by Nancy Bush
Dallas knew a serious confession when he saw it coming. Oftentimes his clients initially worried more about what he would think of whatever transgression they were about to admit than their friends and family, a kind of tryout, a testing of the waters with their attorney first. “Tell me what happened,” he said calmly.
Now Lucy looked up at him, her hazel eyes glittering with moisture.
She said, very quickly, “Evie’s not John’s daughter. I was pregnant with her about ... about . . .” She exhaled heavily, emptying her lungs. “Ten years ago.”
Dallas waited, but she stopped cold, just staring at him.
Realizing she was expecting something from him, he asked, “Does this have something to do with Evie’s real father?”
And then he saw her tense face, did the addition, heard his own words still hanging in the air ... “No,” he said sharply, disbelieving. The girl—Evie?—was his daughter?
She nodded jerkily.
“No!” It was a blow to the solar plexus. His head was spinning. No way. But his mind brought back images of that night. Blurry, indistinct images.
Her nodding intensified. She placed her hands protectively over her chest. “Evie doesn’t know,” she said in a whisper. “No one does but Layla, and now ... you. . . .”
“What are you doing? This is, this is . . .” Not true!
But he could tell it was. She wasn’t making it up. And she’d never told him, never once reached out....
“You knew this?” he demanded incredulously. “All this time, you knew this?”
“I didn’t immediately know I was pregnant, and by the time I did . . . it was long after, and I thought, I just . . .”
He couldn’t process. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No, it had to be a lie. Had to be. But it wasn’t. He could tell it wasn’t!
Ding-dong.
Lucy’s doorbell rang, but she didn’t move. She was frozen in place. So was he.
“I’ll get it,” sang out Evie, and he could hear her bounding down the stairs again.
“Evie . . .” Dallas said, his gut wrenching.
Lucy swiped at the tears that had formed in her eyes as Evie greeted the newcomer warmly. He heard Layla’s voice ask, “Where’s your mom?” and Evie must have pointed because there was a moment of silence.
Lucy had alerted Layla to what was going on. She’d said as much.
“If Layla hadn’t pushed it, would you ever have come to me?” he asked softly.
Lucy shook her head. “I don’t know . . . I think so . . .”
“Luce?” Layla called tentatively.
Dallas turned and opened the door. He nodded to Layla and said something to her that he couldn’t remember later as he brushed by. He said something to Evie, too, a good-bye, nice-meeting-you kind of thing, but all he was focused on was leaving . . . going somewhere to clear his head.
He believed her. He didn’t want to, but he believed her. Even recognized some Denton traits in the girl. The dimple . . . the curly hair . . .
It wasn’t anger that had caused Lucy’s high color. It was fear.
But it was anger that drove him now.
He wanted to get as far away from her as possible.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Was he mad, Mom?” Evie asked, looking in the direction Dallas had departed, obviously bewildered by his abruptness.
Lucy sank onto the couch, her leg muscles quivering with reaction. “He just had somewhere to go.” She surfaced enough to ask Layla, “How’re you doing?”
“Oh, I’m okay.” She gazed at Lucy with lots of questions in her eyes. Lucy gazed meaningfully at Evie, who said, somewhat dryly, “Should I go back upstairs?”
“Sure,” Lucy said, as if Evie had been asking for permission.
This time, Evie took her time heading back up, drifting her hand along the banister, gazing down on Lucy and Layla, who remained silent until she was out of earshot, evidenced by the slamming of her door.
“You told him,” Layla said quietly.
“I did.”
“How did it go?”
“Just about like you’d expect, I think.” Her voice was bitter. She heard it and pushed it aside. She couldn’t deal with this yet. Not when there were other, more pressing matters. At least she’d told him. That secret was out, and the ball was in his court. “We need to talk about you. And Neil. And what’s happening.”
“I was going to talk to Dallas, and oh . . . I need to call back Neil’s attorney. She phoned me last week and was trying to set up an appointment for Neil and me to meet with her about Neil changing his will. That was before we found him. I don’t know if I should talk to Dallas first ... Lucy?”
