A Memory Worth Dying For

by Bruce, Joanie

  Deep furrows appeared between Gerald’s eyes. He looked at Brent. “I don’t understand. What does this mean?”

  A glance passed between Brent Simmons and Amber Pike.

  “It means that Marti’s baby was born alive instead of stillborn like Mary told the hospital when she arrived with the baby after the accident. Mary filled out a birth certificate at the clinic, which could only mean one thing. In Texas, a birth certificate is not filled out unless the baby is born alive, and a nurse or midwife who knowingly falsifies a birth certificate will be charged with a third degree felony. Mary could have lost her medical license if she hadn’t filled them out properly, so she completed the form but hid the death certificate somewhere at the clinic.”

  The confusion on Gerald’s face left wrinkles above his eyes. “I don’t understand. Are you saying Marti’s baby was born alive and then died before they reached the hospital?”

  Brent shifted on the hay. “Gerald, I’m saying there’s something strange about the whole situation. Mary and Shane supposedly adopted Tommi Robbins’ baby. The birth certificate filed with the adoption papers—the one Mary recorded—was identical to the one you have there, but there was no record of the fetal death certificate in any of the clinic’s papers. The accident that killed your daughter happened right outside the clinic. We suspect Mary hid the original death certificate for Tommi’s baby somewhere in her office at the clinic, and Nurse Watting must have found it. She then mailed this copy to her friend the day before she died. Tommi Robbins’ baby was born alive, but according to this record here, died shortly after birth.”

  Gerald shook his head. “I don’t understand. What does that prove?”

  Brent stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Gerald. The death certificate is for Tommi’s baby—not Marti’s. And Tommi’s baby was supposedly adopted.”

  Suddenly, Gerald felt as if there were no blood left in his veins. His body felt cold and hot at the same time. Understanding sped through his heart, and he knew why Brent and Amber had solemn stares on their faces.

  Marti’s baby was alive.

  Chris Duke, who had been adopted by Mary and Shane Duke, was Daniel and Marti’s baby.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  HIS THROAT FELT TIGHT, BUT he had to ask the question. He had to hear it for himself. “Are you telling me that the baby Shane and Mary adopted is my grandson?” His voice was rough and scratchy with emotion.

  Brent leaned toward Gerald and put his hand on his shoulder. “I’m not one hundred percent positive, Gerald, but it looks that way.”

  Gerald stood up with as much strength as he could manage. “Then, let’s go get him.”

  Brent put both hands on Gerald’s arms to stop him in his tracks.

  “Hold on, Gerald. We have to have proof in hand before we go taking someone’s legally adopted child.”

  “Are you crazy? Legally adopted, nothing! If you’re right, she stole our baby—my grandson!” His voice broke on the last word. He sank onto the hay and held his head in his hands. “My grandson.”

  Brent sat down beside him and put his hand on Gerald’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Gerald. I know how you must feel, but we have to prove it first—beyond the shadow of a doubt—so there won’t be repercussions down the road. A paternity test will prove what we suspect. Then, I promise we’ll make it right. If Mary lied and stole Chris from Marti, Chris will be returned to his biological parents.”

  “How can you do that? They’re divorced.” Pain for the things Marti went through—losing her home, her husband, the baby—all raged through him like wind through a wildfire. And Daniel—he lost a sister, a wife, and a son—all in one day.

  “If they’d had the baby . . . they might not have—” He turned to Brent. “What are you waiting for?”

  “We have to get a court order first, and before we can do that, the judge has to make a ruling about the accident. Once we have the court order, we’ll have a paternity test run. We have to go slow so we can find out who else knew about all of this. When we find out, everyone involved will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. Now, please be patient. Give us time to finish the investigation. You want everyone involved to be held accountable, don’t you?”

  Gerald gritted his teeth and felt a tightening in his chest. He nodded.

  “We finished the investigation concerning Marti’s car, and I called Daniel and told him. You’ll be interested to know what we found. The bomb that blew up Marti’s car was activated by remote control. That probably means whoever planted the bomb was targeting Clara, not Marti, and waited until Clara got in the car before activating the bomb—most likely with a cell phone.”

