by Mary Campisi
“I regret what happened and my part in it. Mrs. Blacksworth had a way of making a person feel they owed her and she wasn’t one to take no lightly.”
“Don’t expect she would be.” Pop gestured to the chair next to him. “Have a seat. Want a pizzelle?”
“A what?” The man’s bushy brows pinched together, the blue eyes clouded. “What’s a…what’d you call it?”
“It’s a pizzelle. Here.” Pop eased one off the plate, handed it to the rough-and-tumble investigator who looked more like he’d just finished on a movie set of a western than gathering sensitive information.
Lester Conroy bit into the pizzelle, chewed, took another bite. “Tasty,” he said, taking three more bites.
Any person who wasn’t afraid to try a pizzelle even though he’d never heard of one and actually liked it earned stars in Pop’s book. Maybe only half a star since there was still the Gloria Blacksworth business putting a black smudge on his reputation. “So, what did you find out, Lester? Is she sick?”
“Sick? Maybe in the head.” He pulled out a packet of papers from his pocket and handed them to Pop. “I’m worried about your boy, Angelo. Bad news. I’ve known my share of manipulators in my day, but this little lady might beat them all.”
Lord, that did not sound good. Pop unfolded the papers, began to read. The story read like a bad movie with twists getting tossed in so fast you couldn’t keep the real from the fake straight. She really did that? How could she? Why didn’t anybody say anything? Why didn’t anybody find out? All these years, all the lies…that poor child. And now Cash was up in God knew where, all alone with her and the boy. He was no match for somebody like that. Daniel Casherdon might be tough but he played by the rules; he believed in doing the right thing and that’s why he was knee-deep in trouble right now and didn’t know it. He’d been told a lie, probably a lot of lies, and they were nothing but a bunch of baloney.
“Stephanie Richmond isn’t dying,” Lester said, helping himself to another pizzelle. “Not even close.”
Pop stared at the papers, tried to reason through what he’d just read. There weren’t one or two twists, there was a whole maze, and they all led back to one big fat lie. “She’s not sick, she’s not dying, she’s not even in advertising.”
Lester Conroy rubbed his jaw, nodded. “This is one of the most interesting and convoluted cases I’ve worked in a while. The woman’s a smart one, I’ll give you that. Nothing straightforward about her, no sir. She’s a strategist, down to the tiniest detail. The world could use people like her, but…”
“But they’re too busy trying to cheat poor unsuspecting souls like Cash.”
“Yup. Sounds about right.”
“How’d you piece this all together?” Pop considered himself something of an expert when it came to sorting out people and their motives, but he wouldn’t have known where to start on this one. “I give you credit, Lester. This one looks tougher than an overcooked pork chop. Can you walk me through it?”
The man’s blue eyes lit up and a slow smile inched across his weather-beaten face. “Be happy to seeing as I think you’ll appreciate the details.”
Pop lifted his wine glass and sat up straight in his chair. “I’m all ears.”
“The key was finding details about the woman, no matter how small, that we could qualify as the truth. With somebody who weaves so many tales it’s tough, but if you poke around enough you’ll usually locate a person or two who’s willing to talk.” He nodded, crossed his arms over his chest. “I kept poking until I found him: an old boyfriend named Billy. Had the same build and hair color as our boy. Almost the same eyes, too. And he was a cop.”
“You don’t say.”
“Yup. Seems Stephanie had a thing for guys who looked like that and were in that line of work.” He paused, raised a brow, and added, “Guys like Cash. Billy said he and Stephanie Richmond were together two years, but she was horribly jealous and accused him of being with other women all the time. Said he wasn’t but he couldn’t take it anymore. Told her she had to find a way to deal with her issues or they were through. He liked the boy, though, said it was a damn shame the kid got dragged into her messes.”
“What kind of messes? You mean, men?”
“Men, no money, low-rent housing, not knowing who your old man was. Pawning him off on other people so she didn’t have to be a parent. I guess the kid thought Billy might be his dad. I think the mother might have even told him he was but Billy straightened the boy out fast, said it was one thing to raise another man’s child but it wasn’t right to claim another man’s child as your own.”
