by Don Prichard
Sighing, she straightened and looked around the office. Until a year and a half ago it had belonged to her husband. Leroy had changed everything in the room except the suite where she was sitting. Franklin’s massive mahogany desk was gone, the matching credenza too. In their place were a smaller desk, four overflowing bookcases, and three filing cabinets. Please, don’t tell me Franklin’s furniture is in Neal’s office. It would be just like her brother-in-law to request the furniture on the basis of bogus sentimentality, and just like Leroy to give him everything.
Leroy sat down across from her. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and beamed at her. “I want to hear all about your adventures this past year, Betty. But first, let me assure you that your money from Franklin’s portion of the law firm is secure and should be available soon.”
Betty pinched her lips together. She needed that money for her plan. “Why the delay?”
“No problems. Simply the torture of everything taking more time than it should.”
“I don’t like being financially dependent on my sister and brother-in-law.”
“Tell you what. I’ll have my secretary write you a check for as much as you’d like. You can pay the company back when your money’s released. How about that?”
Her sister had told her she’d come back from the island changed. Feistier, she’d said. Betty toned her voice down. “Thank you, Leroy. I’d also like the phone number of the private investigator your company uses. MacBride, is it? I want him to help me find a lost friend.” She briefly told him about Eve’s disappearance from the Manila hospital. “There’s another matter too. I’d like to draw up a new will.”
Leroy’s eyebrows rose. “Replace the one with Crystal as your beneficiary and Neal as her trustee?”
“Yes, I’m adding a second beneficiary and changing trustees.”
Leroy sat back. “I’m in court the next two weeks. Is this something Neal can take care of?”
“Absolutely not. It’s none of his business.”
For a second, Leroy looked at a loss. Finally he said, “Then I’ll make it my priority.”
“Not in two weeks, Leroy. If you’re too busy I can find someone else.”
The muscles in Leroy’s jaws tightened. “You don’t want to take Franklin’s business to his competitors.”
Betty blinked. She certainly wasn’t disloyal to Franklin. “All right then, let’s get that coffee and start in right now.”
And tomorrow, with MacBride’s number in hand, Jake would set up an appointment to start the search for Eve.
Chapter 10
Neal Oakleigh put on his suit coat and straightened his tie. He popped a mint into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it, popped in another. Nothing worse than cigar-breath in a private conversation with his senior partner. Hopefully, Snyder was summoning him to do something worthy of inclusion in the company name on the office door. Parker, Snyder, and Oakleigh, Attorneys at Law. Or better yet, Snyder and Oakleigh, Attorneys at Law.
Outside his window, Detroit’s Monday morning traffic was already snarled at the intersection. He walked down the hall to Leroy Snyder’s office and found Leroy waiting for him on the red couch. So, this was to be an off-the-record chat. Neal’s chest puffed out. It was conversations like this that had led to his becoming a partner in the firm. He sat down in a chair and made himself comfortable. Leroy wasn’t one to waste time with small talk.
“Betty Parker came by my office.”
Neal’s heartbeat quickened. He’d seen his sister-in-law in Leroy’s office, but she had said nothing about the visit when she came home. He’d wondered about it all weekend. “Everything okay?”
“I have some concerns.”
Neal’s face stiffened. Had she complained about him taking over her house? He’d thought she was dead, for Pete’s sake—not off on some island in the Philippines playing Robinson Crusoe with his granddaughter and two other nut cases. He cleared his throat. “Concerns?”
“Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t share Betty’s business with you. But I’m involving you in this matter, Neal, because you’re a family member. I feel a deep obligation to Betty because she is Franklin’s widow.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Betty asked me to take several actions that alarm me. One of them entails finding a missing woman who has amnesia.”
“Eva Gray—Betty told me about her.” Neal bobbed his head to show he was in the loop.
“Yes. Betty wants MacBride Investigations to contact her to start the search. You’ve worked with Mack, right?”
“Numerous times. He’s provided invaluable information for several of my cases.”
