“Was there any information regarding his second admittance into the hospital?”
“None that my guy found.”
“Don’t you find it odd, that there’s a trail to where he’s been . . . but no evidence as to why he ended up there? It’s documented that his adopted family didn’t want him, but there’s no recorded reason as to why he wasn’t a ‘good fit’ . . . and then he’s admitted into a psychiatric institution twice in less than two years, yet, there is no listed cause for his admittance . . . something just isn’t adding up.”
“Well, he was a minor. Perhaps minors have certain exemptions that protect them.”
“Perhaps,” Nicholas sighed. Did your guy find anything else?”
“He was arrested for petty charges such as stealing merchandise from convenient stores and gas stations . . . vandalism, but he was never charged. At seventeen, he went to live with his half-brother, Paul, in Buffalo, New York. He finished high school and went to college there, completely turned his life around. From then on Dean has been a law- abiding citizen, he hasn’t received so much as a ticket.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s everything.”
“Would you mind emailing me a copy of his files, and his adopted parents address, please be sure to−?”
“Already sent.”
“Thank you, Catherine. I appreciate your help.”
“There’s no need to thank me. But− Nicholas. Why such an interest in a former employee? Of course, with the digging around, I gained knowledge of your ties with Dean Proctor. You fired him, and now your excavating his past. Why?”
“The less you know the better,” Nicholas sighed. “But, thank you. You’ve been a great help to me. You always have been, Catherine.”
“Be careful, Nicholas. This man has some serious demons, it may be in your best interest to stay as far away from him as possible.”
“We’ll talk soon, Catherine. Take care,” Nicholas said, before ending the call.
Placing the device back on the nightstand, Nicholas resumed his position in bed, covering his self once more with the plush cotton sheets before he inched his way closer to Charlotte, his movements slow, steady, as he attempted not to wake her, though his effort was made in vain.
“What are you doing?” she asked, turning over to face him.
“Trying to get closer to you . . . without waking you up,” he answered, apologetically.
“You failed.”
“I’ve realized,” he smiled.
“What time is it?”
“A little after six.”
“Too early, a few more hours of sleep before we start our day,” she whined, pulling him to her as she rolled back onto her side. “Hold me and go back to sleep.”
Nicholas closed his eyes at her words, grateful that her back was toward him. “Dimple. I have to leave,” he said regretfully.
“Leave? Why?” she asked, turning to face him once more.
“Work,” he lied. “I have documents that require my signature and they must be submitted to Fissicle by the end of today. He called me early this morning.”
“Call him back and tell him that you’re on your honeymoon. Tell him to fax the documents to the front desk here, and you’ll sign them.“
“Dimple, you don’t think I’ve exhausted every excuse, or have given other options to avoid heading back to New York? The man is unreasonable. But just because I have to leave, doesn’t mean you have to. Why not stay a day or two? Go to the beach, get a massage . . . there’s plenty to do here.”
“Without you?” she frowned. “That would be depressing.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it.
“What time do you plan on leaving?”
“I have to look up flights . . . but I planned on heading to the airport within the next hour or so.”
“That soon?” she sighed, laying her head on his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Nicholas repeated, truly feeling disgusted with himself.
“It’s okay. We have the rest of our lives together, planning a second honeymoon isn’t the end of the world. We can plan it when we both get back to the city, and things settle down.”
Nicholas kissed the top of her head. “Okay,” he answered, weakly.
“Cuddle with me for a few more minutes before you start to get ready?” Charlotte asked, tilting her head back so that her browns met his greys. “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you.”
Nicholas nodded his head. “Me either,” he whispered, tightening his arms around her smaller frame.
“Maybe I’ll stay for the day and enjoy all the quirks of the resort and then leave tonight. Will I be able to change my flight?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“One of the many reasons I love you . . . you’re good at taking care of things, especially me.”
“Everything I do from here on out will be for you. You’re all that matters to me,” he said, kissing her head once more. “Close your eyes, Dimple. There’s no point in both of us losing sleep.”
Chapter Twenty- Three
The flight from Coco Beach to New Haven was long and dismal. Nicholas hated having to leave Charlotte so suddenly, he hated the idea of having to lie to her. Sighing heavily, Nicholas rested his head against the cold leather headrest, his silver eyes gazing at the single- family homes as the taxi driver hastened through the quiet suburban neighborhoods. Suburbia. It’s so different from the city, it’s slow . . . peaceful. Would Charlotte consider living in a place like this? He wondered. Raise our family in a quiet small town . . . leave the city . . . leave everything. The thought was cumbersome to say the least. Planning their future seemed like a dream that would never become a reality, not with the dark veil of deceit hovering just below the surface. Their relationship had become a toxic stratum of lies, their foundation being attacked from the inside, and Nicholas harbored all the blame.
“We’ve arrived, sir,” the cab driver spoke, breaking the silence, and tearing Nicholas away from his somber thoughts. “That will be twenty- two dollars even.”
Reaching into his North face McMurdo Hooded Down Parka pocket, Nicholas withdrew his charcoal Bottega Veneta leather wallet. Handing the driver three one- hundred- dollar bills, he said, “I’ll be awhile. Be here when I get back.”
