Second Chance at Love

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  No wonder Cooper had asked me for time to sort things out! He had planned to marry my sister, the child our parents gave away. To Jodi the loss of Cooper to me would seem like getting rejected twice. On the other hand, I found the idea that he loved both of us slightly creepy. Surely he knew we were siblings! But what if he hadn’t known? At least in the beginning?

  All these thoughts were dizzying. The way they rushed at me made me slightly sick.

  “I hate you,” Jodi said. “You took everything from me.”

  “I didn't know,” I said. “No one told me.”

  She advanced on me, a moving ball of fury. Flecks of red swirled in the hazel of her irises. Both her hands were knotted into fists that she held stiffly at her sides. “You had to have known! I could tell from the look in your eyes when we met!”

  “The look you saw was surprise. Nothing more. You look so much like our mother⸻and I miss her. A lot.” I swallowed hard. “Trust me. No one ever said a word about you. Not one peep. Not Mom. Not Dad. Not Poppy.”

  “I bet you were raised like a princess. The apple of our father’s eye. Our mother’s little Mini-Me. Meanwhile, I'm a throw-away. They tossed me away like I was a dirty tissue.”

  That didn’t sound at all like my parents. “They must have been very, very young at the time. I’m sure they gave you up because they thought that another family could give you a better life.”

  “Ha! You don’t know that’s true.”

  I leaned against my car. Spreading my fingers wide, I soaked up the warmth from the surface. The solid metal was my link to reality.

  Jodi lifted the side of her upper lip in a snarl. “They could have reached out to me when you got older.”

  “I agree. I have no idea why they didn’t do that.”

  “They didn’t do that because I was expendable. They wanted to forget all about me. After all, I’d been replaced. By you. You were the one they kept. The one they doted on. They didn’t care what happened to me as long as I didn’t embarrass them. Dad came down here regularly to keep tabs on me.”

  “Oh, come on, Jodi. That doesn’t sound like my dad at all. He must have come down to make sure you were okay.”

  “He didn’t care about me! He was worried about his reputation. The family name.”

  I opened my mouth to explain that in that department, she had nothing on me. Jodi wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. “Thomas promised that he'd tell you when the time was right. You're trying to tell me that he didn't?”

  Thomas. How odd it sounded for her to call my father by his first name.

  “He didn’t.” I shook my head sadly. None of this gibed with what I knew about my parents. Especially with what I knew about Dad. I thought he was the most upright, honest man in the world, and now how could I reconcile that with what I’d just learned? He'd lied to both of us. It was shabby. Unworthy of him. I stood there, leaning against my car, feeling slack-jawed and incredulous.

  As for Mom, I couldn’t even go there. How could any mother walk away from a child and not regret it? I would need time to process this new version of my mother.

  “I. Am. So. Sorry.” And I really, really was. I couldn't imagine how it felt to be her.

  “Sorry?” Jodi’s upper lip curled. “You’re not nearly as sorry as you're going to be.”

  With that she stomped back to her car, keyed the ignition, and threw it into reverse. The tires spun and tossed gravel. A rock flew up from under the wheels. It hit my bare arm and bounced off, leaving a red mark. But I didn't feel a thing.

  CHAPTER 80

  I stood there for what seemed like a long, long time. My body shook with adrenaline, as I struggled to make sense of what I’d learned. My parents, the most wholesome and upright people I knew, had kept a secret. From me and maybe from the world.

  Bile flooded my mouth. My stomach had twisted into a knot. I knew I should go inside, but my legs had turned to jelly.

  The irony of all this was that I always wanted a sister. I’d even asked Santa to bring me one for Christmas. In high school, I had looked into exchange programs, hoping we could bring a foreign student into our home. All to no avail.

  My biggest regret as a mother was that Tommy was an only child. Sure, it wasn’t too late for me biologically, but as an old-fashioned type of girl, I found myself waiting for marriage and a husband. I’d even considered adopting. My mother’s illness had put all my ideas for expanding my brood on hold.

