“No—not at all. And this has nothing to do with the dead guy that showed up in her hotel room.”
The man frowned. “Dead guy?”
A hot flush began to creep up Wes’s face. “Like I said—no connection.”
“Okay, stand up.”
Wes pushed to his feet. “I appreciate you being so understanding.”
“Turn around, please.”
Before Wes knew what was happening, the captain had pulled his hands behind his back and snapped on cuffs.
“Guys, I was just having a little fun. And you gotta admit—it looks real.”
“Wesley Wren, you’re under arrest for possession of counterfeit money and fraud.”
Wes’s head came around. “What? Did you say counterfeit money?”
“You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions,” the man continued. “Anything you say may be used against you…”
Chapter 12
AS CARLOTTA STOOD in front of the door, waiting to see if anyone would answer, a tangle of scenarios wound through her head. What if her mother opened the door? What would she say to Valerie? And would her mother hug her, or turn her away?
What if the man answered? She needed to be ready to explain her presence. And how was he connected to her parents?
What would she do if no one answered? Camp out on the driveway until someone emerged? She couldn’t very well break down the door…although Hannah probably could.
Under the blond wig, her scalp crawled. A layer of perspiration covered her body and her heart was beating so fast, she felt faint. She had just decided she should probably sit down when the door knob rattled.
Carlotta sucked in a sharp breath.
The door opened…to reveal a young girl with long, dark hair wearing a flowered sundress. “Hello,” she said, looking up at Carlotta with a wary expression.
Carlotta’s momentary confusion gave way to a logical explanation—the man was probably an employee of Randolph’s, hired to do errands, and this was the man’s home and family.
“Hi,” Carlotta said. But her next words were cut off by the appearance of the man they’d been following.
“Come away from the door,” the man said to the girl. Then he looked at Carlotta with a guarded look. “Who are you and why have you been following me?” The girl hovered behind him.
Carlotta chose her words carefully. “Randolph sent me to find you. But I only had the P.O. box number.”
“So you sent the package?”
She nodded. “I need to talk to you.” She hoped the words didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.
“I think you should go,” the man said, starting to close the door.
“Carlotta?” called a woman’s voice inside. “I need you.”
As soon as she heard it, Carlotta recognized her mother’s voice. The sound was a shock to her system. She opened her mouth, but no words came out of her constricted throat.
“I’m coming, Mommy,” the little girl said, then disappeared.
Even as her mind reeled, Carlotta realized the door was closing and along with it, the chance to find the answers to questions that haunted her every step for the past decade. She put her hand in the opening and grunted in pain when the door mashed her fingers. When the door opened a few inches and the man’s face reappeared, she maintained her hold on the door frame, despite the throbbing.
“I’m not leaving,” she said evenly.
They remained locked in combative eye contact for a few seconds, then the man conceded with a nod and opened the door.
She stepped inside a cramped foyer, gulping air to supply her trembling body. As Carlotta fought to stay upright, she vaguely registered muted lighting and neutral wall colors. Waist-high wood paneling throughout dated the house, but added a quality feel. The floors were wood, too, although she caught a glimpse of terra cotta tile in what she presumed was the kitchen.
“This way,” the man said.
She followed him toward the sound of a television into a small but comfortable room where a woman sat in a club chair, going through the box of books Carlotta had sent and talking low with the little girl. At their approach, the woman swung her head toward them, and Carlotta stumbled. It could have been her and her mother when she was that age.
Valerie Randolph was still beautiful, but her once-dark chic hair was overgrown and generously streaked with silver. Her cheekbones were still high and sharp, and her skin was smooth. Her trim form, clad in slacks and one of her signature turtlenecks, was the figure of a much younger woman.
The smile she gave them framed her brown eyes with fine lines. “We have a visitor?”
With a start, Carlotta remembered she was wearing a blond wig—of course her mother wouldn’t recognize her at first glance.
“Yes, Melanie,” the man said. “Mr. Randolph sent her to check on you.”
The expression of confusion and panic on her mother’s face set off warning bells in Carlotta’s mind.
“Where is Randolph?” her mother asked, looking all around the room, as if he might be hiding behind a lamp.
“He’s away for a while, remember?” the man said gently.
“My daddy is gone a lot,” the little girl said matter-of-factly to Carlotta.
When she spoke, a gap between her front teeth was noticeable—and familiar. Carlotta saw it every time she looked in the mirror.
She swallowed hard as the realization hit her. She and Wesley had a little sister. She looked to be about nine—the same age as Wes when their parents had disappeared. Which meant her mother had been pregnant when they left, or had become pregnant soon after.
“I like your dress,” Carlotta said to the little girl.
The girl eyed her suspiciously.
“Say thank you, Carlotta,” the woman admonished.
“Thank you,” the little girl said, then she leaned closer. “My real name is Priscilla, but Mom calls me Carlotta sometimes. I think it’s someone she used to know.”
Carlotta nodded, unable to speak.
“I want Randolph to come back,” her mother said in a childlike voice.
The little girl walked back to the chair. “He will, Mom. As soon as he can.”
