What She Doesn't Know

by Beverly Barton

  “Name your bank.”

  “First State Bank on Whitehead Street, at eleven tomorrow morning.”

  When Bendall stuck out his hand to shake on the deal, Max glanced at the man’s large dirty hand. “Eleven tomorrow at First State Bank.” Max didn’t shake his hand.

  Max grasped Jolie’s arm, his motion urging her into movement. Neither of them glanced back as they disembarked.

  “Since y’all were so accommodating, I’ll give you a freebie,” Bendall hollered.

  Max and Jolie stopped dead still but kept their backs to him, neither moving an inch.

  “When you’re looking over the files, don’t miss the most important clue of all.” Bendall paused for effect. “Lisette Desmond was pregnant. And you’ll never guess who the daddy was?” Bendall’s bawdy laughter mocked them.

  Jolie started to turn around, but Max jerked on her arm. “Don’t,” he whispered.

  When they were several yards away. Jolie said, “I never heard anything about Aunt Lisette being pregnant. Do you think we can trust him or trust anything he says?”

  “No.” Max kept walking.

  “Then why—”

  “He’s greedy. He’d sell his mother for a million dollars.”

  “Max, that’s an awful lot of money. I can come up with a million in cash, but it could take me a few days, maybe weeks.”

  At the edge of the dock, Max stopped, turned and reached out to cup her chin in the cradle between his thumb and forefinger. “I can have the entire amount here tomorrow morning. Consider it a gift from your father. Without his guidance, I wouldn’t be a very rich man today.”

  “Max, you don’t have to—”

  His thumb lifted to caress her lips. “Haven’t you figured it out, yet, chère? I’d do anything for you.”

  Chapter 23

  He’d had it good—really good—for the past fifteen years. After retiring as sheriff of Desmond County, Mississippi, he had, for all intents and purposes, disappeared off the face of the earth. He’d moved around a lot those first few years, but when he realized he was relatively safe, he’d settled in Key West. Roscoe Wells had paid him monthly “hush money,” nothing big, but enough to live well. He hadn’t tried to bleed Roscoe dry because, truth be told, he was just a little bit afraid of the old buzzard. Yeah, he had the Belle Rose massacre files, with copies in his lawyer’s safekeeping; but with the kind of ties Roscoe had to some powerful but unsavory people, a man couldn’t be too careful. Now, suddenly, everything had changed—maybe for the better. Who would have ever thought that Jolie Royale would join forces with Max Devereaux to dig up the past and try to get the old case reopened? And they were willing to pay him a million dollars for the files. With that much money a man could get lost in South America or on a Pacific island and live like a king. He doubted that even Roscoe could reach out that far to find him. Anyway, by that time, the son of a bitch would be rotting in jail, along with his precious son.

  Now, now, let’s not be too hasty. Let’s weigh all our options. Why not contact Roscoe and let him know that there’s a bid on the table. Who knows, he might up the ante. Wouldn’t that be sweet? Possibly a mil and a quarter? And I wouldn’t have to be looking over my shoulder, worrying that one of Roscoe’s goons might catch up with me someday. Yeah, make that call and see what he says. After all, if his answer is no, I can collect the million from Devereaux and be long gone from Key West before Roscoe can find out where I’ve been living all these years.

  Clarice practically ran the entire way from the mansion to Yvonne’s cottage. She had waited until Yvonne arrived and was busy in the kitchen before she left Belle Rose through the front door. After all, Theron had told her that he wanted their conversation to be private. She imagined he had all sorts of questions to ask her about his grandfather. Oh, the stories she could tell him about Sam Desmond. Her daddy had been quite an interesting man, ahead of his time in many ways. As she approached the cottage, she saw Theron sitting in his wheelchair on the front porch. She threw up her hand.

  He waved back and called to her, “Thanks for coming.”

  Clarice stepped up on the porch, went to Theron, bent down, and kissed his cheek. She felt him tense ever so slightly. “You sounded so eager to speak to me, so naturally I rushed right over as soon as Yvonne became occupied in the kitchen.”

