“I know what we have to do,” Tate said, his voice so low I had to strain to hear him.
“What?” I asked, turning to glance back at him.
His jaw clenched and he took a deep breath, nostrils flaring. He looked as if he wanted to be sick. “We know that Canton possibly had another accomplice… someone he gave a lot of money to after Isabella was killed.”
My eyes widened in realization. “You don’t mean…”
Tate nodded, his expression changing to one of resolve. “We’re going to have to confront my dad.”
I couldn’t sleep. After all that buildup and suspense leading to our confrontation with Sheriff Bailey, I felt wrung dry. I also felt helpless. Tate, however, seemed more determined than ever, especially now that he’d decided his father needed to answer for his part in all this.
However, hours after leaving him at Baldwin House, we still hadn’t made any progress on that front. We’d been informed once arriving back at the mansion that Douglas had left to go back to the office and wouldn’t be home until late. We’d decided to try again the next day, as opposed to driving back across town to Baldwin & Co. We were all tired, confused, and shaken from the encounter at the sheriff’s office.
Leaving the bed, I began pacing, trying to figure out how Tate’s dad might have played a role in Isabella or Camila’s deaths. It just didn’t make sense. In this puzzle, Douglas Baldwin was the one piece that didn’t fit. My head was starting to hurt, and I gave it up after a while, looking for a distraction. I’d just decided on a book when the sound of a tap against my window startled me. I smothered a cry of fear as I heard a muffled voice through the pane.
“Bell,” Tate hissed. “It’s me.”
Sighing with relief, I pulled the blinds up, revealing Tate on the other side, illuminated by the moon. Unlocking the window, I slid it up in the frame. I reached out to give him a hand up so he could climb into the room. Peeking back out into the night to ensure he hadn’t been followed, I closed the window and turned back to him.
“Are you crazy?” I whispered. “If my dad catches you in here—”
“I know,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. “I figured he’d be asleep this late, but I knew you’d be up.”
Wrapping my arms around his waist, I rested my head on his chest. “I can’t sleep… can’t stop thinking about your dad. What are we going to say to him, Tate?”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said. “I found new information, and now I know for sure that my dad was at least aware of the fact that Isabella Vasquez was murdered.”
Drawing back a bit, I glanced up at him. “You do?”
Nodding, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. “Remember when I told you about the world of prostitution online? Well, I did a little searching for hooker listings on Craigslist in the area, and turned up very little… so I started thinking outside the box. That’s when it hit me… escort services.”
I frowned. “Wellhollow Springs is a small town in the Bible belt. We don’t have escort services here.”
Tate smirked. “Not that you know of. They don’t operate out of storefronts or anything… they have websites. There are three that service the Young County area… and guess who was working for one of them when she died?”
“Isabella,” I said with a gasp. “How did you figure that out?”
Cringing, Tate opened up his camera before tapping on a video recording. “Watch this… and try to remember that the only girl I’m interested in is you.”
The video was a bit dark, but I could make out Tate sitting in the backseat of a car… with a half-dressed woman laying her hand on his thigh.
My hand curled into a fist at my side. “Is that a hooker?” I growled from between clenched teeth, giving him a narrowed glare.
“How else was I going to get information?” he argued. “The service picked me up from the gate outside the house, and the driver left us alone in the backset. She never knew I was recording and gave up everything once I’d paid her. Just watch.”
I turned back to the video playing on the phone, but the scowl on my face wouldn’t disappear. Tate letting some prostitute feel him up… I didn’t like it.
“What happened to your face, baby?” the girl asked, her voice low and soothing as if to portray pity.
Tate cringed away when she tried to reach out and touch his cheek. “Car accident,” he lied. “I’m fine now. Listen, I need to ask you some questions.”
Smiling, the girl rose up on her knees and tried to straddle him. “You can ask me anything you want as long as you have that eighty bucks.”
Grasping her shoulders, Tate placed her back in her seat, putting more distance between them. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a roll of bills. “I’ll double it if you keep your hands off me and tell me what I want to know,” he said.
Snatching the money from him, she counted it, then stuffed it down her shirt and into her bra. “You got it, honey. What do you need?”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a picture of Isabella cut from her obituary. “Do you know this woman?”
“Yeah,” the woman replied. “That’s Izzy. Real sad how she killed herself.”
Tate nodded. “Yeah. I was wondering… how long did she work for this company?”
The girl shrugged, flipping her hair. “I don’t know. Three or four years, maybe. But the last year or so, she wasn’t really working.”
“Why not?” he asked, inclining his head.
“Her favorite john set up an exclusive arrangement with the boss, you know. He paid a whole lot of money to make sure Izzy was available to him day and night. She stopped going on dates, taking new clients, and going to parties.”
“Parties?” Tate asked.
“Well, sure,” she laughed. “Sometimes a guy wants to unwind and needs better entertainment than a stripper, if you get my drift.”
“How many of these parties went down here in Wellhollow Springs?”