Her mother nodded and held up one of the books Carlotta had sent. “Randolph bought this for me today. He always buys me books.” She smiled, opened the book and sat back in the chair, already preoccupied.
Carlotta turned to the man. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Mr. Randolph didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head, filled with dread.
He sighed. “Melanie has dementia. The doctors think it’s early onset Alzheimer’s, but they’re not sure.”
Carlotta bit down hard on her tongue to quell the sob that formed in her throat. No.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can tell from your reaction that you must know Melanie.”
Carlotta nodded, blinking back tears. “Yes. We used to be…close.”
The man adopted a defensive stance. “I just realized I didn’t catch your name.” His voice was once again full of distrust, his body language, rigid.
Across the room, her mother’s laugh rang out in merriment. “Why, that’s Carlotta, of course. Why on earth are you wearing a wig, sweetheart?”
Everyone froze.
Knowing her mother recognized her sent elation coursing through Carlotta’s chest. She went to Valerie and knelt next to the chair. “Hi, Mom,” she said gently. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”
“I’m fine, dear, can’t you see?” She touched Carlotta’s cheek and looked concerned. “Why are you crying? Peter isn’t being mean to you, is he?”
Carlotta smiled through her tears. “No. Peter is good to me.”
“Where is your engagement ring?” her mother asked, touching Carlotta’s hand.
“It’s in a safe place,” she assured her.
“Good. I worry about a girl in high school wearing such a valuable piece of jewelry.”
Sadly, Carlotta realized her mother’s mind had rewound to the time before she and Randolph had left.
Valerie smiled. “Is the wig for drama class?”
“That’s right,” Carlotta said, touching her blond hair.
“You were always such an entertainer. And a beautiful dancer. Your ballet teacher says you could be on Broadway.” Valerie sighed. “Of course, not if you marry Peter.”
“You don’t want me to marry Peter?”
“I don’t want you to give up your dreams…like I did.”
Carlotta was rapt. Her mother had never talked about a life she might’ve had if she hadn’t married Randolph.
“I take ballet,” Priscilla announced to Carlotta, then wedged herself between the two women, crowding out Carlotta. “Aren’t I a good dancer, Mommy?”
Valerie smiled lovingly at Priscilla. “Yes, you’re a wonderful dancer, didn’t you just hear what I said?” She stroked the little girl’s hair. “Your ballet teacher says you could be on Broadway someday.” Then Valerie looked confused, as if two memories had collided.
“Mom,” Carlotta said, hoping to bring her back to the present. “Wesley is with me.”
Her mother squinted. “Is that a friend of yours, dear?”
She choked back a sob. Wesley would be devastated if their mother didn’t recognize him. “No, Mom, Wesley is my little brother. Remember?”
Valerie picked up a brush from a table next to the chair and began to comb the little girl’s hair. “Your daddy and I have talked about having another child, and if it’s a boy, we’ll name him Wesley. Would you like to have a brother or a sister?”
Priscilla made a thoughtful noise. “Not really. I like things the way they are.”
The girl was precocious, Carlotta observed.
“But I get lonely sometimes,” Valerie said. “Your father is gone so much.”
“But he brings you nice books.” The little girl talked as if she were used to cheering up her mother.
“Yes, he does.” Valerie said, stroking the brush through the little girl’s hair, over and over, like she used to do when Carlotta was little.
“Mom,” Carlotta said, speaking quietly, “before Dad left, did he give you anything to keep safe for him?”
Valerie acted as if she hadn’t heard her, just kept brushing Priscilla’s hair.
“Mom, this is really important,” Carlotta said. “Did Randolph hide anything, maybe papers from Mashburn & Tully, the place he used to work? Try to remember.”
Valerie didn’t react, seemed to be in her own world.
Priscilla turned haughty eyes to Carlotta. “She’s not going to answer. She doesn’t know you.”
Feeling like an intruder, Carlotta pushed to her feet to walk back to the man who had been watching everything with a somewhat befuddled expression.
“You’re Melanie’s daughter?”
“Yes. My name is Carlotta.”
“That explains a lot. Priscilla is accustomed to answering to either name.”
“She looks very much like I did at that age.”
“And Mr. Randolph is your father?”
“Yes. We’ve been out of touch for a long time, until recently.”
“I’m Birch, by the way,” he said, extending his hand. “I live here and take care of things for the Randolphs.”
She shook his hand. “Thank you, Birch, for looking after my mother. How long have you known them?”
“Going on two years now. Mr. Randolph is in trouble, isn’t he?”
“He was arrested in Atlanta…and while he was in custody, he was attacked. He’s…not well.”
Birch covered his mouth with his hand. “Atlanta—is that where you live?”
“Yes.”
He sighed. “It has something to do with his day trading, doesn’t it?”
So that’s what her father had been up to. “It’s connected to his former job,” she hedged. “In the short time Randolph and I talked, he said he had proof that would exonerate him of the charges, but he didn’t tell me what it was. Do you know if he gave my mother something for safekeeping?”
Birch shook his head. “No. I’ve always had a feeling something wasn’t on the up and up with their situation, but I didn’t want to pry. Bill pays me well, and Melanie and Prissy are like family to me.”
