Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4)

by Nick Pirog

  His hair was fuller and his glasses a touch thicker, but there was no mistaking it.

  It was Tom Lanningham.

  Wheeler’s father.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I hit the small bell on the counter.

  “Just a minute,” she called from the back.

  A couple seconds later, she pushed through the back door.

  “Hey,” Wheeler said. “What are you doing here?” Her face grew concerned, “Are Harold and May okay?”

  “They’re fine,” I assured her.

  I took a breath, then said, “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Her concern faded and her arms crossed. “If this is about Caroline, I already heard.”

  I let out a small sigh.

  How did she find out? Had Caroline told people? Jerome? Or had it been so obvious everyone at the luncheon had known?

  “In the high school bathroom,” Wheeler said, shaking her head. “Seriously?”

  “That isn’t what I came to talk to you about, but since you brought it up. Yeah, it was stupid. She followed me into the bathroom, and we made out like hornball teenagers.”

  Her arms crossed a couple inches farther. Her shoulders threatened to dislocate.

  Against my better judgment, I asked, “What is it with you two, why do you hate her so much?”

  I could see her debating whether to disclose her reasoning. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she said, “Miller.”

  “Your ex?”

  “Yeah. She slept with him the day after I broke off the engagement.”

  “Which time?”

  She huffed. “Both times.”

  “Jeez.”

  “Yeah, she doesn’t waste any time.”

  I almost said, “If you broke up with him, then technically neither of them did anything wrong,” but the bell on the counter was within arm’s reach and I didn’t want it chucked in my direction. I went with, “I’m sorry.”

  “Now she’s doing it again.”

  I scrunched my eyebrows together.

  “Don't act like you don’t know I have a thing for you.”

  I grinned sheepishly and said, “If it’s any consolation, I have a thing for you too.”

  Her arms relaxed slightly, then flexed once more. “Then why did you make out with that floozy in the bathroom?”

  “I’m an idiot.”

  I’ve learned over the years this is the best answer to a question that has no right answer.

  “Yeah, you are.”

  She took a couple steps forward, her white lab coat swaying, then said, “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

  And just when we’d gone and made up.

  I thought about turning and leaving, burning the photographs and documents. But I had to tell her. She had a right to know. And, to be honest, I needed to see her reaction. I needed to know she wasn’t aware her father was involved in a twenty-year-old cover-up with the Lunhill Corporation.

  There was a bench in the small waiting room and I said, “We should probably sit down.”

  For the first time, her eyes moved to the manila folder in my right hand. She followed me to the bench and sat down next to me. Our legs touched. I handed her the folder and said, “I found out what Neil Felding had on Lunhill.”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Darcy Felding.”

  “Neil gave this to her?”

  “He left it for her in their safety deposit box.”

  She swallowed, then pulled the documents from the folder.

  I watched as she peered down at the first photo. The one of the fifteen dead cows lying in various positions on their sides.

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  She moved to the next photo. Then the next. I didn’t need to see her face to know when she reached the one of her father standing over the sick cow. I would have known by her audible gasp. She whipped her head around. “That’s my dad.”

  One of the hardest emotions to fake is surprise.

  Wheeler didn’t know.

  “I know,” I said.

  She was silent for the next few minutes, moving through the remaining photos and the documents.

  Finally, she looked up at me. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, my father was not involved in this cover-up. If he was there, he was there to help those animals.”

  “That’s possible.”

  “Possible? No, that’s what happened. He was the most loving, gentle man on the planet. He would never have signed on for anything that would hurt an animal.”

  “Did he ever tell you about this?”

  She inhaled sharply, then said, “That doesn’t mean he did anything wrong.”

  “Fifteen of the seventeen cows they treated with their hormone died. You don’t think that’s a story your dad would have shared with you? If not as his daughter, then as a fellow veterinarian?”

  Her eyes started to water. “He wouldn’t.”

  I took her hand.

  She pulled it away. She folded the pages up and shoved them back in the large envelope. “Take these,” she said, slamming the folder against my chest, “and leave.”

  “Wheeler?”

  “Get out!” she screamed.

  I stood and walked toward the door. I turned. Wheeler had her head in her hands, openly sobbing.

  I cleared my throat.

  She glanced up at me.

  “Lunhill gave Neil Felding fifty thousand dollars a month to keep this quiet. They probably gave your dad money too.”

  Then I left.

  “This is my wife, Joan,” Jerry said, nodding at a fair-skinned blond woman in a blue summer dress. “And this is Tyler. And that little guy is Patrick.”

  Tyler was seven. He inherited his mother’s blond hair, freckles, and blue eyes. Patrick was four. He had darker hair like his father but, like his sibling, he had his mother’s light blue eyes.

  I gave Joan a hug, then shook hands with both the boys.

  “Where should I put this?” I asked, lightly shaking the bottle of red wine I brought.

  “I’ll take that,” Joan said, taking the bottle. Then, giving the label a cursory glance, she quipped, “Oh, goodie. I love Malbec.”

