by Gina Conroy
Something nudged from the inside out, and in the middle of the noisy McDonald’s playroom, I bowed my head and prayed. A prayer full of repentance and regret. Fear and hope. Life and new beginnings birthed from forgiveness and acceptance and love.
Unconditional love. Something I had never experienced.
The weight I carried for years melted away. I stood and hugged my best friend, fully aware several moms and one lone dad gawked at us. But for once, I didn’t care.
Swelling with God-given forgiveness, I no longer carried the paralyzing burden. But as I walked to my car a small ache in my gut remained.
I knew I was forgiven, but I wouldn’t be free until I confessed to Fletcher he had a son. And told Matt I was his mother.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
1:30 p.m.
ALL I WANTED TO do was lock myself in my office, erase the entire week’s events, and focus on my 3:00 interview at KTXL. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat of Natasha’s Porsche on the way to Susan’s house, the mixture of cigarette smoke and new leather threatening to excavate my lunch. I cracked the window as Natasha blabbed to someone on the other end of her cell phone.
My body tensed against the ergonomically designed seat. I needed to be alone. I needed to think. I needed Natasha to put out her cigarette, get off the phone, and stop spilling the news about Peter Kipling’s arrest.
Maybe I should’ve waited to tell Natasha about Susan’s visit to the mansion until after the memorial service. Natasha closed her cell phone, then puffed her Virginia Slims and took the Progress Park exit. I coughed, the smoke burning my lungs.
“I’m sorry.” She snuffed her cigarette in the ashtray. “I haven’t smoked in five years, but all this stress is killing me.” Um, like that cigarette is extending your life?
Natasha honked her horn at the car idling at the green light. The car in front lurched forward, Natasha close on her tail. “Susan makes me livid. To think after all this time she can waltz back into Daddy’s life and take what’s rightfully mine. I know she has Daddy’s missing artifacts. I just know it.”
“Why would she steal from him? Since they were still legally married, everything your father had would be hers as well.”
“How could she know she was still married to Daddy before he was murdered? I only learned about the divorce paper fiasco when I questioned his lawyer about Susan being Executor.”
“Maybe they were reconciling on their own, before your father’s death. What I saw on the tape proves they were heading in that direction.”
“The only thing it proves is the depths she would go to get Daddy’s fortune.” Natasha smashed the heel of her hand on the steering wheel. “Move it, Granny.”
Her theory seemed plausible, but still, a piece was missing. “Why do you think your father never made you Executor after he thought the divorce went through?”
“I have no idea. Daddy always named me his personal representative after every divorce. If it wasn’t for that lazy, incompetent lawyer, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I would be Daddy’s Executor and sole heir.” She punched in numbers on her phone. “I think I’ll give his lawyer what for.”
Leaning back, I tried not to eavesdrop, but the thrashing she gave Henderson’s lawyer couldn’t be tuned out. Why didn’t I say no to Natasha when I had the chance? What compelled me to come running every time she summoned me? Why was my family always last on my “priority” list?
No worry lines etched Natasha’s forehead, but I knew it wasn’t from a lack of anxiety. Her emotions were stewing up a pot of helplessness, and I knew exactly how it tasted.
Natasha ended the call, tears on the verge of erupting. “I can’t believe it.” Her voice strained for control.
“What’s happened now?”
“Daddy made Susan … the Executor.”
“But you knew that already. Your father never removed her from his will.”
“No.” Her chest heaved in sync with her rapid breaths. “He made her the Executor about seven months ago when he learned they were still married.”
That meant Henderson had taken Susan out of his will and then added her back months before his death.
“He told his lawyer to destroy the divorce papers and name Susan Executor.” How did Natasha manage to breech attorney-client privilege? Guess no one said no to Natasha. She stared straight ahead at the car in front, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Why would he do that?”
“Doesn’t this confirm they were reconciling? It all fits when you know the facts.” We turned into a middle-class suburban neighborhood with full trees and well-manicured lawns.
