Her Secret Son

by Hannah Mary McKinnon

  I pointed behind me. “I saw your sign. About the help.”

  “Bill Langham.” He grabbed my hand, gave it an iron shake. “You looking for work?”

  “Yeah. I was driving by and, well, here I am.”

  “You local?” Bill said with an inquisitive frown, giving me the once-over.

  I was glad I’d practiced the answer on the way to Faycrest. “UK but Albany for a long time now. I’ve always loved Maine, so I’m having a look around. Might move here if it suits.”

  “Been here all my life, if that’s any recommendation. Town’s a great place to be.”

  “It seems it, and when I saw your sign...”

  Bill crossed his arms, his expression neutral, although when he spoke I couldn’t help but notice the excitement seeping into his voice. “Got experience in the landscaping business?”

  “I was with the last company for over five years.”

  Another smile spread across his face. “Five years, huh? In that case, let’s grab a pew and we’ll talk. I could do with giving my back a break. Got time now?”

  “Sure do.”

  We settled into two beaten-up, slightly wobbly chairs in a lackluster-beige room on the right side of the barn, filled with kid drawings of all shapes and sizes: finger-painted turkeys for Thanksgiving, cotton wool Santas and what appeared to be potato-stamped Easter bunnies.

  “You’ve got kids?” I said.

  “How could you tell?” Bill laughed. “Four of ’em. Not seeing them as much since my guy upped and left last week, and I’ve been working sixteen-hour days. Clara, my wife, she’s nagging me crazy. Put my back out last year, see. She’s worried it’ll happen again.”

  “Whatever I can do to help.”

  “Appreciate it,” he said. “People are understanding around here, but I have a reputation I need to maintain, not to mention the promises I want to keep. The excuse of being short-staffed only works for so long.” Bill tapped his index finger on his desk as he looked at me.

  I didn’t want to afford him the chance of raising any objections, so I jumped straight in, told him about my experience, detailed the stuff I’d done for Ronnie and Leila. He interrupted me occasionally to ask a question, nodded enthusiastically at my answers, jotted some notes on a pad stained with coffee mug rings.

  “I’ll need a reference,” he said when I’d finished. “Speak to your previous employer. You okay with that?”

  I’d anticipated his request, decided to be as forthcoming as possible. Otherwise there’d be too many fibs to keep track of, too many lies to remember. “I’ll write down the details. But before you call them, you should know they asked me to leave.”

  Bill sat back in his chair, his earlier enthusiasm sliding from his face like melted cheese from a plate. “They fired you?”

  “Yes. I had to take some time off because my partner died and my son was having a ton of trouble at school—”

  “Woah. They let you go when you had those kinds of family issues to deal with?” He huffed. “That’s big-city syndrome, right there. No wonder you want to get away. Trust me, it’s not how we do things around here. Family’s got to be number one.” He indicated to a picture on the wall: him, a petite woman and four young boys dressed in identical football jerseys. “Clara and the gang.”

  The tension in my neck eased as my shoulders retreated from my ears. “You’ve got your business development plans covered then.”

  Bill laughed, the deep crinkles in his cheeks reappearing. “They were born with shovels in their hands, that’s for sure. They’re nine, ten, twelve and fourteen. How old’s your boy?”

  “Seven. He’s staying with my sister while I get things sorted.”

  “How long are you in the area for?”

  I shrugged. “As long as it takes to find a job, I guess. After that, permanently, I hope.”

  He tapped his foot a few times, no doubt running over the options in his mind. I wondered how many other people he had to choose from, hoped it was none, and that he’d be sufficiently desperate.

  “You know what?” he said. “Forget the reference. I need help and I’ll make up my own mind. What do you say I take you on for a week, see how things go and then we decide?”

  “Fantastic, thanks.”

  “Is cash okay for now? It’ll cut down on the paperwork until we’re sure.”

  “Cash is king.” We agreed on an hourly rate and shook hands. “Thanks, Mr. Langham.”

