The Face of Deceit

by Ramona Richards

  His father always lit a pipe, blowing the smoke around them to keep away the mosquitoes, while Mason sat on the porch floor doing his homework. They did this often, both of them preferring to be outside rather than cooped up in the house. This time, however, Mason, at sixteen, had begun to question his mother’s long absences. He stared out across their yard and down the drive. His father cleared his throat and spoke in that rough way of his, almost as if reading his son’s thoughts.

  “Your mother, she’s a good woman. She’s just got something here—” he tapped his chest “—that makes her want to go. Wander. Go see other places, other countries. We love only each other, though. You know that, don’t you, boy?”

  Mason fought the heat in his face, not wanting to admit even to himself what he’d been thinking. “Papa, that’s not—”

  His father waved the pipe. “I was young. I know you see her leave. I know you see your friends with their parents getting divorced all the time. I’m old, not blind.” He paused, taking a deep pull on the pipe. “But this thing she has in her soul, this is not about us. I know her. She does not go with other men. I don’t go with other women. What we have, it comes along only once in a life, and we both know that. She would die for me. I would die for her.”

  At the time, the teenaged son thought his father was indulging in a bit of romantic hyperbole. Mason now knew all too well how true that was. A year later, his father had, in fact, died for the woman he’d loved so dearly.

  Can I be that kind of man? Problem was, he had too much of his mother in him, as well. As deeply as his feelings ran for Karen, he also felt the pull of the horizon, almost constantly. Even now he wanted both to leave her alone and give her space, as well as take her in his arms, vowing never to leave her. “And I thought Karen was the confused one here,” he muttered.

  Mason closed his eyes. If it works for Karen… “Lord,” he whispered. “I’m not good at this, but we could use Your help.” He paused. “I could use Your help.”

  He sat there for a bit, eyes closed, feeling the wind and listening to the swaying trees. Hundreds of images fluttered through his mind, from his mother and father sharing a moment of tenderness to Karen’s vases to the feel of the clay under his fingers to a painful vision of the flames that had consumed his own childhood home…

  So I went down to the potter’s house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him.

  Mason’s eyes snapped open. It was the verse Karen had quoted to him yesterday. “So we’re still works in progress, right, Lord?”

  He smiled and straightened a bit, then jumped as a voice came from behind him.

  “Praying?” Maggie asked.

  Mason started to stand, but she waved him to stay put and sat beside him, handing him a sandwich wrapped in a napkin. “I can understand. I do a lot of it myself. I’d go crazy if I didn’t.”

  “Karen does it all the time. Seemed like it might be worth the effort.” He peered at the sandwich’s contents, then ate quickly, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.

  Maggie remained silent a few moments, looking out over the landscape. “I’m about to get personal with you, Mason, but it’s important.”

  “Okay.”

  “I can’t help notice you get this sort of lost-puppy look when you’re around Karen. How well do you know her?”

  Mason’s cheeks burned. “Lost puppy?”

  Maggie grinned. “Kind of like you could swallow her whole without a whole lot of effort. It’s very becoming on you.”

  The young professor returned the grin. “Thanks. I think.” He tilted his head to look more closely at her. “I know her about as well as two people could after only a few months. Why?”

  Maggie took a deep breath and straightened her back. “David and Stephanie O’Neill have always been seen as martyrs around here. Smart, sweet young couple, just doing their best. Because of their hippie days, few folks ever thought of them as anything else. A little wild, but small-town naive. No one, and I mean no one, would have ever conceived of David as a ruthless businessman.”

  “But apparently he was.”

  She nodded. “But no one saw it that way. After all, the police never found any business-related reason for the crime. All these years, folks have thought it was a random act. A crime of opportunity. Because of the horrid way they’d died, Karen has been colored by that her whole life. Victim. When Evie turned out to be, well, not exactly the most loving of mother substitutes, her church, the whole town, in fact, adopted Karen. The older people around here, especially at her church, they all see her as something like their own daughter or granddaughter. Now, with all this going on, sympathies are running even higher.”

