Facing the Past

by J. J. Cagney

  Trevor’s brows pulled low over his nose as if he’d never considered the question. “I don’t know.”

  Danielle needed a moment after Trevor left. She scuttled to the ladies’ room and pulled in long, deep breaths while running the cold water over her wrists.

  What the hell type of man was her father?

  With each new revelation, Danielle became more disgusted. No wonder Nancy and Chief Hardesty didn’t trust Hank Foster. He looked out for himself—period.

  Garrett’s family offered to follow her down to Mansfield for the internment of Nancy’s ashes the next morning, but Danielle declined—why put these kind people through more?

  They moved toward hall’s exit with relieved sighs while Danielle waited for her father to appear.

  He didn’t show. Danielle hoped to feel relief at postponing the confrontation with him. Instead, anger licked up through her stomach.

  She called him. He didn’t bother to return it. She asked Garrett to detour past her mother’s house, where his hybrid SUV sat in the driveway, the only light burning way up under the eaves.

  Danielle’s smile turned cold.

  “He’s too late.”

  Garrett glanced over at her, his eyes wide and startled. “I don’t like whatever you’re thinking,” he muttered.

  Danielle settled back in the passenger seat of the minivan. Kevin was engrossed in the iPad while Reid snoozed, his bright blond head resting on the side of his backed booster.

  “Just that my dad is probably starting to freak out because he can’t find those journals. I’m glad. He deserves the discomfort.”

  Garrett shot her a sharp glance. He turned back to the road as the traffic in front of him turned into a sea of red brake lights.

  “You don’t think he had something to do with . . .” Garrett trailed off, his mouth tight. He was obviously uncomfortable with even asking the question.

  “Jonathan’s death?” Danielle asked, her eyes never leaving the attic’s glowing window. “Chief Hardesty said he couldn’t have done it.”

  But Danielle wasn’t so sure. The man’s desire to find those journals seemed too intense for an innocent man.

  “You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?” Garrett asked.

  “I’m not planning on it, no.”

  He shot a quick glance at her from the corner of his eye. “Why doesn’t that make me feel better?”

  26 Danielle

  Her father walked toward the cemetery’s cobblestone path. The oak trees on either side of the stones made for a majestic entrance as did the wrought iron gates and the white angels trumpeting from the top of the white stone columns.

  Hank seemed to pay no mind to any of the accoutrement that attempted to make the cemetery feel less depressing. Neither had Danielle, but for a different reason. She still couldn’t believe her father dared show up here of all places a day late and without a phone call. From the bags under his eyes, she guessed he’d spent hours at her mother’s house the night before and still came up empty-handed.

  She’d waited between the cemetery and the parking lot, shivering in the shade of an old oak tree. She stepped out of the shadow and into his line of vision.

  “Danielle,” he said, voice laced with shock. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just wanted to see if you’d ever actually show up to pay any kind of respect to the woman you married thirty-nine years ago.”

  He shoved his hands into his slate-gray dress slacks. “All right.”

  “You know, the one who bore you two kids and who you left alone when you forced her to move from her home to Dallas after the death of her son.”

  Hank pulled his hands out of his pockets and scrubbed them over his face, his palms rasping on the start of a beard. “I get your point. Missing yesterday was poorly done of me.”

  “I don’t think you do understand how embarrassing that was. But it’s not like you’re going to tell me why you spent last night at Mom’s house instead of at the memorial service.”

  He looked momentarily startled.

  “We drove by.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “You seemed pretty motivated to find . . . what did you call them? Childhood mementos? Look what you did to my mother’s room in your efforts.”

  Hank’s chin fell toward his chest and he shut his eyes. He looked old, defeated. “You have no idea what’s going on, Danielle.”

  “You’re right. Because you never bothered to talk to me.”

  He spread his arms. “I’m here now.” His tone moved to belligerent—much as hers had.

  “Oh? So you—what? Expect me to invite you to Kevin’s baseball tournament?”

