The Naked Truth

by Maggie Aldrich

  “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, massaging my feet gently. “But at least now you have an answer. Not the answer you wanted, though.”

  I looked out at the water rushing by, the roaring sound strangely comforting. That note had been a glimmer of hope, now dashed by the fact that it wasn’t delivered by my dad at all, but some stranger. I guess his handwriting could have been forged by anyone, chicken scratch that it was. I was naïve to think it was from him. He and my mom had died in a car accident. And him having an FBI file didn’t change that fact. I needed to get my head on straight and quit thinking like the dramas I watch on TV. No one would be coming back from the dead. No more deep, dark secrets would be revealed. I needed to focus on my future and be thankful for what I had right here in front of me.

  I slowly got up, peeled off my socks, and walked down to the edge of the water. The rain was now just a sprinkle. Carefully, I stepped in, the icy cold temperature shocking my feet and legs. Michael slowly came up behind me and wrapped me in an embrace, holding me steady as I let the water wash away all of the aches and pains of my body, and of my heart.

  Later that evening, I was so bushed from the emotional rollercoaster of the day that we decided to order room service and enjoy a nice dinner out on our patio. Michael even ordered the fixings for s’mores, grabbed some logs, and lit the outdoor fireplace. We brought out blankets from inside and snuggled under them, toasting our marshmallows and feeding each other the gooey treats. It was a beautiful fall night. Elk called to each other in the valley below, and owls hooted from far away. The fire crackled and I laid my head on Michael’s shoulder.

  “What should we do tomorrow?” I asked, willing to get all thoughts of what might have been out of my mind. “Do you have anything in mind?” I was so mentally exhausted, I didn’t want to make one more decision. Spending all day at the spa would have suited me just fine.

  “How about a longer hike followed by a deep tissue massage? I need to work these kinks out.” Michael stretched his arms overhead and cracked his neck. As a professional contractor, he does physical work every day. My physical work entails running on the beach followed by some yoga stretches. Well, I also move antiques around at the shop, but that doesn’t compare to his daily load of physicality.

  “That sounds great.” I silently made a pact with myself to quit worrying and just enjoy the rest of our time here. So far, our honeymoon had been repeatedly marred by events related to me. I was tired of all that and just wanted to focus on both of us enjoying our newly wedded bliss. A nice hike followed by a massage would be just what the doctor ordered. I smiled and sighed, licking the last of the marshmallow off my fingers.

  “I’m going to go inside to wash my hands and grab some water. You want anything?”

  Michael shook his head no. I stood up and walked back inside to grab a drink. Coming back out, I glanced up at the television he had left on, volume down low. He had been occasionally checking for updates on his favorite NFL team playing Monday Night Football. A commercial break came on with a local news report, and I hesitated at the door.

  The headline, “Gas Leak Leads to Small Explosion in Business District,” scrolled across the screen. I paused, watching what had to be amateur video, showing very shaky footage of a family smiling in the foreground, just before an explosion rocked the building behind them.

  “Tourists get video of an explosion that occurred today at an abandoned building in the heart of the business district,” the off-screen reporter said. “The building, owned by C-IZZY, Inc, of Matamoras, Mexico, is considered a total loss. No injuries have been reported…”

  Wow, I thought. That’s so close to where we were today. Thank God no one was hurt. I continued to look at the screen, watching screaming people fleeing the scene as mayhem ensued.

  “…but authorities continue to look into just how a gas leak at the building could have occurred. Stay tuned to KVKX for more details.”

  The video went to freeze-frame just before cutting out. It caught the panic of the moment, children crying, parents sheltering kids, and a running bystander, face determined, jaw set…and very much my dad.

  ●CHAPTER 11●

  MY GLASS SHATTERED AS IT HIT THE FLOOR, narrowly missing my feet. Michael shot up and propelled himself over the bench in one swift move, at my side in an instant.

  “What’s going on? You okay?” He looked around at the shards of glass at my feet. “Don’t move. I’ll get this cleaned up.” I couldn’t move, but he didn’t know the true reason. My eyes were glued to the screen even though the football game had resumed. I had seen my dad. My dad was alive. He was here in Elkston. Today!

