The Father for Her Son

by Cindi Myers

  Scotty never showed up at the garage the next day, but the police did. They were waiting for Troy in Wiley’s office when he arrived. He felt sick at the sight of them, but forced himself not to run away. “We have some questions for you,” a detective named Getz said.

  “Yes, sir.” Troy glanced at Wiley, who was frowning.

  “We’d like you to come down to the station with us,” a Detective Youngfield said.

  “Are you arresting me?” Troy asked.

  “No. We just have a few questions.”

  “Go on,” Wiley said. “You and I will talk when you get back.”

  So Troy accompanied the cops to the station. The interview with the police was every bit as uncomfortable as he’d expected. They grilled him for two hours about his association with Scotty and Frank, about the washer and dryer and other gifts he’d given Marlee, and asked him to provide details of his whereabouts on specific dates. Several of those dates he’d been with Marlee, though he could tell that, as Frank Britton’s daughter, she wasn’t considered a credible alibi.

  Finally, the officers thanked him for his time and told him he was free to go, though they warned that they might have additional questions later. Was this what the rest of Troy’s life would be like—always under suspicion? Always being brought in for questioning? How could he blame Marlee for not wanting to be a part of that? Even if he proved his innocence, would he be the chief suspect next time something shady happened? Would he never be able to move on?

  He should have driven back to work—provided he still had a job—but instead, Troy steered the motorcycle onto Riverside, toward the Lakeside Apartments. The police had made it clear that Frank was involved in this. Troy intended to find out exactly what was going on, and do what he could to clear his name.

  He cruised slowly through the parking lot until he located the manager’s office. Then he parked around back. The police were probably watching the place—and watching him—so they might have already spotted him. But if they hadn’t, he didn’t want his presence to be too obvious.

  He found the old man with an attractive woman who was changing the locks on one of the apartments. “Grace Weathers, Weathers Locksmith,” she introduced herself when it became clear that Frank wasn’t going to.

  “Grace is changing the locks on all the apartments,” Frank explained. “No more master keys. The tenants keep their own keys and we’ll use lockboxes on the empty places.”

  “Isn’t that the way most buildings do it?” Troy asked.

  “Ones with owners who aren’t as cheap as the guys in charge of this joint,” Frank said. “They groused about the expense of doing this, but after the rash of burglaries we’ve had, I convinced them it was the only way to go.”

  The hairs on the back of Troy’s neck rose. Burglaries. He’d bet he could list the dates they’d occurred—the same dates the police had questioned him about. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?” he asked.

  “Sure. Gracie, you need me for anything, you know where to find me.”

  The locksmith nodded and the two men retreated to Frank’s apartment. It was a typical low-rent, one-bedroom space, much like Troy’s. An old sofa, recliner and chair shared the living room with a metal desk and two filing cabinets.

  Frank sat in the recliner and motioned Troy to the sofa. “So you’re one of Scotty’s friends,” he said.

  “He’s not my friend. We work together.”

  “That’s right. The motorcycle shop. You like that job?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good way to make a living, I guess.”

  “It’s okay.” Troy liked Wiley’s, but as long as he stayed there, he’d be surrounded by ex-cons and suspicion.

  Provided, of course, Wiley didn’t fire him for being questioned about a crime. Troy remembered his talk about no second chances. “What’s this about a bunch of burglaries?” he asked.

  “A bunch of apartments in this complex got hit while people were out at work or in the evenings,” Frank said. “The thief used a master key.”

  “And you haven’t been fired and aren’t in jail?”

  To Troy’s surprise, Frank laughed—a sound like a rusty pump that needed to be primed. “Only because when two of the thefts occurred I was sitting in the mayor’s office, discussing the ceremony for my award. And because there are no fingerprints left at any of the crime scenes, and none of the stolen property has turned up in my apartment or with anyone I know.”

  Frank seemed gleeful. Was it because he thought he’d gotten away with something, or because he really was innocent?

  “The police came to see me at work today,” Troy said. “They had a lot of questions about you and Scotty.”

  “Yeah, I’ve gotten the third degree, too. I told them I hadn’t seen the guy since I ran him off weeks ago. And I hardly know you.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that why you’re here—to give me a hard time about the cops?”

  “I wanted to find out what you knew. Do you think Scotty is involved with these burglaries?”

  “He was awfully interested in the setup with the master keys. He could have made an impression when I was distracted by something, and had a copy made.”

  Troy studied him, trying to read the other man’s face. But years of lying made Frank less likely to slip up. “You’re being straight with me?” Troy asked. “You really had nothing to do with those thefts?”

  “Not a thing.” Frank leaned forward, eyes boring into Troy’s. “What about you? Are you and Scotty in this together, looking to make some easy money and let the old con take the rap?”

  “No. I’ve got too much to lose to pull a stupid stunt like that.”

  “What have you got to lose?”

  “A job. Family. My freedom.”

  “I remember now. Scotty said you were dating a nice girl.”

  “Yeah.” Though who knew if Marlee would ever want to see him again.

  Frank sat back. “I wouldn’t be telling you any of this if I really thought you had something to do with it. When was the last time you saw Scotty?”