  “You think that’s about to change.”

  Maggie shrugged. “It could for some. It’s about to get personal and nasty, and I suspect the violence against Karen will probably escalate.”

  Mason glanced quickly at the house, as if to see through the walls into Karen’s room. Maggie patted his arm. “She’s okay. I just checked. Took her a sandwich, too. But I also called Tyler, and he’s on his way back over.”

  “You found out a lot of stuff?”

  “More than you can imagine. Remember that I have to do a lot of background checks on people before they come here, so we pay to maintain access to a few databases that the public doesn’t have access to. Also, as the head of the retreat’s foundation board, I work with our accountant on our taxes and the real estate investments. Jake will probably be able to provide more specifics later about some private items. However, most of what I found out online is a matter of public record. The difference between David’s personal records and what I can access now is that twenty years ago, the Internet was still an infant learning to roll over in its crib. Now it can fly.”

  A horn sounded from the front of the house, and Maggie stood up. “That’s Tyler. Get Karen and meet me in my office. Bring Jake if he shows back up.”

  Karen answered his faint knock on her door, but, unlike Fletcher had predicted, she showed no signs of having shed any tears. In fact, the look on her face showed more determination than grief, with her mouth a thin line and eyes bright and clear. He followed her to Maggie’s office, just as Jake returned and joined them. Converted from a bedroom and located in the opposite wing of the lodge, Maggie’s office was Spartan and practical. Karen and Tyler sat in the chairs in front of Maggie’s desk, while Mason stood near the door, observing.

  Maggie sat and placed her hands flat on two of the documents. “How much do you know about back taxes?”

  Karen frowned and they all shook their heads. “Not much,” Tyler said.

  Releasing a long breath, Maggie plunged right in. “David O’Neill knew a lot. In fact, one of his gifts seemed to be locating properties that were in trouble because of either unpaid property taxes or mortgage payments. I’m not sure why he set up a separation between the real estate work he did as David O’Neill and the property acquisition and refits he did as SDKM Realty Holdings, but he did. I can draw some conclusions from the facts, but they’ll be assumptions about someone I never met.”

  “Make them,” said Tyler bluntly.

  Maggie’s chin dropped a bit, and she glanced at all four quickly before continuing. Mason shifted positions so he could better watch Karen’s face, which seemed unusually reserved.

  “As David O’Neill, he conducted basic real estate transactions here in Mercer and in the surrounding areas. Nothing out of the ordinary for a one-man agency. The SDKM properties were mostly around Portsmouth or Boston, and primarily constituted foreclosure properties in historic districts that he ‘flipped.’ That is, he bought them way under market, renovated them, then sold for a substantial profit.”

  Mason cleared his throat. “Given what Jake said about Evie and her mother meddling in his financial affairs, he may have wanted to keep the more lucrative areas of his business quiet a
nd out of their reach.”

  “No doubt,” Jake muttered. “Mrs. Steen regularly dug into the business of everyone in the family. Evie has cousins who still won’t talk to her.”

  Maggie nodded at him. “My thoughts exactly.”

  Tyler shifted uncomfortably. “But real estate transactions are a matter of public record. How did he keep these quiet?”

  Maggie’s gaze moved to Karen. “Because SDKM Realty Holdings wasn’t registered to David. It was registered to Karen.”

  Karen remained still, which increased Mason’s sense of worry tenfold. In fact, she barely blinked at Maggie’s revelation, a fact that seemed to bother Maggie, as well. The retreat manager looked down a moment, as if to check her facts.

  “That’s why they didn’t find the company twenty years ago. They looked only for connections under David’s name.”

  Tyler looked puzzled. “So Karen inherited SDKM?”

