“What about Heather Masterson?” I said. “Did Rusty know her?”
She looked up and repeated the name to herself. “Don’t think so.”
“Did he ever mention Doug or Nate?”
“Not Doug—I never really knew him. Wasn’t he the banker guy who died on the cruise ship?”
I nodded. “Rusty played poker with Nate, right?”
She nodded. “Every week.”
“Who else? Were there ever any women around?”
She rolled her eyes. “Nate didn’t consider it a party unless there was plenty of ass at his place.”
“Do you know who specifically?”
She shook her head. “All I cared about was when Rusty was with me, he was with me. I didn’t worry about whether he was cheatin’ or who he was cheatin’ with. At the end of the day, he always came home.”
“Did Rusty ever mention the other guys to you—what they talked about—anything?”
“Not really, I didn’t ask.”
Dead end. Again.
She bent one of her knees and braced her foot against the wall. “You know what—
I think Rusty did mention him to me once.”
“Who?”
“Doug.”
“When?”
“One night several years back Rusty got drunk—I’m talkin’ couldn’t-tie-his-own-shoelaces kind of drunk. He didn’t like alcohol, and never had it much. Always made him real mean. So that night, it hit him hard. Anyway, he started spouting off about how his buddies all got it on with some girl back in high school at a party.”
“What girl—Candice?”
She shrugged. “I dunno, he never said her name. The only reason I remember at all is because you mentioned Doug.”
“Are you saying he was there?”
“According to Rusty he was.”
“You’re sure he said Doug?”
She nodded.
I was shocked. Doug was turning out to be everything I thought he wasn’t.
“Did he ever mention it again after that night?”
She shook her head. “But he told me the names of the other guys: Nate, Doug and Jesse.”
“As in police officer, Jesse?”
She smiled. “That’s the one.”
The lights at Jesse’s house were off when Lucio and I arrived. I knocked on the door, first by tapping on it and then hard enough for his neighbors to hear, but it never opened. I assumed he was still on duty and decided to go back to the hotel and try again later.
When we got out of the car, I turned to Lucio. “You have a room here, I take it?”
He grinned. “Right next to yours.”
We neared the door and Lucio pointed at the window. “You leave those on?”
I looked over. A dull light filtered through the sheer curtains inside the room. I shook my head and drew my weapon. Lucio, already two steps ahead of me, shielded my body with his arm.
“Let me go first.”
“I’m a big girl,” I said. “We can go in together.”
The aggravated look on his face stopped me from arguing further. A figure inside my room walked by the curtain and the light went out.
“Get down,” Lucio whispered.
“Don’t you need to get down, too?” I said.
Lucio sighed like he didn’t know how much longer he could put up with me. We knelt and waited. Nothing happened. There was no movement of any kind; just a faint glow from what I assumed was a flashlight. The thought of someone rifling through my things again entered my mind and didn’t exit.
I stood back up. “This is ridiculous. I’m done with people thinking they can invade my privacy. I’m going in.”
Lucio pulled me back. “Hold on there, Sloane. We gotta think this through.”
I shrugged out of his death grip and faced him. “We’ve waited long enough. Let’s do this.”
He looked at me like I was an untamed cat who’d just been sprung from a cage. And I felt like one.
“Boss said you had a little of that uh, OCD, I think they call it.”
“He what!”
What else had Giovanni said about me?
“All right,” Lucio said, “we’ll go in. I go first, you follow.” He held a finger up to stop me from saying anything else. “Not a word. We do this my way or not at all.”
We approached the door and Lucio touched the handle. “It’s unlocked.”
He nudged it open, stuck his gun out in front of him, and went in. I followed. The living area was dark except for a faint glimmer of light radiating from the bedroom. We walked eight short steps until we were both standing in front of the door. It was only open a crack, but I could make out the image of a person sitting on the edge of the bed. It looked like a man.
Lucio pointed the gun at the man’s back and said, “Get up.”
But the man didn’t move.
“You deaf, pal? I said get up,” Lucio said—again. “Don’t make me ask a third time.”
“Put the gun down,” the man said.
Lucio lowered his weapon and flipped the light switch on.
“Sorry, Boss, I didn’t think you’d be back until tomorrow.”
He looked at Lucio and then at me. “My business was finished so I returned early.”
“What were you doing in here with the lights off?” I said.
He smiled. “Waiting.”
“For me?”
As much as I wanted him to say yes, the expression on his face said something different.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
Giovanni got up. “Follow me.”
The three of us walked into the living room. Giovanni opened the desk drawer and pulled out two items: A note and a scalpel.
“Leave, or you’ll be next…” I read aloud.
“The note was stuck to the door when I got here,” Giovanni said.
“Again?” I said. “I’m running out of places to stay in this town.”
“It wasn’t on the outside of the door.”
I swallowed—hard. “It was on the inside?”
Giovanni nodded.