  “You didn’t get cut, did you?” Michael asked, finally looking up at my face. “Emily?” Taking hold my arms, he shook me gently. “Emily, what happened?” He looked up at the TV, now back on the game. “You that excited that the Texans are winning?”

  I finally shook myself out of my stupor and began to stammer, pointing at the screen.

  “What? Your dad liked the Texans too? Is that so shocking?” He grinned and carefully continued to pick up the broken pieces of glass.

  “No.” I stopped and took a deep breath, willing my heart to slow down. “My dad was on TV,” I squeaked, but it only came out as a whisper. I felt like I was in a dream, trying to shout out and not making any noise at all. I grabbed Michael’s arm and stopped him, looked him in the eye and forced myself to settle down, finding my voice. “My dad was on TV. I saw him.” I explained to Michael the news story and exactly what I had seen.

  “Wait.” He paused, shaking his head. “You’re saying your dad is alive? And he was here? In Elkston?” He stared past me, taking it all in, a slight look of doubt in his eyes. “You are 100% positive the man you saw on TV was your dad?” I nodded. “I mean, you’ve had some weird news the past few days. Do you think your mind is playing tricks on you?”

  “No, Michael. I’m absolutely sure it was him.” And I was. I knew it. No doubt in my mind. That was him. I stood there, still in shock, my breathing shallow as a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. I needed Michael to believe me. I was not seeing things. I had seen my dad.

  Michael let out a deep sigh as he deposited the remaining chunks of glass in the trash. “Wow. Okay. First, FBI, and now, uh, this,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. He grabbed a wet towel and wiped up all the remaining tiny shards of glass before taking my hand. He looked me in the eyes. I knew he was determined to believe me, no matter how crazy I sounded. “Well, this honeymoon is about to get a lot more interesting. Call Fritz,” he said, nodding his head. “Get him down here now.”

  I ran to get my phone and immediately called Fritz, breathlessly filling him in on all of the details.

  “Hot damn, woman! You sure know how to ratchet things up.” Fritz chuckled and I could hear the anticipation in his voice. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Get the video footage from the station and we’ll start with that.” I could hear him moving around, already making preparations. “Shit, where’s my duffel? Ah, hell, I can’t find anything in this mess.”

  Fritz had his office in his home, and his wife, Zoey, helped out with cases and also kept conditions livable. “What, is Zoey out of town for a few days?”

  “What? Oh, Zoey’s gone. Went to stay with her sister for a few weeks. Said she needed a break from me. It happens.” I chuckled to myself. Fritz can be a handful. He and Zoey have been married a long time, probably only because she gives herself permission to leave every once in a while. “Ah, here it is. As I was saying, get the video footage, but you need to keep a low profile in town. Your dad must be hiding for a reason, and if he gets a glimpse of you, he might just take off. You stay put at your fancy pants luxury resort and let me handle this.”

  “Where will you stay?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find something.”

  Fritz called the airlines, but all flights into Denver from Dallas were booked, so he worked a deal with a buddy to get a flight into an air
strip normally reserved for the rich and famous. I know it pained him to do that, socialist that he is. We arranged for Michael to pick him up in the morning.

  I put in a call to the TV station that same night, and surprisingly, someone picked up. I explained the situation, skipping most of the facts and adding my own embellishments, but was told the reporter who worked the story was also the morning news anchor; thus, she was not available and probably already asleep. They refused to give me her cell number, but said they’d give her my message. I was at a dead end until morning.

  The whole night I lay there, my mind racing. My dad was alive! Was my mom too? Had their accident in the Louisiana swamp been a setup? What had really happened? How could he have let them be declared dead and stay hidden all that time? It had to be related to the FBI file, didn’t it? Otherwise it made no sense. My bitterness was increasing by the second. Who fakes his own death and breaks his only child’s heart? But maybe he had a good reason. Were they in witness protection? I lay there, conflicted, for hours. Michael slept peacefully next to me, an occasional snort escaping his lips. Eventually, I drifted off and dreamed of alligators crawling into our bed, pulling me and Michael into the swamp, while my parents stood at the door, watching and laughing.

