by Lisa Bork
“TMI, Cory. TMI.”
He blushed. “That’s not what I meant.”
I laughed. “I know. Take a break. Come in the office and have a cup of coffee.”
He poured fresh coffee into his travel mug from the pot we kept going all day in the showroom. It was for him primarily, since I didn’t drink coffee and Asdale Auto Imports attracted very few walk-in customers. I wished I’d stopped to pick up donuts on the way into work, but it had been his turn. He’d forgotten, another sign he wasn’t himself.
“What’s bothering you, Cory? Are you worried about Brennan and his nightmares?”
He sighed. “Not exactly. But I’ve been thinking about what you told me this morning. I keep replaying our conversation with Catherine yesterday, about how Matthew looks like Monica Gleason. And now you told me Brennan has nightmares about a baby. You know, I couldn’t take my eyes off Matthew Gleason the day we met him. There’s something about him …”
I waited for Cory to continue. When he gazed at the ceiling instead, I prompted him along. “I noticed you stared at him, twice. What is it about him?”
“The way he holds his head. His smile. His mannerisms. His voice.”
“What about them?”
Cory set his coffee on the desk and leaned in. “He reminds me of Brennan.”
I felt my jaw go slack. “Brennan?”
Cory nodded. “I think Brennan is Matthew’s father.”
TWENTY-FOUR
WE DEBATED VISITING BRENNAN at the jail to ask him if Cory’s theory might be even a remote possibility. Cory couldn’t rule it out. Brennan had told him he and Monica didn’t experience fireworks on the night of their senior prom. That didn’t mean they’d experienced nothing. Brennan hadn’t really specified. Cory hadn’t asked.
In the end, we called Catherine Thomas, because she’d asked us not to speak to Brennan. I put her on the speakerphone.
“You want me to ask him what?”
Cory replied, “You have to ask him if it’s possible he fathered a child with Monica.”
Catherine took a moment to respond. “I’ve become Dr. Ruth. All right, I’ll ask him. You know I won’t share the answer with you.”
Cory frowned.
I jumped in. “That’s okay. Just ask. It could put a whole new slant on everything.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” She hung up.
A couple of other ideas had occurred to me. I hit the button to kill the speakerphone and leaned back in my executive chair. “Let’s theorize, Cory.”
His brow shot up, and his eyes glittered with curiosity. He settled back in his chair. “Okay.”
“Let’s say Brennan and Monica created Matthew. Then they broke up. Monica moved on to Wayne, which upset Brennan. Did he know about Matthew?”
Cory shook his head vehemently. “No way. Brennan would have wanted to be Matthew’s father. He and I have talked about how great it would be to have children. He would have wanted to be part of Matthew’s life.”
“Now he wants to be a dad. Then he was only eighteen. He might have viewed things differently at that age.”
Cory shook his head again. “I’m sure, Jo. He would never have walked away from Matthew.”
“Okay. So he didn’t know he was a father, but did Monica know Brennan was Matthew’s father?” As soon as I posed the question, I knew the answer.
Cory didn’t. “Wouldn’t his name be on the birth certificate if he was?”
My past problems with birth certificates returned to haunt me. Ray and I had lost out on an adoption in part due to lies written on a certificate. “I think you can say ‘unknown’ in place of naming a father. Either way, if Brennan’s name had been on the certificate, I think he would have been contacted about Matthew’s custody when Monica was killed in the crash.”
Cory rubbed his forehead. “He was unconscious for days after the crash. Maybe they made the decision without him.”
“They would have had to ask him when he woke up. He was an adult. No one could make the decision for him. If he is Matthew’s father, I think his name’s not on the certificate.”
“But Wayne’s is?”
“Maybe. He might have agreed it was best for James and Suzanne Gleason to raise Matthew, if they were already married by then and willing. Or maybe they knew Monica would have wanted it that way. He still got to be godfather.” I weighed the theory mentally for a moment or two. I liked it. “Okay, say we’re right about Matthew’s parentage. Then what did the four Musketeers argue about at the reunion?”