  “Yes and no.” Maggie grimaced. “Technically, she already owned it, so there was nothing to inherit. David set it up similar to the way income for child stars is handled. Profit for the corporation went into an endowment fund that would be available to Karen when she turned eighteen.” She tapped the blue ledger. “The corporation took out only basic operating expenses.”

  Jake crossed his arms. “David had a lot of smarts and more than a little suspicion of his in-laws. He once told me that SDKM was created for Karen so that she could have an income independent of the family, and wouldn’t be dependent on their whims if she wanted to choose a college or pursue a career outside their approval.” He looked at Karen. “Your grandmother could be extremely domineering, and Stephanie was definitely her favorite child. David could see what that had done to Evie and Stephanie both. Mrs. Steen never forgave Evie for marrying a soldier, then having Shane without a husband, even one Mrs. Steen despised. She didn’t realize that Evie was more like her than Stephanie ever thought about being. Your father didn’t want that kind of family drama and power to run your life like it did Stephanie and Evie’s.”

  Mason shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So who inherited the control of SDKM?”

  Maggie shifted a few papers around. “That’s where it gets sticky. These are copies of their wills. They show that Stephanie’s will left everything to David, then Karen. David’s did the same in reverse—Stephanie, then Karen, including SDKM. Guardianship of Karen, in the event she was still a minor, went to Evie.”

  Shaking his head, Jake looked at the floor, his eyes distant. “You can’t imagine the reaction when that came out. The shock that went through the family when the wills were probated was life-altering. Until then, none of them had known anything about SDKM or Evie’s guardianship. Mrs. Steen was so mortified, family legend has it that the knowledge killed her.”

  Maggie leaned back in her chair before continuing to her silent audience. “But that wasn’t true, was it?”

  He shook his head, then looked up at Karen. “Your grandmother had ovarian cancer. She ignored the symptoms until it was too late. The docs found it a few months before David and Stephanie were murdered, but Elizabeth refused treatment near the end.”

  “So Evie got everything from everybody?” Tyler asked.

  Maggie held up a finger. “Wait. It gets better. When Karen was sixteen, Evie took her doctor’s and school records and requested a court evaluation, claiming that Karen would never be responsible enough at eighteen to inherit her parents’ bequests. She asked that everything be put on hold until Karen turned thirty-five. That maybe by then Karen would have a real career. The judge made it thirty instead.”

  A small boil of anger stirred in Mason’s gut. “But as executrix of the wills, that left Evie in charge of all funds.”

  “Right,” Maggie responded. “She couldn’t use them except for Karen’s welfare and management of the estate, but she did have charge of them for investment purposes.” She faced Karen again. “I found nothing to imply Evie is doing anything that’s not what she thinks is in your best interest.”

  Jake seemed to come to life again. “Now, wait a minute—”

  Mason pressed on. “But it makes for a good motive if something happens to Karen. Evie’s her next of kin.” Before anyone could respond, he turned to Karen. “Did you know any of this?”

  Karen blinked up at him as if waking from a dream. “Of course, I knew Evie had asked for the delay of the inheritance. I was in court when it happened. I begged to receive it when I was twenty-five, but she wouldn’t relent. I didn’t know what all was involved.” She looked pointedly at Jake. “But I didn’t know a lot that I should have until today. I’d never heard anything about SDKM until this morning.”

  Jake shifted his weight. “Karen, child—”

  “I can understand that,” Tyler muttered. At their surprised looks, he straightened, speaking more clearly to Karen. “Think about it from Evie’s point of view. You couldn’t remember much about your parents, not the farmhouse, nothing. Around here, they’re thought of as the hippie kids who did okay, but not great. If you think you’re asking for extra money for pottery supplies, you’re not going to try as hard as you might have if you thought you’d be inheriting millions.” He shrugged. “She’s not going to mention a corporation in your name you could already legitimately control.”

  Maggie’s voice darkened. “Evie’s not her only family, Tyler. You talk about her as if she has the only motive for the murders.”