  ●CHAPTER 12●

  I WAS UP BEFORE THE SUN, lying in bed with Michael’s arm thrown across my belly. I ran my fingers along the outline of his muscles and snuggled closer to him. He was my only refuge in the craziness my life had, once again, become. As I laid there counting my blessings, he wrapped his arm around me and slowly began to wake up, nuzzling my neck. I rolled over to face him and he pulled me flush against his warm body, fully awake now with one thing on his mind, his strong hands caressing me gently. Closing my mind off to all my worries, I let myself get lost in him, letting his strength, passion, and love fuel me.

  Afterward, I cupped his face with my hand, tracing the lines of his jaw, my thumb brushing over his lips. I looked into his deep, blue eyes.

  “I love you,” I said. “I love you so much. I’m sorry my life is such a mess right now, and I’m sorry I’m ruining our honeymoon.”

  “You’re not ruining anything, babe,” he said, grabbing my hand and kissing my fingertips, one by one. “I wouldn’t rather be anyplace else or with anyone else or…doing anything else,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “We’ll get through this.

  “I do have to admit though, I am a little afraid of my now-alive, possible fugitive father-in-law, but I’ll get over that.” He grinned. I let out a small laugh at the thought of my six-foot-two-inch, built-like-Adonis husband being afraid of anyone, let alone my dad, the world’s most amicable guy. Tears came to my eyes as memories of my dad flooded my brain. Did I really even know him? Now I wasn’t so sure.

  “Hey,” Michael said, gently wiping the tears from my face, “it’s going to be okay. I promise. We’re going to find your dad, get everything figured out, and go back to California to have and raise our eight kids.” I laughed and punched him lightly in the chest. He rose from the bed and walked into the bathroom. I admired my husband’s sexy physique as I watched him go, and I couldn’t help but smile. I heard him turn the shower water on, and a few seconds later, his head popped out.

  “Come on,” he said, beckoning me. “I’ll rub your back in the shower. And, who knows…maybe do other things too.” He grinned and raised the one eyebrow, teasing me. I willingly obliged.

  When we got out of the shower, I checked my cell phone, praying the news reporter had tried to get ahold of me. Not surprisingly, she hadn’t. I sat down on our bed and willed myself to be patient. She probably just got off the air and was…what? Taking a nap? I would be if I got up at 3:00 a.m. to work. I looked around the room to find anything else to keep my mind occupied. Michael had run down to grab some breakfast, but I couldn’t even think about eating. I had to get ahold of that reporter. I grabbed a book to read but tossed it aside. My patience lasted a whole thirty seconds, and I placed a call to the station. Miraculously, she answered.

  “KVKX, Darcy Jensen,” she said quickly.

  “Oh, hi. Um, my name’s Emily Potens, I mean, Drake, and I, um, I need your help.” Ugh. This woman wouldn’t take me seriously at all talking like that. I hadn’t been expecting her to answer the station’s phone and hadn’t prepared what I was going to say. What was I thinking?! She sighed loudly. “I’m sorry,” I explained, trying to start over. “I didn’t know you would actually answer the phone, but you are the one I want to talk to.”

  “Well, at this Podunk station, we only have so many on staff. I’m morning news anchor, afternoon reporter, receptionist when I’m in the office, and gopher when I’m not. What have you got?”

  I explained to her that I saw a person in the video of yesterday’s story I hadn’t been able to locate for almost two years.

  “So call the police,” she said abruptly, sounding bored and annoyed. “Is this a missing person’s case?”

  “Not really,” I told her, “he’s been declared dead.” Crap! Mental face palm. Probably shouldn’t have told her that.

  “Hmmm, now this is getting interesting. You saw a guy that’s been presumed dead running past the scene of an unexplained explosion in the downtown business district of a tourist town. Is he Middle Eastern? Maybe on the FBI’s Most Wanted?” Her tone completely changed, and I could hear her practically salivating. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind that my dad could somehow be connected to the explosion. I was too stunned just knowing he was alive.