“I heard you,” Lucy said, snapping back to the present. Despite telling herself to focus on the here and now, on Layla’s urgent problems, she’d let her mind return to Dallas . . . and Evie . . . and what she was going to do. “Could you repeat the last part, though? About talking to Dallas about something?”
Layla came over to her, sank down on the couch beside her, put her arm around her, and pulled her close.
* * *
First Financial of Laurelton, where Lyle had secreted Junior’s will, wasn’t an institution Kate and Lyle normally banked with, and as they pulled into the lot, Kate wondered if Lyle had accounts there as well, ones without her name on them.
Like father, like son?
She’d been silent and stewing since they’d left the hospital the night before, and a tad embarrassed about blurting out the whole scheme at dinner. But witnessing Ainsley cozying up to Abbott had made her see red. She’d wanted to grab the little gold-digger by the hair and drag her out of there.
They went into the bank together and Lyle signed the signature card for entry into his safe-deposit box. The young woman helping them had dyed red hair and a chatty manner Kate found irritating. Something about her reminded Kate of someone on TV; one of those actresses, maybe?
She noticed Lyle’s eye lingering a little too long on the bank teller. He seemed sort of in a trance, and as the girl led them into the vault, Kate nudged him in the ribs.
He didn’t even register it, just moved forward and handed the girl his key. Seeing that key winking under the fluorescent lights of the vault, and thinking about how Lyle had kept this account from her, made Kate realize she was going to have to be extra vigilant in the future. She just couldn’t trust him.
He quickly retrieved a manila envelope and returned the box to its slot in the vault area with the redhead’s help. He handed the envelope to Kate and she tucked it under her arm. As they were leaving the bank, Lyle said, “She looked familiar.”
“The girl in the bank?” Kate shook her head, so annoyed she could scarcely see straight. “She looked like someone on TV.”
“That’s not it . . .” He was thinking hard, trying to put it together.
They both got into his car, Kate just managing not to slam her door with extra force. If Lyle would try as hard at their marriage as he was thinking about this girl, they might have a chance.
She stared out the passenger window as he drove her back home. Daphne was at a half-day art camp for Easter break, so Kate was going to have to pick her up soon, right after she and Lyle dropped off the will with Layla and Lucy’s lawyer.
“They’re keeping Dad at the hospital another day, just to make sure,” Lyle told her as they got in his car, “so we don’t have to pick him up till tomorrow.”
We? “Are Lucy and Layla involved in this?” she asked tautly.
“I guess they could be.”
There it was. His wishy-washiness. He was a dishrag of mass proportions. Kate looked out the window and thought about her future, not liking the vista of grinding through each day. Even with Lyle receiving one-third of the estate outright, once the lawyers were through with it, not having to grovel to Abbott, it didn’t feel like enough.
* * *
At Lucy’s house, Layla’s cell phone rang from inside her purse. She glanced over to the spot she’d
dropped the bag, on Lucy’s counter, and crossed the room to retrieve it. Lucy had gone upstairs to corral Evie, and the three of them were going to head somewhere for lunch. Not that she and Lucy felt like doing anything, but it was better than sitting around listening to the news.
On the third ring, she pulled out the cell with trepidation, saw it was Mary Jo, so she answered. “Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. Good God, Layla. You’re a celebrity now!” She said it teasingly, but Layla knew Mary Jo well enough to realize she was probably put off by Layla’s new infamy. Mary Jo rushed on. “Great news, though. We’re in escrow on the property, but my buyer really wants your painting. You never got back to me on what you want to do with it.”
“I’ve been kind of busy, Mary Jo,” Layla said dryly.
She laughed uneasily. “I don’t believe any of that craziness on the news. C’mon.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not selling the painting.”
“Just think about a possible price,” she encouraged.
“I actually sold it once for eight thousand. I have it back now, but—”
“Eight thousand!” She was aghast.
