by Jane Charles
Once my pulse is normal again, I take another deep breath, blow it out before grabbing the computer and putting it on my lap. Pulling up my browser I start my background check into the Baxter family. Maybe what I’m looking for is there, starting with Mag Bradley, which leads me to Mag Baxter Bradley, or rather, Magnolia Baxter Bradley. “Magnolia?”
Each link says about the same thing, and not telling me stuff that explains Baxter. So, I dig further into the family and school, following one link after another. There’re pictures from when it was an art camp, and a young Mag with a few girls and boy, Theo Baxter, who looks about three or four years older than Mag. I jot down the name for further reference.
The camp closed after a tragic accident. Wait, it wasn’t an accident. It was a suicide. I pull up the articles. Theo Baxter, age eighteen, a camp counselor, hung himself from a tree. Few details are given, but they aren’t really necessary. The camp closed after that and opened two years later as the Baxter Academy of Arts.
There’s a link between the two, but I’m missing it.
I review the specifications for the school, what has to be filed with the State Board of Education each year and updated whenever possible. These stats include enrollment, cost of tuition, scholarships, fund raising. I didn’t pay that much attention when I read it before, except to note who donated large sums. I was looking for the names that have become familiar to me for being linked to corruption. More specifically, I’m always looking for names that were once linked to my father.
Nobody on the Baxter donation list, that I know of at least, have any shady dealings, which is probably why I didn’t look any closer. I’m still shocked that one hundred percent of their students are on scholarship. There isn’t one family out there that can afford to send their talented child to this school?
At least it explains why they have such extravagant fund raisers. A few car washes a year certainly isn’t going to cut it. They need a hell of a lot more than the couple of hundred that would raise.
Next I pull up Jenna Ferguson, not that I got a bad vibe from her, but I’m nosy.
There it is. A fire back in February. Laura Ferguson, age eighty, suffered from smoke inhalation and admitted the hospital. At least she didn’t die in the fire.
Oh dear, but there’s an obituary. She died only a few weeks ago and her only living relative was Jenna. Was she Jenna’s only living relative? Memorial donations were to be made to the Alzheimer’s Association.
I can’t begin to imagine how hard that must have been for Jenna. At least my grandparents knew who I was up until the end.
Reading any further about Jenna doesn’t feel right. Her losses this year are huge and I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate me nosing around in her business. It’s not the same when a person isn’t corrupt and she’s entitled to her privacy.
I click back on the Baxter page to see what other staff I want to research and scroll through.
Wait! I could swear that last week there were two art teachers, now there is only one – Alexia Deme. I know there were two because I wondered how why they didn’t have more at the time. It is an art school. But, only Alexia is on that page now.
I pull up my notebook in the computer and check. There it is. Two art teachers – Alexia Deme and Jesse Tinley
Did the other one quit?
It’s just another question I’ll need to ask when I go back in a day or so.
After looking into a few staff, I find nothing of real interest, though a number of the counselors have psychology degrees. That’s strange. They’re there to help the kids make informed decisions about their future and maybe being a psychologist is the best way to help the kids figure out what they want to do with the rest of their lives. It still seems odd. Though, it’s not like I asked my school counselor what his degree was in. Maybe he was a psychologist too.
Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s after one in the morning. I really should go to bed. I look down the narrow hall. It’s too dark back there, and I know I couldn’t sleep. I’m still anxious and this research is about the only thing keeping me from panicking.
The news! That’s it. I haven’t paid any attention to what’s been in the news since before I moved. Surely I missed something. Maybe even something in this town, though I doubt it. I’m pretty sure nothing of interest ever happens here.
Gabe – 24
Caroline Elizabeth Elaine Westbrook’s picture pops up after I search the name. Actually, several pictures of her and her family, her rich daddy, fund raisers, parties with the elite of society, politicians and movie stars. Fancy dresses, fancy balls, fancy people, and she was only in high school. Then, pictures of her outside of the courthouse, on the stand in front of the grand jury where her father was indicted for prostitution, human trafficking, and smuggling, among various other illegal activities. I thought prostitution was legal in Nevada. Then again, it doesn’t sound like those connected with Westbrook were actually given a choice. That tends to change the legality a lot.
Not far away from Ellen, in most of the pictures after the indictment, is Scott.
Or, Special Agent Scott Donahue.
Why the hell didn’t she just tell me?
I shake my head and go back to reading.
Caroline Westbrook dropped off the face of the earth after that and not another word was reported. She simply disappeared.
Shit! No wonder she didn’t to tell me who he was.
The two phones, secrecy. Of course! I met her a week ago today, and even though she slept with me, I can’t really blame her for not coming clean. I can’t believe she told me her name yesterday.
Holy shit, I hope nobody overheard her.