“Yes, sir,” the man answered, greedily stuffing the crisp bills into his tattered jeans pocket. “Take all the time you need.”
Scanning his surroundings before stepping out of the cab, Nicholas took caution as he made his way to the stranger’s front door. The yard was well- kept, as was the exterior of the small panelized house. Snowflake oakleaf scrubs surrounded the home on every side, the height, and smoldering shades of purple caught Nicholas’ attention as he walked up the narrow cement steps. Not wanting to put on the air of aggression, he tapped lightly on the whitewashed wood door before ringing the door- bell. When no one answered, Nicholas knocked once more, this time more forcefully. Taking a step away from the door, he peered into the closest window, narrowing his eyes to see past the venetian blinds when the sudden sound of throat clearing startled him.
“There better be a good reason why you’re looking into my window, or else I’m calling the police,” a small feminine voice shouted from the left of him.
Nicholas turned to face the woman with his hands held open in front of him. “I mean you no harm,” he said, his grey eyes meeting her deep blues. “Are you Isabelle Connelly?”
“Why? Who are you?” the thin older woman demanded, her pale lips trembling from the frigid cold. The bitter wind whistled through the bare Red Maple trees that outlined the neighborhood, their barren branches buckling under the intensity of the powerful gusts.
“Can we talk inside?” Nicholas asked, taking a step in the woman’s direction.
“Absolutely not, now please leave my property before I call the police,” she threatened.
“I’ve come a long way and I’m not leaving without talking to Isabelle Connelly . . . it�
��s about her brother, Dean Proctor. I−”
“What name did you say?” she gasped, interrupting him.
“Dean. Dean Proctor. I need to speak to his sister, Isabelle Connelly.”
“Who are you?” the greying woman repeated. “Is he with you?” she asked, quickly scanning the front yard, the street, the parked cars, her dark eyes darting this way and that before settling back on Nicholas. “Did he send you here?” she asked, anxiously. “I don’t have any money. . .”
“No. No. I’m not here on his behalf,” Nicholas said, hoping to ease the obvious fear that had overcome the stranger. “I just have a few questions that I need answered, and then I’ll be on my way,” he assured her.
“Questions about Dean? Are you a cop?”
“No,” Nicholas smiled warmly. “I can see that you’re freezing standing out here. Please, let’s go inside. I promise that I mean you no ill- will. I just have a few questions.”
Nodding her head in agreement, the woman signaled for Nicholas to follow her around the back of the house. “Just up this way,” she said, pointing to the wheelchair ramp. “Are you going to give me your name?” she asked, turning her head to look back at him.
“Matthew Jacobs,” Nicholas lied.
“Matthew Jacobs,” she softly spoke his name. “Are you a friend of Dean’s, Matthew?”
“Hardly.”
“Excuse the mess,” she said apologetically. “I haven’t had a chance to clean-up in a few days.” Opening the back door, she moved aside to allow Nicholas entrance into the house.
“After you,” Nicholas insisted, holding the aluminum door for her.
“Thank you,” she said, forcing a smile.
The inside of the house was modest. The back door gave entry to a small eat-in kitchen, which opened into a living room space.
“It’s quite alright,” Nicholas said. “I won’t take up a lot of your time. I just need some clarification regarding your brother.”
“Nephew.”
Nicholas frowned, confusion sharpening his brows. “I’m sorry?”
“Dean is my nephew, or at least he was my nephew before my sister and brother-in- law returned him to the adoption agency.”
“Sorry, I was told that Dean had a sister named Isabelle . . . I apologize for the mix- up, I was miss informed.”
“There’s no mix- up. Dean did have a sister named Isabelle, my late sister and brother- in- law’s biological daughter, my niece. Isabelle lived here with me until recent. . . she passed away a little over a year ago. I was her caregiver until the good Lord called her home to be with her parents,” she spoke quietly, heaving a sigh of grief.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Ms.−”
“Brenton. Deborah Brenton.”
“Ms. Brenton,” he nodded. “I won’t take up any more of your time . . . sorry for the intrusion,” Nicholas apologized before heading toward the door.
“Wait,” Deborah called after him. “You had questions about Dean, perhaps I can answer them for you. I’ve always been close to my sister and her family, never far removed . . . I may be of some assistance.”
“You mentioned that your sister and brother-in- law sent Dean back to the adoption agency . . . I’ve never heard of families returning children after legally adopting them . . . why did they send him back to the agency?”
“Why are you here?” Deborah probed. “You claim to be no acquaintance of Dean’s, but that’s hard to believe when out of the blue he shows up here after twenty years, and−“
“Dean was here recently?” Nicholas demanded, his thick furrowed brows causing small wrinkles to form around his steel eyes.
“About a month ago. He was the last person I expected to see standing at my doorstep, and demanding money no less. The nerve of him to show his face after what he has done to my family,” she shook her head seemingly agitated at the mere thought of the other man. “And for you to show up shortly after him asking to speak with my deceased niece doesn’t seem like a coincidence. I may be getting up there in age, but I can assure you sir, that I am in my right mind, and cannot be easily deluded.”