  “So the bomb wasn’t meant for Marti?” Gerald felt numb. Marti wasn’t the target after all, but there was so much else to process. “Marti said she was being stalked. Could that have to do with the accident?”

  Brent shook his head. “We’re not sure, Gerald. I talked to one of the Alabama police detectives, but he said they never followed up on her file. She moved shortly after reporting her tires being slashed, and they dropped the case.”

  “Why would someone want to kill Clara?”

  “Clara mailed a copy of those forms to her friend, so she must have suspected the babies were switched. We think

  she might have tried to blackmail someone.”

  Gerald’s head jerked up. “Who? Who was she blackmailing?”

  “Mary would be the primary suspect, but since she’s dead, it has to be someone else.”

  “Shane?”

  “We don’t know yet, but he’s definitely suspect. There are a couple other people we want to check out as well. One of the nurses at the clinic during that time said there was a male nurse working at the clinic that night who left the day after the accident and never returned. We’re trying to find his new address, and we’re also checking into the alibis of two other people.”

  “Who?”

  “Parker’s one.”

  Gerald was stunned. “Parker? You’re kidding. No way. He and Anita were friends with Marti. They wouldn’t have . . . and killing Clara? No. Not Parker.”

  “Records show that Parker and Anita had been trying to adopt a child for years. On Mary’s computer, we found records to prove she arranged an illegal adoption for Parker and his wife. If Clara found out about that and tried to blackmail him, he’d have been worried she might be investigated and they’d lose the baby. I’m sure he would have felt desperate—desperate enough to plant a bomb in Marti’s car.”

  “But Parker—”

  “We also want to check out Jordan Welsh.”

  Gerald didn’t know how many more shocks he could handle. “Welsh? How does he fit in?”

  “Jordan and Mary Duke were cousins who lived in the same town growing up. They’d been in regular contact over the years. Jordan was convicted years ago and did time in prison for murder one as well as falsifying government documents. He was also the primary suspect in a jewelry store robbery when the security guard was killed, but they had no concrete proof. He has the background and experience to counterfeit the adoption papers for Parker and Anita. He has an alibi for the time when the bomb could have been detonated, but it’s weak. His men said he was working with them on the ranch mending fences, but the ranch is right outside the city limits. He could have driven to town, planted the bomb, and been back working on the fences in less than twenty minutes. His men agree he could have been gone that long without them missing him.”

  “But what would he have against Marti? None of that has anything to do with her.”

  “We don’t know all the answers, Gerald, but we will. Give us a little time.”

  Brent paused for a minute and watched Gerald process all the information before he continued.

  “We still need to check out the male nurse on duty that night at the clinic. Even if he’s not involved, he may have seen something. We’re in the process of trying to locate him.”

  Gerald nodded—still staring at the ground.
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  Amber Pike had been silent, but now she stepped forward and held out her hand to Gerald. “Goodbye, Gerald. Will . . . will you be all right?”

  Gerald stood and shook her hand. His nod was slight but firm. Brent shook Gerald’s hand and patted him on the back. “Gerald, remember . . . don’t mention this toanyone until we have proof . . . especially Marti or Daniel. I wanted to see if you could help us solve some of these mysteries and to ask you to keep your ears open.”

  Gerald nodded, but wondered how in the world he was going to sit on this powder keg of information.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  DANIEL TURNED AROUND AND SAW Veronica speaking to the security guard. He cleared his throat and whispered to Marti, “Excuse me.”

  He walked back to the door and put his arm around Veronica’s shoulders. He explained to the man that Veronica was with him, and he let her pass. Veronica gave him a warm embrace until her eyes picked up Marti sitting on the back row. She flashed a startled look into Daniel’s eyes. Marti could hear everything she said and cringed at the tone in her voice.

  “What’s she doing here?”

  Daniel responded quietly, and Marti heard nothing of what he said.