  “Sweet jellybeans, call me Bill. So, last question for today. When can you start?”

  “Tomorrow morning?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. Come here for seven thirty?”

  “Great. It’ll give me a chance to find a place to stay this afternoon. Any motels you can recommend? Cheap ones, preferably.”

  “There’s a Travelodge a few miles east, although maybe you should stop in at Ethel’s.”

  “The café on the main street?”

  “Yup. She mentioned her empty cabin the other day. Said something about wanting to rent it out again. You might be in luck. But fair warning, it’s isolated and you’ll most probably end up bunking with some kind of wildlife.”

  “Thanks,” I said, getting up. “I’ll be sure to check it out. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “You bet,” Bill said. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve got.”

  I drove off, pulled over as soon as I was out of Bill’s sight and had to sit on my hands to stop them from trembling. Things had worked out better than I’d imagined. Playing tourist for more than half a day in Faycrest would have been impossible, but now I could work for Bill, blend in for the week, at least. The town had a population of around four thousand, and Bill had said all his work was local, the perfect cover to get closer to that DNA as he showed me around and introduced me to his clients.

  By now it was almost three, and my stomach let out another loud growl. I headed for Ethel’s Café, hoping my good fortune would stick with me for the rest of the afternoon, fully aware I shouldn’t get even remotely comfortable because things could easily blow up in my face well before the sun set.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  The woman behind the counter looked up as soon as I walked into the café. She was older, late sixties or so, petite with short silver hair and thin, wrinkled lips that revealed a set of white teeth when she smiled. “Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to Ethel’s.”

  “Hello.” I went to the counter, smiling broadly, too, greeting the couple sitting at a table near the back with a wave. First impressions were important at the best of times. Right now they were crucial. The woman’s name tag said Ethel, and the café had rung a far and distant bell as soon as I’d seen it, but I struggled to make any kind of connection despite the fact it resonated more loudly in my ears. I indicated to a table near the counter. “Is this one free?”

  “Please, sit wherever you choose.” Ethel’s immaculately made-up face broke into another dazzling smile as she pushed her fringe out of her eyes. “Coffee?”

  I gave her a hopeful look. “Tea? With milk and sugar?”

  “Coming right up.” She was about to turn away, her long, black, sparkly earrings wobbling as she moved, and added, “I’m sure you’ve heard it a hundred times, but your accent’s lovely. Very charming and exotic.”

  “Exotic?” I laughed. “That’s kind of you, but you know, if you went to England, they’d say the same about yours.”

  “Oh, if only.” She touched the gold locket hanging from her neck. “My Al promised we’d go to London one day, but we never got there before he died. Anyway...how about something to eat? It’s all homemade. Nothing artificial, guaranteed.”

  “A sandwich would be great. Ham and Swiss on whole wheat, if you have it.”

  “Fully loaded with lettuce, tomatoes and pickles? Good choice. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll bring everything ove
r.”

  As Ethel disappeared through a doorway into the back room, I glanced around. The place was small, ten tables at most, surrounded by an eclectic collection of mismatched wooden chairs that gave it a homely, comfortable feel. Every shelf behind the white counter overflowed with a variety of cups, saucers and mugs, all different shapes and sizes. Bright, abstract paintings of multicolored trees hung on the lilac walls, and the scent of toast, cinnamon and brown sugar lingered in the air. It felt as if I’d stepped into my grandmother’s front room for a chat.

  “Are you passing through town?” Ethel said when she brought my tea and food on a blue-and-white-striped plastic tray she set in front of me.

  “No, actually I’ve got a job with Bill Langham.”

  “Have you?” Ethel indicated to the empty chair opposite me, sat down when I nodded. “I bet he’s thrilled. Poor man’s been rushed off his feet. Oh, bye, you two lovebirds, see you tomorrow.” She waved at the couple who’d made their way to the door, and after they left, Ethel and I were the only people in the café. She turned back to me. “I take it you’re a landscaper?”

