Unlawfull Alliances

by Felicity Nisbet

  I shook my head. “No,” I said quietly, reminding myself that I was trying not to judge at all. Trying was the operative word here.

  “Don’t judge you harshly for what?” We both whirled around in reaction to the sound of Anthony Morrison’s voice.

  Rosemary quickly snatched a smile from midair, plastered it on her face, and went over to greet her husband. The martini would be late today.

  “Being an overprotective mother,” I answered his question.

  “And an overindulgent grandmother,” Rosemary added to my words.

  “Mrs. Campbell,” Anthony said, nodding in my direction. “How pleasant to see you.” But he seemed more than a little distracted as he rubbed a spec of dust from the arm of a porcelain statuette that stood in the entryway. It was very similar to Michaelangelo’s David, but knowing Anthony Morrison, it was undoubtedly an original, commissioned just for him.

  “Jenny came by to see how I’m doing. She’s so kind to check on me.”

  “Yes, very kind.” Anthony smiled that charming smile that seemed to captivate women’s hearts. He removed his gloves, folded them neatly into the pockets of his overcoat, then grabbed the mail from the silver tray on the entry table. He flipped through the envelopes, tossed them back on the tray, straightened them into an apparently preferred position, and said, “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Despite the deep down seething that was working its way up to my teeth, I returned his nod. Just like Rosemary, I thought, doing the polite thing.

  “Are the dogs in the kennel?” he asked Rosemary as he started up the stairs.

  “Yes, I thought you would want to let them out yourself.”

  He nodded. She had done well. “Is Danny awake?”

  “Angela has him out in the carriage. Scott will be here soon to pick him up.”

  Anthony turned and headed for the front door. Despite their crying that had just reached my ears, his dogs would have to wait.

  I said good-bye to Rosemary and after a cordial hug, followed Anthony as he sought out the obvious apple of his eye. He dismissed the nanny, as only Anthony Morrison could do, and scooped up the baby from the carriage.

  It wasn’t polite, my question, but it refused to stay stuck on the tip of my tongue. “Are you his birth father?”

  “What!?”

  I shook my head and put up a hand, very much the way I did when my children were on the verge of a lie. “I know about your affair with Amy.”

  He met my stare, not so much as flinching. Instead, he held the baby against his chest as if trying to get the comfort a child might expect from an adult. “I don’t appreciate this perverted need of yours to pry into other people’s business, Mrs. Campbell. Especially mine.”

  “Right now, anything that affects Scott, I consider my business.”

  “Why would you continue to investigate a closed case?”

  “I’m not only an investigator, Mr. Morrison. I am a minister.”

  “Oh yes, Amy did mention that.”

  “And right now my concern for Scott is more spiritually oriented.”

  He sighed and set the baby back down in his stroller. “Very well. I’ll answer your question. No, I am not Danny’s real father.”

  “How can you be sure—?”

  “I am sure.”

  I did not blink. Nor did I move. Silence. Long and disconcerting enough to make him talk to me. Or maybe it was his belief that if he answered my questions, I would stop asking them. Either way, I knew I was about to hear the truth.

  “You’re asking me this question as a minister.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you will honor the confidentiality of what I am about to tell you.” It wasn’t a question.

  I had no choice. “Yes.”

  “I know that Danny cannot be my son because I’m— I am unable to have children.”

  “But Scott—”

  “Is not my son.”

  “Who—?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The plot thickened.

  “You mean Rosemary was implanted with—?”

  “Rosemary was pregnant when I married her.”

  “She wouldn’t tell you who the father was?”

  “She doesn’t realize that I know that he’s not my child. Nor has she any idea that I’m sterile. Why else do you think she’d put up with so much crap from me?” He laughed, apparently quite pleased with himself. “Guilt goes a long way.”

  “Far enough to forgive all your mistresses over the years?”

  “Ah, so you know about Erica too. You are a curious one, aren’t you?”

  I did not feel inclined to respond to that. “Let me get this straight. All these years, thirty some, right, you have let Rosemary believe that you think Scott is your son. And she has never told you who his birth father is.”

  “Looks that way. Are you satisfied?” He gripped the stroller as if ready to leave my overwhelmingly delightful company.

  “Not really. Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Maybe I should have said how. How can you live like this?”

  He laughed. “Easily. I have what I want, and Rosemary has what she wants.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I have a son, or so everyone assumes. And she has a father for her bastard child.”

  “Some father-son relationship,” I mumbled. Almost as good as the devoted husband-wife relationship.

  * * *

  The next morning I went straight to Morrison, Gimble, Stratton, and Morrison. I was trying not to be analytical about any of this. I suppose that came from Joe’s disapproval of my need to chew information until it was reduced to spit. His expression, not mine. But it was hard not to analyze, considering the information I had recently received. And wasn’t it part of a detective’s job, to chew information until you made sense of it? That, and letting your intuition guide you. There was something ironic about this. The two things that made me a decent detective were the two things my husband did not embrace. Maybe that was why he did not like me playing PI.