  “What do you mean, she has a painting in the auction? Have you seen her painting? This is just a ploy . . . a trick. She just wants to spend time with a handsome man like you, darling.”

  Marti imagined the enraged green of Veronica’s eyes and gulped, refusing to glance back. Spouting angry words in private was one thing, but within hearing distance of a full crowd was a little embarrassing.

  At that moment, her painting was placed up on the easel.

  “Here we have a beautiful painting of the Hendrix House on Watkins Avenue by Marti Rushing. Notice the light and shadows that make this painting such a treasure. Who would like to start the bidding?”

  A man in a green shirt sitting in the front row raised his hand and bid. “Fifty dollars.”

  Marti listened with feeble breath as several bidders raised the price of her painting to five hundred dollars. During a short pause in bidding, the auctioneer reminded everyone what a great cause they were raising money for, and someone shouted, “Five hundred twenty-five!” When another pause hushed the crowd, a voice from the back called out.

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  The crowd collectively gasped and turned toward the back to get a glimpse of the person bidding. Marti didn’t have to turn around to recognize Daniel’s voice. At the same time it registered who the bidder was, she heard Veronica’s shocked voice. “Daniel!”

  The auctioneer shouted, “We have five thousand dollars. Going once, going twice, sold to bidder number one hundred forty-six for five thousand dollars!”

  The crowd went wild. Everyone was talking at once.

  Through the uproar, Marti glanced back at Veronica’s stunned face. She could feel the electricity in the air, and she didn’t want to be around when Veronica blew up. She grabbed her purse from the floor and made her way to the doors on the other side of the auditorium, trying to stay as far away from the arguing Daniel and Veronica as possible. When she pushed the door, she realized it was locked. The only way outside was through the door behind Veronica and Daniel. She saw Veronica stand at full stature and glare at Daniel. Marti spied the restroom sign and crept into the open hallway leading to the restrooms. She could hear Veronica’s voice as plain as if she were standing next to her.

  “Daniel, what do you think you’re doing? You know how I feel about your bidding on a painting she created. Why did you do something so offensive—something you knew would upset me?”

  “Nikki, I bid on a beautiful painting. It matches the one in my room at home, and I have plans to hang it on the opposite wall.”

  Daniel spoke to Veronica in strained tones until Veronica straightened her shoulders and looked into his eyes. “We planned on moving the painting in your room, remember?”

  “No, you planned on moving the painting. I never agreed. I like that painting, and I like this one. I’m keeping both of them—in my bedroom. End of discussion.”

  “Daniel, either you give that painting right back to the auction immediately, or I’ll have to tell my father you’re being untrue to our relationship.”

  Daniel stiffened, and his lips thinned to a tiny line. Peeking around the corner of the open doorway, Marti could see the hesitancy in his stance. He was “between the devil and the deep blue sea,” as Sandra always said. Marti actually felt sorry for him.

  He put both hands on Veronica’s shoulders and leaned in close. “Veronica, compromise is a big part of any relationship. I’ve let you decorate my bedroom in any way you wanted, but I want this painting. I don’t really care who the artist is or how much I had to pay for it. You can tell your father anything you want, but I intend to keep the painting.”

  Veronica’s eyes filled with tears, and she shrugged his hands off her shoulders. In two seconds she was out the door and had disappeared down the hallway.

  Marti watched Daniel rub his forehead and turn back toward the crowd. She slipped out of the hallway and through the outside door. Outside the auditorium, she leaned against the wall. Listening to the fight between Daniel and Veronica made her stomach clench. Was she doing the right thing?

  FIFTY-NINE

  “LISTEN TO ME CAREFULLY. IT has to be done exactly like I tell you so they’ll think the wildfire jumped the firebreak and consumed the shed. You’ll have to tie her with soft rope that will burn in the fire, and make sure the gasoline starts the woods on fire as well. If the fire works toward the wildfire and toward the shed, it’ll look like she got caught in the middle of the fire with no way out. She went to the shed for protection and got trapped. Understand?”

  “Yeah, but I thought the wildfire turned away from that shed.”