“Then why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t Susan move in? Why the secrecy?
Lies, deception, and betrayal. I knew exactly how she felt.
“I don’t know why your father kept this from you, but it means Susan didn’t have motive to steal your father’s collection. It’s not too late to turn around and forget—”
“Forget? Forget what that witch has done to me?” She clenched the steering wheel. “I knew from the time Daddy brought her home she was only after his money. He gave her everything. Even this.” She drove up to a lovely two-story brick home. “Paid in full. She claimed she didn’t want anything from him after the divorce, but he insisted on giving her a roof over her head. Now I see her plan all along. To lay low, weasel back into his life, and suck him dry. I wouldn’t put it past her if she killed him.”
“Detective Lopez says he has a sure case against Peter Kipling.”
“I didn’t say she did it alone.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
1:41 p.m.
NATASHA’S ACCUSATION OF PETER and Susan’s involvement in her father’s death started my mind churning. Could it have been Peter’s plan all along to take out Henderson with the help of his wife? The conversation with Susan outside the morgue nagged me. Something was off. What would make her trade her nurse’s cap for that clunky paramedic uniform?
While Natasha primped, my eyes roamed the red brick, two-story home with green shutters and perfectly manicured lawn. No, I couldn’t see Peter allowing his wife to bed his nemesis for revenge. Unless Peter conspired after Henderson and Susan divorced. That would explain why Peter thought Susan would return to him. But Susan’s refusal of Peter in the coffee shop made it clear she wanted nothing to do with her ex-husband. Still, if Peter and Susan did plan Henderson’s death, then that would make the case against Jack weak.
Natasha gathered her purse and grabbed the car door handle.
“Are you sure this is a good idea? Maybe you can talk to her tomorrow. After the service.”
Natasha opened the door, eyes narrowed like a woman on a mission. Which she was. I hurried after her as she shimmied up the walk as fast as a woman in a skin-tight skirt and stilettos could. Susan barreled out of her house in a designer sweat suit with phone in hand.
“I don’t want any trouble.” Susan shot me a what-are-you-doing-here look. “But I’ll call the police if I have to.”
“Go ahead.” Natasha hissed. “It’ll save me a call.”
“What are you talking about?” Susan’s glare shot to the house, then to Natasha.
“We have you all figured out.” Natasha stood inches from Susan. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re arrested like your ex-husband.”
“Peter’s been arrested? Why?”
“For Henderson’s murder.” I stood close to Natasha in case their not-so-friendly chat turned physical.
“Where are they?” Natasha tried to push past Susan, but the older woman stood firm, preventing her. “I know they’re in there. Getting Daddy’s money wasn’t enough for you; you had to take his priceless collection also.” Spittle flew from Natasha’s mouth, her lower lip quivering.
“You’re acting crazy. Did you mix anything with your anxiety medication?” Susan’s insincerity pounded in my ears.
“I’m not the one with access to drugs, Susan. You are.”
Something inside me gonged. Not only was Su
san Executor and heir, but according to Lopez, she would receive Henderson’s life insurance. Paramedics had access to drugs. What about the pharmaceutical company? Could Susan be the mastermind behind Henderson’s murder? Did she want revenge for being thrown away like yesterday’s caviar? Maybe she talked Henderson into getting a DNR bracelet, then framed Peter for his murder. I knew it sounded crazy. Susan wasn’t that kind of person. I had known her for years. She wasn’t vengeful like Natasha. But the pieces fit, and I didn’t like the look of the puzzle.
“What’d you use?” Natasha’s voice rose as her clenched fists shook at her side. “Something that would stop my daddy’s heart? Interfere with his pacemaker?”
Pacemaker?
“Natasha, go home.” Susan turned toward the house. Natasha darted after her. The curtain stirred at the front window. I caught a glimpse of something. Did Susan have a cat? No, a hat. A fedora? So there was another man in Susan’s life. But who? Lots of men wore that hat. Jack and Fletcher included. But in Texas, most men wore Stetsons.