  A sister. I had a sibling. Except that I didn’t. Jodi had made it clear that she hated me. When Cooper told her it was over, things could only go from bad to worse.

  I needed to talk this over with Poppy. I wanted desperately to hear his take on all this. Maybe he could answer a lot of my questions. Now that Jodi had spilled the beans, he had no reason to hold anything back. I was owed some answers.

  Of course, all that would have to wait. My friends would be expecting me back at the flea market. I needed to get inside the store, grab the business card, and call Detective Murray. Sorting out my family drama was not my immediate priority. Finding a murderer and recovering those lost paintings had to come first.

  With a shaking hand, I tried to match the key to the keyhole. Not surprisingly, it took me several tries. Once I got inside the store and locked the door behind me, I ran to the bathroom. There I sluiced cold water all over my face, on the back of my neck, and on my arms. Using the terrycloth towel on the counter, I patted myself dry.

  I felt marginally better. Functional at least. Fearful that Jodi might return, I locked the back door. On my desk, I found Detective Murray's card.

  I called him, but it went to voice mail. I text-messaged him: Have information from vendor at flea market about anonymous man selling Highwayman art. I think I know why HH was killed.

  Seconds later, he responded: Do not talk to anyone. Where are you?

  I tapped out: At store.

  Stay there, was his reply. On my way.

  That chore out of the way, I climbed the stairs to my apartment.

  “Come here, little darling.” I lifted Jack out of his cardboard box. “Did you have enough shade and water? I hope so.” Noting how the sunlight had shifted, I moved the box closer to the table. Out of an abundance of caution, I also repositioned the frying pan so it was squarely on the card table. I was taking no chances that the heavy kitchenware might fall and hit my canine friend.

  I fed Jack a yummy. He hadn’t barked when I walked inside the store. Feeling protective would come later. For now, it was enough that his entire body wriggled with happiness. His tiny tail beat the arm double-time. He stretched as far as he could so he could lick my face. Fortunately, he seemed to be in no hurry to go outside. Instead, he was happy for the attention. I gave him some love, scratching his tummy and praising him.

  Putting him down on the floor, I grabbed his dish, washed it, added fresh water with ice, and set it on the card table. Dragging the leg in the brace, he limped over to me. His eyes followed my every move.

  “You want a yummy, don't you?” I shook one from the plastic pouch and fed it to him.

  As Jack crunched the dog biscuit, I noticed a strange beige pile of something on the floor. Some sort of fine powder that hadn’t been there long. I knew it had shown up recently because I’d thoroughly mopped the place. No way could I have missed a pile like that. I got down on my hands and knees to examine the substance more closely. At regular intervals along the baseboard, there were more piles of the stuff. The texture reminded me of the mess left by termites.

  I touched the crumbles with a damp fingertip and inspected them more closely. This didn't look like bug droppings. It looked more like fresh wood shavings. Fresh sawdust.

  My fingers traced the seams between the pieces of paneling. Phillips-head screws stuck up all over. More than a couple screws looked as if they'd been replaced hastily. When had that happened?

  I followed one panel from left to right. The edges on both sides were both loose. In fact, I could almost pry off th
e entire panel. That didn't make any sense.

  Then I remembered what Brad Houston, the attorney, had said. He had told me that the Highwaymen had painted on Upson board. A building material. The flea market vendor had told me that some people had even used Highwaymen landscapes for insulation. That meant that the paintings had to be thin, lightweight, and stackable.

  A tingle of excitement swept through me. Was it possible…?

  I heard a footsteps on the stairs.

  CHAPTER 81

  I froze in place, hoping to hear better. The footsteps continued. Had Jodi returned? I stayed silent and listened. They were too heavy to belong to a woman. I got up and turned toward the open door, fully expecting to see Detective Murray.

  Then I remembered—I'd locked the door behind me after Jodi left. Only Skye and MJ had copies of the key. I hadn’t heard glass breaking. How had the intruder gotten in?

  The hairs stood up on my arms. All my instincts warned me that I was in danger. The choices I made next could mean the difference between life and death.

  My life and my death.

