The Blackwood Files - File One: Family Secrets

by Terri Reid

  “Thanks, Da,” Art said, leaning out and giving his father a hug. “Moose is the answer to a prayer.”

  He closed the door and watched his father walk back to his car, and then he turned to Moose. The Great Dane’s tongue was hanging out in the most unsophisticated way, and his tail was whipping back and forth at a tremendous rate. “So, do you like this place, boy?” Art asked.

  If possible, Moose’s tail wagged faster.

  “I thought you might,” Art said, patting the big dog’s head. “And wait until you meet your new mistress.” His voice softened slightly. “You’ll fall in love, I guarantee it.”

  “Art,” Brooke called from upstairs. “Was that the pizza delivery?”

  Art grinned and looked at Moose. “I’m thinking we should increase our order,” he whispered as he released the clasp for the lead. “Now, go find Brooke.”

  Moose gamboled up the stairs, his nails clicking as he took them three steps at a time.

  “Art, what’s that noise?” Brooke asked, walking out of the ballroom toward the stairs.

  Art ran up the stairs behind the excited Moose, barely able to keep the laughter out of his voice as he watched the dog slip and slide up the polished stairs in his eagerness to meet his new owner.

  “What noise?” he called back as they rounded the staircase that led to the third floor.

  “The noise that sounded like—” he heard her stop and then heard a shout of delight. “A dog? You got a dog?”

  Art was several stairs below when he saw Brooke and Moose make eye contact. He was right; it was love at first sight. Brooke dropped to her knees, her arms opened wide, and Moose slid forward on the polished wood floor, nearly knocking them both over, and showered her with sloppy kisses. Art slowly climbed the rest of the way up the stairs. “Moose, sit,” he commanded, and the big dog dropped its haunches immediately to the ground, his tail still wagging back in forth.

  Brooke looked up at him, her eyes bright with joy, and he felt his heart turn over.

  “Moose?” she asked, a grin on her face.

  “I didn’t name him,” he said. “But I think it’s appropriate.”

  “How did you…”

  “His owner, Mrs. Rosensteal, a neighbor of ours, got him when he was a puppy a few years ago,” he said. “Except she was told he was already a full grown dog by the shelter she rescued him from. Imagine her surprise when he continued to grow and turned out to be a Great Dane. But, she adored him…”

  Brooke reached out and scratched Moose’s ears, sending his leg into a corresponding reflexive response. “How could she not?” she asked, directing her question at the dog.

  “However, Mrs. Rosensteal is nearly ninety years old, and her health is failing,” he continued. “She needs to move into an assisted living facility, but wouldn’t think of it until she found a loving home for Moose.”

  As if on command, Moose dropped his head into Brooke’s lap and looked up at her with soulful, brown eyes.

  “So, does he now have a loving home?” Art asked, biting back a smile.

  Brooke bent over and hugged the huge animal. “Oh, yes,” she exclaimed. “Yes, he does.”

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Art checked the locks on all of the doors and windows on the first floor before turning off the lights. He started towards the stairs when Bruce suddenly appeared before him, making him jump.

  “Is there any way you can warn me before you appear?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Let me think about that for a moment,” Bruce said, and then immediately replied. “No. I’m a ghost. That’s how we do things, quiet-like.”

  “So, what can I do for you?” Art asked.

  Bruce looked upstairs and then back at Art. “How is she doing?”

  “Well, right now, she’s sound asleep with Moose on the floor next to her,” he said, his smile turning tender. “I overheard a few moments of conversation where she had to convince Moose that he couldn’t sleep with her because it was an air mattress.” He grinned. “Moose wasn’t easily convinced.”

  “You did good, O’Reilly,” Bruce said. “Getting that dog. That was genius. She always wanted a dog. I always promised I’d get her one.”

  “You would have gotten her one,” Art said, “if you hadn’t been murdered.”

  Bruce floated away and gazed out the window.