Natasha swung her manicured weapons at Susan. I grabbed her hand before she struck. Coming here was a bad idea. “Let’s go. We can call Detective Lopez and tell him what you suspect.” I started toward the car.
Natasha seized my wrist. “No, I told you no police. Not until we have some real evidence.”
Susan shouted something to Natasha as she backed away, but I couldn’t hear it over Natasha’s ranting. If Natasha was taking something for anxiety, it was about time for her next dosage. I only hoped she had some to spare to calm me before my interview.
***
2:59 p.m.
PERSPIRATION SOAKED MY PALMS as I walked through the air conditioned studio toward the tall, debonair host of Rise and Shine. Dressed in khaki pants and a designer sweater, he looked inviting, just like the swanky, yet comfortable set of KTXL’s morning show. My muscles relaxed. The black Armani skirt and cashmere sweater I wore complemented his casual attire, though I knew better than to wear red on television. What was I thinking?
“Welcome, I’m John Lewis.” He extended his hand.
As if I didn’t already know. “I’m Mari Duggins. Please to meet you, Mr. Lewis.”
“Call me John.” He squeezed my hand gently and patted the seat next to him. His warm smile melted my anxiety. I sat, soaking in the plush comfort of the expensive leather chair. This was it. The moment I’d been dreaming about. The cards were dealt, and I was about to ante up in the biggest game of my career.
He handed me a microphone. I clipped it to my sweater and did an audio check.
“Jan Carson will be in the booth listening and observing how you look on camera, to see if there’s any chemistry between us.”
“Like Regis and Kelly back in the day, only earlier in the morning?”
“Something like that. No need to be nervous. We’re all family here.” He leaned back and crossed his legs. “Just talk to me as if we were old friends.”
We chatted about the weather, my job as Professor of Archaeology at the university, his spouse, my ex. The conversation flowed until he inquired about my children.
“I have three. Two boys and a girl.”
“How do you do it? Bridget and I have one son, and we can’t seem to stay above water. With my profession, her charity events, and my son’s budding career it’s a miracle we’re a family at all.”
“Is your son following you in television?”
“No, he’s a musician. He was supposed to perform for this big Christmas concert, but some punk …” John shifted in his seat, his tone more rigid with every syllable. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t very professional of me.”
“No need to apologize. I understand completely. I’m having trouble with one of my own.” To put it mildly.
With the clap of his hands, John Lewis, the charming host, reappeared. “So, are you prepared to wake at 3:00 a.m. every morning, bright eyed and smiling for our five o’clock audience?”
“I won’t mind missing the rush hour traffic, and it’d be nice to pick up my son from school every day.”
“You’re willing to give up being an archaeologist?”
The question hit hard and left me derailed. Was I ready to turn in my dry eraser? Hang up my fedora, so to speak? “I don’t see it as giving up archaeology, but another opportunity to share what I know about people and humanity with the world.”
John Lewis chuckled. “You sure you don’t want to go into politics instead?”
“Not in the least. Mr. Lewis. I want this job. I know I can do it and add something special to your morning show.”
“I think you’re right. How do you feel about changing your name? Lewis and Duggins doesn’t have that special ring.”
“I hadn’t thought about it, but I guess lots of people in show business change their names.” Did I actually say “show business?”
“I changed mine and found the perks help keep my private life out of the public eye. How about Lewis and Daniels, or Lewis and Davis?”
“I like the sound of Lewis and Martin.” I waited, hoping he got my joke.
“Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin, funny. I think we’ll work well together.” John touched his earpiece and stood. “Seems like our time is over. They’ve got another applicant waiting in the lobby.”
I stood and extended my hand. “Thank you so much for your time and consideration.”
“I’ll walk you out.” We chatted some more as he showed me to the studio door. A short, young brunette stopped him in the hall. Probably an intern. “Mr. Lewis, your wife is on the line. She needs to talk to you right away.”