  “Last Friday. He hasn’t been back to work since.” Before talking to the police, Troy had wondered if this was because Scotty had left town, or because he’d been arrested.

  “I saw him yesterday. I went to a taco stand where he likes to hang out and acted friendly. Bought him a beer.”

  “Why’d you do that?”

  “I told him about a new tenant we have, a guy who collects fancy watches and electronics. I said I never saw so much expensive stuff in one place.”

  Troy looked around the room. “No offense, but why would a guy who could afford all that live in a dump like this?”

  “You and I know he wouldn’t, but in case you haven’t noticed, Scotty ain’t the brightest bulb in the lamp.”

  “I still don’t understand why you told him this story.”

  “I didn’t tell him about the new locks.”

  “Ah. You’re hoping he’ll come back to hit the new guy’s place.”

  “And the cops and I will catch him in the act.”

  “If he knows the police suspect him, will he really risk hitting another place?” Troy asked.

  “I knew guys like him in the joint. They were gamblers—they couldn’t resist the chance to score big.”

  Troy thought of himself that night with Raymond. He’d been seduced by that same greed—the fantasy of earning easy money for a single night’s work. He hadn’t known what the job would entail, but that hadn’t really mattered. He’d seen a quick way out of his troubles and grabbed it.

  “Do the police know what you’re up to?”

  “Gracie will tell them about the new locks. And I’ve got 9–1-1 on speed dial. If Scotty does try to break in, they can be here in less than five minutes.”

  Troy stood. “Good luck. I hope it works.” For both their sakes.

  “You go home and keep out of trouble. Stay with that girl of yours. It’s what I should have done a long time ago.”

  Frank
spoke so matter-of-factly, Troy wondered if there was any real regret behind his words. Or maybe the older man had lived with the sadness so long he’d become an expert at concealing it.

  “IS EVERYTHING OKAY, Marlee?”

  Marlee jerked her head up from the report she’d been pretending to read. Trish peered at her, clearly concerned. “I’m fine,” Marlee lied. Except that her life was a mess. In the two days since she’d sent Troy away, she’d barely slept. She couldn’t concentrate on anything, and was behind on her tasks at work and at home. The worst part was that Greg would hardly speak to her.

  “You look a little upset, that’s all,” Trish said.

  “I’m okay. Really.” Trish was sweet to be worried, but Marlee didn’t want to talk about her personal problems. Wallowing in her misery wouldn’t get her anywhere. She would get through this the same way she’d survived the first time Troy left her—by living in the moment and not thinking about the past.

  “Do you have the latest customer-satisfaction surveys?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure.” Trish looked disappointed in this change of subject, but didn’t press for more details. “They’re up front. I’ll get them for you.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Maybe walking around would help her focus.

  The surveys, which were short, postcard-size forms departing guests were asked to complete, were stored in a drawer at the registration desk. Marlee emptied the drawer and was stacking them neatly when an Austin Police officer walked in the front door.

  He wasn’t the same officer who’d spoken to her before, but even so she went cold at the sight of that uniform, and shrank back. Had he come to ask more questions about Troy, or about her father? Not here! Not in front of her coworkers.

  “Hello.” The officer smiled and glanced at her name tag. “Marlee. I hope you can help me out.”

  “What is it, Officer?” Trish tucked her hair behind one ear and leaned across the counter. Marlee was grateful for Trish’s flirtatiousness, which distracted the officer’s attention.

  “There’s a car parked illegally in front of the hotel. I’ve got the license. Maybe you can tell me if it belongs to a guest. I’d like to give them a chance to move it before it’s towed.”

  While Trish consulted with the officer, Marlee gathered the stack of surveys and hurried back to her office. She sank onto her chair, feeling faint. She put her head in her hands and tried to control her breathing. Maybe she was losing her mind. She’d been absolutely terrified just now, all because of a man in a uniform.

  “Marlee, are you okay?” Mr. Morgenroth approached her desk. She could see the neat tassels of his loafers through her fingers as he stood in front of her. She opened her mouth to make her usual assertion that nothing was wrong. But that was ridiculous. The more honest answer would be that nothing was right.

  Marlee lowered her hands and looked up into her boss’s kind eyes. “Could we talk?” she asked.

  Mr. M. led her to an empty conference room and shut the door. She sat at the long table and he pulled up a chair beside her. A great feeling of calm enveloped her. Maybe this was what she should have done all along; maybe talking about her problems would lessen their power over her.

  “Tell me,” Mr. Morgenroth said.

  She’d thought she’d talk about Troy, the trouble he was in and how much that frightened her. But when she opened her mouth, the first subject she broached was her past because, really, the present didn’t make sense without understanding what had come before.

  “My father’s name is Frank Britton. He’s been in and out of prison my whole life,” she said. “I never talked about it because I was so ashamed. And I…I thought you’d think less of me.”

  “I don’t think less of you, Marlee,” Mr. Morgenroth said quietly.

  She nodded. But if he’d known about her father’s record before he met her, he would have felt differently. That was the way the world worked.