“—it’s no longer on the market.”
“Woo-wee . . .” Mary Jo said on a swift intake of breath. “Okay, I’ll tell them ... but if my buyer still wants it ... ?
“I’m not selling!” Layla said emphatically. Her eyes drifted to the television. It was turned off, but part of her wanted to know what they were saying about her. Of course, she could look on her phone....
“Well, okay.” Mary Jo was miffed, but she let it go. As if remembering she should stay positive, she told Layla to “hang in there” and clicked off.
“Yeah, right.” Layla refused to let herself check the latest news on her phone, even though she wanted to. Instead, she placed a second call to the number Neil’s attorney, Penelope Gaines, had given her. She wanted to call Dallas and have him be part of the conversation, but that wasn’t going to work today.
This time the attorney was in and took Layla’s call. After introductions, she said to Layla, “In light of Mr. Grassley’s sudden death, we’ll have to put off the meeting for now.”
Read that to mean: we think you might have killed our client, so don’t think you benefit in his will....
Layla answered crisply, “Fine. In the future, you can contact me through my lawyer, Dallas Denton.”
Lucy came downstairs as Layla was ending the call. “What was that about?” she asked.
“Neil’s lawyer. I could be a killer, so . . . I guess the meeting to discuss his will is off.”
Lucy’s answer was a snort, but at least she seemed brighter, more like herself.
“It really pisses me off they’re calling us the ‘black widows.’” She paused, then asked, “Are you going to call Dallas?”
“I was thinking of waiting a little while, at least till after lunch.”
“Good idea,” she said with relief, then, “C’mon, Evie. Get your shoes on and your coat.”
When Evie popped down, carrying a stuffed rabbit adorned with jewelry, Lucy clapped her hand to her forehead and closed her eyes, looking like she was praying for patience. But she didn’t say a word, and the three of them headed to the garage and Lucy’s car.
* * *
Dallas drove directly to his office, parked in the underground garage, then sat with his hands on the wheel, staring blindly at the concrete wall in front of him. He was in a state of shock. Couldn’t get his head wrapped around Lucy’s bombshell.
Her daughter . . . his daughter ... their daughter . . . Evie Linfield . . . or maybe Crissman?
Evie Denton.
He went up to his office and managed a brief hello to Billie before locking himself inside. There were several files on his desk, ones he’d asked Billie to pull, but he didn’t open them. Instead, he looked out the window at the view and saw nothing but Lucy Linfield in her pink blouse, telling him he had a daughter.
He exhaled hard, as if someone had clapped him on his back. Hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He couldn’t get his mind past what she’d said. Just couldn’t do it.
But he had to. He’d always prided himself on his ability to separate fact from emotion. Today would be a test of that, but he had to force himself. For now. Then, though ...
Hours later, he was at his desk, thinking over the information he’d learned about Layla’s case. September had informed him that Grassley’s tox screen showed Amanita ocreata poisoning and Luke, through his source from the IVF clinic, had nailed down that Courtney Mayfield definitely had been implanted with one or more of Grassley and Layla’s embryos. It was a lot of information to go over, but he was still having trouble keeping focused.
Around one p.m., Billie buzzed him. “Penelope Gaines is on the line.”
That sharpened his attention.
He drew in a long breath and said, “Put her through.”
* * *
September parked at Lucille’s and, once inside, took a booth by the door. She’d finally gotten through to Gretchen right before her two o’clock appointment with Captain Calvetti. Now, her ex-partner was meeting her at the diner.
She’d barely sat down when, through the window, she saw Gretchen wheel into the lot in one of the department’s Jeeps. Gretchen caught sight of September as well, and she hurried across the lot, pushing through Lucille’s front door to the ding-dong of the bell.
She slipped in opposite September and grumbled, “They gotta get rid of that god-awful noise. It’s not like you can’t see everybody who walks in.”
“It seems to be part of the ambience.”
“Bullshit.” She slanted a knowing look at her. “You’re seeing Calvetti.”
