Prince Charming Undercover

by Debra Salonen

  A recorded message instructed him to leave a message or call Zeke’s cellular number, which wasn’t provided. After the beep, Nick said, “This low-tech communication sucks. We need to talk.”

  He replaced the receiver and turned around to find Yetta watching him. “What kind of secret police are you? Anyone could have overheard you. Come along, we’ll go where it’s private.”

  Nick felt himself blush. He wasn’t used to being critiqued. “Do you know where your daughter is?”

  She made a shrugging motion with her shoulders. “Probably at the cemetery. She blows off steam by talking to her father. Well, to his grave, of course.”

  Apparently interpreting Nick’s look of skepticism, she added, “Grace and her father were very close. After Kingston died—even before that really, because of the stroke— Grace did her best to fill his shoes. She was our rock.”

  Rocks have been known to crumble. Maybe she’s involved with Chuck because she’s tired of shouldering the load for her family.

  As if reading his mind, Yetta said, “Normally, that burden would fall on the shoulders of the eldest child, not the youngest, but Alexandra wasn’t well at the time. Elizabeth had her hands full handling Kingston’s rehabilitation. And Katherine was a young mother with a full-time job and a husband that—” she sighed weightily “—disappointed us all.”

  Nick knew there was more to the story. Zeke had filled him in on Kate’s ex-husband, who’d waited until the family was most vulnerable then tried to abscond with the cash from Kingston’s insurance policy.

  “We were all in pretty bad shape, but Grace not only took care of us, she opened this restaurant,” Yetta said, her tone filled with pride. “She’s an amazing young woman, and your suspicions are groundless, as you will see.” She held up a set of keys. “Shall we go? No doubt Grace left your bags at the house before she drove out to the cemetery.”

  “What makes you so sure she’s not back with Charles?”

  She smiled and a light he hadn’t noticed before in her eyes twinkled. It made her look younger. “I have the sight, remember?”

  “I thought you said it was broken?”

  She shrugged eloquently. “Unreliable on occasion, but I do feel comfortable saying Grace isn’t anywhere near Charles.”

  Charles stood at the window of his office and watched the traffic below. The day had proven a challenge in every sense of the word. From an unsatisfying meeting with Grace to the usual teeth-grinding session with his partners. As MaryAnn had predicted, neither brother was impressed with Charles’s latest offer for their shares.

  They’d agreed to think over the terms while vacationing in Hawaii, but Charles wasn’t expecting any change of heart. If the two didn’t start playing ball soon, he might be forced to take action of another kind. Accidents were common among the elderly, and something could be arranged pretty cheaply if one had the right connections.

  A name popped into his head, followed by a face. Nick, Nicholas…Nikolai. Yes. An intense, edgy-looking fellow who definitely had something to hide.

  Charles prided himself on being able to read people. He’d known the instant he met Kingston Parlier that the man would prove an invaluable resource. To the world at large, Kingston—or King, as most people called him--had presented a model of honesty and propriety. He’d worked his way up to pit boss with one of the largest gaming consortiums in Vegas. During the great union wars in the mid 1980s, Kingston had been one of the few who’d been respected by both sides. But Charles had sensed the Gypsy King’s weakness—his family. And when the opportunity to make a little money under the table came during labor union negotiations, Charles had argued that as a man with four daughters—and four tuition payments and four weddings to look forward to—Kingston had no choice but to play ball.

  Charles had intended to take his half up front, but a politically ambitious district attorney at the time had been keeping tabs on Charles. Any sudden windfall would have brought an immediate investigation, so Kingston, whose gaming skills bordered on legendary, had claimed the entire amount as winnings—no questions asked.

  Distracted by…um, personal matters at the time, Charles didn’t find out until too late just what Kingston had planned for the money. Four trust accounts in his daughters’ names. Charles had been furious, but Kingston—a most charming and likable man—had placated him with promises of larger profits down the road—when any hint of impropriety was gone.

  Charles’s patience—and trust—had been taxed as first one daughter then another was given access to the money. His money. He’d finally confronted Kingston. Tempers had flared. Charles had snapped, and a pushing match ended with Kingston unconscious on the floor.

  The only reason Charles didn’t let the old man die was the fear that he’d lose access to his money. He’d called 911 and Kingston had been rushed to the hospital. A stroke, the doctors said. Everyone assumed that the stroke had caused Kingston to fall and hit his head. Only Charles and Kingston knew that the “fall” had come first.

  And Kingston, although he recovered to some degree, had returned home with no memory of the argument that had triggered his decline. Charles had remained close to the family, never giving up hope of one day gaining access to the remaining money in Grace’s trust account.

  When Grace suddenly suggested using the money to go into business with him, Charles had been so shocked he hadn’t been able to reply. The irony made him want to do a jig on Kingston Parlier’s grave, but he didn’t dare show his enthusiasm. Yetta still controlled the account, and she was the one woman who made him nervous. There’d been times when he was certain she could see every black mark on his soul.

  Speaking of black marks... He grinned at his reflection in the glass and reached down to give his family jewels a little squeeze. Isn’t it time for another?

