Strands of Truth

by Colleen Coble

  Judy shrugged. “Ask him yourself. He loves Annabelle, and he wants to make this right.”

  She forced herself not to look away. Not to show any fear. She had to give the performance of her life for Annabelle. Her beautiful daughter deserved more than a father who flitted in and out of her life. She deserved nice clothes and a beautiful home like this one. She deserved everything, and Judy was determined to get it for her. Even if she had to lie, cheat, or steal.

  This standoff had to end. Her rival wrapped the towel more tightly around herself. “The wedding is in two weeks. I can’t break it off now. I’d have to send back all the gifts that have been pouring in. My parents would be out all the money they’ve spent. You say I could save face, but I’d actually be blamed for causing a lot of trouble.” She lifted a brow. “And I think you’re lying.”

  Judy raised her chin. “Try me and find out.”

  “You can see yourself out, I’m sure. We’re done here.”

  Judy knew fear when she smelled it. The two locked glares and squared off. Judy was sure she had won when her rival lowered her gaze and headed for the house.

  * * *

  Ridge connected the USB drive to his dad’s huge-screen television in the media room and grabbed the remote to turn it on. “How many movies do we have here?”

  Scott sat in one of the leather chairs in the home theater. “I think there were five.”

  This room had been a favorite spot over the years. He’d often shared a bowl of popcorn with his dad while they watched a movie or golf. Ridge could almost catch a hint of butter in the air, and though he knew it was his imagination, his eyes blurred with moisture.

  He pushed back the memories to focus. Harper was counting on them. They had to figure this out quickly. The darkness outside was a reminder that she’d already been gone much too long. Was she even still alive?

  He had to hold on to hope.

  Ridge started the first film, and the grainy video started. It was in color, which surprised him. Judy must have had a decent camera for that decade. She smiled at the camera and waved. She was holding a tiny baby girl, presumably Annabelle, and Ridge saw Scott’s soft smile at his mother’s appearance.

  “She was blonde even as a baby,” Scott said. “Look at all those curls. Mom will like seeing this.”

  The movie played to the end, and Ridge started the next one. Judy was swimming with a manatee, and the movie recorded them through the glass at the mermaid auditorium. She seemed so carefree and happy with her dark-red hair floating around her in the water. The manatee bumped against her in a gentle nudge, and she rubbed its head.

  “I wonder who is taking these movies?” Scott asked.

  “Maybe Grace. We could ask her.”

  They watched a third movie with Annabelle rolling on the floor. A man’s hand moved into view.

  “Look at that ring,” Scott said. “It’s a navy ring. I’ll bet that’s my grandfather’s hand.”

  There were a lot of navy rings out there, and it would be impossible to identify this one. These videos looked to be a bust, but there were two more. Ridge started the fourth one.

  This one was of Annabelle sitting up with a small Raggedy Ann doll. This time a man stepped into view and scooped her up. His back was to the camera.

  “I know that guy, but I can’t place him. Turn around,” Ridge said.

  The guy backed out of view without showing his face.

  “One more.” Ridge started the last bit of footage.

  The movie showed Judy sitting outside in the sunshine in front of some kind of spinning wheel. She was making a fine golden thread.

  Ridge settled on a chair beside Scott. “I think that’s byssus she’s working with. Harper will want to watch this. That’s a very thin thread, which must be how she managed to make such beautiful sea silk.”

  The camera zoomed in on more byssus lying on racks. Sliced lemons floated in bowls on a nearby table with byssus strands in the water.

  “What’s that for?” Scott asked.

  “Sea silk is made by soaking the byssus in lemon juice, then letting it dry in the sun. It lightens it to that golden color.”

  This wasn’t telling them much so far. He started to fast-forward through it, then paused as a woman came into view behind Judy. The woman was out of focus, but he could make out her dark hair and slim build.

  He froze the video. “Who’s that?”