“Betty wants Mack to meet with a man in Indianapolis named Jacob Chalmers. That’s where you come in.”
Neal’s stomach tightened. What is Betty up to? Snyder wouldn’t be talking to him like this if Betty simply fancied unearthing a friend.
“Get ahold of Mack and tell him we want to hire him for the same work. Two birds with one stone—although our bird will be confidential.”
“You want him to keep us apprised of his search for Eva Gray?”
“More importantly, I want him to uncover any dirt on Jacob Chalmers. I suspect he’s after Betty’s money.”
***
The next day, Neal Oakleigh met Ian “Mack” MacBride for an urgent appointment at Neal’s favorite downtown Detroit restaurant. The private investigator had the face of a cherub and the mind of a rocket scientist. The combination of innocence and intelligence often cinched a case’s win when Mack took the witness stand. Juries hung on Mack’s every word, mouths gaping like nestlings for a worm. His reputation for uncovering hard facts made his evidence and testimony untouchable.
Neal waited for the waitress to bring their sandwiches and pour coffee before jumping past the small talk. “Mack, I’m bringing you a tough nut to crack.”
“Good.”
“This guy’s so tough he makes a baby’s dimpled behind look like a warthog’s.”
Mack laughed.
“Only it’s the other way around. He’s a warthog, but he’s got my sister-in-law believing he’s the baby’s behind.”
“Franklin Parker’s widow—Betty?” Mack whistled and paused to add cream and sugar to his coffee. His spoon clinked against the ceramic mug. “I heard she’d risen from the dead. Shipwreck, something like that? She’s worth a few million, isn’t she?”
“At least. And this warthog will convince you he doesn’t know a thing about the money.”
“Wants to marry her?”
“No, she wants to adopt him.”
Mack whistled again, this time an octave higher. “How’d he manage that?”
“Of all things, they were marooned on an island together.” Neal tapped the manila folder on the table between them. “It’s all in here. He was quite the hero and weasled his way right into Betty’s heart. Into my granddaughter Crystal’s, too. She was with them, plus a woman named Eva Gray. It’s quite a story.”
Mack looked hungrier for the folder than he did for his sandwich. “Want me to expose him?”
“Find me anything, anything I can use to catapult him out of Betty’s life. And Crystal’s.”
Mack reached for the folder, but Neal put his hand on it. “There’s more.”
“Okay, you talk, I’ll eat.” Mack bit into his Philly steak sandwich and used his napkin to blot juice off his mouth and chin.
“Betty wants to hire you to find this other castaway, Eva Gray. She has amnesia.”
Mack took another bite. “This gets better and better.”
The story or the Philly? Neal eyed his own sandwich, and saliva sprang to his tongue. “Betty wants to send you to Jake Chalmers—her prospective son.”
Mack stopped chewing. “Jake Chalmers? I have an appointment with him tomorrow.”
“I knew it was soon. Only you’re not supposed to know about the adoption, mind you. When you meet with him, that’s when you start working for me.” He corre
cted himself. “For Parker and Snyder.” In his mind he added and Oakleigh.
He slid the manila folder to Mack. “Everything you need to know is in here.”
Except for one thing—and Mack didn’t need to know about that. Neal grabbed his Reuben and took a big bite. By including Jacob Chalmers in her will—by planning to adopt him, for Pete’s sake!—and, worse, replacing Neal as Crystal’s trustee, Betty had forced him to take Chalmers on as a personal foe.
***
Jake and Mack MacBride carried glasses of iced tea from Jake’s kitchen to the patio and sat in two wooden chairs at a matching round table. Overhead, a tall cottonwood tree showered specks of sunlight on their faces and arms and across the pattern of weathered orange bricks and redwood furniture.
The pungent smell of mowed grass, freshly baked in the oven of the noonday sun, permeated the air. Mack set his glass on the table, and the ice cubes crackled in the heat. He pulled a black leather notepad from his shirt pocket. “Since Mrs. Parker referred you to me, I called her last night for a confirmation. I hope you don’t mind. In our conversation, she shared the basic information you two are interested in.”