  Hank blinked, surprise stamped onto his features. “Your brother lived for that sport,” he muttered, his eyes darkening and focusing on some memory deep inside. “God Almighty, that boy loved baseball.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you’d hired Trevor Dresden to be your replacement?”

  Hank’s eyes slid from hers. “Didn’t think you’d care. You don’t remember him anyway. He’s a helluva lawyer. Good boy, too.”

  “I do. I remember playing ball with him after Jonathan’s death.” Danielle was shocked at the lie as it slid out. “Just like I remember Jonathan’s abduction.”

  “But you were just a mite of a thing. You never mentioned anything till now.” He glanced around, almost as if he worried someone was listening in on their conversation. Danielle wouldn’t tell him he was right to worry—the Mansfield PD was listening right now.

  She took a deep breath, trying to get her raging frustration back under control.

  “You rarely asked me. My big brother was never mentioned. Ever.”

  Hank’s defeated look seemed to grow, making him appear older than his sixty-four years. “What is it you want to say, Danielle?”

  “Maybe you could tell me why you were at the Mexican food restaurant the other night when I met with Trevor.”

  Hank’s gaze darted around and his skin paled, taking on a sickly pallor. “Some things are best left alone,” Hank said, his voice hoarse with some pent-up emotion Danielle couldn’t place.

  Danielle met his gaze with a stony look. “While I take the threat implicit in your words to heart, I’d really like to know.”

  A fine tremor ran through Hank. “Opening this back up will only hurt you, darling.”

  “I think I’m a better judge of what will hurt me than you could be,” Danielle said.

  “You seem to think I never wanted to spend time with you,” Hank said, surprise lacing his words and widening his eyes.

  “You weren’t ever there,” Danielle said with a shrug. “That’s a pretty good indicator of where I fit on the importance scale.”

  “That’s not right. I worked so hard to protect you.”

  “From what?” She studied him for a long moment. “I guess I should ask, from who?”

  By now, Hank had gathered himself and he smiled at her—the sly, patented one that got donors to open their wallets and probably got women to fall for him. That was so . . . ew. Danielle shuffled back a little, not wanting to be infected by her father’s charm.

  “Let’s talk about Kevin’s baseball tournament. How’s he doing? Get his batting average up over three hundred again?”

  “Yes,” Danielle said. “It’s on Friday. In Frisco.” She rolled her lips into her mouth. Crap. She hadn’t meant to say that. She cleared her throat. “Those kids are regional champions.”

  “Frisco, eh? I’ll see what I can do.” He tilted his head, gaze moving beyond her in that way that always left Danielle feeling insignificant. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to . . .” He gestured.

  The anger at the ease with which he dismissed her bubbled up as he moved past her. She whirled around as she asked, “What do you know about Jonathan’s death?”

  Hank paused midstep. He set his foot down as his shoulders tensed under his dress shirt. Danielle held her breath as her father faced her once more.

  “Did
your mother fill your head with her nonsense? Her damn journals.” Hank shook his head. “You found ’em; I’m guessing. Where’d she hide ’em?”

  Danielle stared for a long beat, hoping to make Hank fidget. Didn’t work. “I never said anything about journals.”

  Hank smiled as he shook his head. “C’mon, darlin’. We both know your mama was crazy. Why do you think I stayed married to her? I wanted to make sure she didn’t hurt herself too bad. She was a mess.”

  “So that made it okay for you to trash her room looking for her personal thoughts?” Danielle asked.

  Hank wrapped his fingers around Danielle’s arm. “You knew I was looking for them then?” Hank asked, once again his eyes flaring with surprise.

  “No, I wouldn’t have known that. But apparently Mom did.”

  “Where are they? Your house?”

  Danielle’s heart hammered so loudly in her ears she almost didn’t hear Hank’s words. “I don’t have them,” Danielle said. “Mom gave them to Chief Hardesty.”