  “Evie didn’t kill anyone!” Jake’s face reddened. “She’s not perfect, but this is my wife!”

  Silence fell, and Tyler turned to Mason. Clearly, Mason realized, they were thinking the same thing.

  Karen looked at the floor. “Jake’s right. She raised me. She loves me. She may be a little cold, but she’s not a monster.”

  “True,” Maggie said firmly. “And she’s not the only one with a motive. This goes way beyond family.” She definitely had their attention as she dug through a stack of the paperwork, pulling out three sheets of expensive-looking letterhead. One had a yellow sticky note on it. “These letters were tucked in the ledger, near the back. They’re from a man named Carver Billings.”

  Karen sat upright. “Who?”

  Maggie glanced at her computer screen. “Carver Billings. He ran a construction company in the seventies and eighties. Based in Boston but with branches in Portsmouth and Providence. From all that I can find, he competed with David for several properties, including a major historic renovation in Providence worth more than a million. David got the contract. These letters are from Billings, threatening David with a lawsuit and possible investigation, claiming that the only way David could bid so low would be if he were corrupt.” She pointed to the yellow slip. “David’s note here is a reminder to call his lawyer.” She dropped the papers on the desk. “It all became moot. David’s murder caused a default, and Billings picked up the job.”

  “That’s not all he picked up.” Karen’s eyes shone and a new determination strengthened her voice. “Evie told me yesterday. Shane sold Carver Billings the Elkins estate.”

  Frustrating woman! After the morning farmhouse visit, Karen had disappeared into that rabbit warren of a retreat, not to be seen again. The client had spotted her moving around the lodge at one point, but nothing since. Given the maze of trails in the woods of the retreat, there was no telling which direction she’d wandered in. Or if she still hid out in the lodge.

  He’d seen the police chief and that writer boy leave and head into town, each looking as if he’d swallowed a toad. Good! They deserve a little unhappiness in life. Get used to it.

  Karen, however, had not been with them, and the last time Maggie had walked in front of those glass walls, she’d been alone. Perhaps Karen had gone to the studio to work…not good. But neither was the idea that Karen would ramble about the woods or go back to the farmhouse.

  Well…if I can’t go to her, then she’ll have to come to me. A dozen different ideas came to mind, each one guaranteed to pull Karen O’Neill
out of hiding. But one in particular stood out.

  A slow smile pulled at the corners of the client’s mouth. “Do not toy with me, girl. You are not adequate in this game. Not skilled at all.”

  No need to wait and watch. Dusk would be descending soon, and a few purchases were needed before Karen could be smoked out. The client turned toward Mercer, indulging in a low chuckle at the thought.

  TEN

  An inexplicable desire to run away overwhelmed Karen as Maggie and Tyler both began peppering her with questions about Shane’s sale. Too much, it’s all too much. She stood, her desire becoming a craving that drove all other thoughts out of her head. She put up her hands, as if to ward off any more questions, blurting out the only thing that came to mind.

  “I need my clay!”

  The room fell silent, and, head down, Karen brushed by Mason. Her hands almost itched, and her fingers curled repeatedly around an invisible lump of earth as she headed toward the back door. She needed to work.

  Behind her the chatter started again, but no one followed her. Good. Truly good. She needed her solitude and her clay.

  And her God.

  Tears stung her eyes as she descended the steps of the lodge’s back deck and headed for the studio. Her muttered prayer for help, guidance and—please!—wisdom felt rapid-fire, desperate and confused. But God would know. God always knew.

  Karen yanked the studio door open. A broad, airy space, it still smelled like freshly cut wood and paint. White, noontime light showered the room. Canvases were stacked in one corner, and her pottery supplies and clay rested on a table near a set of large windows.

  Sterile. It was the first word that came to mind. Too clean. Definitely not where she wanted to work. “No, no, no,” she muttered, turning and closing the door again. “I want to go home.” She paused, then spotted the trail head, knowing all too well that it led to the logging road, then past her farm—