  Lydia and Reezira, the prostitutes he’d “rescued,” were waiting in his suite. He turned and started toward the door.

  He’d read about the plight of Eastern European Gypsies on the Internet. Many had fled to Canada, where the immigration laws were more welcoming than in the United States. Although these young women were accommodated, in some cases, their lot in life was not much improved over the hardships they’d endured in their native lands. Some turned to prostitution.

  Charles had put word out on the dark web that he was looking for healthy, ambitious young women to work in his casino. And he didn’t mean waiting tables or serving cocktails. He wanted women who knew how to pleasure men.

  Once he was sole proprietor, he’d turn this place into a destination spot for people who knew what they wanted and didn’t mind paying for it. Prostitution was illegal, but there were loopholes in the system if a person knew how to find them, and Charles had always been good at skating past trouble on lies, diversion and bribery. He didn’t expect to have any trouble once he’d cleared up two small problems: his blackmailer and his pesky partners.

  But both headaches could wait till tomorrow. Right now, he planned to lose himself in a world that met his very specific needs.

  “Hello,” he called, his anticipation growing. “Daddy’s home, little girls.”

  Yetta inhaled deeply. For her, every breath was a gift. She’d struggled with breathing problems all of her life. As a child, her frequent colds and debilitating coughs had been shrouded with whispers and looks she didn’t understand. Until she’d turned ten. Then her mother told her the story of the fire that had cost their family so dearly. One daughter killed. One deformed and destined to die young. Yetta’s life had been spared, but her lungs had been permanently damaged.

  Over the years, Yetta had slowly unraveled the threads of the story. An accident, for sure. But the person who’d shouldered the blame for it was Jurek Sarna, who had been just a child himself at the time. It broke her heart to think about the injustice done to him.

  Now she had Jurek’s son in front of her. Nikolai. The person who would help her rid her family of a threat. But Nikolai was more than that. He was the only o
ne who could bring peace to a man Yetta had long since forgiven. A man who believed he was dying.

  “Would you like me to tell you about your father?”

  The question obviously annoyed him.

  “I know my father. He’s alive and well and recently retired from the police force.”

  They were sitting at Yetta’s patio table protected from the sun by a large canvas umbrella that Nick had unfurled for her. Nice manners, she thought, but no trust. None whatsoever. Everyone was a suspect, including her.

  Which meant Yetta would need to move slowly to build a connection between Nikolai and the very distant past. “You have questions for me about Charles, then?”

  The change of topic seemed to surprise him, but he shifted position in the padded lawn chair and faced her, resting his elbows on the glass-topped table. “How long have you known him?”

  “Oh, goodness, twenty years, at least.”

  His blue eyes reminded her so much of his mother. Beautiful, sweet, reckless Lucille, but there was the wariness of Jurek, too. Jurek, who never took anything at face value, including Yetta’s love for him and his family.

  “Kingston was forever bringing home wounded souls. Like a child brings a bird with a broken wing.”

  “How’d they meet?”

  “Through work. Charles was a young up-and-coming attorney with the firm that represented the casino where Kingston worked. This was during a very turbulent time when unions were making a push for inclusion in the gaming industry.”

  Yetta could see him mentally comparing what she told him to what he’d undoubtedly read from some file.

  “What do you know about his past? His family?”

  “Very little. Charles has never been particularly forthcoming about his childhood. I’ve gathered he had a bit of a rough time. Kingston told me his father died when Charles was quite young. His mother remarried and had another child—a girl—later on.”

  “Who paid for law school?”

  “I have no idea, but Charles is a very smart man. Cagey, even. He knows how to work the system, and he is most astute when it comes to making the right connections.”

  She watched him mentally digest that truth. “How did your husband figure into this?”

  “That’s a very good question. At first, I thought Kingston brought Charles home to introduce him to our daughters. Alexandra and Elizabeth were beautiful—eligible—young women. But, it became immediately apparent that Charles was more interested in Kingston’s connections in the industry than his family.”

  She sighed without meaning to. “In hindsight, I wonder if I imbued him with too much humanity.”

  “What did your husband get out of the relationship?”

  She could almost hear Kingston chuckling. He’s a smart one, Yetta. You may have gotten more than you bargained for when you invited him here.

  Or was that her imagination talking?

  She fought back the sadness that she’d fallen prey to after Kingston’s passing. In her youth, Yetta had trusted the voices in her head, the visions that came to her. Her gift had set her apart, made her special. Kingston had revered her, called her his goddess, but after his stroke, the sight had failed her. She no longer trusted her instincts, which was one reason she’d asked Jurek for help.

  And he’d directed her to this man, whom she didn’t know but to whom she felt an overwhelming connection. And she alone knew why that was.

  Perhaps it was time to share her secret. “I was the third person to hold you when you were a baby.”

  “Hmm. Now, about Charles’s connection to your daughter—”

  “Your parents were renting a little mobile home on Mojave. I remember because Jurek always called it ‘Mo Jave’ with a hard J. He was teasing, of course.”

  Nikolai didn’t appear interested, but she sensed that was a front. “Your mother was working in a stage review before she started to show.”

  “A stage review? Is that another name for a striptease?”