Cory considered my question. “Brennan’s never mentioned that Monica had a baby. It could have been when Monica told Brennan about Matthew. Maybe he and Wayne had words.”
I weighed his theory and liked it, too. “Brennan could have been upset if Wayne hadn’t married Monica or taken responsibility for the child. Or maybe that’s when Monica decided to drop the bomb that Matthew was really his child. It would be incredibly upsetting to learn you fathered a child you didn’t know about, upsetting enough to affect Brennan’s driving on the way home.”
Cory leaned forward excitedly. “Exactly. Maybe he and Monica argued in the car about why she never told him.”
“Or about whether he really was the father.”
“Either way, it would be almost impossible to keep his mind on the road under that kind of sudden stress.”
I nodded in agreement, shivering involuntarily as I relived our recent near-brush with death when Cory was distracted at the wheel a few days ago.
Cory grimaced. “One problem.”
“What?”
“Why didn’t Elizabeth Potter or Beth Smith or whatever the hell her name is tell Brennan about the baby after he came out of his coma? She must have heard everything.”
“Because she hated him. She must have suffered terribly after the accident with all the surgeries and therapy.”
“Which is why she tried to pin James Gleason’s death on Brennan. To make him suffer the way she suffered. She took advantage of the opportunity to get him in trouble when it was presented. James either stumbled into the road when the crowd surged or she pushed him. We know Brennan didn’t push him.”
I liked this addition to the new theory. It made sense.
Cory’s knee started to bounce.
“What?”
“I like the whole theory, but I can’t figure one thing out.” He hesitated.
“Go on.”
“We know why Brennan was at the Grand Prix festival. We know why the Gleasons were there. Wayne Engle was a gear head, so it makes sense he’d attend. But why was Elizabeth Potter or Beth Smith or whatever her name is there? What are the odds she’s a big car race fan? She was seriously injured in a car accident, endured multiple surgeries, and probably suffered through hours of painful physical therapy. She should hate cars. So why was she there, right on the spot when James landed in the street?”
For the life of me, I had no answer for that.
_____
Cory spent the rest of the afternoon finishing Mrs. Mooney’s Volkswagen. I spent half of it paying invoices and bills and the other half wondering what to do about Danny and Ray. Their relationship had deteriorated rapidly. I didn’t know what to do or say to improve the situation. Paying Mr. Phillips’ bail money would free him to make some decisions for himself and Danny, but I feared he might make the wrong decisions regarding Danny. After losing my mother, my father, and the baby Ray and I hoped to adopt, I dreaded having another person taken away from me, one of the many reasons I overlooked Erica’s nonsense all these years. She was unpredictable but she was with me, both literally and figuratively. I wanted Danny with me, too.
And I wanted the agreeable, rational, and loving Ray with me too, not the defensive, demanding, prickly one he’d become lately. No doubt he felt guilty about arresting Danny’s father and angry at being so helpless to control his own relationship with Danny. Any affection displayed between Danny and I made him all the grumpier. I didn’t know if he was jealous
or in need of more attention from me. Maybe he wanted me to consider him first in my thoughts and actions. I know he’d felt jealous when Erica came first in the past. But in my mind, Danny and Erica were more needy and, therefore, always had to come first.
Normally, I would call Isabelle to talk through all my concerns and for advice on family issues. Today I’d reached for the phone at least three times already, then pulled my hand back, fearing she’d repeat her allegations against Jack and I’d have to tell her about the surprise party, still days away. I hoped Jack had finished his plans for that and wouldn’t have any more suspicious phone calls or unexplained disappearances.
The fourth time I reached for the phone, I hit the speed dial for Isabelle. I couldn’t hide from her for two weeks. I might as well call her today.