John Lewis leaned toward me. “Probably maxed out her credit card. Tammy, can you tell her I’ll be in interviews for the rest of the afternoon? I’ll call as soon as I can.”
The brown-eyed girl shifted her weight. “Sure, but Mrs. Lewandowski said it was urgent. Something about your son’s surgery.”
My heart tripped. Lewandowski?
“I’m sorry, Mari. I need to go. It was nice meeting you.” He hurried off before I could respond, leaving me with the awful hand I’d been dealt. A lousy, unexpected game I couldn’t bluff my way out of, but with cards I couldn’t bring myself to fold.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
5:05 p.m.
GOD REALLY HAD A warped sense of humor. Todd Lewandowski? The boy Matt assaulted. The son of John Lewis? I couldn’t help laugh as I walked through the Bombay restaurant parking lot. What did I expect? One little prayer of forgiveness and my whole life would fall into place?
As ironic as the situation was, I still had to make a decision. If I confessed I was the mother of the punk who broke his son’s nose, then I wouldn’t stand a chance at the morning co-host spot. But if I said nothing, and John Lewis found out later, after I got the contract, how would I feel knowing I deceived him to advance my career? How could I sit beside him morning after morning, chatting like we were friends? A lose-lose situation no matter what I decided.
I stepped through the clattering, beaded curtain, curry and incense assaulting my battered psyche. The drive had been a blur, but I sobered quick, knowing why I was here.
Candy’s rendezvous with her secret admirer. And I played the role of guardian angel. At least she had one.
Stringed music twanged in my ears as I scanned the dim room, draped with gold and burgundy fabric. No sign of Candy or anyone resembling a cyber stalker. I ducked in the bathroom, hoping to remain incognito before Candy arrived.
“Mari? For heaven’s sake, what are you doing here?” Candy’s round amber eyes stared at me. So much for playing spy.
It was the first time I’d seen her salt-and-pepper hair down and her wearing a not-so-little black dress for the occasion. “I … a … just stopping off for a bite before the memorial service.”
“Well, isn’t this perfect? I’d like you to come meet someone near and dear to my heart.”
I followed Candy, trying to keep pace as she swerved around the tables toward the far end of the restaura
nt. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.” She pointed to the back of a man dressed in a stylish brown suit.
“Mari, I’d like you to meet—”
The man turned around.
“Danny?” My mouth hung open.
“My son.” Candy wiped at her tears. “Can you believe it? He’s your Danny.” She giggled. “My Danny!”
I turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His eyes went all puppy-dog-like. “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I wanted to do this on my own. I wasn’t sure how she’d feel knowing I was her son.”
Trying not to reveal my shock, I scooted next to Candy who sat across from Danny, her son. That meant Henderson was Danny’s father!
“I guess now’s a good time to finish my story.” Candy folded her hands on the table. “Danny’s father wanted to have an abortion, but I wouldn’t hear of it.” She caressed Danny’s hands and gazed into his eyes. Similar in shape to her own.
“I really think I should leave you two alone.” I stood. “I’m sure you have lots to catch up on.”
Candy touched my hand. “You haven’t eaten yet. Stay, I ordered Lamb Vindaloo and garlic Nan.”
“I guess I could stay. I am a little hungry.” I hung my Gucci purse on the chair.
Candy patted my hand. “Isn’t it funny how me and Danny both love spicy foods? He’s even inherited my hetrochromia.”
“What?”
“My eye anomaly. Didn’t know I could throw around those fancy words? Now where was I … oh, yes, Danny’s father.”
“He doesn’t matter.” Danny stiffened against his chair. “He didn’t want me anyway. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here. You’re my family.”
“But you need to know your roots, your family medical history. Oh, I’ve been so worried about you all these years, but it was a closed adoption.” Candy’s southern twang tightened. “I never knew where you were. I hope your parents were good to you. Loved you like I would have.”