“Someone was in my room?” I said.
“And they wanted you to know it,” Giovanni said.
I crossed the room and sat on the sofa.
“Do you know what this is?” Giovanni said picking up the scalpel.
But my eyes were focused on Lucio. In the midst of our conversation, he’d disengaged himself and was running from room to room yanking the curtains closed. Since it was a hotel, there were only three. When the task was finished, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. A few seconds later two more men entered the room.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “I thought you were the only member of the crew who was here?”
Before anyone had the chance to answer, there was a knock at the door. I stood up, all four men looked at me like they couldn’t imagine what I was thinking. In a roomful of male testosterone used to getting their way, I wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the door.
Giovanni looked at Lucio and nodded. Lucio pushed all two hundred seventy-five pounds of himself off the chair and approached the door. The other two guys positioned themselves close by while Giovanni walked over and stood by me. I felt like I was in a hostage situation.
Instead of looking out the peephole, Lucio spoke. “Who’s there?”
A female voice on the other side said, “Is this Sloane’s room?”
Lucio said, “Who’s askin’?”
“Rosalind Ward—Doug’s mother. Is this her room or not?”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I know her.”
Lucio opened the door.
Rosalind stepped in, glanced around the room and frowned. “I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I need to speak with Ms. Monroe.”
No one moved. Rosalind rolled her eyes and tried again. “Privately, if you don’t mind.”
The men looked at Giovanni and he flicked two fingers. They left, he stayed.
“And you
,” Rosalind said, looking at Giovanni, “you’ll be leaving too, I assume?”
He stood up, walked over, and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I will not.”
Rosalind looked at me like I needed to provide her with an explanation.
I smiled. “He ahh…will not. So if you have something to say, Rosalind…”
“All right then, I will. I’d like you to leave town,” she said.
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter. I can take care of Doug’s wife myself. We don’t need your help, so there’s no reason for you to stay.”
“Trista’s a much stronger woman than she realizes. She’s doing a fine job on her own,” I said.
Rosalind looked at me with a glimmer of hope.
“So you’ll do it then—you’ll leave?”
“Why are you so anxious to get me out of here?”
She pressed her pants down with her hand like she was trying to get the wrinkles out. “I don’t get anxious. My family has been through enough. I’d convinced Alexa to take a leave from school, and she was all set until you interfered.”
“You want me to leave because I talked to Alexa? Or is there something more?”
Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but I don’t care for it.”
Giovanni, who was now standing by the desk, grabbed the note and held it out in front of Rosalind. “Do you wish Sloane to leave bad enough you would threaten her?”
Rosalind snatched the paper from his hand and looked it over. “I didn’t have anything to do with this—where did you get it?”
“Seems you’re not the only one uncomfortable with my presence,” I said.
She waved the note in the air. “All the more reason you should leave.”
I stood up and placed my hands on my hips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I haven’t even made it worth your while yet.”
I laughed. “Not everyone can be bought with money.”
The comment seemed to surprise both Rosalind and Giovanni alike. But a smug-faced Rosalind didn’t allow it to affect her mission. “What if you could name your price?”
I gave it some thought. “All right then.”
“How much?”
“I don’t want your money.”
“What then—a gift of some kind? Name it.”
“Justice.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t follow.”
“I’ll leave when Doug’s killer is found and pays for his or her crimes—and not a moment before.”
While Giovanni spoke to his men in the kitchenette, I paced the bedroom. There was a good reason why Rosalind wanted me gone, and I needed to find it. Alexa was a hot button with her, so I decided to start there. I sat on a chair next to a circular table, connected my laptop to the internet and searched the name Alexa Ward on the Archives website. It didn’t take long for me to access her birth certificate.
Born Alexandria Anne Ward on December 28, 1991, it wasn’t hard to do the math. Trista would have gotten pregnant before graduation, which was the reason they dropped out of college and got married. But why hide it? Wasn’t it obvious the baby in the baby carriage came first? The certificate listed the parents as Doug and Trista Ward, no surprises there, and the doctor as Wayne F. Robinson, MD, a name I knew well. He was the same doctor who delivered me.
Giovanni entered the room with a curious look on his face. “What are you staring at so intently?”
“Alexa’s birth certificate. She’s Trista’s daughter,” I said.
“Why are you so interested?”
“I don’t know yet. She’s a sore spot with Rosalind every time we talk to each other. According to the birth certificate, Alexa was conceived before Trista and Doug married, but Trista hasn’t said a word to me; in fact, no one has.”
“How they came to be parents doesn’t seem relevant to the murders. Maybe she wanted to keep that part of her life private.”
I wasn’t so sure.
The home Wayne F. Robinson, MD resided in was a square, single-level structure that looked like it had been built back in the time of covered wagons and hoop skirts. Green shutters with chipped paint adorned the windows on all sides of the red brick house.