  She headed off toward the kitchen and instructed Jerry to give me a tour of the house.

  Jerry spread his arms wide and said, “So this is the house.”

  “Nice tour,” I said.

  Tyler gave a tug on the bottom of his dad’s collared golf shirt and said, “Can we finish up our game before dinner?”

  Jerry glanced at me and asked, “You play Madden?”

  “It’s been awhile.”

  Thirty-five years to be exact.

  Jerry gave Tyler a little shove in the shoulder and said, “Me and this punk are tied with five minutes to go.”

  Tyler smirked and said, “But I’ve got the ball on his six-yard-line.”

  The four of us made our way to a door off the hallway and headed down to a finished basement. There were two huge black leather couches, the kind with the reclining chairs built in, surrounding a curved flat screen TV.

  Jerry and Tyler plopped down on the couch and picked up their respective controllers.

  “Who’s who?” I asked, taking a seat next to Tyler. Patrick climbed up on the couch and nestled in next to me.

  “I’m the Redskins,” Tyler said, “and my dad is the Cowboys.”

  On-screen it showed the score was tied 31-31.

  I nudged Patrick and said, “Who are you rooting for?”

  His little face scrunched, then he said, “Tyler.”

  “Good man,” I said, giving him a poke in the belly. “Always stick with your brother.”

  He giggled.

  “You picked the wrong side,” Jerry said with a maniacal laugh.

  The two boys chuckled.

  You could tell the three of them were great buddies.

  The game resumed, and I watched the last five minutes, which I
have to be honest, was almost as exciting as watching a real game. With just twenty seconds left, Tyler was winning by four points. Jerry marched the Cowboys down the field and they were on the Redskins’ fifteen-yard line.

  “My dad’s gotta score a touchdown to win,” Patrick said, bobbing up and down in his seat.

  Jerry threw a pass into the end zone, but it was batted away by one of Tyler’s Redskins at the last moment.

  Jerry yelled, “Shit!”

  “Daaaaaddddd!” Patrick screamed, then extended his hand.

  The game was paused. Jerry stood up, took out his wallet, and gave both Tyler and Patrick a dollar.

  “I wish I would have known about this rule on the golf course,” I ribbed him. “You’d have owed me sixty bucks after that shot out of the sand trap.”

  Jerry laughed.

  Three plays later, the game was over. Tyler won. He did a quick victory dance, then his dad took his wallet out a second time and handed him a five-dollar-bill.

  I asked Jerry, “Does he have to give you five dollars if he loses?”

  “No,” Tyler said. “I have to clean his car.”

  “My turn,” said Patrick, grabbing Tyler’s controller off the couch.

  Jerry said, “Why don’t you play, Uncle Thomas?”

  Uncle Thomas.

  I wasn’t technically their uncle, but if Lacy got knocked up, I might someday be an actual uncle. I, Thomas Dergen Prescott, would be partially responsible for helping to shape a child’s life.

  God help us all.

  Tyler coached me in my game against Patrick, but it was still a bloodbath, and he beat me 46–14.

  When the game was over, Patrick glanced up at me and said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to give me any money.”

  “Do you take plastic?” I asked.

  He looked confused. I took out my credit card and swiped it behind his ear. He went into hysterics.

  Joan called down a minute later that dinner was ready.

  After dinner, the boys took their dessert—cherry pie and vanilla ice cream—down to the basement.

  Jerry topped off both Joan’s and my wine glasses, and I asked, “Where did you guys meet?”

  Joan, who hadn’t spoken much over dinner, save for the occasional reprimand of one of the boys, said, “We met at work.”

  “At the bank?”

  She smiled. “I was working at a branch in Springfield when my first marriage went south. I was looking for a fresh start somewhere and put in for a transfer. Tarrin had an opening.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  She took a sip of wine, set it down, then said, “Ten—no, eleven—years ago.”

  I turned to Jerry and asked, “How long did it take you to get her to go out with you?”

  “Six months,” he said. “I asked her out on Halloween.”

  I turned to Joan and saw her grinning.

  Jerry continued, “She was working one of the teller windows and she’d worn these little cat ears and drawn whiskers on her face.” He turned to Joan and said, “She just looked so damn cute.”

  Joan said, “I still have the ears.”

  “Then what happened?” I asked.

  Joan answered, “After we started dating, I had to transfer to the Mexico branch.”

  “Company policy that you can’t date someone at the same branch,” Jerry explained.

  “I worked in Mexico for a few years,” Joan said, “got promoted from teller to loan officer, then I got pregnant with Tyler.”

  Jerry smiled and said, “Then I chivalrously asked her to marry me.”

  We all laughed.

  Joan said, “Been home with the kids ever since.”

  We chatted for another hour, then the boys returned. Patrick really wanted to show me his room, and I let him take my hand and lead me up the stairs.

  He was big into Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and his room was painted dark green with posters of all the turtles on his walls.

  There were a couple pictures on his dresser and I picked one up. It was Patrick riding a horse with a big smile on his face. He was a little smaller, and I guessed the picture was taken about a year earlier.