  “I haven’t seen or spoken to my dad in almost ten years,” she said. “But a couple of nights ago, two policemen came to the house, asking questions about him. I think he’s in some kind of trouble again.”

  “I can see how that would be upsetting.”

  “That’s not the worst part,” Marlee continued. “The worst part is—the police seem to think Troy is mixed up in whatever this is. They said he’d been seen with my father and another man, an ex-convict called Scotty.”

  The creases on Mr. Morgenroth’s forehead deepened. “I don’t understand. Why would Troy be with your father and this Scotty person?”

  “Troy knew Scotty from…from prison. When Troy came to the hotel that very first day, he’d just been released after serving seven years for armed robbery.” It sounded so bad when she said the words out loud. “It was his only offense,” she hastened to add. “He got involved with a cousin and made some stupid decisions.”

  “But you’re worried he might be falling back into old habits,” Mr. Morgenroth said, his face grim.

  “I don’t know what to think,” she said. “He was doing so well. He was working, and was such a good father to Greg and—” She put a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  “I had wondered,” Mr. Morgenroth admitted. “There’s a resemblance between them. If Troy served seven years, Greg must have been born while he was in prison.”

  “Yes. I was pregnant when he was arrested and after that, I refused to have anything to do with him. I didn’t want my son growing up the way I did.”

  “But when Troy was released, he found you.”

  “Yes. He swore he’d gone straight and I believed him.”

  “Have you talked to him since you spoke with the police?” Mr. Morgenroth asked.

  “Only that night, when he brought Greg home from the Ice Bats game. He said he didn’t know what they were talking about—that he’d done nothing wrong. But—I kicked him out, anyway. I was just so upset and afraid.” Afraid of falling back into the kind of life she’d fought so hard to escape.

  “What about your father?” Mr. Morgenroth asked. “Have you talked to him?”

  “Not in ten years.”

  “Do you think Troy is innocent?”

  “I want to believe he is. But even if he is, will this happen again? Is this the kind of thing Greg is going to be exposed to?”

  “Does Greg know about Troy’s past? Or about his grandfather?”

  “No! I didn’t tell him about the police visiting the other night, either. I just told him Troy had left and wouldn’t be back.”

  “You don’t think he’ll be back? At least to see his son?”

  “I don’t know.” In many ways, it would be easier if Troy disappeared from their lives—painful, but less messy. But she couldn’t wish away the connection between father and son. “If he does come back, things won’t be the same,” she said.

  “How is Greg taking this?”

  “He’s devastated. He hates me for sending Troy away.” Her son’s coldness to her since then hurt more than anything else. “Was I wrong to do that?” she asked. “I only wanted to protect him.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Marlee.” Mr. Morgenroth spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “It might be good to have more facts, but in the end, you’re the only one who knows what you can accept. Your experiences growing up give you a different perspective than an outsider like me.”

  “I wish none of this had ever happened,” she said. “Not my father, or Troy’s arrest or any of it. I just want a normal, law-abiding life.”

  “You haven’t broken any laws, and we don’t know that Troy has, either. As for the rest…” He shrugged. “You wouldn’t be the person you are today if you hadn’t been through the things you have. The past is part of us.”

  Troy had said the same thing, hadn’t he? And much as she’d tried to put her past behind her, it affected every decision she made. “I guess you’re right,” she said. “I made my choice, and now I have to live with it.”

  Mr. Morgenro
th stood. “If you need to take a few days off, or if you need my help with anything, let me know,” he said.

  “Thanks. And thank you for listening.” Talking had helped. She felt less isolated and alone than she had in a long, long time.

  Mr. Morgenroth left the conference room, but Marlee stayed where she was, staring at an abstract painting on the wall and thinking about the past—and the future. Troy was still Greg’s father, and sending him away hadn’t really solved anything. Greg might take Marlee’s word at face value now, but as soon as he was old enough to find his way around the Internet, he could learn the particulars of Troy’s past—and all about his grandfather, too. Would Marlee lose her son because she’d tried to shield him from these realities?

  And what if Troy was innocent? With the distance of a few days, the idea that he’d broken the law again seemed ridiculous. He’d been so determined to live a good life.

  She’d been such a fool! As Mr. Morgenroth had pointed out, how could she make smart decisions when she didn’t know all the facts? Instead of acting rashly and jumping to conclusions, she needed to find out what was really going on. And she needed to make peace with her past, as well. Only then could she take away the power it held over her.

  TIRES CRUNCHED on gravel as Marlee pulled into the lot of Lakeside Apartments. She followed the driveway between the rows of square gray buildings and parked in front of one marked Office. She shut off the engine, then sat for a while, staring out at the neatly clipped patches of grass in front of each building.

  Maybe coming here today had been a bad idea. She could start the car again and leave now. No one would ever know.

  “Coward,” she muttered, and shoved open her door. She climbed three concrete steps to the office door. A note tacked to the faded blue paint said, Out back trimming hedges. Frank.

  Marlee stared at the signature—the same flamboyant F and trailing K that had graced childhood birthday cards and his infrequent letters from prison. The sight of it brought back so many sad memories, but her eyes remained dry.