  Just as I settled in and was beginning to enjoy the receptionist’s flipping papers back and forth as she talked to herself, she said, “Mr. Gimble will see you now.”

  I walked down the hall to Jim Gimble’s office, wondering where Anthony’s was. I did not particularly want to run into him. Ever again. I’d had enough of Anthony Morrison to last a lifetime, even if he was a dog lover. Sorry, Joe, but my law office partying days are over.

  “Hello, Mrs. Campbell, what can I do for you? My secretary said it was urgent.”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you in the middle of your work day, but—” I took a deep breath. No, I wasn’t sorry at all. I didn’t give a damn about his work day. “I’ll get right to the point. I need to ask you some questions.” I sat down in the chair he did not offer. “You might want to close the door.”

  I smiled when he quickly followed my suggestion. Then he leaned against the edge of his desk. “What is this about? I really don’t have a lot of time here.”

  “I’ll only take a minute. It’s important.” I paused and took another deep breath before blurting out, “Are you Scott’s birth father?”

  I hit him hard. It worked. He did not have an instant to cover his reaction. And I had my answer.

  He was intelligent enough to know that. He stood up and walked behind his desk to the security of the familiar view. “It happened a long time ago. Dana and I had been married for a couple years. Things were not going well.” He looked at me. “But you don’t need to know that, do you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Anyway, it happened. It wasn’t just an affair, mind you. I fell in love with Rosemary. And she with me.”

  “Why didn’t—?”

  “She did not want to hurt Dana. She regretted our affair as soon as it began. It was hard. We couldn’t help— Well, anyway, what happened, happened. I wanted to divorce Dana and marry her, but when Rosemary found out Dana had gotten pregnant, she wouldn�
��t hear of it. Right after that she began dating Anthony Morrison.” His tone changed as he spoke through clenched teeth. “When she told him she was pregnant, he asked her to marry him. He assumed the baby was his, you see.” He laughed. “She was impressed that he didn’t hesitate for a moment to ask her to marry him. She believed he wanted to do the honorable thing. And I suppose she somehow managed to fool herself into believing that he loved her. The bastard. He’s too goddamned egotistical to love anyone but himself.”

  I didn’t correct him, but Anthony Morrison knew nothing about love, especially self love.

  “How could you work with him all these years?”

  He grunted. I was beginning to like that grunt a little more now. “It hasn’t been easy, but I knew it would keep me close to Scotty.”

  “And Rosemary?”

  “I suppose. I love Dana. Now more than I ever did. But Rosemary is—” He sighed. “She needs someone watching out for her. She’s so gentle, vulnerable.” His tone shifted from soft to harsh. “And she’s put up with so much garbage from that bastard. All because she felt guilty for not telling him the truth about Scott. I wish to Hell we had done it differently. I wish I could go back and make different decisions. That woman has put up with so much crap because she feels guilty for manipulating him.”

  It took every ounce of my willpower not to tell him that Rosemary had not been the only one to manipulate the situation back then. But I could not divulge Anthony’s secret.

  “Why haven’t you told Scott all this?”

  “Rosemary wouldn’t let me. She thinks it would devastate him.”

  I shook my head. “On the contrary, I think it would be a great relief. Besides, Scott is a big boy.”

  He smiled. “She does coddle him a bit, doesn’t she? Still I hate to cause more upset in her life. And she is his mother.”

  “And you’re his father. You have rights too, Jim.”

  “I know.” He slid his hands into the comfort of his pockets. “There’s also Dana to consider.”

  I smiled. “You underestimate her, I think. She’s a pretty bright lady.”

  “You think she knows?”

  “Very possibly. And if she doesn’t—”

  “She’d forgive me. She’s like that.” His face softened. “And she knows I love her.”

  “And it would be nice, don’t you think, for Scott to live the rest of his life knowing he really is loved by his father?”

  Chapter 18

  My intuition had led me astray. Well, not completely. I had, after all, uncovered a secret here and there. Just not a murder.

  I was tremendously relieved it was over. I could go back to my own life. A depressing thought popped into my mind. What if after all this, my own life seemed boring? But I wiped that thought right off my mental chalkboard. Life was good. I was onto a new adventure with an empty nest. It would be exciting. I would make sure of it.

  I was humming all the way to the den. I pulled Jerry’s file from my briefcase, glancing through it one more time, just so I could finally put it to rest. I grabbed my purse and car keys. It was time I returned it. Then I would know I had really let this case go.

  The doorbell rang as my hand was turning the knob. I swung it open in surprise. “Meredith!”

  “Hi, Jenny.”

  “What are these?” I set down my purse and Jerry’s file, so I could run my hands over the curve of two beautiful bowls.

  “The lone survivors of your smashing episode.”

  “Wow! What did you do to them? They look so much better.”

  Meredith laughed. “Just glazed and fired them.”

  “Are you sure that’s all?” I could feel the wrinkle forming between my eyebrows.

  “Yes, that’s all.” Her silvery blond hair was blowing in the breeze, as graceful as she was. I motioned for her to come inside, closing the door behind her.