“Like in half an hour.”
“Be careful. Could be about your job. I want it to be. But she’s tricky. Just letting you know.”
“Thanks. I’ll watch out. Are you the lead on the Linfield case?”
“Officially, that’s Wes still, although he’s a short-timer. Why?”
One of the waitresses came by with two cups and a pot of coffee. Both September and Gretchen let her pour them each a cup, but they waved off the menus. As soon as the waitress had moved to a nearby table, September drew a breath, then told Gretchen about Brianne Kilgore and the angel of death mushrooms growing beneath the “big oak,” close to Wolfe Lodge, everything she could think of to bring her up-to-date on what she’d learned. She finished with, “I’m pretty sure Brianne was the one who called the sheriff’s department and told them to look for Amanita ocreata poisoning in the Linfield autopsy.”
Gretchen’s brows lifted. “You think she’s the poisoner?”
“I think she knows something. She’s different—maybe on the autism spectrum, I don’t know exactly—but she showed me the mushrooms at the base of that tree.” She took a sip from her cooling coffee. “I don’t know how she’s involved, I just know she is. I’m afraid she’s protecting someone. Her family is friends with Deputy Martin Morant at the sheriff’s department. Last night, I told her to go to him, tell him what she knew.”
“What’d she say?”
September made a face. “Nothing. There was a bit of a glitch. Jerome Wolfe was there. She’s in love with him and he’s using that to get what he wants, namely the Kilgore property. Her mother’s terminally ill and the place will be Brianne’s when she dies. Wolfe’s making sure Brianne sells to him.”
“Is the property that valuable?”
“Don’t know. But there seems to be a revenge factor in there.” September relayed what she’d learned about the Crissman/Wolfe history, the fact that there was no love lost between the two families.
“So, how does that come back to Linfield?”
“Brianne alluded to the fact that he wasn’t the one who was supposed to be poisoned. Now, I don’t know if that means anything,” September added hastily, as Gretchen was looking at her as if she’d been sitting on critical information. “You’d have to meet Brianne to
understand. She just says what’s on her mind, and maybe it isn’t always the real truth.”
“You gonna tell Calvetti all this?” Gretchen asked as the door opened again and the bell rang.
“I want to keep on the case, so yeah, probably. There’s something more . . .” September told Gretchen what Auggie had revealed about the tox screen as the alert waitress came by to refill their nearly empty coffee cups.
“The same poison?” Gretchen expelled when they were alone again. “Jesus. That reporter’s already calling the Crissman sisters ‘black widows’ and he doesn’t even have that info yet.”
“It’s not the Crissmans.”
Gretchen snorted. “Well, I’ve got something for you. The Wharton County Sheriff’s Department phoned us this morning and Calvetti took the call. Bound to have something to do with this, so I’d lay my cards on the table early if I were you.”
September’s heart clutched. “I hope it doesn’t have to do with Brianne.”
Ten minutes later, Gretchen headed back to her Jeep. September sat for a while more, passing the time till her appointment, thinking over what she knew. She had an urgency to protect Brianne. She could call her house, she supposed. Try to talk to her. Or she could take another trip her way, although Brianne hadn’t listened last night, so why would she now?
September paid the bill and headed to her Outback. She drove from Lucille’s to Laurelton, and within five minutes of walking through the station’s door, she was ushered into Captain Dana Calvetti’s glass office, where the drapes were drawn against the rest of the squad. Maybe that was how the captain liked it. D’Annibal usually had kept them open. He liked to see what was going on.
“I’d like to give you a job,” Calvetti broke right in, raising September’s hopes as she sat down in one of the chairs opposite the captain’s desk. “But I’ve run into a problem.”
Those hopes took a nosedive. “What problem?”
“A deputy from Wharton County said you’ve been impersonating a police officer, and that’s a crime.”
September’s heart started thudding. “That’s not completely accurate.”
“How so?”
“I alluded to knowing Detective Pelligree and Detective Sanders, and he just assumed I was on the force.”