  This answer seemed to surprise Hank to the point he loosened his grip. Danielle yanked her arm free. She hurried toward her car, opened the door, and slid in. She pressed the lock button, needing whatever protection she could get. She fumbled to stick the keys in the ignition, then she slid the car into gear, easing off the brake and rolling down her window.

  “Never mind about Kevin’s tournament. I don’t want you there. I don’t want you anywhere near my kids.”

  She peeled out of the parking lot, driving down a road blurred by her tears.

  27 Hunter

  Hunter stepped out from the line of trees at the far edge of the plot where he’d been waiting. His thick-soled work boots made little noise as he worked his way toward Hank Foster, who stood, rigid, next to a freshly-dug small grave.

  “Been a lot of activity here today,” Hunter said, squinting into the sun as he turned in Hank’s direction. “Who was the young gal?” he asked. “The one who don’t have the journals?”

  He crossed his arms over his thick chest, which was about half again as wide as Hank’s. There was less sinew on those arms since he’d sold part of the family ranch to a housing developer for a seven-figure sum ten years earlier. Hunter hadn’t changed much outwardly. He was wearing Dickey’s coveralls over a faded, sweat-stained blue work shirt and Wolverines. His thick, tobacco-stained fingers twiddled absently in the breeze.

  Hank’s gaze rose, his eyes—those same broken eyes that had stared at him for three decades—lit with a fiery hatred he didn’t like. Or deserve.

  “Who was that woman?” Hunter asked.

  “No one you need to think about,” Hank snapped.

  Hunter tucked his hands into his work coveralls. “Seems to me your conversation with her got you all het up. So, yeah, I will think on her.”

  Hank squeezed his eyes shut and Hunter nearly chuckled. He liked watching the big-time lawyer squirm.

  “That’s my daughter. She’s upset I didn’t go to her mother’s memorial service.”

  Hunter tucked that tidbit into his mind to chew on later. “Pretty woman.”

  Hank clenched his fists. “Stay away from her,” Hank snarled.

  “Or what?” Hunter said with a snort. He leaned in closer, close enough to see the flare of Hank’s pupil. “You gonna turn me in? Seems to me you’d do better to placate me.”

  “I will,” Hank said, clenching his jaw so hard, Hunter heard his teeth crackle. “I swear to God I’ll turn you in before you hurt another person in my family.”

  Hunter pressed his face in close to Hank’s, getting a thrill when the fancy-dudded lawyer stepped back.

  “You got as much to lose as I do. Maybe more.” Hunter smiled. “Your job. Your reputation. Maybe even that whole foundation you worked so hard to build up on your son’s grave.”

  “You are a sick fu—”

  Hunter growled. “Watch it. I’m not interested in language, especially your vulgar vocabulary.” Hunter spat into the grass at Hank’s feet, pulled out a cigarette. He lit the end carefully before sucking a deep drag. “Now tell me all there is to know about this daughter of yours. From what I heard, she’s interested in her brother’s death.”

  “It’s nothing. We’re not close.”

  Hunter knew that and found it amusing that Hank lost contact with his daughter because of his ambitions.

  Would have been better for Hunter if his dad paid less attention to him—he hadn’t been as lucky as Hank’s girl.

  A gleam lit in Hunter’s eyes as warmth filled his chest. “She got kids? Any boys?”

  Hank’s face turned whiter than a new snow—rarity down this far south. But it also gave Hunter his answer. He’d heard it already. A baseball tournament. Frisco.

  Hunter planned to be there.

  Maybe there was a reason the hunger came back now. A way to keep Hank and his pretty little daughter in her place.

  And out of his way.

  28 Danielle

  Chief Hardesty called Danielle on her way home, giving her an earful. “What were you thinking?” he boomed.

  She wasn’t. Bottom line: she’d been scared and she’d just blurted out the very detail that might have helped them expose her father as the criminal she now worried him to be.

  She touched her sore forearm, unsurprised to see the marks there. Hank had hurt her.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed to get past her chattering teeth.