“Go ahead and read it to me.” Jake folded his arms across his chest. Really? This fresh-faced kid was competent to find Eve?
“Okay, you want me to locate Eva Gray—nickname, Eve—a single, childless, Caucasian female, age 34, born May 3, 1948, assumed to be a citizen of the United States, occupation unknown. She suffered an injury to the head and memory loss on June 14 of this year in the Philippines, and was flown comatose to the United States for further medical help on June 16.”
“Yes.”
“She was a passenger along with you, Betty Parker, and Crystal Oakleigh on the cruise ship Gateway sailing out of Apra Harbor, Guam, a year ago on June 12, 1981. Destination: Manila, the Philippines.”
“Yes.”
Mack flitted a glance at Jake’s folded arms and back to his notes. “Detective Lee of the Philippine National Police informed you U.S. Marshals escorted her back to the United States.”
“That’s correct.”
“I understand Detective Lee gave you the Marshals’ phone number. May I see it?”
“I’ve already called them. They refused to help. Said not to call again.”
Mack nodded. “They won’t help me either, but the phone number will.”
Jake frowned at the smile teasing the corners of Mack’s mouth. He fished the number out of his wallet and handed it to Mack.
“Area code three-one-two. Chicago.” Mack gave the phone number back.
The air in Jake’s lungs stilled. Chicago was only three hours north of Indy.
“That’s the Seventh District,” Mack continued. “It’s based in Chicago but covers Indiana, Illinois, and Wisconsin.”
Jake nodded encouragingly. Remembered to breathe.
“Any thoughts on why U.S. Marshals would be interested in Eva Gray?”
Jake tipped up a weak smile. “She’s in law enforcement?”
Mack’s eyelids flickered. “Possibly. Equally possible she’s a criminal.”
Heat ran up Jake’s neck to his cheeks. “No. I lived with her on that island for a year. I know her. She’s not a criminal.”
“If you want to find her, we need to consider that possibility before we dismiss it.”
Jake put his elbows on the table and rubbed his hands over his face. His skin was warm next to the two jagged scars on his right cheek. No doubt the scars were glowing like neon signs against his flushed skin. “All right, for the sake of argument.”
“Mrs. Parker said ‘hooligans’—to use her words—came to the island and captured Eve. Two of them died on the island before the others took Eve away on a yacht. Could the marshals have arrested her for the two deaths on the island?”
Jake’s head shot up. “She didn’t kill anyone. One of them chased her up a tree and fell to his death. She wasn’t even around when the other died.”
“What happened to him?”
“I told Detective Lee about it. I used a military take-down maneuver on the man, and evidently—accidently—it killed him.”
One of Mack’s eyebrows rose. “The detective dismissed both deaths as accidental?”
“Yes, and he didn’t hold Eve responsible for the deaths of the two men on the yacht either.”
Beads of sweat flecked Mack’s forehead like miniature Bubble Wrap. He chugged down his iced tea, looking for all the world like a fourteen-year-old fresh off the field from a close soccer game. He set his empty glass on the table and grinned. “Mr. Chalmers, I’d say we can put prisons at the bottom of our list and start with the U.S. Marshals’ office in Chicago.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll drive up there tonight, get started tomorrow. You and Mrs. Parker can expect a report no later than the end of next week.”
As Jake walked Mack to the front door, an uneasy feeling gnawed at his stomach. He watched the private eye drive off. Mack’s departure seemed abrupt. Something had flip-flopped in the interview about Eve, and it wasn’t the mere flip of prisons to the bottom of Mack’s list.
He recalled the sudden cock of Mack’s eyebrow when Jake told him Detective Lee had dismissed the two men’s deaths on the island as accidental.
He stiffened. Mack’s reaction, slight as it was, said the man had found the information significant. But why?
Chapter 11
How could he tell his children he was in love with Eve?
