormous hand kept its grip on her arm.

/>   The farmer tried again. “Ma’am, we—”

  A phone rang from inside the SUV. The driver’s unbreakable grip remained wrapped around Roxanne’s arm, as the farmer reached in the window stretching over the console to answer.

  “Yes, sir. We found her.”

  Roxanne couldn’t hear the reply.

  “No, sir. She refuses to come.” Another few seconds went by with the farmer nodding his head. “Okay.” He held the phone out to Roxanne. “The boss wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” Roxanne snorted. “This is ridiculous.” When the driver loosened his grip as she reached for the phone, she jerked her arm free, giving him a lethal glare. “Who is this?”

  “Ms. Boudreaux, my name is Samuel Walters, Judge Samuel Walters. Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes.” Roxanne softened her tone, but only slightly. Samuel Walters served as a State Supreme Court judge—in fact the Chief Justice. Impressive— if this really were the judge. “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

  “I’m afraid the only way to find out for certain is to accept a ride with my assistants. I assure you, they mean you no harm.”

  “They don’t act like it.” Roxanne slid her eyes to the giant standing beside her while she rubbed her upper arm. “Why don’t you tell me what you want before I get in the car with your two bruisers.”

  “Oh, my… bruisers.” The judge laughed. “I never quite thought of them that way, although I can see how they would appear to you. My apologies if they alarmed you.”

  “Look, sir.” Roxanne kept her voice polite. No need to alienate a Supreme Court judge if it proved unwarranted. “I’m a little busy at the moment. Maybe we could get together later?”

  “I have to be back in Harrisburg tonight. In fact, I should be there now, however I wanted the chance to talk to you face to face before I left. I would consider it a favor if you would agree to see me.”

  Roxanne glanced at both men standing next to the car—no threat showed in their faces now. They both resembled oversized Saint Bernards, enormous and eager to please. She held in a sigh, thinking it would be best not to rankle the judge’s minions any further. “Fine. I’ll meet with you.”

  Without another word, she handed the phone to the driver, then opened the back door to the SUV climbing in, then shutting it double quick before he had a chance to help. She slouched in the rear seat, hoping she’d made the right decision.

  Twenty minutes later, the driver pulled up to a black wrought-iron gate with Mockingbird Manor arched across the top. The gate swung open as they approached. Roxanne noticed a camera mounted high on the left support.

  The driveway curved around a stand of pine trees, making it difficult to observe anything more than a few yards ahead. They rounded the bend and pulled up to an imposing stone house with black trim. A gray-haired man stood at the door, with a sanguine smile on his face. About her height, the rotund man exuded an air of confidence. His dark suit fit so well it had to have been bespoke. He wore a navy tie with small red dots over a crisp white shirt. Even though Roxanne had never seen a picture of the Chief Justice, this man appeared authentic.

  The man in overalls jumped out opening the rear door to the SUV for Roxanne. She ignored his offered hand, sliding out with no help.

  “Ms. Bordeaux, I’m so glad you could make it.” The judge stepped to the side of the doorway allowing Roxanne to enter ahead of him. She walked through without hesitation, even though her insides tightened with every step.

  “Please, join me in my study.”

  The judge motioned to an open door on the right of the entrance hall. He followed Roxanne into the room shutting the door, leaving the driver on guard in front. Roxanne stood behind one of the two identical leather chairs facing a massive desk—big enough to sit in a courtroom. The desk seemed elevated. Not surprising, given his abbreviated stature, the judge resorted to such an obvious tactic.

  Unable to conceal his movements when he took a small step up, the judge rounded the desk in slow motion before he sat in a black leather swivel chair. “Please, have a seat.”

  Roxanne perched on a leather chair facing him. She had to tilt her head up to eye the judge; a supplicant begging for a favor. Exactly the effect he wanted. It proved annoying, especially since he was the one who claimed he needed to talk to her.

  Finally she asked, “So do you want to tell me why I’m here?” Her attempt at a neutral sounding question failed. She knew her irritation came through.

  “I’m so sorry if my men frightened you. I can assure you that was not my intention.”

  “Fine. I’m here now. Let’s get on with whatever business we have. You sounded as though you were in a hurry on the phone.”