  Hardesty remained quiet for a long moment. “It’s done. You stay safe, hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I will. But . . .”

  “Jesus Christ in a peach tree. You do not know when to let the professionals do their thing. I cannot believe you went after Hank out there today. I did not authorize that.”

  She shrank into herself a little with each of his words. She’d never expected her father to become so violent, so on edge. “I just thought . . .”

  “What?” His voice was kinder than when he’d reamed her moments before. “Look. I don’t want anything to happen to you, you understand.”

  “Y-yes. I really am sorry.”

  Hardesty sighed. “Got any other plans I should know about?” he asked.

  “Well . . .”

  “Spit it out now. Better I know and can organize around you.”

  “I thought I could contact my dad’s old secretary. His lover. As far as I know, his longest lasting one. He and Janice began their affair right after we’d moved to Dallas.”

  Hardesty hummed into the phone. “Yeah. Let me check into her background. What’s her name?”

  Danielle gave it.

  “I want to make sure she doesn’t have a criminal history. I’ll get back to you by the end of day so we can coordinate.”

  “All right.”

  “Want me to talk to her?” the chief asked. “Save you the hassle.”

  Danielle considered the offer. Her father spent hours of time with the woman—hundreds more than he spent with Danielle. Now, after her conversation with her father, that rubbed her wrong.

  Like she’d misunderstood Hank Foster’s motivations. If anyone would know how Hank felt about the past, Janice would.

  “No,” Danielle said slowly. “I’d like to talk to her. I mean, if that’s okay.”

  “For now. Long as she checks out clean,” Hardesty said. He grunted. “I want to give this case my full focus but I’m splitting time and it’s not easy. I’d hand it over to one of my detectives, but I just feel like I need to finish it.”

  “I appreciate that, Chief. I really do.” Though, Danielle wondered if a detective wouldn’t be better, too. Able to focus all his or her attention. Not that she was even sure that’s how a detective’s job worked. Maybe they had multiple cases going at once.

  “If I give you the go-ahead on this, I want you to promise you’ll tell me the time and place you’re meeting.”

  “You got it.”

  “I’ll have an officer there. One of mine or maybe one from the Dallas PD if they can manage the pe
rsonnel.”

  “Thank you. That makes me feel better.”

  “You know what would make me feel better?” Hardesty said. “You listening from now on.”

  Danielle promised she would.

  Chief Hardesty called her while she was making dinner. Since arriving home, she’d almost convinced herself the encounter with her father wasn’t as sinister as it had seemed then.

  Almost.

  Hardesty gave her the go-ahead to meet with Janice. He even provided Danielle with her current phone number, a courtesy Danielle appreciated. After thanking the police chief, she dialed the number.

  “Hello?” the voice said. It was soft, friendly. Danielle’s ventral region seemed to hiccup then dance in self-recrimination.

  “May I speak to Janice?” Danielle forced the words through her closing throat. This proved much harder than talking to Trevor.

  The silence crackled, made Danielle’s perturbation palpable, a cold, sweaty gray-brown haze emanating from her mouth.

  Then, “This is she. May I ask who’s calling?”

  Danielle swallowed, the small amount of saliva choked her, causing her to hack before she could answer. Voice numbed with mortification, she said, “My name is Danielle Patterson. My father is Hank Foster.”

  There was a long pause. Danielle waited for the click, anticipating Janice would hang up.

  “I heard from someone at the foundation that your mother passed away recently. Cancer, wasn’t it? Condolences. I hated to hear that.”

  The sincerity in Janice’s words dripped from her voice, pulsing through the phone speaker and taking Danielle by surprise. What to say to the woman who cheated with her father?

  “Thank you.” The inanity almost made Danielle laugh. “I hoped you’d be willing to meet. For coffee or something. I’d like to talk to you.”

  Another hesitation. Janice must’ve been ruminating over Danielle’s request, rolling there in the unlit space of telephone wires.

  “When and where?”