“So…” She was looking for a father for her son.
“Yup, and it gets better. The woman gets into counseling and doesn’t like what she hears, like how she should take responsibility for her choices and such. She hooks up with a group of women who are also in therapy and they form their own little group, even had a name.” He smiled and offered it up. “The Merry Makers.”
“You don’t say?” This was downright attention-grabbing. “What was Stephanie? The ringleader?”
“She was the top dog. Billy said the women met once a week, but they were always on the phone, planning and plotting how to get what they thought was theirs, and it always involved trapping a man.”
“Huh. You think she was zeroing in on Cash?”
“I think she was zeroing in on a man to take care of her, though Billy did say she was obsessed with some guy from her past. He didn’t know the guy’s name, but I figured it was the boy’s father.”
Pop let out a breath, said in a soft voice, “Cash.”
“Yup. Anyway, there were four women in the group and Billy found a notebook that read like a thriller but with real people and real plots. That notebook bothered him something horrible and he told Stephanie she had to go. She didn’t like that, tried to say what he saw was a storyline for a book, but he wasn’t stupid.”
“If she wanted Cash so bad, why’d she wait so long to come after him?” Pop scratched his head. “Almost ten years?”
“That’s what I was wondering. Makes no sense, does it? Nope, sure doesn’t, unless you got no interest in being a parent at all until you’re forced into it.”
“You saying she didn’t want the boy?”
“I’m saying she didn’t want him and she didn’t raise him until she had to.”
Now this was some kind of puzzle Lester had just dropped in his lap. “Mind explaining that riddle?”
Lester smiled. “I’ll do you one better than that. I’ll give you the name of the woman who raised him up until four months ago. Hildy Templeton. Stephanie Richmond’s aunt.”
No wonder Gloria Blacksworth hired this guy. Lester Conroy was no fool. You had to admire a man who could see ten moves ahead of everyone else. “All this jawing about taking care of her boy and she hadn’t done squat to be a mother? Why now? What do you think changed all that?”
“I know what changed it.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a slim envelope. “It’s all here. Let’s call it a desperate situation that required desperate measures.”
“As in going after Cash?”
“That would be my guess.”
“But did she have to fake the cancer?” There was no forgiveness for doing something like that. The cancer had taken his Lucy from him, taken so many others, good people, gone too soon.
“It was a smart move.” Lester’s voice turned rough. “When I first heard about Mrs. Blacksworth’s illness, I wondered for a half second if she were fabricating it. I hate to admit I didn’t change my mind until I heard she died.”
“Can’t fault you for wondering. Any woman who uses her own child to suit her purposes can’t be trusted in my book. But why come after Cash? You think he’s the boy’s father?”
“Don’t know, maybe. The woman had to make some quick, calculated moves when her aunt got sick and couldn’t take care of the boy anymore. Then it was time to find someone she could pin the ‘you’re the father’ on.
Why not go after the one she really wanted? Plus, her odds were better with an honorable man like Cash.”
“Dang, but that’s just about the saddest story I ever heard. Poor Mason, treating her like she was Mother of the Year. That’s desperate and close to tragic.”
“She promised him a daddy and he believed her.” Lester shrugged, fiddled with the knot of his string tie. “Damn sad, but what child wants to believe his own mother can’t be bothered with him? I’m guessing she fed him a line about why she couldn’t be with him and he bought it. But what were his choices?”
“Good Lord.” Pop leaned back in his chair, darted a glance at the portrait of his wife. What a mess we got here, Lucy. What a mess! “We got to let Cash know right away. Who knows what else this woman will do if she gets desperate enough? She was going to push Tess aside, one way or the other. I sensed it before, but now I can see it like it was all playing out on stage.”
“Tell Cash to take the DNA test. One way or the other, he’s got to know what he’s up against because I can assure you, this woman has thought this all through.”
Pop nodded. “I certainly will, and I thank you.”
“Welcome,” Lester said. “I figured I’d turn this over to you and let you handle it. I doubt Nate Desantro will want to talk to me and I can’t say as I blame him.”