  I needed someplace to hide—fast! I grabbed Jack and tiptoed into the cloak closet. Very quietly I closed the door behind me.

  Jack growled.

  “Shhh,” I warned him. With shaking hands, I text-messaged Detective Murray: Help! Someone is here with me. Hurry!

  I turned the phone to quiet mode as the footsteps reached the landing. The uninvited visitor was definitely a man. I could tell by the sound of the shoes.

  On my way, the detective responded. Lock yourself in a bathroom.

  Good idea, but it came too late. The bathroom was on the other side of the large living room. Wrapping my fingers lightly around Jack’s muzzle, I pressed us deeper into the closet.

  The door to my apartment swung open with a creak. Footsteps entered the room. The intruder stopped. I assumed that he was looking around. He chuckled.

  There was a sliver of daylight along the length of the closet door near the hinges. I pressed my eye to that opening. I couldn't see much. An arm. A part of a shoe, but not a whole person. Not even enough to know for sure who it was.

  Jack started shivering. I did, too. He took a deep breath, like he was getting ready to whimper, but I clamped his mouth shut. Jack scratched at my hand and pulled his muzzle free. I patted him, trying to keep him quiet.

  I heard a metallic scratching noise. The sound of a screwdriver against a screw head. The whisper of a screw tunneling through wood. The jingle of metal against change in a pocket.

  The closet was stuffy. I breathed out of my mouth so I wouldn't make any noise. I wondered if the intruder could hear my heartbeat. It sounded like a bass drum in a marching band.

  Detective Murray would be here any moment.

  How would he get in? I'd locked the back door. Had my visitor locked up behind himself? If so, Lou would have to break down the door. What if the cop hesitated? What if this creep found me first?

  I panted with fear. Jack started to whimper, but I wrapped my fingers around his muzzle.

  Fortunately, the man didn't seem to hear Jack. He was too absorbed in what he was doing. As that sound of metal against coins grew louder.

  Then came the wobbly sound of the paneling buckling. Followed by a scraping sound. And a thud. Not substantial. But solid. I adjusted my angle. I caught a glimpse of my visitor's back. A white shirt. Short-sleeves. Beyond that, a slab of paneling had been removed. It was resting against the wall.

  The man started whistling, happily.

  I shifted my weight again and readjusted my position, trying to get a better look. Bobby Gander moved to one side, giving me a clear view of the back wall.

  I stared into a makeshift vault stuffed full of Highwaymen paintings.

  CHAPTER 82

  I stifled a gasp. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing!

  The closet was getting more and more stuffy. Sweat ran between my shoulders. Adrenaline surged through my body. I could hear myself breathing heavily. Bobby’s whistling got louder and louder. He clearly was a happy man. He stepped away from the open wall and crossed his arms over his chest so he could admire his haul.

  The paintings were stacked three and four deep.

  And then suddenly, Jack barked.

  Bobby spun around and threw open the closet door.

  “Well, well, well.” Bobby smirked at me. “We've got ourselves a little problem, don't we?”

  From a back pocket, he pulled a box cutter. Holding it high, he moved his thumb along one edge. I heard a click. A silver blade flashed in the fading sunbeam.

  Detective Murray is on the way, I reminded myself.

  If I could get Bobby talking, I could buy myself some time.

  “Wow,” I said, forcing myself to stare over Bobby's shoulder at the artwork. “That's amazing. Totally fantastic.”

  “Isn't it?” He grinned happily.

  “Could I put my dog down?” I asked.

  Bobby stared at me.

  “Please?”

  A jerk of Bobby's head indicated it was okay. I walked across the room to Jack's cardboard box. Carefully, I dipped down to put my dog on his bed. On my way back up, I watched as shadows shifted their way along the floor. Someone was moving right outside my apartment door.

  I hesitated, taking a moment to stroke Jack. Without turning my head, using only my peripheral vision, I looked toward the door one more time. Now it was slightly ajar.

  Detective Lou Murray put a finger to his lips.