“I didn’t know that she was deceased, and I have no desire to deceive you.”
Deborah held up her hands to silence him. “If you’re not a cop, and you’re not here on Dean’s behalf, what purpose do you have for being here?”
Nicholas contemplated how much to divulge to the older woman. She wasn’t one that he could easily manipulate into answering his questions without him answering a few of her own. “May I have a seat?” he asked.
Deborah extended her hand to a worn oak chair adjacent to the kitchen table. “Please do,” she said, following closely behind him. “Would you care for something to drink?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Fine. The pleasantries have been delivered, I’ve done my share of making you feel comfortable, you’ve politely turned down my offer . . . so let’s cut to the chase, shall we? Your reason for being here, what is it?”
She’s a fire cracker, Nicholas thought, quietly amused. “Dean is trying to blackmail me for money,” he said matter-of-factly.
“And how exactly was Isabelle supposed to help you with that? She couldn’t very well give you any money.”
“I thought that she could give me some insight to who Dean really is . . . I’ve known him for a few years, and while he was a perpetual pain in my ass, he was well put together. Though, the last time I saw him . . . he looked unhinged, almost as if he were on the verge of a mental breakdown.”
“That’s not saying much,” Deborah grimaced. “He’s always been a split second away from losing his mind, and destroying the lives of those around him.”
“You said that he showed up asking for money?”
“Yes, ten- thousand dollars. I don’t know how he found out about Isabelle passing away, but there he was at my front door demanding that I give him ten-thousand dollars. He was insistent, screaming at the top of his lungs that Isabelle had to have had a life insurance policy, and that as her only sibling he had a right to a portion of it. The sight of him sickened me beyond reason. What a gruesome human being he turned out to be, vile and evil, and that’s saying the least.”
Nicholas nodded his head in agreement. “If you don’t mind me asking, did you give him any money?”
“Heavens no!” Deborah choked out. “The thought of giving him anything would put me in a constant state of guilt. It would be a violation against Isabelle, may she rest in peace. Morally I could never bring myself to give him anything that belonged to her, or her parents,” she explained.
Taking a seat beside Nicholas, Deborah leaned into him, closing the small space between them. Whispering she said, “Dean, was never that well put together. He was always a bit unhinged . . . you see, my sister, Nancy, she always wanted to have a large family, but shortly after she had Isabelle, she found out that she had cervical cancer. The cancer had already started to spread by the time she was given her diagnosis, and the doctor’s recommended that she receive a hysterectomy. She was devastated.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nicholas said, his tone sincere.
“So was I. You know there’s nothing sadder than witnessing someone you love pretend that they’re content with life, only to know that on the inside they are shattered, falling apart over and over again, and that there is nothing that you can do to fix it.” Shaking her head disdainfully, Deborah pressed her lips together, fighting in vain to hold back the tears that quickly gathered in her eyes. “My sister was a good person, a good, kind hearted person. Throughout her life she gave more than she ever received, and she never had a bad word to say about anyone. If I know nothing else, I know that when she reached Heaven’s gate, that she was told, ‘Well done,’ that I’m certain of. She always had the best interest of others in mind, always wanted to be a blessing to others. A few years after having the surgery, Nancy had decided that she wanted to adopt. She’d made up her mind that she wouldn’t let a few hiccups deter her
from her dream of having a house full of kids. She swore that she would be the mother of plenty, even if by circumstance she was only the natural mother of one.”
“And so, she adopted Dean.”
“Yes. Dean was eleven years old when she brought him to live with them. He was a quiet child, reserved . . . different. There was something about his eyes that gave me reason to pause, stale blue, they reminded me of death. After a few months he had become less aloof, and had begun to talk more, still, there was something about the child that wasn’t’ right. Nancy loved him from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, but it wasn’t that immediate for me. He never smiled, and his presence did nothing short of send a cold chill up my spine. I shared my feelings toward him with my sister, and needless to say she was less than pleased. There came a time that she stopped having me over for Sunday dinner because of my judgment of Dean.”
Nicholas remained silent, entranced by her story. His silver gaze unblinking as he waited for her to continue.
“It had been nearly a year since I’d seen my sister, since I had visited her home, and then one day she called me. Nancy told me that strange things had been happening around the house.”
“Strange things?”
“Yes.”
“What do you mean by strange things?”
“Well, Nancy had always kept a fish pond in her backyard. She’d bred Prussian carp for over fifteen years, and like everything she cared for, these fish were well taken care of, she had invested a lot of money into the pond. Then one day she went out to change the filter, and the fish were dead. One day alive, not exuding any symptoms of illness, and the next dead, all of them, not a single one alive. Not knowing what could have possibly been the cause she did what any rational thinking person would do, she checked the water for toxins, and was floored when she discovered that the water tested positive for high levels of bleach. When she asked Dean if he had poured bleach into the fish pond, he told her that Isabelle had done it.”
A Winter's Vow (A Winter's Tale Series Book 3) Page 12