  “Omigod, no!” I exclaimed. “He’s my dad. And he’s not Middle Eastern. Not that only Middle Easterners blow up buildings. But geez, he’s not on the FBI’s Most Wanted! Only a person of interest!” Omigod, my brain! Did I really tell that to a reporter?!

  “Please,” I continued, “I just need a copy of the footage. That’s all. And the approximate time of day would be helpful. Just those things. I promise I won’t bother you anymore.”

  “And all I need is a good story to break me out of this godforsaken small-town market. And this might be it. Listen,” she continued, “I’ll get you your footage. But I want in.”

  “I can’t let you in. There’s nothing to be in on.”

  “Like hell there’s not. You’ve got an FBI POI who’s played dead for two years—”

  “Eighteen months, really,” I cut in.

  “Fine. He’s played dead for eighteen months, and now he’s caught on camera running from the scene of a building explosion. And not just any building, but a building that’s a hotbed for drug activity.”

  “What?” What was she saying? I had no idea what she was talking about. I knew that pot shops were flying up all over the place in this state, but that’s legal. How exactly was this building a hotbed for drug activity? I thought it was abandoned?

  “Yeah. I’ve heard some things,” she continued. “The building’s been under the local PD’s watch lately. They suspect it’s being used as a warehouse and distribution center for narcotics. But knowing these small townies who are soooo in love with their tourists, now that the building’s gone, they’ll probably drop any investigation into it. Wouldn’t make for good press.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, but how does that relate to me? My dad wasn’t involved in the explosion.”

  “And how do you know that, exactly? You said you haven’t seen him in almost two years!”

  She had a point. Dammit. What the hell was my dad involved in?

  “I just need the footage,” I pleaded.

  “And I just need a story!” Her tone shifted. “Emily Potens-Drake, or whatever your name is, I think we can help each other out. How about we set up a meet?”

  A meet? This sounded so sketchy. My mind reeled. How had my honeymoon, much less my life, come to this? Was my dad running from the scene of a crime? That thought almost made me laugh. My dad was the most clean-cut, straight-laced person I had ever known. But with everything else that had come out, what did I know? What should I do? Could I trust this woman
? Fritz had told me not to go into town for fear of being spotted. Plus, Michael had to pick up Fritz, so I wouldn’t have a car. Did the remote Rockies have Uber? I sat for a bit and stewed. Finally, I decided on my plan of action. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

  “Fine, we can meet. But you have to come here.”

  “You bet,” she said. “Name the place and time.” Well, that was easy. I told her where we were staying and the easiest route to get there. “Swanky!” she exclaimed. “I’ll gladly come there. Think you can get me some spa services? I could really use a pedi.” Did she really just ask for a pedi? Man, she was pushing it.

  “How about we go on a hike?” I countered. “There are some trails out here, and we can talk in private.” I really didn’t want to invite her into our cabin yet. That seemed too intrusive. This was our sanctuary, and I didn’t want some stranger invading it with her notebook and her questions.

  “How about we don’t. I don’t even own a pair of hiking boots, and my tennis shoes are meant to be worn only under the supervision of a personal trainer in the gym.”

  I had visions of a twenty-something diva in three-inch heels with caked-on makeup and a Botoxed face.

  “Okay, we’ll have some lunch at the restaurant.”

  “I’m vegan and I only have a sixteen-ounce, wheatgrass smoothie for lunch.” She really wasn’t leaving me with many options.

  “Fine,” I sighed. “I’ll call the spa.”

  I set up two pedicures for me and Darcy later that morning. I didn’t figure we should go get a couples massage, and she flat out told me no sauna time since she’d just gotten her spray tan. She seemed a little high maintenance to me.

  Darcy arrived a little while later and drove straight to the cabin in her compact SUV. Upon initial inspection, I found her to be a typical TV personality; loads of makeup, bright red lipstick, deep brown, perfectly styled hair that cascaded down her back, and a very fake smile, as if she were waiting for me to yell, “And…cut!” She wore skinny jeans and a pink cashmere sweater with a fitted, shiny, gray puffy vest. I was in yoga pants and a baggy, oversized sweatshirt that read, “Namaste in bed.”