  “It did, but if you spread gasoline through the woods all the way to the burned out section of property, they’ll think the sparks jumped the firebreak and burned toward the shed. Those old gasoline cans have been stored around that shed for years. They won’t think anything about them being there. If there’s not enough gas in the old cans, there are more stored at the end of the stable. I saw them the other day. Just don’t get caught. Do you understand the plan?”

  “Yeah. I understand. How much are you paying me this time?”

  “Paying you? I’ve already paid you more than you’re worth. Just do it, and I won’t go to the sheriff with what I know about your past.”

  “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “Of course not. It’s not blackmail; it’s a promise. You either do what I ask, or there’s a prison cell with your name on it.”

  “You can’t scare me. If I go to prison, you’ll be right there beside me. You forget—I know things about you now as well.”

  “Yeah? I’d like to see you prove it. It’s your word against mine.”

  “Phone calls are traceable, idiot. All I have to do is tell them you called me, and they’ll be able to prove it with the phone records.”

  “You think I’m stupid? I bought this throw-away phone out of state with cash, and it’s not traceable.”

  The phone line went silent.

  “Now, are you going to do what I ask? Or, am I going to make the next call to the sheriff’s office?”

  “All right. I’ll do it, but this is it. After this job, we’re through. Don’t call me again, or I’ll turn you in and hang the consequences.”

  After that promise, he hung up the phone and balled his hands into fists. If he knew a way to get that lying, greedy, no-good . . . A thought worked its way into his mind. If he planned it right, he could make it look like murder instead of an accident, and he could frame his no-good blackmailer for the murder. Every little detail had to be perfect.

  Yeah, he could do this. All he had to do was a little bit of planning, and he’d be able to “kill two birds with one stone,” he thought with a chuckle. That not being able to verify their connection worked both ways. His blackmailer wouldn’
t be able to prove he’d paid him to do his dirty work either.

  He threw his phone into his truck and jumped into the driver’s seat. If he wanted to catch her by herself, he’d have to get going. He had work to finish before the auction was over. Then he’d have to come up with an air-tight alibi.

  He’d have to plan every little detail before he set the fire. Maybe put something incriminating at the scene before the fire was started to make sure his blackmailer was placed at the scene. What could he plant? Ah! He had the perfect thing. Now to get the shed ready, then on to pick up little Miss Artist.

  Everything was going to work out fine.

  SIXTY

  MARTI GATHERED UP HER EQUIPMENT outside the auditorium and packed her paint and brushes into her tote bag.

  While she worked, several emotions fought a battle inside her. Tenderness toward Daniel for his five thousand dollar bid on her painting brought tears to her eyes. What a great boost for the orphanage, and how special it made her feel. Then anger at Veronica’s ultimatum took over her thoughts. Veronica tried to force Daniel to return the painting or suffer her consequences. How dare she make threats! Tell her father, indeed!

  Marti was sticking in the last of her brushes when she heard someone calling her name.

  Skyler and Cynthia came running toward her.

  “Are you leaving, Marti? We saw you leave the auditorium.”

  “Yeah. I guess I’m headed back to the ranch.”

  Skyler leaned her head to the side and gazed into the sky with dreamy eyes. “Wasn’t that sweet what Daniel did? Bidding so high on your painting? And he doesn’t even remember who you are. I think it’s so romantic.”

  Cynthia nodded. “Yeah, Marti. He must still love you, or he wouldn’t have defied Veronica like that in front of the whole town.”

  Marti leaned against the building. “Listen, you guys. Don’t go jumping to conclusions. Just because Daniel liked the painting and wanted to help out the orphanage by bidding so high doesn’t mean he still has feelings for me. He’s made it perfectly clear—he wants to marry Veronica. I’m going home and finish his portrait, then get in my little rental car and leave.” She looked at their sad faces. “I’m sorry, my friends. I know you miss our friendship. I miss it too, but I can’t be here for the wedding. I don’t think my heart could take it. Now, please, I hate long goodbyes.”