  “So let me ask you,” Art said, following him across the room. “What can you do? I mean, what are your powers?”

  Bruce turned and looked at Art. “I’m a ghost,” he said. “I’m not Superman.”

  Rolling his eyes, Art took a calming breath and tried again. “What I mean is, can you wake me up if someone is breaking into the house?” Art said. “Can you stay here all night, or do you appear and disappear at random times?”

  “So far, it’s been random,” Bruce said. “I don’t know if that’s because I’ve been dead for such a long time and I’m out of practice or if that’s the way it works. I’m new at this too. I was kind of a floater until you mentioned me to Brooke.”

  “What? A floater?” Art asked. “How does that work?”

  “Near as I can tell,” Bruce began, “when you die and you’ve got no unfinished business you go straight on up, you know, to heaven. But when there’s something unresolved, you wait until someone can help you resolve it. You’re not in heaven, but you’re not on earth. I could hang around places I was familiar with – like the 12th district and this place. But, it was almost like I needed the energy from Brooke remembering me to allow me to actually move around and get in touch with her.”

  “So, what you’re saying is this is all my fault,” Art replied with a smile.

  Bruce nodded. “Yeah, buddy, and you got to live with it.”

  Then Art’s face turned serious. “But what you’re also saying is that, until you get better control of your abilities, I shouldn’t count on you to be there, right?”

  Shrugging, Bruce met Art’s eyes. “Yeah, I really hate to admit it,” he said. “But right now, you can’t count on me.”

  “That’s okay,” Art said. “You’ve always come through when it mattered, and I’m sure you’ll be there when she really needs you.”

  Bruce started to fade away. “I hope so, O’Reilly,” his voice echoed throughout the room. “I really hope so.”

  Art took one final look around the empty first floor and sighed. “Yeah, me too.”

  Chapter Fifty-two

  The scream had him bolting out of bed before he knew where he was. In seconds his mind caught up with his body, and he rushed down the hallway to Brooke’s room. Opening the door, he saw Moose pacing back and forth next to the bed, whining softly, and Brooke curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed sobbing hysterically.

  “Daddy!” she screamed. “Daddy, no!”

  He rushed to her and gathered her, blankets and all, in his arms. “It’s okay, Brooke,” he soothed. “It’s okay.”

  “A bad man,” she screamed. “A bad man hurt my daddy.”

  Her voice was young and desperate, and her fear and pain were tangible.

  “I’ll find the bad man,” Art promised. “I’ll find him, and I’ll protect you.”

  “He killed my daddy,” the voice was softer, filled with grief. “I’ll never see my daddy again.”

  Art hugged her to him and shook his head. “No, that’s not true,” he said. “You will see him again, Brooke. I promise. You will see him again.”

  “I didn’t take a nap,” she sobbed. “Mommy’s mad ‘cause I didn’t take a nap. Daddy’s dead ‘cause I didn’t take a nap.”

  His heart broke for the poor child who somehow decided in the wisdom of a three-year-old that she was the cause of her father’s death. He wondered if, deep down, Brooke somehow still believed that.

  “No, sweetheart,” he said. “It had nothing to do with you at all. Your mom is just afraid for you. Afraid of what you saw. You did not cause your father’s death.”

  She took a hiccupping breath.
“I saw the bad man,” she said, her voice breaking. “I saw him kill my daddy.”

  He wondered if this dream was the first step in her mind releasing all of those captive memories. “Brooke, I want you to remember what he looked like,” he said softly. “When you wake up tomorrow, I want you to remember what the bad man looked like.”

  She tossed her head. “I can’t remember,” she argued. “I can’t remember, or he’ll kill me too.”

  What kind of sick therapist frightened a child into forgetting?

  “No, Brooke, he won’t kill you,” Art replied. “Moose and I will take care of you.”

  A smile appeared on her face. “Moose?” she asked.

  Art nodded. “Yes, Moose is right here worried about you,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed, even as her eyes remained shut. “Will Art protect me, too?” she asked softly.