“You’d be surprised,” she replied. “The men in this town have their vices, and they’ll spend the money it takes to get what they want. You know those high-profile parties and fundraises they’re always having? It would blow your mind to know how many of those were just cover ups for those men to go into back rooms with girls like me.”
Tate nodded. “I get it. So, these parties are a big part of your business?”
“Those are the jobs with the biggest payouts… which was why I couldn’t understand why Izzy would give all that up for some old black guy.”
Tate raised his eyebrows. “Old black guy? Happen to have a name to go with that description?”
The girl pursed her lips. “That’s going to cost you extra.”
Tate snorted. “Don’t try to hustle me. I just paid you twice what you usually collect for doing your job, and all you’ve had to do is sit on your butt and answer my questions. You won’t get another dime out of me.”
“Then no name,” she argued.
Tate shrugged. “Okay, then get your driver back here and tell him we’re done. And when I get home, I’ll be sure to let your boss know how dissatisfied I was with your service.”
The girl’s mouth fell open, and she looked as if he’d just threatened to throw her into a den of wolves. “You wouldn’t.”
He shrugged. “I guess there’s only one way for you to find out. Call my bluff if you want… makes no difference to me.”
With a heavy sigh, the girl deflated against the back of the car’s seat. “Fine. The guy used to be mayor… Canton Haines. He would sneak her around behind his wife’s back, giving her money, gifts, and drugs. Those parties I mentioned? That’s how they met, you know. We got invited to one, and he set his sights on her from the start. Started asking for her by name when he called in, and, before we knew it, she was his.”
“Thank you,” Tate said. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that no one can know we talked about this.”
She rolled her eyes. “I look stupid to you?”
“Wow,” I whispered, letting what I’d just heard sink in. “So, Canton Haines was having an affair with Isabella… now that’s what I call a motive.”
Tate nodded in agreement. “Right. A guy with a reputation like his can’t afford to get caught having an affair with a drug-addicted hooker. Maybe she threatened to tell his wife or out him to the public. Or he stopped paying out and she got angry. Whatever the case, I believe he strangled her with his bare hands, then staged her suicide.”
“That only leaves one question unanswered,” I said. “What does your dad have to do with all this?”
“That’s another thing,” he said. “These parties she talked about… I’m fairly certain my dad might have been at some of them.”
“Hmmm,” I mumbled. “That’s right. We did see that article with a photo of them together at a party.”
Tate nodded. “So, we are going to just ask him outright what he knows about Isabella and Canton, and I’ll make it clear we already know the truth, so there’s no need for him to lie. He won’t be able to avoid it. He can put the rest of this together for us—I know he can.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, knitting my brow as I stared up at him. “This is your dad we’re talking about. If he’s involved with this, he could be in a lot of trouble.”
He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, but I could tell this was upsetting for him. “It’s not right for him to get away with whatever he’s done if others are going to go down for it. Besides, my dad has a lot of pull in this town. He’ll know what to do with the evidence we’ve found… maybe if he admits to his role in it, they’ll go easy on him.”
I forced a smile for his benefit. “Yeah, maybe.”
Reaching toward me, he pulled me against him and kissed my forehead. “Guess I better go. I managed to worm my way back into your dad’s good graces, and I don’t want to screw that up.”
Pulling him down for a real kiss, I giggled against his lips before letting go. “Probably a good idea. Oh, and Tate?”
He paused halfway to the window. “Yeah?”
“If you ever let some girl paw you like that again, I’ll rip her arm off and beat you with it.”
“I didn’t let her—”
My scathing glare cut him off, and he shut his mouth.
Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
I laughed, probably louder than I should have. Tate opened the window and paused halfway out, turning back to me.
“Lock up after me, okay? Until this is over, we still aren’t completely safe.”
“You be careful going home, then,” I urged him.
He disappeared quickly, and I closed the window behind him, watching as he crossed the yard toward the black vehicle idling across the street. I recognized it as Faith’s car and wondered if she’d known where he was going when he took it.
Making sure the window’s lock was secure, I lowered the blinds and attempted to try to sleep.
The following afternoon, we were prepared for our showdown with Douglas. By the time he and Faith arrived home from work, Dad had arrived, and Tate had retrieved the box containing Camila’s files and phone from his room. When he and Faith came through the front door to find the three of us waiting for them, they both eyed us with different degrees of curiosity and concern.
“Mr. McGuire,” Douglas said, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over our little group. He reached out to shake Dad’s hand. “It’s good to see you again. If I haven’t gotten a chance to tell you, we have really enjoyed having Bellamy as our sitter. Your daughter is a wonderful young woman.”
Dad nodded in response, but didn’t smile. “Thank you.”
Tate stepped forward, the box held in his hands. “Dad, we need to talk to you. All three of us. It’s important.”
Faith frowned, laying her briefcase on the entryway table. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing, Faith,” Douglas assured her, even though his gaze remained locked on his son, filled with suspicion. “Why don’t you go check on Emma and Max? I’ll take Mr. McGuire, Tate, and Bellamy into my office.”