“Hi, I was going to call you. I heard about Brennan’s second arrest this morning from my receptionist. She said it was on TV Saturday night. What’s going on?”
I filled Isabelle in on all the news, but not our theories, which were only gossipy speculation until we had some kind of confirmation.
“Wow. How’s Brennan holding up?”
“When he calls Cory, he says not to worry. Catherine’s representing him, and we all know she’s a winner.”
“Not in the game of love.”
I smiled. “True, lucky for me.”
“How are Ray and Danny?”
Apparently Mr. Phillips’ arrest hadn’t been newsworthy. I filled her in.
“Oh my god, Ray slapped the cuffs on him right there at the game? Poor Danny. Are the kids at school teasing him?”
“He hasn’t mentioned any problems at school. The problem is between him and Ray. The whole situation has destroyed their relationship. Danny is sullen, withdrawn, and uncooperative when Ray’s home. Ray lectures him on responsibility and piles on the jobs. Danny resents it. They don’t even speak. I don’t know what to do.”
“If it makes you feel any better, my father was incredibly hard on my brothers when we were growing up. They hated him then but look how productive they are now. And everyone still sits down to dinner together every Sunday night. My brothers wouldn’t miss it.”
“That’s true, but your brothers only had one father figure. Danny has two.”
“Should you bail out Mr. Phillips? Then you could all sit down and talk together.”
“I’m afraid he would jump bail and take Danny with him. He doesn’t ever want to go back to prison. He almost got killed there.”
Isabelle clicked her tongue. “Catherine is his attorney. Can she get him off?”
I weighed the evidence against Mr. Phillips. The only real evidence against him was the fact my Ferrari disappeared the same day he did—and of course, his known history of car theft. Everything else I knew of was supposition, and only Catherine and I knew about it. “I’d like to think so.”
“Then keep taking Danny to visit him and just wait out the month until his trial. Ray and Danny love each other. They’ll simmer down and remember that soon enough.”
“What if Catherine gets Mr. Phillips off and he takes Danny away?”
She didn’t immediately reply. Eventually, she heaved a huge sigh. “Jolene, I’ve realized we can’t control everything in our lives and there’s no sense in driving yourself crazy trying. Things happen for a reason.”
I wondered if she might also be referring to her own situation. “You’re right. I’ll sit tight and see what happens.”
“Good.”
“So how are you?” I closed my eyes, fearing I’d hear the worst.
“I’m doing really well. The ad I shot for the United Way came out fabulous. They love it. I love it. Donations are going to pour in this year.”
“Awesome.”
“Cassidy is all excited about Halloween already. She wants to be a princess. We’re going to look at costumes this weekend.”
“Great. She’ll be adorable. Take lots of pictures.” Would she ever get around to telling me about Jack?
“I decided to enroll in a Spanish class. It might help open up a new customer base for my agency.”
“Great.” I waited through a few moments of silence.
She sighed softly. “Jack and I are doing okay. I don’t know what happened the last few months, but everything’s back to normal now. It’s weird, but I’m not questioning it. I’m happy.”
“I’m happy to hear it. I knew you two would be okay.”
“You and Ray and Danny are going to be fine, too. The three of you belong together, I know it.”
As I hung up the phone, I hoped Isabelle was right.
TWENTY-FIVE
THINGS WERE NO BETTER at our house Tuesday night or Wednesday morning. Danny complied when Ray asked him to mow the lawn after dinner on Tuesday, but he broke the weed whacker. Ray thought he did it intentionally. I wasn’t so sure, since the machine had been tricky at best for me to use in the past. Wednesday, Danny’s cereal bowl slipped from his hand and smashed on the floor, sending shards of white Pfaltzgraff everywhere. Danny apologized immediately. Ray wanted him to sweep up the remains and wash the milk splashes off the surrounding floors and walls, but Danny would have missed his bus. I cleaned it up instead, which seemed to irritate Ray more. It was a relief to have them both out of the house. I ran off to work as quickly as I could to escape the negative vibes they left behind.