Suddenly Priscilla appeared at his side. “Mom is asleep.”
Carlotta looked over to see her mother had dozed off in the chair with a tiny smile on her face. She drank her in—it was surreal to be near her. And heartbreaking to know she wasn’t well.
“I’ll get her a blanket,” Birch said, then left the room.
Priscilla looked up. “So, you’re my sister?”
She smiled down. “So it seems. My name is Carlotta.”
“Mom gets us mixed up.”
Carlotta nodded, then pointed to a mirror on the wall and leaned down so their faces were side by side. “See?” She grinned to reveal the gap in her front teeth.
Priscilla showed her gap. “We have the same smile.”
“That’s right. And when I take off my wig, we’ll look like twins.”
“We can’t be twins,” the girl said pointedly. “You’re old.”
Carlotta blinked. “I’m not that old.”
The girl’s eyes narrowed. “You made Mommy upset.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“But you did anyway. You really should go now.” Priscilla stared at her, unblinking.
Carlotta bit down on her tongue. Little Miss Priss was a force to be reckoned with.
Birch returned with the blanket and tucked it around their mother’s sleeping form. “Are you hungry, Prissy?”
She nodded.
Birch looked at Carlotta. “Would you like to have dinner with us?”
“She has to go,” Priscilla said, swinging her gaze back to Carlotta. “Don’t you?”
She was going to have to tread carefully around this one. “Actually, a friend is waiting in the car. Would it be alright if I come back tomorrow?”
“We’ll be busy,” Priscilla said, crossing her arms.
“Prissy, mind your manners,” the man chided.
“It’s fine,” Carlotta assured him, then nodded toward the door. “Goodbye, Prissy. I hope you and I will become good friends.”
“Birch is the only person who calls me Prissy.”
“Good to know,” Carlotta said with a nod. “I’ll see you again soon.”
“Or not.” Priscilla turned and marched out of the room.
The girl knew how to make an exit.
“I’m sorry about that,” Birch said. “She’s actually a sweet child. Very smart—maybe too smart.”
“She’s protective of her mother, and that’s understandable. She seems mature for her age.”
“Unfortunately, she has to be,” Birch murmured.
A pang of sympathy barbed through her chest. Randolph and Valerie’s actions had forced all their children to grow up sooner than they were prepared for.
Carlotta gave her sleeping mother one last look and touched her silky hair, just to prove to herself this wasn’t a dream, like the trip she’d once taken across time thanks to some powerful painkillers. In that epic dream, she’d gotten a glimpse of what her life might’ve been like if her parents hadn’t left her and Wesley. In that version of her life, her mother had been a high-functioning alcoholic…but wasn’t that preferable to the future Valerie was facing now?
She walked to the door with Birch. “There’s so much I need to discuss with you. Can we exchange phone numbers?”
“Of course.”
“Also,” Carlotta said, choosing her words carefully, “I don’t mean to frighten you, but my father has enemies who might be looking for something to leverage against him. I need to figure out how to safely relocate my mother and sister. In the meantime, be careful who you open the door to.”
“Says the woman who practically forced her way inside,” Birch said.
“I’m sorry.
But I hope you understand why I had to.”
“I’m not sure I understand everything that’s going on, but I know I can trust you. Mr. Randolph said this day might come—that the Carlotta Melanie talked about would show up. He was right.”
If Randolph had intermittently monitored the listening device he’d planted in the kitchen of the townhome, he must’ve known she was determined to get to the bottom of their disappearance.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised. “Call me if anything out of the ordinary happens.”
“You mean anything else out of the ordinary.”
Instinctively, she liked Birch. If Randolph had chosen him to live here and watch Valerie and Priscilla in his absences, he must’ve had a great deal of confidence in the man.
She said goodbye, and when she walked outside, dusk was fading to darkness. The cool night air bathed her face as she made her way back to the SUV on wobbly legs. Hannah was on the phone, but put it down and sprang across the console to pull the door handle.
Carlotta climbed inside, feeling spent. This had to go down as the most momentous day of her life.
“I was getting ready to call the cavalry,” Hannah said. “What the fuck happened?”
Carlotta leaned her head back and gave Hannah the five-minute version.
“You have a sister? Holy crap, your life is a telenovela.”
“I know.” She pulled on her seatbelt. “Let’s get back to the hotel.”
Hannah stared. “You found your mother and you’re leaving?”
“I have to get Wes and bring him back here. I can’t deal with this alone and he deserves to know.”
Her phone rang, and Wes’s name flashed on the screen. “Wait—this is Wes. Oh, Hannah, he’s going to be so happy.” She connected the call. “Hi, Wes. I was just going to call you. I have such good news.”
“Sorry to cut you short, Sis, but I don’t have much time…and my news isn’t that great.”
She gripped the phone. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been arrested.”
Her stomach fell. “Arrested? For what?”
“Oh, shit,” Hannah muttered.
“It’s complicated,” Wes said. “Can you call Jack? And Liz?”
Carlotta closed her eyes. “Okay.”
“Thanks, Sis. Now you can tell me your good news.”
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