  “It’s too fuzzy to really see her face.” Scott pulled out his phone and pulled up a number. “Hey, can you go to the first video where the woman steps into view in the distance and see if you can enhance that for me? Email it to me when you’re done.” He ended the call and leaned forward in his chair. “Let it play. Maybe something will jump out at us.”

  Ridge started the video again.

  The woman strolled through the background, then stopped and picked up something. Ridge froze the video again and studied it. “I think she’s got a pen shell.”

  Could they be about to witness the actual murder? Ridge pressed Play again, but as the woman started toward Judy, Judy rose and moved straight to the camera. The video ended.

  Ridge shut off the television. “She must have had it on a tripod.”

  “I think this might have been just before the murder,” Scott said. “If she’d let it play, we might have seen it.”

  “If so, the murderer was a woman, which is a surprise.”

  “Could be the guy’s fiancée, and she took Judy out before she could steal him away.”

  Ridge hadn’t considered the possibility that the murderer might be a woman. “Remember when Kelly said a woman approached Lisa when she was at the beach with the boyfriend? She basically warned her off by telling her the guy she was with was dangerous and that she should investigate the murder of a mermaid. What if that was the fiancée trying to get Lisa to break it off with him?”

  “It makes sense.” Scott’s phone dinged, and he turned it on. “The enhanced picture is here.”

  The picture came into view, and Ridge leaned over to study it with him. “I still can’t make out the woman’s face.”

  He’d been hoping for a better picture because he still felt he might know this woman. She’d be older now, of course, but he couldn’t call up anything.

  That’s it then. No help from the videos.

  38

  The Kennedy mansion was one of those places you never forgot. Ridge had seen it during a home show once about ten years ago when he’d gone with his father, though he hadn’t met the owners until the other night at the fund-raiser. The old-world style with its stucco and green tile roof felt like stepping back in time. The mansion sat on a large three-acre lot overlooking Clearwater Bay, and he could see the moon and stars glittering on the water. If he remembered right, the home had ten bedrooms, a couple of pools, a tennis court, and a basketball court.

  The lavish boathouse held a yacht and two smaller boats, and a massive dock led down to the water. While Ridge could afford something like this if he wanted it, he couldn’t imagine wandering around a thirteen-thousand-square-foot mausoleum. It would take a housekeeping army to keep it clean.

  Scott spoke to the gate guard who let them in immediately. The wide brick drive wound through lush vegetation illuminated with lights. The drive curved back on itself in a circle driveway in front of massive steps and a circular porch.

  “Nice digs,” Scott said.

  The lights came on in the front of the house as they got out and approached the twelve-foot-high double doors. Ridge pressed the doorbell, and a young woman dressed in black slacks and a demure white blouse admitted them and led them across marble floors to a large living area. The fireplace took up a whole wall, and flames danced in its depths, chasing away the chill from the heavy rain.

  Elizabeth Kennedy, dressed in a black dress and heels, rose and came toward them with her hand extended. “How nice to see you again, Ridge.” Her smile faltered when her gaze fell on Scott who was holding out his badge. “Is this an officia
l visit, Detective?”

  Scott smiled and put his badge away. “Let’s call it friendly. It’s about an investigation, and we thought maybe you could help us.” He nodded to Ridge.

  Ridge had retrieved the bracelet from Harper’s purse, and he pulled it from his pocket. “I wondered if you recognized this bracelet.”

  Her eyes went wide. “I haven’t thought of that piece in forever. Mine is somewhere in my massive jewelry box.”

  “Could we see it?” Scott asked.

  “Of course. Is this one your grandma’s, Ridge? Or is it Alice’s?”

  So she’d known he was Laura Nicholson’s grandson when they’d met at the fund-raiser. Why hadn’t she mentioned it then?

  “We don’t know,” he said. “It was found clutched in a murder victim’s hand. This piece of evidence has just come to light. If you have yours and my sister has my grandmother’s, this one must have belonged to Alice. What can you tell me about her?”

  “I’ll get mine for you.” Elizabeth moved toward the door.