  “Yes, I hoped to get a little hunting in this week. Unfortunately I’ve been called back to Harrisburg.” The judge settled back in his chair. He looked stilted, his insincere smile forced.

  Roxanne relaxed in her seat, waiting.

  “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your aunt,” the judge began. “Also, this may seem slightly uncouth, but I’d like to be the first to make an offer on your land.”

  Surprised, Roxanne took a minute to let his words sink in. “You mean Roxy’s land. It’s not mine yet. The will seems to have been misplaced.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I do hope it’s located soon.”

  “We’re looking. There have been some complications.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “I consider the murder of the attorney who drew up the will to be serious,” Roxanne told him, watching his reaction.

  “Oh, my! I wasn’t aware. Murdered?” The judge dialed his face to the proper level of concern, shaking his head. “That’s… disturbing.”

  Roxanne thought disturbing an odd choice of words. “Might I ask what is so important about my aunt’s land that you’re making a bid on it before I even own it?”

  “Nothing special, I assure you. I’d been searching for space to build a private hunting lodge, when I learned about your aunt’s passing.”

  “You’re not satisfied with this place?” Roxanne gestured around the room.

  “Oh, this isn’t mine. It belongs to my wife’s family, well, my wife now, since both her parents have passed. They strictly forbade hunting on their land, and my wife intends to honor their wishes. Besides, it’s hardly large enough to make it sporting.”

  “I don’t know much about hunting, but I don’t think Roxy’s land is ideal. Half of it is being farmed from what I understand.”

  “Not a problem. That section would draw wild turkeys when left to go fallow.” He steepled his fingers while raising his bushy gray brows. “So, would you consider my offer?”

  “I haven’t heard it.”

  He handed her a cream-colored envelope with a single sheet of paper inside. Roxanne unfolded the paper noting an unconditional offer to purchase the 330 acres owned by Roxanne Boudreaux for $1.25 million.

  Roxanne swallowed hard to hide the excitement she felt at the dollar amount of the offer. Although, she knew nothing about land values in rural Pennsylvania, the offer seemed too good to be true. Her suspicious nature resisted believing it but the one-page offer appeared legit. She studied Judge Walters, who remained silent while she read. “I’ll have to check on the going rate for land around here.”

  “I can assure you it’s a more than fair offer. You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, young lady.” The judge smiled as if to take the condescension out of his words.

  “I will definitely consider it. However, I can’t make any commitments right now. The land isn’t even officially mine yet.”

  “I understand. I just wanted—”

  A loud pounding on the front door interrupted the judge.

  He pushed a button on the telephone to his right. “Gordon, please see to the person who’s causing all that racket and get rid of whoever it is. I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  Roxanne figured Gordon for the driver of t
he SUV, a bodyguard no doubt. She didn’t hear Gordon’s answer before a brief scuffle ensued in the hall. Then footsteps headed in their direction.

  Callahan stuck his head through the doorway. “Judge Walters, good to see you again.”

  The judge stifled his annoyance to greet Callahan with a smile. “Mr. Callahan, what can I do for you?”

  “I came to pick up Roxanne,” Callahan told him. “We have a prior engagement.”

  The judge raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  “We only met recently.” Roxanne tried to downplay Callahan’s rudeness, although staying on the judge’s good side was a monumental task. She’d had no interaction with the Supreme Court in the past, but something could always come up. It would be just her luck to need the goodwill of the Chief Justice in the future. For that matter, a rapport with Judge Walters enhanced her value as a partner in the firm.

  “Well, don’t let me keep you.” The judge turned from Callahan to Roxanne. “I would appreciate it if you gave some thought to our little chat. However, please, keep it private for now. I’d like an answer as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Roxanne told him. She tucked the envelope into her messenger bag joining Callahan by the door. At the last minute, she turned back to the judge. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

  It sounded sincere even though she didn’t mean it. The judge could take it however he wanted. For whatever reason, she felt rescued yet again by Callahan.

  Relief swept over her as she followed Callahan to his Suburban. Silent until tucked inside the vehicle, she settled into the passenger seat with a sigh. “Wow.”