  “Sit down, won’t you…Aunt Clarice.” He motioned to the rocker beside his wheelchair.

  Theron had called her Aunt Clarice again. How wonderful! She had thought perhaps it would take awhile before he’d be comfortable claiming her as family.

  She took a seat at his side. “Now, what’s this all about? What are you so eager to know? I’m a fount of information about the Desmond family. Ask me anything.”

  “I…uh…what I want to ask you about has nothing to do with the Desmonds—only with you…and Mama.”

  Tiny nervous butterflies twittered in her stomach. Apprehension. Uncertainty. “I know you never understood or approved of how close Yvonne and I have always been, but—”

  “It’s more than the fact that y’all are half sisters, isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” Clarice wrung her hands. Surely Theron didn’t suspect the truth. “We’ve been close since we were childhood playmates. We’re friends as well as sisters.”

  “I understand that,” Theron said. “But what I want to know is what else binds the two of you together? What secret do you share?”

  “Secret?” He doesn’t know, Clarice told herself. There’s no possible way he could have found out about what happened. Only three other people knew—Yvonne and Roscoe. And Jonathan.

  “Mama called Roscoe Wells earlier today and threatened him.”

  Gasping, Clarice patted her hand over her heart. “I didn’t think she’d really do it.” She had suspected that Yvonne would take whatever actions she thought necessary to warn Roscoe off, to make sure that if he’d been behind Theron’s beating, there would be no repeat performances. But why didn’t Yvonne share her plans with me?

  “You knew she was going to call him?”

  “I thought she might, although she didn’t actually tell me that she would. But since Jolie and Max suspect Roscoe of being behind the attempt on your life, I’m not surprised.”

  “Aunt Clarice…what did Roscoe Wells do to my mother? What crime did he commit that you witnessed?”

  “How do you know anything about…You eavesdropped on her conversation, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I need to know the truth. What did Roscoe do?”

  “Did you ask Yvonne?” Clarice rose to her feet and paced frantically, wringing her hands and murmuring to herself in a hushed voice. “He can’t know. No one must ever know.”

  “I asked Mama and she refused to tell me. As a matter of fact, she changed the subject immediately.”

  “I can’t tell you. Can’t tell anyone. Ever.”

  She had feared this day would come. Secrets had a way of being revealed sooner or later and often causing more harm and even greater destruction, after the fact. Forty-two years ago, Yvonne and she had made what they considered the best decision for all concerned. If they had told Sadie she would have told Daddy. And Sam Desmond, being the man he was, would have no doubt killed Roscoe and wound up spending the rest of his life in prison. And if Yvonne and she had not taken that little trip to New Orleans, on the pretense of a shopping trip for Clarice, they would have been forced to remember on a daily basis what had happened the day when, as young teenage girls, they’d gone blackberry picking.

  Theron wheeled over to where Clarice stood at the end of the porch, reached out and grasped her wrist. “All you have to do is answer yes or no. Did Roscoe Wells rape my mother?”

  Closing her eyes, Clarice whined like a child in pain. Don’t ask me. Don’t ask me. I can’t tell you. I can’t.

  “Clarice!”

  “No, no, no. I can’t tell. I can’t ever tell. It’s our secret. We swore to never tell a living soul as
long as we live.”

  “God! It’s true. I knew it. I knew it when I heard her talking to that bastard.” Theron slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. “When…when did it happen? What year?”

  When? What year? Why did that matter? Whimpering, Clarice tugged on her wrist. “Secrets. Secrets. So many secrets.”

  “There’s something I have to know. Please, Aunt Clarice. Tell me…is Roscoe Wells my father?”

  Mattie brought the portable phone out to the patio where Roscoe lounged by the pool. He glanced up as she approached.

  “Phone call for you, Mr. Wells.”

  “Who is it?”

  “He didn’t say. Just said it was important.”

  “A man can’t get any peace and quiet around here.” He held up his hand to accept the telephone. The minute he took it, Mattie scurried away. Damn insolent woman. “Yeah, this is Roscoe Wells.”