“I’ll handle it,” Pop said, fingering the papers that detailed Stephanie Richmond’s lies. “You send me the bill when it’s ready and I’ll see you get paid.” It was the least he could do for Tess and Cash, and just as soon as he finished this conversation, he’d call Nate so he could warn Cash he was in danger.
“There’s no bill. I owe this town after the grief I caused.” He slid Pop a look, coughed. “I got a favor to ask, Angelo. I’m in a bit of a predicament and I can’t see my way out of it. I’ve been keeping company with a woman in town and she means a lot to me.” His face turned the color of a washed-out rose. “But she thinks I sell medical supplies and that’s a heck of a lot different than what I really do. I don’t know how to tell her the truth.”
Pop eyeballed him. “You think she’ll have a problem with you being an investigator? Or is it because you didn’t own up to it in the first place?”
The man shrugged, the color in his face turning darker. “She’ll have something to say about me keeping the truth from her, but she wouldn’t care about what I did, except…”
Pop waited for him to finish and when he didn’t, he gave him a push. “Except?”
“Except that the woman lives in Magdalena and when she finds out I was the one who gave Gloria Blacksworth the information about Mr. Blacksworth and was part of the setup for Christine, she’ll kick me clear to Texas.”
“You saying you’re sweet on somebody in this town?” Pop leaned forward, clutched the edge of the end table. “Right here in Magdalena?” Lester gave him a half nod. “Who?” He couldn’t think of one person who might match up with the rangy Texan.
“Phyllis.”
“Phyllis? You mean Phyllis at Lina’s Café?” More shades of red, brighter than a cherry tomato.
“That’s the one.”
“Well, I’ll be danged.” Pop studied the man, looking at him in a whole new light. He’d heard Phyllis was sweet on some kind of medical supply salesman, but he’d never inquired much beyond that. Phyllis was an odd bird; she’d get teary-eyed over a dog with a bum leg, but don’t try to cozy up to her with personal chitchat, because she wasn’t having it. He’d witnessed her burn the good intentions of more than one potential suitor with that sassy tongue. Far as he knew, Phyllis saved her affections for her Pomeranian mix and her grandchildren. Apparently she’d saved a bit for the lanky Texan, too.
“Yup, and when Phyllis finds out, I’ll be hanged.”
That made Pop laugh. He liked Lester Conroy despite the man’s association with Christine’s mother. “You’re in a predicament, that’s for sure. Wouldn’t want to be you right now.”
“You think I’m cooked?”
“Not sure about that, but Phyllis don’t take kindly to liars or cheats. Had a husband that was both and she didn’t shed a tear when he kicked the bucket.” He tsk-tsked. “Best you can do is fess up the truth and tell her if she’ll give you another chance, you’ll spend the rest of your days making it up to her.”
The look on Lester Conroy’s face said he’d do it if it gave him a shot with Phyllis. The look also said he didn’t want to do it, but what man would? Still, you had to give the guy credit. Lester finished his wine, snatched up one last pizzelle, and stood. “You make sure you call that boy tonight. I don’t trust what might happen. And tell him to get the DNA test.” He shook Pop’s hand and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
“Thank you for helping us out.”
“Any time, Angelo. And thanks for the advice. I’m headed over there now.” He grinned and said, “If you hear sirens…you’ll know it wasn’t a success.”
Pop nodded, hid a smile. “Phyllis isn’t as hard as she makes out. Just spit it out and remember the part about spending the rest of your days making it up to her. Offer a trip somewhere, too. I know she liked Niagara Falls.”
CASH PULLED a T-shirt over his head and tucked it in his jeans. He couldn’t avoid Stephanie any longer, though he didn’t like the idea of having a sit-down with her about what happened last night. He’d rather ignore it, but how do you ignore a near-naked woman in your makeshift bed when she’s trying to put the moves on you? What the hell was she thinking? And what was all the gibberish about giving her one last gift? Had the cancer screwed up her brain, stolen her reasoning and her inhibitions? If she thought he would ever in fifteen million years cheat on his wife, then she didn’t know him. He loved Tess. She was his life. Cash dragged a hand through his wet hair, sat on the hotel room bed, and grabbed a boot. The hotel didn’t have the home-cooked meals or the spic-’n’-span cleanliness of Mimi’s Heart Sent, but at least he didn’t have to worry about Stephanie asking for “gifts.”