  “Yes, but I’ve worked construction for years, too, renovations, extensions, that kind of thing.” I poured some milk into my mug, added a spoonful of sugar. “Bill’s hired me for the week to see how things go. He seems great.”

  “Salt of the earth,” Ethel said. “You won’t find a better boss around here. Not unless you know how to make scones and pies.”

  “Ah...not so much.” I grinned. “But I’m always willing to learn. I’m Josh, by the way. And as your name tag says Ethel, this must be your place?”

  “Forty years and counting, if you can you believe it, because I can’t.”

  “That’s a lot of tea and coffee.” I took a bite of my sandwich. “This is delicious.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “And yes, more cups than I care to count. But I’m still here, despite the fast-food joints coming in. So, are you planning on moving here, or...?”

  “Very possibly,” I said, covering my full mouth with a hand.

  “You have a family?”

  “A son. He’s staying with my sister in Albany until we’ve decided what we’re doing.”

  “My daughter’s about your age. She lives in California with my grandkids. It’s hard being away from your children, whatever their age. You must miss your son, too.”

  “I’ll go back next weekend, but we won’t move until I’m sure things will work with Mr. Langham.” Except I’d make sure they wouldn’t, I thought as I ate my food. I’d find something to mess up enough for him to fire me once I had what I’d come to Faycrest for, or tell him I didn’t like the area after all.

  Ethel wagged a finger. “You’d best call him Bill or you won’t last a day.”

  “Yes, he mentioned that,” I said with a laugh, putting the rest of my sandwich down. As casually as I could, I added, “Anyway, I’m heading to the Travelodge after lunch. I need to sort out a room for the week.” I hoped she’d bite, tell me about her cabin, but instead her gaze flickered to my left hand.

  “And, uh, would it be you and your son coming here, or...?” My hesitation made Ethel’s face fall. “I don’t mean to pry. Ask anyone and they’ll tell you I’m too chatty for my own good.” She wiped imaginary crumbs from the table and slid her chair back.

  “No, it’s alright,” I said, gesturing for her to stay seated. “Logan’s mom passed away in March.”

  Ethel gasped, put a hand to her throat. “My goodness. You poor thing. And your poor boy. I’m so sorry. Was she sick?”

  “An accident.”

  “What a terrible shock that must have been. No wonder you’re thinking of moving.” She paused. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, and while I know it’s a terrible cliché, time does help. Goodness knows you don’t believe it at the beginning, but it’s true, and I’m not only saying that because I lost Al.” She sat back in her chair and as I drank my tea, I thought that was the end of that part of our conversation, until she said, “If you’re thinking of moving to Faycrest, you must have heard what happened here?”

  I felt my pulse throb. “Are you talking about the missing boys...?”

  “That’s right.” Ethel nodded, her face falling. “One of them was my goddaughter’s son.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The café spun as if I’d jumped on a merry-go-round, the tree paintings, cups, saucers and Ethel’s face all becoming a blur until I pushed my heels firmly onto the floor. This was Ethel Byrne, Felicia King’s godmother.

  I put down my tea, fingers trembling, unsure how to handle the revelation, deciding stunned silence was hopefully the most believable approach. It wasn’t far from the truth, but I’d never been a good actor, or a particularly convincing liar. Within a couple of hours of arriving in Faycrest, I was already being pushed well beyond my natural abilities, and this was but the start.

  “It’s alright,” Ethel said. “Most folk don’t know what to say. Goodness, when it happened some people I’d known for decades crossed the street to avoid talking to me. Went to get their coffee from a drive-thru for a while. Sad really. Anyway—” she clapped her hands together “—speaking of coffee, I need one, and let me get a treat for you.”

  “No, that’s—”

  “I insist.”

  As she busied herself at the counter, I sat quietly, my head a mess. I pulled out my phone, pretended to read the Faycrest articles I’d already seen a hundred times, slid my fingers over the screen without taking in a single word. Ethel returned with a coffee, and a gooey chocolate brownie the size of a brick she put in front of me.