  His snide tone made her angry. “No. She’d worked a razzle-dazzle show once, right after she moved here, but this was modern dance. Full of passion and grit. One reviewer said your mother ‘danced with her heart, not her feet.’”

  He still looked unconvinced. “Dancers don’t get pregnant and have babies.”

  “That is true of many, I’m sure. And I will admit your mother wasn’t thrilled when she found out she was expecting, but your father was over the moon. He was quite a bit older than your mother and so very much in love. He thought your birth would make Lucy give up her dream of being a dancer.”

  “Obviously he was wrong.” A statement, not a question.

  “Lucy tried to be a stay-at-home wife and mother, as was expected of her at that time. But the urge to dance was just too strong. She started doing exercises and fasting to get back in shape. Alexandra was just seven months old when you were born. I love babies, and since I was home anyway, I offered to babysit. What was one more?”

  “Uh, double the work?” His dry humor made her smile.

  “Double the treasure. You were a perfect baby. Alexandra was as imperial as her name. From the very beginning she seemed to assume the rest of us were there to serve her,” she said, smiling at the memory of holding her firstborn. “But you…you were a gift.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Don’t. You see, I came from a family that put boys on pedestals. My brothers were young gods. My sisters and I…well, it was different for girls. It’s possible I was suffering from a little postpartum depression because I hadn’t given my husband a son. Even though Kingston worshipped his daughters and always insisted that he preferred girls.”

  “You’re my queen and you’ve given us a princess, my darling. What more in this world could one man ask?” he’d said after every birth.

  And I meant every word, Yetta love.

  She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and continued, “Kingston and I were childless for a long time. I suffered from the same problem Alexandra in inherited. I was truly grateful for her, but, on all honesty, I was disappointed, too. I wasn’t certain I’d ever be able to get pregnant again, you see.

  “So, when you came along, I could pretend that you were mine. That I’d had twins. I didn’t love Alexandra less—she wouldn’t have allowed it,” she added. “But I had you, too, to feel fulfilled and complete. Which is why…” She couldn’t say it. Even all these years later.

  “Why what?”

  “Why I did what I did.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What did you do?”

  “I…nursed you.”

  “I was sick?”

  She shook her head and looked at her hands in her lap. “No. You were healthy, but you weren’t gaining weight like most babies do. Your formula didn’t agree with you. You’d spit it up every time I tried to feed you, so I gave up trying. I had more milk than Alexandra could take, so I put you to my breast.”

  He seemed surprised but not repulsed. “Really?”

  Yetta took a deep breath and let it out. “I never told anyone. Even my husband. I was afraid it would seem wrong. That someone might say I was slighting my child in favor of another. A boy child. I might have even thought that myself, but you were so happy when we nursed. Alexa…she ate because it was time. You…because you needed me.” She reached for his hand. “And I needed you.”

  “Why?”

  “You helped me get over my blues. I only had you for six or seven months, then your father lost his job. Although it was unheard-of at the time, he became a stay-at-home father.”

  “You let me go.”

  “I had no choice. I…I was pregnant again. To my profound shock and my husband’s profound delight.”

  “I…I meant after my mother died. Why didn’t you…anyone…?”

  “Come for you,” she supplied, knowing how hard it must have been for a man like him to ask.

  He nodded.

  “I did, but I was too late. Jurek went into some place no one could reach hi
m after your mother died. Emotionally, I mean. He was in jail for another four months. And the whole time, he wouldn’t talk to anyone.”

  She pictured her cousin when she’d visited him in jail. He’d reminded her of photos she’d seen of prisoners of war—hollow cheeks and dead eyes.

  “I know he’s never forgiven himself for what happened,” she said. “Lucy didn’t drive and he’d been picked up for writing a bad check, so she had to take the bus to work. She’d just stepped out the door of the bus when some crazy guy ran the light and broadsided another car that struck her.”

  Yetta remembered feeling overwhelmed by shock and sadness when she’d learned of the tragedy. “I was back east visiting my parents when it happened. By the time I heard the news, you were gone. Jurek ordered me not to search for you, but I did anyway. Maybe because you’d been adopted by a policeman the authorities were more tight-lipped than usual. It wasn’t until last week that I even knew Jurek had maintained a connection to you.”

  “Why didn’t he ever contact me?”

  “He said you were with a good family. You seemed well-adjusted and safe.” She sighed. “Maybe he was afraid you’d hate him, and perhaps you do, but one thing I know for certain, the past is part of you, whether you want to admit it or not. You owe it to yourself to meet your father.”

  “He isn’t my father.”

  She didn’t argue. He was right. She wasn’t his mother, either. She got up. “Nap time should be over at The Dancing Hippo and I need to pick up Maya. That little squirt brought me back to life, just as you did once. Babies are good for the soul.”

  He didn’t refute the statement, but Yetta could tell he didn’t believe her. He would. Someday. She’d seen it in his future. But she didn’t tell him that.

  Chapter 8

  Grace pulled into the carport beside her mother’s eleven-year-old Lincoln. “Dang. If Mom’s home then, no doubt, our guest is, too.” She looked down at her grubby jeans and the work shirt that she still wore.