  He gathered her closer and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Always, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Art will always protect you.”

  She sighed, and the tension left her body. Snuggling against Art’s chest, her breathing became more rhythmic and her body relaxed.

  He tried to lay her back on the bed, but when he moved, she gripped his shoulders and seemed to tense up. “Don’t go,” she pleaded in her sleep. “I’m afraid.”

  With an ironic smile, Art laid down on the bed next to her and pulled her close. “All right, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’ll stay until you’re not afraid anymore.”

  He meant to stay awake. He meant to hold her until she had calmed down and returned to a normal sleep. He meant to be in his own bed far before she woke up the next morning. But within twenty minutes he was fast asleep.

  Brooke woke up feeling better than she had in a long time. She felt relaxed and warm, so warm. She slowly opened her eyes and saw Moose gazing at her from the edge of the bed. She looked down and saw a hand laying between her body and Moose’s head. Then she realized the warmth she was enjoying was attached to the hair-sprinkled, muscular arm laying across her body.

  She moved slowly, rolling over to find herself facing a very well-developed man’s naked chest. Peering up, she recognized Art’s face nestled on his other arm, his eyes closed, his breathing even.

  Why the hell is Art sleeping with me?

  Her eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline. And did we, um, actually sleep together? Wouldn’t I remember that?

  She looked down at her body. Her pajamas were still in place. Her blankets were covering her. Then she looked up again and met a pair of bright blue eyes looking down at her.

  “I must have fallen asleep,” his said, his voice still filled with sleep. “I’m sorry. I meant to leave before you woke up.”

  And that doesn’t sound too promising, she thought.

  “Before I woke up?” she asked, praying that would encourage him to divulge a little more information.

  He smiled down at her, his eyes crinkling, and he nodded. “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no,” she admitted, hoping that she wasn’t delivering an ego crushing declaration.

  “You had a bad dream last night,” he replied. “Actually, a nightmare. I heard you screaming, and I came in.”

  “I was screaming?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You were dreaming about your father’s death,” he said. “You were screaming because you were afraid the bad man was going to get you.”

  A shiver ran through her body. “It’s there,” she said. “Right on the tip of my memory. I can almost remember.”

  “You told me that if you remembered, the bad guy would kill you, too,” he said. “That’s what they told you when you were a child. If you remembered, you would die.”

  Her eyes widened. “They did that to me?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied. “So, now you have to remember, Brooke, not just for you, but for the little girl you were. She’s still afraid of the bad man.”

  She thought about it for a moment, and the memory of security washed over her. “You protected me,” she said, the gratitude shining in her eyes.

  Art shrugged. “Well, Moose helped,” he said with a grin.

  Their gazes locked and she found she couldn’t pull away. Her body began to feel warm and her heart accelerated. “And we didn’t…” she finally had the courage to ask. “We…”

  “Did I ravish you while you were in the throes of a childhood trauma?” he asked angrily. His smile vanished as he pushed himself out of the bed.

  She crawled after him and grabbed his hand before he could leave the room. “Stop. Please,” she begged. “No, I didn’t mean that.”

  “What did you mean?” he asked, pulling his hand away from hers and folding his arms over his bare chest, looking like the angry Thor he’d teased about earlier.

  “I was hoping that I hadn’t taken advantage of you?” she tried, biting her lower lip in hopes that he would forgive her blunder.

  He sighed and smiled at her. “If you had, I promise you, I would have been the last to complain,” he replied.

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “For watching over me.”

  “It was my pleasure,” he replied.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Reece Callahan sat down at the dining table with his tablet in front of him, scanning the morning news. Berta came up behind him, quietly refilling his coffee cup, careful not to disturb him. Amy looked across the table at the aging Polish woman who had been with them since Brooke was little and smiled. “Thank you, Berta,” she said. “Mr. Callahan and I need to discuss some private matters.”