  “Thanks, Bobby,” I said in an unnaturally loud voice. “For letting me take care of Jack. Gee, everyone really underestimated you, didn't they? Hal Humberger didn't think you were paying attention when he blabbed about Essie's collection of Highwaymen paintings. He must have mentioned that they would be worth a mint one day.”

  Bobby smirked. “Yap, yap, yap. That's all Hal did. He never knew when to shut up.”

  “He treated you like an errand boy, didn't he? Sending you to do odd jobs for him. That must have be upsetting. It never dawned on Hal that you knew this place inside and out. You even knew where Essie kept all her paintings. But how'd you get around the lock she put on the storage closet door?”

  “I installed it and kept a key,” he said, with a hoot of laughter. “Just like I did on the new locks to your doors.”

  “Geez,” I said. “I never thought about that. Am I a dope or what?”

  “Nobody pays a bit of attention to the guy with the hammer.”

  I nodded eagerly. “That’s too bad, isn’t it? Hal deserved what he got, didn't he? He made the big money and turned all the hard jobs over to you. You did all the work.”

  “That's right.” He looked pleased with himself.

  “Let me guess how it went down. MJ had been making noises about visiting her mother in Michigan. Then Essie had her stroke. Irving decided to build out the apartments. Essie gave MJ permission to close the store and go up north, so you loaned her the money for airfare. Hal promised him that he'd do the job himself. That way Irving wouldn't have to worry about Essie's antiques and a stranger in the store.”

  “That liar. Hal never did anything all by himself. He couldn't estimate a job, he couldn't do the job, and he never kept his promises.”

  “That left you to do all the work yourself. You were free to come and go as you pleased. You did a great job on the dividing wall. There aren’t any outlets in them because you decided it would be too risky to bring in an electrician, right?”

  “Right. You're smarter than you look,” he said in a growl. “I had this totally under control until you showed up.”

  “Why did Hal have to die?”

  “He had his eye on this particular painting by Al Hair. Al painted the same scenes over and over again, and I forgot which one was Hal's favorite. I went to sell the landscape on eBay, and who shows up to buy it? My old friend, Hal Humberger. We had a good laugh about it in the parking lot. I told him someone had traded it for payment on a job. When I opened the trunk to l
et him get a good look at the piece, he recognized it.”

  “And he started blabbing,” I said.

  “I had to shut him up.” Bobby sighed. “Now what am I going to do with you?”

  Jack must have caught a glimpse of the cop outside the door, because suddenly he began barking. I had to think fast. I looked down at his bowl.

  “My dog is out of water. How about if I give him some? To shut him up.”

  Poor Jack, I thought. First he gets tossed from a moving car and now he's watching his new owner get threatened with a box cutter. Therapy was definitely in order. If we lived that long.

  “Make it fast,” snarled Bobby. “You and I are going to take a little ride.”

  Detective Murray was out there, waiting. Right now, he couldn’t help me. Not with Bobby standing right next to me, and the cop being behind the door. Bobby was too close, and the box cutter was too sharp.

  Moving slowly, I picked up Jack's water bowl.

  “For cripes sake,” said Bobby. “Hurry it up.”

  My dog growled.

  Bobby glanced down at Jack.

  That was all the distraction I needed. I tossed the water into Bobby's face. The box cutter hit the floor. Bobby made a lunge for it. When he went down, I grabbed the frying pan.

  Then, for the second time in my life, I hit a man over the head with a cast-iron skillet.

  EPILOGUE

  The day of the Art Fair, it was standing room only at The Treasure Chest. In fact, the place was so crowded that I had difficulty moving around to greet all of our well-wishers. Philomena Humberger waved to me from across the sales floor. I simply had to speak to her, so I slipped past people lined up at the hors d'oeuvre table and made my way to her side.

  “Thank you,” she said. “You can't believe how much closure Bobby Gander's arrest brought me.”

  “I'm the one who owes you thanks,” I said. “If you hadn't emailed to all your clients about my store, this place might be empty.”

  “I doubt it! Word has gotten around about the wonderful changes you'd made.” Philomena leaned close to whisper, “The place looks amazing, and you look beautiful!”