Jake stared out the plane’s window at the cloudbank shrouding Stewart International Airport below. He sighed and rolled the airline magazine in his hand into a tube. Ginny had died over a year ago. He loved her, always would. Her death had sent dark storm clouds roiling over his soul. He had lived in the shadow of their gloom until Eve brought back the sun. Could they understand that?
Eve. He ached to see her, to know she was okay and hold her in his arms. The doctor said she’d shown symptoms of amnesia. Was it permanent? Where had the Marshals taken her, and why? Why as good as kidnap her and hide their destination?
The airline magazine crunched between his fingers. He relaxed his fists and flattened the magazine onto his lap. No matter how long it took, he would find her. He and Detective Lee had run into a dead end with the U.S. Marshals, but that wouldn’t stop him. MacBride would make short work of locating her—get into places Jake couldn’t, root out the details he and Betty didn’t know.
He sighed. Meanwhile, he had to decide when to tell the kids about Eve. For them, the death of their mother would be as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. They would see him in the airport in a few minutes but not their mom. The reality of her never coming back would crash down on them then. How could he impose the topic of Eve on them?
He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d wait until the time was right.
The plane landed and he filed out with the other passengers. People of different ages and heights and shapes milled around the gate, gawking, murmuring, here and there faces lighting up and bodies meeting in brief hugs. He searched the crowd for Brett and Dana.
Dana’s eyes snagged his. Her face crumpled, her mouth sagged open, and her chest heaved in jagged sobs. Jake caught his own breath, and tears rushed to his eyes. Next to her stood Brett, eyes soaking up his father, his lower lip quivering, chin jerking. Jake cried out. Their year of separation smashed against him, and he rushed to crush his children against him and never let go.
***
The three of them sat in Jake’s hotel room, stomachs stuffed with a celebratory steak dinner. Even more savory for Jake was the update on the twins’ year at West Point Military Academy. He and Ginny had taken them to the college the day before leaving for the Philippines. He’d expected to hear on a regular basis about the kids’ activities and studies and friends. Had looked forward to it. Instead, he had missed it all.
“Dad, tell us what happened to you and Mom.”
The air in Jake’s lungs stilled at Dana’s request. He drew in a deep breath. His turn to update the
m.
“After leaving you we flew to Hawaii for a few days, then to Guam.” The tension in the twins’ faces told him to skip the details of that part of the trip and get to the hard part.
“We boarded a small cruise ship in Apra that carried about two dozen passengers from Guam to the Philippines. Third day out, I was in my cabin reading when a crew member came and told me the captain wanted to see me—said there was a problem. The captain pointed to two small boats on the water about a hundred yards apart. Said all the passengers, including your mother, were in them. Told me at gunpoint to jump overboard.”
Dana and Brett were so still he suspected they were holding their breaths.
“I’d barely surfaced when he pointed at the two boats with one hand and gave a signal with his other. The boats …” He stopped. A lump the size of a boulder rose in his chest and lodged in his throat. He squeezed the last three words past it. “The boats exploded.”
Dana gasped. Brett’s face paled.
“It was deliberate?” Brett’s voice was barely audible.
“Yes.”
“Why?” Dana cried out.
“I don’t know, sweetie.” How many times had he asked himself that question?
Silence hung heavy in the room. Then Dana choked out, “What about Mom?”
Jake took another deep breath. Reliving the events scraped his soul raw. “I swam to the first boat and found her. She was dead. All the passengers were. The explosion collapsed their lungs. They died immediately.”
Dana wept, and Brett put his arm around her shoulders. “Go on, Dad,” he rasped.
“The boats were ‘lighters,’ designed with sealed air pockets to float high on the water to explore beaches. The explosions damaged both ends of the lighter your mom was on, but it was still floating because of the air pockets. I retrieved it and sailed to an island, where I discovered three other passengers who had escaped the explosion.”
“How?”
“They’d been in the second lighter. Two of them fell overboard and the third jumped in to rescue them. The rough waters carried them far enough away to avoid the blast.”