The phone rang as soon as I finished poking the code into the shop’s alarm keypad. I picked up the extension on the conference table.
“Asdale Auto Imports. This is Jolene. How may I help you?”
The caller hung up.
I walked toward my office.
The phone rang again. I reached my desk, sat, and answered on the fourth ring.
Again, I heard a click after my greeting.
Cory sauntered through the front door, donuts in hand. He carried the bag into my office and deposited it on the desk with a theatrical flourish. “I remembered today.”
That was good, especially since it was my turn and I’d forgotten. Ray and Danny had addled my brain.
The phone rang again. I made no move to answer.
Cory laid his jacket on the back of the chair. He eyed me. The phone continued to ring.
“Is this a new sales approach, Jo? Cuz I gotta tell you, I don’t think it’s going to work.”
“Someone hung up on me twice today already.”
“Then allow me.”
He picked up the phone and said nothing, listening. After a moment, he set it down. “It’s probably kids playing. They won’t call back.”
I didn’t bother to remind him all the kids were in school, or at least, they should be. This trick was juvenile, but I doubted a kid was behind it.
The phone rang again. Cory snatched the receiver from the cradle and reeled off his standard greeting. He closed his eyes and held out the phone. “That’s really annoying.”
“It sure is.” We sat and watched the phone for a moment or two, waiting for it to ring again. “We’ll let it go to voicemail this time.”
It didn’t ring again.
Cory unfolded the bag of donuts and held them out to me. “Why would anyone waste time with that kind of behavior?”
I extracted a cinnamon fried cake and broke it in half. “Maybe they want to know if we’re both here.”
“Who would care?”
“I’m not sure.” I took a bite and chewed slowly. “Erica and Maury were going to Wayne Engle’s funeral this morning. It starts in an hour in Binghamton.”
Cory swallowed a gulp of his coffee. “We can’t get there in an hour. It would be over if we left now.”
“That’s my point. I wonder if someone was calling to see if we were here instead of on our way there.”
“You think they’re afraid we’d be forward enough to show up at the funeral and ask more questions?”
“Either that or someone is going and doesn’t want us to see them there.”
“Who would that be? I’m sure they’ve all co
operated with the sheriff’s department by now.”
“We never met Suzanne Gleason or saw that fourth woman who works in Wayne’s office. What was her name?
Cory closed his eyes, probably trying to picture the nameplate on her desk as was I. “Silvia something.”
“Silvia Porter. That’s what Catherine said.”
“I don’t see how she could be important, but I did think it was weird Matthew’s mother never called to thank you for the cookies after he made such a point of writing your number down. What number did you give him?”
“My cell. I didn’t think she’d call. She doesn’t know us, and we asked a lot of questions. Besides, I’ve given wedding presents and never received any acknowledgment. Cookies for a grieving family are relatively insignificant.”
Cory swallowed his donut in two bites. “I guess. Still, I was pretty impressed with Matthew’s manners. At least he made the effort to write your number down.”
“True. Maybe he takes after Brennan, just like you said.”
Cory stared at me. I feared I’d inadvertently said the wrong thing, but after a moment, he nodded. “I think you’re right. The phone calls this morning were just a coincidence.”
I tipped my head and held his gaze. “How many years have you worked here?”
“Between you and your dad, around fifteen now.”
“How many times in all those years did this shop receive hang-up calls?”
“I can’t think of any, but I’m sure we’ve had them.”
“Four in a row?”
Cory ran his finger under his neckline. “Okay, not four in a row. What’s that phone company code you dial to call the person back?”
“I don’t know.” I started pulling out my desk drawer, searching for the white pages. “I think they explain about it in the front of the phone book. Here.” I yanked the book out of the desk and laid it flat, ruffling through the pages. “*66”
I lifted the receiver and dialed the code. A message responded. I hung up and repeated the words, “The caller was not in our area code.”