He was ready to get home and take Mason with him. Cash had promised to help Stephanie contact hospice but she kept stalling. At first, he’d thought it was because she wanted to avoid the inevitable, but he was starting to think she might have other reasons—and they involved him and taking off his clothes. Shit. Maybe Tess had been right. Now what?
When his cell phone rang, Cash snatched it from the bed, relieved he didn’t have to ponder Stephanie and the reasons behind last night’s actions. “Hey, Nate.”
His friend didn’t bother with a greeting. “It’s all a lie, Cash. Every single piece of that damn woman’s story.” Pause, a quick hesitation, and then, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but I think Mason might be a lie, too.”
“Mason?” Mason was a lie? No. Anything but that.
“Pop Benito had his suspicions and hired a private investigator.” He cleared his throat twice. “The same one who kept tabs on Christine’s father.”
“Isn’t he the guy her mother hired when Natalie Servetti—”
“Same one. Doesn’t matter. The guy’s thorough. Seems Pop was worried about you and Tess. Gotta give the old man credit for following a lead.”
“What’s the report say?” Nate read it to him, the timeline, the other men who were cops and resembled Cash, the rundown apartments, the jobs, the counseling. And then it got very interesting. His police brain kicked in when Nate told him about “Billy’s” account of the real and flawed Stephanie Richmond, her homemade support group that focused on going after the “one who got away,” the cancer that didn’t exist, and the aunt who’d raised Mason. When Nate finished, Cash asked the only question that really mattered. “So, Mason’s a lie, too, isn’t he?”
“Probably. I’m sorry as hell to have to tell you all of this, but you need to know.” Pause. “And you need to get a DNA test as soon as possible.”
“She used her own son.” He couldn’t get his head around a parent doing that. “Why?”
“Didn’t you hear me? She didn’t want
a kid and when the aunt got sick and couldn’t take care of Mason, Stephanie had to come up with a plan. You were part of that plan. Call it her ‘Cash’ option.”
“Damn her.”
“Force the test. Do it and find out, but do it now, before she realizes you’re on to her tricks. One more thing: if you want to hear the whole story firsthand, go see Hildy Templeton. That’s Stephanie’s aunt.” Nate paused, sighed into the phone. “But you better hurry. She’s dying of ovarian cancer.”
14
Hildy Templeton lived twenty-five minutes from Stephanie’s place in a tiny ranch with a ceramic wishing well in the front yard. Cash had called the number Nate gave him and almost hung up when a frail voice filled the line. She perked up when he told her who he was and why he was calling, and insisted she was well enough to have a visitor. When he arrived, a sturdy-looking, middle-aged woman with gray hair opened the door and ushered him into the living room where Hildy Templeton lay propped up in a hospital bed, her tiny frame lost in a mountain of white sheets and pillows.
“Come closer,” she called from the bed. “I can’t see so well anymore.”
Cash made his way to the side of the bed, placed his hands on the side rails. “Ms. Templeton. Thank you for seeing me. I’m Daniel Casherdon.”
“Daniel. What an honorable name.” She met his gaze, her expression tired. “What did Stephanie do now?”
He offered her a smile, said in a gentle voice, “She’s not the only reason I came. I’m also here because of Mason.”
“Mason,” she murmured. “Such a good boy. He only wants to belong. I miss him.” Her brows pinched together. “Can you help him?”
“I’d like to, but I need to know more about Stephanie.”
Hildy let out a long, sad sigh. “Stephanie. She always means well, and when she says she’ll do something, she intends to do it. But then something else comes along or it’s too hard, or no fun, and off she goes.” Her pale gray eyes filled with tears. “I couldn’t do that to Mason. He needed stability, but my niece wanted to see the world and she wanted a man to show it to her. Mason was in the way.” Sniff, sniff. “That beautiful, innocent child was in the way.” She sucked in a breath, wheezed.