I ascended a few steps and knocked. From the see-through glass etching in the center of the door someone inside the house rose from a chair and glanced in my direction. It was a man. He stretched his hand out, grabbed something at his side and began what would become a two minute trek to the front door. When it finally opened, I was shocked at the man who stood before me. He was hunched over and now used a cane. His once slick brown hair had been replaced with strands of white, and he was a foot or two shorter than I remembered.
“Doctor Robinson?” I said.
He smiled revealing a mouth with eighty percent of its teeth still intact. “Yes?”
“I don’t know if you remember me,” I said. “Sloane Monroe. You delivered my sister and me in the seventies.”
He rubbed a finger across his chin. “Twins?”
I nodded, shocked his memory was still so vivid.
“You girls were the only babies that came out the way you did,” he said.
“How’s that?”
“Jet black hair. Both of you. Never seen so much hair on two babies before. Is there something I can do for you?”
“I wanted to ask you about another baby you delivered.”
He swung the door open and winked. “I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I never turn down the opportunity for a little company.”
I followed him past a bevy of hanging plants and sat in a chair at the kitchen table. He retrieved two glasses from the cupboard and set one down in front of me.
“What can I get you?” he said. “Milk? Juice? Water? And if you don’t like any of those, I can brew some coffee.”
“I’m fine.”
“How about some orange juice?”
To send the conversation in a non-liquid direction, I smiled and nodded.
The good doctor returned seconds later and joined me. “Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Twenty years ago you delivered a baby for Doug and Trista Ward.”
The ice in the glass he held rattled.
“Is everything okay?” I said.
He mustered a slight grin. “Fine…fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. The moment I mentioned their names his eyes darted around the room like a fly with no place to land.
“Why do you want to know about the baby?” he said.
I sipped my drink. “Alexa’s birth was kept quiet from what I understand. I looked through the archived newspapers this morning. There wasn’t even an announcement about her arrival. Don’t you find that strange?
He leaned back in his chair. “Why?”
“This is Rosalind Ward’s grandbaby we’re talking about here. Her first grandbaby. Alexa should have made her debut on the front page.”
He shook his head. “How would I know anything?”
“Doug’s sons, Joshua and Jack, had a full-page spread on page one. Care to know who joined them in the photo?”
He frowned.
“Rosalind,” I said. “She glammed it up for the camera with that ridiculous smile of hers and a little bundle of joy in each one of her arms.”
He turned his hand upward. “There’s not much to say. I delivered Alexa, and I was her pediatrician as a child. Beyond that, there’s not much I can tell you about her. I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing.”
Nice try, but his hand hadn’t stopped shaking.
“I’ve had Alexa on my mind a lot over the past few days,” I said. “Something about her has bothered me since the moment we met. For a Ward, she has a weird shaped head.”
He stifled a laugh. “What do you mean?”
“Doug had a square-shaped head, so does Trista, so do the twin boys, but Alexa has an oval—a very defined oval.”
“So?”
“Two squares don’t
produce an oval, do they? And what about those blue eyes of hers? Doug’s were brown, the same as Trista and the boys. Do you see where I’m going with all this yet?”
He made a gurgling sound once, then again, and looked me in the eye. “Listen to me very carefully, Sloane. I’m not sure why you’re looking into the past, but it would be best if you didn’t.” He waved his hand back and forth. “Forget about this nonsense.”
“Best for whom?”
“What?”
“You just said it would be best if I didn’t look into the past,” I said. “Why?”
“Sometimes it’s better if things remain as they are.”
I’d grown tired of everyone’s excuses. He knew something. It was obvious.
“I’m not leaving town until I find out what it is no one will tell me. If I have to go back to Rosalind and force it out of her, I will.”
He hung his head and whispered, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
The egg had almost cracked. If I pushed a little harder, I was confident he’d tell me what I needed to know. I slammed my hand down on the table but not hard enough to give him a heart attack. “How many men need to die before someone in this town breaks their silence!”
“I don’t understand. What do the murders have to do with Alexa?”
“You tell me.”
A perfect mixture of sorrow and regret covered his face. “If I tell you what I know, I need to be sure Rosalind doesn’t find out it came from me. You don’t understand what it’s like to live in this town with her watching your every move. I’m finally under her radar after all these years, and I won’t get sucked back into her world—not again.”
“No one will ever know it was you. I promise.”
He relaxed a little but still looked like he was in fear over what he was about to tell me. “Many years ago, Rosalind came to me with a request. She said Doug had gotten a girl pregnant.”
If the girl had been the mysterious woman from the party, how would anyone have known the baby belonged to Doug and not one of the other guys?
“What was the girl’s name?”
“I don’t recall.”
“Can’t you look it up?” I said.
He shook his head. “There’s no paperwork.”
“Why?”
I Have a Secret (A Sloane Monroe Novel, Book Three) Page 11