  It wasn’t until a shadow moved in the corner that Ridge realized Tom Kennedy was in the room. A faint hum came from his wheelchair as he turned it toward them, blocking Elizabeth’s path. “What’s this all about, Ridge?”

  His voice quavered with weakness and age, and as he moved into the light, Ridge saw his yellow pallor. A blanket lay on his lap, and his hand trembled as he reached out toward Ridge.

  Ridge took his hand and felt him quivering. It was a wonder he wasn’t in the hospital. “You both met Harper Taylor at the fund-raiser.”

  “The beautiful artist, yes,” Elizabeth said.

  “She’s been abducted, and we’re trying to find her.”

  The old man let out a moan, and his wife hurried to his side. “Let me get your medicine.” She fumbled through a basket of pill bottles and popped one open, then slipped a pill into her husband’s mouth. “Maybe you should go lie down, Tom.”

  “No, no,” he muttered.

  Elizabeth turned back to them. “I don’t understand why a bracelet found a long time ago would have anything to do with Harper.”

  “Quite frankly, neither do we,” Scott said. “When she was taken, we decided to retrace everything we know, starting with the DNA test linking her to my mother.”

  Elizabeth’s eyebrows winged up. “Your mother?”

  “It was my grandmother, my mom’s mother, who was murdered in 1970. Her name was Judy Russo.”

  Elizabeth stilled. “I don’t think I know that name.”

  “DNA?” The wheelchair hummed again as Tom maneuvered it closer to them. “This is very confusing.”

  “I agree. Both my mom and Harper took a DNA test and found out they’re half sisters. The day she found out about the connection, Harper was attacked while diving. Yesterday, my mother was abducted from her kitchen, but she was released when she told the kidnappers she was supposed to start cancer treatment. There have been several unsettling incidents ever since the two women found out they were related.”

  There was something in the tenseness of the old man’s demeanor that Ridge didn’t understand. “Someone in a gray Cadillac forced Harper’s Jeep off the road today. I was stun-gunned and Harper was abducted in broad daylight on I-275. We haven’t been able to find her.”

  “This is terrible. I’m so sorry.” Tom wheeled around abruptly and moved from the room. “I’m not feeling well. I’d like to rest now. I’m sorry this has happened to Harper, and I hope you find her soon.”

  “I hope so too. She’s pregnant.” He hoped that news might make them more willing to help, but the man continued to move away.

  The tires hissed along the marble floors, and Tom disappeared from sight around the hallway corner.

  Elizabeth’s heels clicked on the marble, and she moved to a wet bar on one wall. “Would you like a drink? I think I need one after this terrible story.”

  “No, thank you, ma’am,” both men said in unison.

  “What about Alice Goodwin?” Ridge asked. “What can you tell us about her? Did she have a boyfriend in the navy who nearly broke up with her?”

  “Alice did marry a navy man, but there was never even a hint of scandal as far as I know. We stayed friends until her death, and I can assure you she would never have murdered anyone, not even a rival. She was a gentle soul. Too gentle, really. People rode roughshod over her, including her husband.” She poured herself a glass of wine. “I wish I could help you, but I’m clueless on this.”

  Tom had seemed upset, but was it because of Harper’s abduction or because he was ill? Ridge didn’t see any way of getting to the truth.

  He and Scott exited the house and got in the car. “They know something.” Scott started the engine.

  “I think so too. There’s a son. Let’s try talking to him. I’ve got his address.”

  * * *

  Perspiration beaded on Harper’s forehead, and she didn’t feel well. She’d only eaten a couple of spoonfuls of her soup before she detected a strange taste under the peppers and tomatoes. She’d pushed it away, but had it been soon enough? Her limbs trembled, and she went to the bathroom. She sank to her knees in front of the toilet and stuck her finger down her throat until she was sure she’d vomited up every drop of the soup.

  They’d drugged her soup. Or tried to poison her.