  “There you go.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t want her to turn away so I added, “I’ve been reading about what happened here. And your goddaughter...”

  “Felicia,” she said. “Baby Alex’s mom.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ethel, really.”

  She nodded. “It rocked the whole community when he went missing. Then Hunter disappeared, too... The town hasn’t been the same since, and for a long time more families moved out than in. People just didn’t want to live here anymore, you know?”

  I needed to keep her talking, pretend I was a regular guy, interested, not gawping, there to give empathy, not collect gossip. “And they think the other boy, Hunter, was the real target?”

  Ethel smoothed down her apron. “That’s the conclusion they came to, that taking Alex was a mistake. A mistake, that’s what they said, if you can believe it. But we all feel responsible. Everyone wishes they’d done more, been more vigilant.”

  “You can’t blame yourself,” I said, as Grace’s face loomed in my mind.

  “Anyway,” Ethel said. “I won’t take up more of your time.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, willing her to sit down. “I’m not in a hurry.”

  She looked at me for a while before shaking her head and lowering herself back into the chair. “I suppose you’ll find out sooner or later as you’ll be working with Bill. He talks more than me. You see, Felicia asked if I could watch Alex that afternoon.”

  “The day he went missing?”

  “Yes. She’s a vet and they had an emergency at work. Gavin, that was her husband, he was traveling, I was at a trade show and Al had gone on a fishing trip a few hours away.” Her hands trembled as she slid the locket up and down its chain. “Emily offered to look after Alex.”

  “You mean Emily Rhodes, Hunter’s mom?”

  “That’s right. They’d known each other for a few years. Had been pregnant at the same time. Alex was taken from Emily’s house when she was upstairs with Hunter.”

  “How awful, Ethel,” I said, trying to detach myself from the situation, from what Grace might have done. My hunt for the truth would produce results only if I stayed focused, analytical, almost unemotional. Easier said than done when I looked at Ethel, saw her watery eyes
filled with pain and regret I could only hope to ease somehow.

  “We were all praying Alex would be brought back to us safe and sound,” she said, “but a few weeks later Hunter vanished. The stress of it brought on Al’s stroke, I’m sure of it.”

  “But how do you manage?” I said. “How do you keep going?”

  “A minute at a time, at first. Then an hour, then a day. That’s the best I can do, even after all this time.” Ethel’s gaze drifted away until she waved a hand. “My goodness, I really should clean up the lunchtime mess or I’ll be here all afternoon.”

  My stomach almost forced Ethel’s food straight back up my throat. Reading about the disappearances had been one thing—hearing from the people involved, how it may have sent Ethel’s husband to an early grave, was sickening. I drained my cup of tepid tea and wondered if I should get in the truck and leave, pretend I’d never suspected a thing. But then what?

  As Ethel got up she turned and said, “It does get better, I promise. The pain of losing someone never goes away, but it does stop hurting quite so much. Give it time.”

  I didn’t ask how much time in case she said years. Not because it seemed long, but because Grace hadn’t been gone four months, and sometimes I thought I hardly missed her at all.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  When Ethel brought the bill over and put it on the table, she rested her weathered hands on the back of the chair. “Did you mention something about the Travelodge...?”

  “Yes, I’m heading there now.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking. This may sound kooky, but I have a cabin outside town.”

  “Do you know, I believe Bill may have mentioned it,” I said. “I can’t believe I forgot.” Shameful how swift the lies came, but Ethel needed to think it had been her idea. The voice in my head berated me for being such a manipulative piece of shit, so I shoved it to the back of my mind and taped its mouth shut with a roll of heavy-duty duct tape.

  “...it’s not much, and it’s a couple of miles outside town,” Ethel was saying. “Two small bedrooms, a deck. Even got air-conditioning that’s fairly decent, although it needs a good kick from time to time. And as you work landscaping and construction...”