  With a quick nod of her head, Berta slipped out of the room quietly. Amy sighed with contentment. Berta was undocumented and would have been deported years ago, if not for the fact that the Callahan’s kept her safely hidden from the INS. They easily could have helped her gain citizenship, but Amy had decided that it was much better for their family to have Berta living in fear and secrecy. It made her a more loyal employee.

  She put her teacup on the placemat and cleared her throat lightly. Her husband immediately looked her way.

  “Did Crandall get back to you?” she asked.

  Reece nodded. “He confirmed that was Brooke at the house,” he said. “And it looks like your sweet daughter is shacking up with one of O’Reilly’s brats.”

  She glared at him across the table. “If he looks anything like his father,” she said tightly, “I applaud her good taste.”

  Reece ignored her reply. “He did the blood splatter on the kitchen doors,” he continued. “And he said the initial results were all we could have asked for. But he waited for a little while and saw O’Reilly poking around on the patio. Crandall thinks O’Reilly might have found something.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “And why was there something for O’Reilly to find?” she asked caustically. “Because Crandall is an incompetent buffoon.”

  Reece nodded. He had to admit Amy was right. “So, what would you like me to do about it?” he asked.

  Amy was silent for a moment, and then she smiled. “I should really go and see Niki at the hospital today,” she said. “Perhaps I could meet Brooke there.”

  Reece shook his head. “I don’t know how that is going to help us.”

  “You should have Crandall go to the hospital too, and make sure Brooke sees him. We’ve kept Brooke and Crandall separated for long enough, it’s time to see if she recognizes him.”

  “And if she does?” he asked.

  “We’ll deal with it,” she said, picking up her cup of tea and sipping delicately.

  Reece studied Amy for a moment. “You are willing to jeopardize this whole organization in order to see if Brooke’s memory is returning?”

  She shook her head and sighed impatiently. “No,” she said. “All Brooke knows is that someone killed her father. Bruce’s files have been destroyed, so there is nothing suggesting any tie to an organization. If Brooke recognizes Crandall, and then Crandall is somehow
killed…” She shrugged. “Everything is wrapped up in a nice, tidy package.”

  “And how does Crandall die?” Reece asked.

  “Really Reece, sometimes I’m surprised you can actually dress yourself,” she huffed. “You have that thug…Robbins…connected to the organization, right?”

  Reece nodded.

  “Set it up for Robbins to go after Crandall and Crandall to go after Robbins,” she explained slowly, as if he were a child. “They kill each other.” She smiled. “Or we make it look like they killed each other. And all of our problems are solved.”

  She wiped her hands on her linen napkin, tossed it on her empty plate and pushed her chair away from the table. “Really, Reece, it’s not brain surgery. I’ll call Brooke and let her know I want to drive in to the city and see Niki. Why don’t you call your secretary and have her send flowers to Niki’s room. That’s always a nice touch.”

  She stood and walked out of the room to her office across the hall. Picking up her cell phone, she dialed Brooke’s number. “Hello, sweetheart,” she said, her voice soft and concerned. “How are you doing?”

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Brooke and Moose had enthusiastically explored every inch of the large backyard when her phone rang. Picking up a stick, Brooke threw it, and Moose dashed after it, before she slipped her phone from her pocket to answer it.

  “Mom,” she replied, slightly winded. “I’m good. How are you?”

  “Darling, you sound somewhat breathless,” Amy commented. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

  “No, Mom,” she said. “I’m outside.” She looked around her large yard. “At a park and I was playing with someone’s dog.” Which bordered on the truth. She was ‘a someone’ and Moose was now her dog.

  “Well, I wanted to meet you at the hospital this morning,” she said. “And visit Niki. I just spent the entire night tossing and turning, worrying about her. I have to go and see her myself.”

  “Mom, that’s not necessary,” Brooke said. “I spoke with Niki this morning, and it looks like they’re not going to have to do surgery. So she’ll be released this afternoon.”