  She rinsed her mouth and felt better. That strange floaty feeling was beginning to dissipate. She went back to the bedroom and stretched out on the bed. While it felt wrong to just lie here, she’d already exhausted every escape option. Rest might be the thing that flipped her between escape and confinement.

  Or life and death.

  What did it mean that the nurse had checked her out and taken her blood? Had she stumbled into some kind of organ-harvesting ring? She’d heard of things like that, but they’d seemed too far-fetched to be believable, but this was clearly about something medical.

  And Ridge? Was he dead, or out there looking for her? She prayed he was all right and that he’d come busting through the door at any moment, but the sane part of her brain whispered it would be impossible. She’d been in the trunk for a long time, and Ridge would have no idea how to track her down. She doubted he’d gotten the license plate of the car—not when he’d been stunned. If he was even still alive.

  Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she sat up. She wouldn’t lose hope. God saw her in this place. She had to hold on to faith.

  She heard a faint disturbance on the other side of the door—banging and someone shouting. She vaulted from the bed and rushed to press her ear against the door.

  “Sir, please step away from the door.” Her captor’s words were measured but respectful.

  “Get out of my way!”

  Harper stepped away when the dead bolt clicked. The door opened, and a man in a wheelchair looked up at her. He was familiar, but it took several moments to place him.

  Tom Kennedy. She’d met him at the fund-raiser that felt like a million years ago. He appeared frailer, and he had a scary yellowish pallor. His hands trembled on the arms of his wheelchair, and his blue eyes were rheumy.

  “Mr. Kennedy?”

  He beckoned to her with a shaky hand. “Come with me. I’m busting you out of here. There will be time for explanations later.”

  He didn’t have to urge her. She shot through the door and past her captor, who was on the phone and gesturing wildly.

  He dropped the phone and reached out to grab her arm. Mr. Kennedy screeched and fiddled with the controls on the wheelchair. The chair jerked forward and slammed into the younger man’s leg.

  He yelped and the grip on Harper’s arm loosened enough for her to pull free. The old man backed up and hit her captor’s leg again.

  The big man danced away from the wheelchair. “You old coot, what’s wrong with you?” When Harper stepped toward the door, he grabbed her arm again.

  The old man set his jaw. “I’m taking her out of here. My chauffeur is waiting in the car. We’re leaving no
w.”

  “No you aren’t.” The big guy gestured to the nurse who appeared through another doorway.

  She held several needles. “We’ve been given the go-ahead to prep them.”

  “No!” Mr. Kennedy moved his chair toward the exit and fumbled with the doorknob.

  The nurse approached with a needle. “There, there, Mr. Kennedy. You’re going to be feeling much better very soon.”

  He held out his hand. “Stay away from me!” He fiddled with the controls, and the chair rammed into the nurse. Several syringes went flying and broke. Their contents spilled onto the concrete floor.

  The nurse cursed under her breath, then narrowed her eyes and approached him again. Before he could protest further, she slipped the needle into his arm and pressed the plunger. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s for the best.”

  His eyelids began to flutter. “No, no, not her. Please, let her go.” His words slurred, and his head fell back.

  The nurse went to the operating table. “Bring her over here. I thought she’d be out by now. She must not have eaten the soup.”

  Harper had been right—the soup was drugged. She tried to escape the man’s grip, but he dragged her toward the operating table. “What’s going on? Please let me go.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart.” He didn’t sound sorry—he sounded gleeful.

  “You said something about the doctor helping your little boy. Is he sick?”

  His eyelids flickered. “He needs a kidney transplant. Maybe yours will work for him.” He dragged her to the side of the table. “Get on it.”

  “No.” She yanked on her arm again.

  “Have it your own way.” He swept her into his arms and plunked her down on the table.

  She immediately scrambled to the other side to slide off, but he held her fast as the nurse approached with an injection. Harper’s chest squeezed at the sight of the needle, but she couldn’t go anywhere with the big man’s painful grip holding her in place.

  “Why are you doing this to me? What’s happening?”

  “The old guy needs your liver. Sorry.” The nurse plunged the needle into Harper’s arm.