  “Hello, Roscoe. How are you doing?”

  “Who the hell is this?”

  The man chuckled. “Don’t you remember me? I’m the guy you’ve been sending monthly checks to for the past fifteen years.”

  “Bendall! Where the hell are you? You’d better be buried so deep that nobody can find you.”

  More chuckling. “There are only so many places a man can hide, unless he’s a lot richer than I am.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning Max Devereaux got his money’s worth out of the private eye he hired to find me,” Aaron Bendall said. “Devereaux and Jolie Royale showed up in my neck of the woods today…and they made me a mighty fine proposition.”

  “What kind of proposition?”

  “Devereaux offered me a million dollars in exchange for the original files on the Belle Rose massacre.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “He’s having the money wired to me first thing in the morning. We’ve set up a time and a place to exchange our goods.”

  “If you turn over those documents to Max, I’ll see to it that you don’t live long enough to enjoy a dime of that million.”

  “You could make it easy on both of us,” Bendall said. “Make me a counteroffer…one I can’t refuse.”

  “You asshole.” Why hadn’t he realized twenty years ago that Aaron Bendall couldn’t be trusted? Why hadn’t he arranged for an accident to befall the sheriff, then had those damn files destroyed before the bastard stole the files and started blackmailing him?

  “Are you willing to go higher than a million? For the sake of your future? For the sake of Garland’s future?”

  “Shut your damn mouth!” All his life, he’d covered his tracks, making sure none of his unlawful deeds would come back to haunt him. But it hadn’t been his crimes he’d been covering up all these years, not his own sins that he’d paid dearly to keep secret.

  “Times a wasting. Do I hear a million and a quarter?”

  “A million and a quarter.”

  “By ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” Bendall said.

  “I’m not sure I can arrange—”

  “I’m meeting Devereaux at eleven, unless I get your money by ten.”

  “You’ll have your damn money by ten.” Roscoe rose from the longue chair and began pacing restlessly. “But I want those files. And all the copies.”

  Before this ended, he’d have more than the files. He’d have a few scalps to add to his belt. There was fixing to be several accidents. He planned to start with Max and Jolie. Then he’d deal with that damn bitch, Yvonne Carter, and her uppity son.

  Max watched her from the balcony of his bedroom as she dove into the pool. Oddly enough she was only one of four people using the hotel pool this afternoon, but then the hotel wasn’t all that big. Only thirty rooms. A lot of the guests were probably out shopping, on the beach, deep-sea fishing, or scuba diving.

  Trim and toned, Jolie’s body possessed a sweet voluptuousness, every rounded inch of her totally feminine. The bathing suit she’d bought in the hotel gift shop was a simple black one piece and the fact that her body was adequately covered made her all the sexier. He wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman. When he’d first realized how he felt about her, he had been mildly surprised by the depth of his passion. He had once loved Felicia and had enjoyed having sex with her, but that was before his love had turned to hate. Yet there had never been this gut wrenching hunger between them, this ache deep inside, an intense pain that promised pleasure. He felt all that and more for Jolie; and it was only a matter of time until she would have to admit she felt the same.

  It was highly unlikely they could have a future together. Even if Jolie were to give in to her feelings for him, he doubted she could ever forgive him for being Georgette Devereaux’s son. In the end her hatred for his mother might prove to be stronger than her desire for him.

  Ironic that of all the women on earth, the one who had made him weak and vulnerable with such desperate longing was Louis Royale’s daughter. He had been trying to convince himself that if he made love to her, eased the sexual tension sizzling between them, then what he felt for her would become controllable. But what if after he’d had her, it wasn’t enough? What if he only wanted her more?

  The telephone on the bedside table rang. Max walked from the balcony into the bedroom and answered on the fourth ring.

  “Devereaux.”

  “Max, I don’t know what the hell you’re going to do with a million dollars, but everything is set up for the transfer. It will be deposited in your name at the First State Bank in Key West, Florida, at ten-thirty in the morning.”