  “Do you like horses?” I asked.

  He crooked his head to the side, “Yeah.” Then he added, “But not as much as Ninja Turtles.”

  It was closing in on 8:00 when I returned to the farm.

  There was a blue sedan parked in front of the house.

  Caroline’s car.

  Bollocks.

  I stepped from the car, then pushed through the front door. Harold and May attacked me with kisses.

  “Hi guys,” I said, craning my neck into the living room. She wasn’t there. “Caroline?” I shouted.

  There was no answer.

  Maybe she was outside somewhere.

  “Where is she?” I asked the piglets.

  They didn’t know. Or they were too hungry to care. While filling their food bowls, I heard a creak. From upstairs.

  My stomach dropped.

  I made my way upstairs. The door to the master bedroom was closed.

  “Caroline?” I shouted. “Um, if you’re in there, can you come out so we can chat?”

  I waited a long minute.

  Maybe she wasn’t in there. Maybe I closed the door myself. Or maybe the wind blew it shut.

  I closed my hand on the doorknob and pushed the door in.

  Caroline was on the bed. She was lying on her side, her head resting on her hand. She was completely naked.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Hey.”

  “Hi,” she purred.

  She massaged one of her large—and I must admit, perfect—breasts with her left hand.

  “So,” I said, “I need you to put some clothes on.”

  “You don’t want to finish what you started?”

  She swiveled from her side to her back. Then ever so slowly, she began to spread her legs.

  A better man may have been able to shield his eyes. To look away. But not me. I stared at her vagina as if there was an endangered fresh water dolphin on my bed.

  I mentally splashed cold water on my face and said, “Put some clothes on. This isn’t going to happen.”

  Then I walked out of the room.

  She came downstairs a couple minutes later. She was wearing a black robe and sandals. Apparently, that’s the only clothing she brought.

  “You really know how to make a girl feel unwanted,” she said brusquely.

  “I’m sorry, Caroline, but this,” I moved my hand from her to me, “just isn’t going to work.”

  She took a couple steps forward. She was only a foot from me. She pulled her robe open. “Don’t you want to touch them?”

  I took a steadying breath. “Caroline.”

  Finally, accepting defeat, she closed her robe.

  “Please leave,” I said, nodding toward the door.

  She stalked to the door, then slammed it.

  Headlights appeared through the window and I walked outside. It was a truck. Wheeler. She parked and stepped out.

  Caroline was just getting in her car and rolled down the window. “You can have him,” she belted, then gunned the engine and accelerated away.

  Wheeler looked at me questioningly. “What was that about?”

  I told her.

  “She spread her legs?”

  “Basic Instinct style,” I said with a laugh.

  “Then you kicked her out?”

  “I did.”

  She fought down a smile, then said, “About earlier, about my dad.” She paused. “I know you were just showing me what you found. I shouldn’t have screamed at you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I probably would have reacted the same way.”

  She handed me a couple sheets of paper.

  I looked down at the pages. They were bank records.

  Wheeler said, “My dad had been getting ten thousand dollars a month from Lunhill for twenty years.”

  “He told me the money was comin
g from a rich guy whose dog he saved many years ago,” she said. “It was when my dad was first starting out. Some bigwig was traveling through town and his dog got hit by a car. My dad saved the dog, and the guy was so appreciative that he set up a trust to give the clinic ten grand a month.”

  “And you’re sure this isn’t the truth?”

  She shook her head. “I have a friend at the bank. She traced the account number. It’s not a trust. It’s something called Hillman Enterprises, which I’ve been researching on the internet for the past few hours and doesn’t seem to exist.”

  “And you think it’s Lunhill?”

  “Don’t you?”

  I did and told her so.

  “There’s more,” she said. “The year my dad started taking the money. That’s the year my mom left.”

  “You think she knew?”

  “I called her.” She took a deep breath. “The clinic was struggling. My dad could barely keep up with the bills. Then Greg Mallory called him to come look at some of his cows. There was a guy there. Offered my dad money to keep what was happening at the dairy quiet. My dad took the money. My mom was disgusted. Left him and me a month later.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t your mom ever tell you?”

  “She said she didn’t want me to hate my dad.”

  I put my arm around her shoulder.

  “He was my hero,” she sniffed.

  “I remember when I found out my dad wasn’t perfect,” I said. “I was fifteen. I walked in on him doing a line of coke in his office.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He told me he didn’t do it very often. Only when he had a bunch of work to do. Then he said if he ever caught me doing it, he would cut off my balls.”

  “Wow.”

  I said, “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  She sniffed and said, “And I’m sorry your dad was a cokehead.”

  We both laughed.

  I took her hand and said, “Think about how many animals your dad helped over the past twenty years. If he hadn’t taken that money, he might not have been able to do that.”

  She brushed a tear off her cheek, then she turned her head, her soft eyes gazing into mine. I leaned down and brushed my lips against hers. We are only allowed a few perfect moments in our lifetime.