I go back through Ellen West’s blog posts. One by one she attacks the men who were once in her father’s elite circle of friends, names that popped up in news as being investigated. She takes down each and every one of them, but they don’t follow a pattern, or at least not right after the other, but disbursed with other posts, as if there is no rhyme or reason to why she picked what she reported on. That was probably intentional to cover her ass. But, one by one, she was out to destroy anyone who worked with her father and guilty of the same crimes.
Her own vengeance.
It also explains why her picture never accompanies her blog.
One thing is certain, I was a bit harsh. I get why she changed her name and wanted to start over. I wouldn’t want to be linked to her shithead dad either. And, I get why she didn’t tell me who Scott really was.
But, I’m missing something. Why was a sixteen-year-old on the stand? She had to have been a character witness or something for her father. I can’t imagine it’d be anything else.
She was just a kid! The same age as almost half of my students.
Ellen has a lot more in common with them than she realizes.
After refilling my cup of coffee, I settle back on the couch, prop my leg back on the table and let the icepack rest on top of my knee and start reading through the articles that followed the indictment and trial, skimming until I get to the day Ellen appeared before the grand jury. There’s no reference of her testimony or anything relating to the case. Just that she testified. I wish they would have summarized her testimony, like the others, but after asking her name, she was taken into the judge’s chambers, to testify in private. Why?
Simply because she was a minor?
It has to be more than that, especially since her testimony lasted more than a week behind closed doors. I’ll figure it out, but one thing is for certain, Ellen West is not the person, or reporter, I had her pegged for. And, even though I don’t like that she’s snooping around Baxter, I’ve got a hell of a lot of respect for her. And, a part of me is starting to trust her again. Even if she did learn the truth, I’m not so certain she’d do anything to bring harm to the kids at Baxter.
An apology is in order. She might hate me, and I’m still not sure what to tell Mag, if anything. Are Ellen’s secrets any different from the ones Baxter is keeping?
/> Ellen
“Who the hell is pounding on my door?” Sunlight’s streaming into the room and I wince, turning away from it. I didn’t fall asleep until nearly four in the morning, really no closer to my answers about Baxter than before. I was considering giving up on the entire thing and search for another story until I read about the teacher arrested last week. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be connected. Baxter had two art teachers last week, an art teacher is arrested over spring break, and there is one teacher this week. Was the babysitter his only victim or were there students also?
Sure, the babysitter recanted, but a lot of victims say they lied when they get scared. It’s easier than facing the future of courtrooms and testimony. Of course, she could have lied at the beginning, but in my book, what a victim blurts out first is usually the truth. I just hope she’s okay. Shit like that can really screw you up. Not that I’ve experienced it, but I investigated enough complaints about the foster care system to know that a lot of kids fall victim and don’t always recover. How the hell could they?
The pounding starts again. Why don’t they just go away? It’s way too early for anyone to be here. And, the only people I know in this town are at their jobs.
I glance at the clock. It’s nearly ten a.m. So, it isn’t that early, but early enough for me.
Coffee. I need coffee and lots of it.
Pulling myself from the bed I stumble down the hall. How did I get in bed? The last thing I remember is lying down on the couch. An uncomfortable one, but that’s where I intended to sleep. I couldn’t be in the bedroom. It’s in the back of the apartment and I didn’t want to risk getting trapped back there.
Half afraid of what I’ll find, I look into the peephole on the door. What the hell is Gabe doing here at this time of day?
“Shouldn’t you be teaching a class?” I ask after opening the door.
He’s grinning at me and it does nothing to help my irritation. Though, he does look very fine leaning against the door jamb at the entrance of my apartment, wearing a light blue, tight t-shirt that compliments his eyes.
“I’m not needed today.” He shrugs.
Not needed. He’s a fucking teacher. Since when are they not needed on a school day?
Coffee, I need coffee and then maybe this’ll make sense and I’ll figure out why he’s here.
“Want to grab some breakfast?”
My stomach grumbles, answering before I can. “Why?” Should I trust him? He sure as hell wasn’t trusting of me yesterday.
“An apology.” He shrugs again. “I get why you changed your name and were secretive in New York. It can’t be easy being the one to turn your father in to the federal investigators.”
My blood turns cold and my face feels like ice. My fingers start tingling and my mouth goes dry. How the hell did he figure out the truth? My testimony was sealed and never made a part of the public record. “You’re mistaken.”
“Miss West,” Gabe starts with a condescending tone. “You’re a reporter. Surely you know the art of reading between the lines.”
Gabe – 25
Ellen’s blonde hair is mussed, as if she didn’t sleep well last night, or had been making vigorous love. My cock jumps to attention, remembering that incredible night we enjoyed. Right before everything went to hell.
She’s dressed in pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt. Damn she has nice legs and I get harder, remembering them wrapped around me, their strength as she rode me, draining ever single drop from me.
Ellen’s still staring at me, eyes widened, almost afraid, and she’s very pale. Had nobody figured it out? Surely she realizes people must know the truth, even if it wasn’t reported. “Coffee?”