Faith looked as if she wanted to argue, but nodded, plastering a forced smile across her face. “Sure,” she replied.
“They’re in the kitchen having a snack,” I told her as she walked by.
She nodded and headed for the kitchen, leaving us alone with Douglas. He extended an arm toward the hallway that led to his and Faith’s home offices.
“This way,” he said, his voice clipped.
I glanced into Ezra’s office on our way past and found him still behind his desk, the handset of a landline pressed to his ear. He was talking in a low tone, but he glanced up to watch as we walked by. He looked bewildered by what was going on, but turned his head back to his computer screen and continued his conversation.
Once inside of Douglas’ office, Dad and I took seats in the chairs facing a large, dark cherry-wood desk. Behind it loomed massive bookshelves holding heavy-looking books on finance and real estate, interspersed with photos and glass figurines, some of which looked like awards.
Removing his suit jacket, he rolled up his sleeves, and then sat in the leather chair behind the desk. Folding his hands on the surface, he glanced up at us.
“Now,” he said, inclining his head. “What is this about? I had hoped we’d be able to move past the little incident that happened in Fayehill, but if there’s an issue, we can handle it, I’m certain.”
“That’s not it, Dad,” Tate snapped.
Douglas frowned. “Bellamy, are you not happy working here?”
I shook my head. “That’s not it either, Mr. Baldwin.”
He turned his curious gaze on my dad. “Mr. McGuire?”
Dad cleared his throat. “I’m simply here because Bellamy and Tate came to me with information… and, among ourselves, we’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it. I believe your son should tell you what it is, exactly.”
Coming forward, Tate dropped the box onto the desk with a heavy thud before reaching inside and pulling out the photo of Isabella.
“You know this woman?” he asked, his tone accusatory.
Douglas glanced at the picture, and, for a moment, I could have sworn I saw the flicker of some emotion in his face… but it happened so briefly I couldn’t be sure. As quickly as it had happened, he was his stoic self again.
“Should I?” he asked, sounding as if he were already growing bored with the conversation.
“Isabella Vasquez,” Tate growled from between clenched teeth. “The mistress of your buddy, Canton Haines.”
Douglas scoffed. “Haines and I are hardly friends, and who he keeps company with is none of my concern.”
“How can you pretend not to know her?” I accused, Tate’s frustration making me feel feisty. There was no reason for Douglas to continue lying to his son after all he’d put Tate through with his neglect. “When that woman died, her face was all over the papers.”
Douglas took the photo from Tate and examined it. Standing behind his desk, he nodded slowly. “Oh, yes. The prostitute who hung herself in her apartment. I remember now. It’s been years since that happened… You can’t expect me to remember everything that goes on in this town.”
Tate raised his eyebrows. “Do you remember taking a fat check from Haines to fund East Valley?”
Douglas had begun pacing, but he went still at his son’s accusation. He clenched his jaw, glancing up at Tate with a slight movement of his jaw—as if he were grinding his teeth. Like father like son. He reminded me so much of Tate when he became angry.
“How do you know about that?” he asked, his tone low and ominous.
“It doesn’t matter,” Tate retorted. “The fact is, I know all
about how broke Baldwin and Co. was a few years ago. You couldn’t possibly have afforded to get East Valley off the ground. There’s a lot of proof in this box of money laundering plus embezzlement of city funds by Canton, along with a bunch of other illegal activities. You took a check from him not long after that woman was killed. What I want to know is why. What did you do for the mayor to earn yourself a piece of his dirty money?”
“That’s enough,” Douglas thundered, slamming one hand against the desk. “You are sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, speaking on things you know nothing about.”
“I know more than you think,” Tate continued, ignoring his father’s command. “I know that you haven’t been the same since you took that money, and neither have I. We both know that you pretend not to see the ghosts of two dead women… just like you want to pretend that I don’t exist since I got sick. It’s all so you can go on pretending you did nothing wrong!”
At Tate’s revelation, I gasped, exchanging a shocked glance with Dad. He furrowed his brow, glancing at Tate first in pity, and then Douglas in confusion.
“Is it true?” I asked when no one else spoke. “You can see them, too?”
Douglas met my gaze, his mouth a grim line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Tate growled in frustration. “Stop lying! You can hardly stand to be in this house, and I know why. Their blood is on your hands, just as much as it is Canton’s. And if you don’t admit what you did, Bellamy and I might be next.”
That got a reaction out of Douglas. He started, his eyes going wide. “What do you mean by that?”
“The car crash in Fayehill,” Dad clarified. “It wasn’t an accident.”
“A black Lincoln started following me a few weeks ago,” I added. “It was the same car that ran us off the road, and I believe the intent was to kill us… or to scare us into being silent about what we know.”
Douglas ran a hand through his hair, issuing a low, slow sigh. “My God.”
He sank back into his chair, avoiding everyone’s gazes as he seemed to absorb all the accusations being hurled at him. Dad stood and approached the desk, bracing his hands against it and leaning toward Douglas a bit.
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