  “Thanks, Danny Lee. I appreciate your taking care of this so quickly,” Max said. “And I don’t guess I have to tell you that this transaction is something I expect to be kept in strictest confidence.” Like his father and grandfather before him, Danny Lee Loveless was the president of the First National Bank in Sumarville, as well as a long-time Royale family friend.

  “Is there anything going on that I can help you with?” Danny Lee asked. “I’ve been your financial consultant for years now and if you’re going to invest—”

  “It’s a personal investment,” Max said.

  “Say no more. Just rest assured that the money will be there when you need it.”

  “Thanks again.” Max ended their conversation, then dialed the manager’s office.

  “Watson Fritz. How may I help you?”

  “Yes, Mr. Fritz, this is Max Devereaux. I’d like you to find a reason to close the pool area for the next two hours, except to Ms. Royale and myself. And please have a pair of swim trunks brought up to my room as soon as possible. Just bill them to my suite.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Devereaux. I believe the pool should be closed immediately for some minor repair work in the area. It will take approximately two hours before the pool can be reopened to our guests. And I’ll personally choose the swim trunks for you and have them sent up immediately.”

  “One other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like dinner served here in my suite, at around seven-thirty. I’ll leave the selections up to you.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Max hung up the phone, then went back onto the balcony to watch Jolie. She lifted herself out of the pool, squeezed the water from her hair, and dried off with a white hotel towel. With the pool secluded by a U-shaped hedge and with no chance of anyone interrupting them, what better time than the present to manipulate the situation to his advantage, to lay the groundwork for his seduction. He intended to have Jolie Royale. In his bed. Tonight.

  Nowell Landers held Clarice in his arms, soothing her with soft tender words and gentle caresses. She kept mumbling incoherently and shaking her head.

  “Theron, how could you have upset her this way?” Yvonne demanded as she stood over him, a reproachful expression on her face. “You know how emotionally fragile she is.”

  “I’m sorry that Clarice…Aunt Clarice is so upset and confused. I swear that I had no idea she’d go all weird like that.” Theron tried
to defend himself, but he could tell by his mother’s tight mouth and narrowed gaze that he wasn’t going to be able to easily redeem himself. Often the best defense was offense. “But if you’d answered my questions about Roscoe Wells, then I wouldn’t have been forced to ask Aunt Clarice about the big secret you two share.”

  “What did she tell you before she got so upset?”

  “Nothing really.”

  “But you kept pressing her to remember things, to tell you things, and she lost control and went off into her own little world.” Yvonne glanced at Clarice. “She is so fragile that it doesn’t take much to upset her, and bringing up the topic of Roscoe Wells and what happened that day over forty years ago sent her off the deep end.”

  “Should you call a doctor for her?” Theron asked. Hell, he hadn’t meant any harm to Clarice. He’d known she was a little off and had been since the Belle Rose massacre, but he’d had no idea how mentally unstable she really was.

  “All the doctors in the world can’t help her,” Yvonne said. “I’m just glad you called when you did. Thank goodness Nowell had just arrived at Belle Rose and came straight over here with me. He seems to be able to do more with her than anyone else.”

  Nowell held Clarice in his arms and spoke to her quietly. “Do you want to go home, honey? I can fix you a nice cup of tea and we can sit in the gazebo and relax?”

  “Yes, Jonathan, that would be so nice,” Clarice replied. “I want you to meet my sisters, Audrey and Lisette…and Yvonne. They’ll be my bridesmaids at our wedding.” Clarice giggled. “People will be so shocked when they realize Yvonne is part of the wedding party. But I don’t care. She’s my sister, you know…and my very best friend.”

  Nowell’s gaze met Yvonne’s and they exchanged sympathetic looks. Theron hung his head.

  “We’ll go on up to Belle Rose now.” Nowell led Clarice off the cottage porch, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll call later and let you know how she is.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Yvonne watched Clarice and Nowell as they headed up the road. As soon as they were out of earshot, she turned on Theron. “The secret that Clarice and I share is nobody’s business but ours. Do you hear me, son? And if we choose to use that secret to protect you, then that, too, is our business. I don’t want you to ever question Clarice about it again.”