  I studied the two bowls, one still in Meredith’s possession, the other in my anxious hands by now. They were good, better than I remembered them. But as I studied them, the tiny dent and the wounded lip were still visible, although barely, with Meredith’s expert glazing job.

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” I heard Meredith’s voice saying somewhere in the distance. My mind was elsewhere.

  “They are nice,” I heard myself answer. “But not perfect.”

  I took the two bowls and set them on the fireplace mantel.

  Meredith’s voice felt louder now, and closer. “They fit in well here.”

  I laughed. “Why, because they’re not perfect?”

  “Give yourself some credit, Jenny. You’re beyond perfection.”

  I turned and smiled at her. Then I reached out and gave her a well received hug. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

  “Me too. Now the office parties won’t be so boring.”

  I didn’t tell her I’d sworn off those. “What do you say we skip them, and meet at your pottery studio instead.”

  “I think you’ve got something there. As long as I can dress up on occasion. Still a little of that leftover conditioning from childhood.” She laughed at herself.

  “We can head for the pub afterwards, and have a pint or two.”

  “I said dress up.”

  I shrugged. “You’ll fit in anywhere. Turn a few heads maybe.”

  She raised an eyebrow. She liked the idea.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you to the car. I have to return something to an old friend.” I closed the door behind us, and followed Meredith down the stone path to where our cars sat, side by side. My old Volvo beside her gorgeous Mercedes sports car.

  “Nice.” Maybe it was time for me to get a new one. A pang of guilt struck and I mentally apologized to Winston.

  “Hugh bought it for me.”

  “When? I don’t remember seeing it.”

  “Just last week.”

  I looked at her carefully. “Do you still think he was having an—?”

  She waved her hand through the air. “I don’t know. But if he was, it’s over now.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can just tell.” She thought for a minute. “He’s a lot more loving. And it’s not fake, you know?”

  “Yes,” I said softly, relieved for her.

  “I think Amy’s and Jake’s deaths affected him deeply, and he decided life is too short to spend it all working. At least he’s not working as hard. He’s home more.” She laughed lightly. “He even gets home on time for dinner a couple times a week.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “So, what do you think? I’ve always wanted a sports car, but could never justify getting one. But now that the days of twin baby strollers and car seats are long gone—” She was grinning as she ran her hand along the clean surface of the hood of her new Mercedes.

  “Did you keep your old car around for driving teenagers to soccer games and school dances?”

  “Hugh traded it in for this one. He bought the boys a pickup truck last year as soon as they turned sixteen. The best present I’ve ever gotten.”

  I laughed. I could relate. The end of a mother’s career as a chauffeur. “Better than this?” I asked, still admiring the Mercedes.

  “Maybe. Well, not quite.”

  We made a date to meet the following day for lunch and pottery, and climbed into our cars. The hippy and the Goddess popped into my mind. You did not have to have everything in common to be friends.

  I was smiling as I backed out of my driveway and followed Meredith to the corner where she turned right and I turned left to head for Jerry Bridges’ office. I was halfway to Jerry’s before I realized that I had another reason for seeing him besides returning his papers.

  * * *

  The receptionist connected the call, scooted her chair into position so she could see me better, and said, “You may go in now.”

  I headed down the hallway, taking in the view of the Space Needle through the windows of the offices whose doors sat ajar. There was something about the Needle that attracted me. Ma
ybe it was the concept of creating whatever you want in your life. Maybe it epitomized that for me. It was, after all, a sudden World Fair creation. Nothing more. An idea that was erected on the whim of a few individuals and a city. A thought, manifested.

  “We meet again, Mrs. Campbell.”

  “Yes.”

  “What can I do for you this time?”

  I cleared my throat, took a deep breath and stepped closer to the desk behind which Amy Morrison’s murderer sat. “She was just a possession to you, wasn’t she?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about Amy, your daughter-in-law, your son’s wife, your mistress—one of your mistresses. She meant no more to you than one of your porcelain statues or antique vases.”

  His arms automatically crossed in front of his chest. “I don’t need to be harassed by you. I think you’d better leave. Now.”

  “You care more about your dogs than you did about her.” I took a step closer. “Help me out here. What was it about you, that attracted her?”

  He smiled. His ego had been touched. “She had her reasons.”

  “Good looks and power? But that wore thin after a while, didn’t it? And then she moved on to someone else. She had not found in you what she was really looking for after all, a father figure. Instead she found a controlling man who would do anything to hurt the son who was not really his child. Anything to prove he was better than him. What I don’t understand, Anthony, is why you wanted a son in the first place.”

  As he was searching for an answer, I figured it out. “Your pride. Was that really all it was? You had to prove you were man enough to sire a child, just another way to prove you were as good as your father. But then you set out to destroy the boy who helped you prove that.” I shook my head and turned toward the door.

  Confident that he thought I was leaving, I turned back to confront him one more time. “You set out to destroy the man who had won your father’s affections where you were not able. You had an affair with his wife. And when she wanted out, you refused to let her out. Your wounded ego could not handle that. And so you killed her. The ultimate destruction, one final blow to your son who had succeeded where you had not.”