She slowly steps back and leans against the counter. “What gave you this crazy idea that I had anything to do with my father going to prison?”
I blow out a sigh. “Don’t you think there’s been enough lies between us? Scott was in half the photos with you. What is he, your guard or something?”
“He’s a lawyer.”
I snort.
“Okay, he was before he joined the FBI, but that’s it.”
“Ellen, I dug through all the articles and reports. You’re the only one whose testimony wasn’t summarized, and done in secret. They played it off because of your age, but that isn’t way, is it?”
“You don’t know anything,” she snaps and stomps into the kitchen. “I was a minor and that’s all.”
“Minors testify all the time, in open court, you know that. If you were there to defend your father, it would have been on the stand. When I realized it was the prosecution who called you as a witness, everything fell into place. There was speculation on how the FBI gained the information and documents they did. It had to be someone who was close to your father. It’s easy enough to figure out.”
Her hands are shaking as she tries to pour water into the coffee maker. I take the carafe from him and pour so she doesn’t spill anymore on the counter. This really has upset her. “Nobody else figured it out?”
She blinks up at me, her brown eyes full of fear. “Of course, why do you think I live here and not there? Why do you think I changed my name?”
My heart goes out to her. None of it could have been easy.
“For sixteen wonderful years I thought my father was this honorable, philanthropic, wonderful man. He was none of those things,” she says with disgust.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” That hadn’t been my intention, but she’s clutching her hands together, shaking and pale. Her breathing is a bit off too. “Are you okay?”
Her head jerks up and she pins me with a sharp look. “Of course I’m not okay. There’s a reason only Ellen West exists and I can’t believe I even told you my real name. That is in the past. Caroline is dead and I want it to stay that way.”
“Are you in danger?” Her testimony not only destroyed her father, but led to the arrests and indictments of several other powerful men, some with links to organized crime. “Are you in witness protection?” That would make sense.
She shakes her head, looking down. “No. I wouldn’t go.”
Holy crap, she could be in danger. “If you’re in danger, why write the articles?”
“You’re the only one that put it all together and you never would have if I hadn’t told you who I really am.”
She does have a point. It’s not like she only reported on those thugs, but on anything and everything, burying those stories between nursing homes and child care centers.
“The blog was too important. It was the only means I had to expose monsters and protect innocents.”
She pins me with a look and it hits me. That’s why she is at Baxter. “You think kids are getting hurt at Baxter?”
Ellen shrugs. “When places are as secretive about what goes on behind closed doors as Baxter is, something is up.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what it is.”
I’d like more than anything to, but that’ll only seal my fate and I’d be fired on the spot. “I can’t.” Though I’m beginning to trust her, it’s not my place to tell her the truth.
She snorts and gets up off her stool. “And the reason I’ll continue digging.”
“Suit yourself, but there aren’t any dark secrets to uncover. It’s a high school for talented teens who like to remain private.”
Ellen rolls her eyes and grabs two cups from a shelf. At least she isn’t kicking me out. “Then tell me why Baxter employed two visual arts teachers last week and only one this week?”
Shit.
She glares at me. “Between the lines. Right?”
“He was injured and can’t return to teaching.” Maybe she’s fishing and hasn’t put it together.
“Because he was hospitalized after being beat up in jail.”
I shouldn’t tell her the truth, but how can I not? I can’t risk her thinking that anything that girl said was true and then blogging about it and then naming Jesse as
a teacher at Baxter. It could destroy the school.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then tell me what happened.” She sits across from me, her brown eyes linked with mine.
“Do I have your promise that it stays between us, and doesn’t go on your blog?”
She gives me a look that I can only interpret to say, you’ve got to be kidding me. “I’m not making any promises.”
“Then I’m not telling you anything.”
“You’d only try to convince me of his innocence anyway.” She gets up and goes to the cupboard.
“Because it’s the truth,” I practically yell. I wonder how long I’m going to be pissed about what happened to Jesse.
Ellen stills and looks at me. “You aren’t just defending a friend?”
“No. I know what happened. I wasn’t there, but others were, who I trust completely.”
She walks back over and sits on the stool. “He really is innocent?”
It’s like she never considered it to even be a possibility. “Yeah!”
“And you aren’t just trying to cover it up to save Baxter, to protect them somehow?” Ellen asks suspiciously.
I can only shake my head. “If I thought there was an ounce of truth, I’d be first in line to see him fired and then be there for the sentencing. Guys like that don’t deserve to be free and out in the world. However, he didn’t do anything to that girl and it sucks that this happened at all.”
“So, why did she do it?”
“Jealousy. It’s the only reason we could come up with that makes any sense, especially based on past comments the girl made.”
“Why jealous? What did she say?”
“The girl had been his babysitter for about a year. She had a crush on him and a few people picked up on it, but nobody was concerned because he saw her as a great babysitter for his kid and employee to watch the gallery when he was busy. I don’t think he had a clue she had any feelings until she blurted out her lies.”