Kentucky Woman

by Mike J. Brogan

  “I understand.”

  “Falcone will also need to take your sworn affidavit, a legal statement about all this.”

  “Any time he wants.”

  Irene seemed to relax from finally unloading the heavy secret she’d been forced to carry for too many years. Quinn could see it had been very painful for her. And he was pleased to now see great relief in her eyes.

  One second later, she looked terrified.

  Quinn turned and saw why.

  Irene was staring at the tall black man who’d just walked into the restaurant.

  NINETEEN

  Irene Whitten relaxed as she got a better look at the tall black man who walked in the Huddle House.

  “Ain’t Dontrell!” she said, setting her knife back on the table.

  Quinn was relieved to see Irene relax.

  Suddenly, she stood up. “Well, Quinn, I got to get back to The Pines. Thanks a bunch for listenin’ and helpin’ me.”

  “Sure. If you remember the boy’s name, let me know.”

  “I will.”

  They walked out, said goodbye and drove off.

  As Quinn drove back to meet with Ellie Stuart, he thought about the mindboggling implications of what Irene Whitten had told him.

  Leland T. Radford had a second son, a son that his estate executor, Fletcher Falcone, knew nothing about.

  Quinn had to let Falcone know now.

  Quinn dialed his direct line and was relieved when he picked up.

  “Falcone.”

  “Quinn Parker.”

  “Hey, Quinn, you have a good chat with old Irene?”

  “Yes sir, I sure did.”

  “Betcha five bucks she whomped on Zelda!”

  “You’d win five bucks!”

  Falcone chuckled. “Oil and water, those two. Like I told you, after Leland’s wife died, Zelda moved in and ran The Pines like a Parris Island drill sergeant. She was a vile, nasty woman! She despised Leland’s staff, nice folks, especially Irene. Treated them like dirt.”

  “I got that impression.”

  “So, did you learn what you needed to know about Radford?”

  “Yes, sir I did.”

  “Good.”

  “I also learned something you need to know about Radford.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Leland Radford had another son.”

  The line was silent so long Quinn thought his phone dropped the call.

  “What did you –?”

  “Radford had a son by a housekeeper at The Pines, a woman named Jacqueline Moreau.”

  Long pause. “Jackie Lynn who …?”

  “No. Jacqueline M-o-r-e-a-u.”

  “But Radford would have told me!”

  “He didn’t know.”

  “How could he not know his housekeeper was pregnant? He saw her every day.”

  “She left The Pines when she was only a month pregnant. She didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

  Long pause. “Well, I will be damned! If this doesn’t beat all!”

  “When Zelda found out, she blackmailed Jacqueline into not telling Radford she was pregnant with his child.”

  “Blackmailed her?”

  “Threatened to have her deported back to Martinique.”

  “Jesus! But why the hell didn’t Irene just come and tell me about all this. I could have sorted things out.”

  “She couldn’t tell you. Zelda blackmailed Irene, too.”

  Falcone sputter himself into a cough. “What a witch!

  “So it seems. But Irene had more to say.”

  “What?”

  “An hour after Zelda died, Irene went to Radford’s hospital room and finally told him he had another son. Radford was overwhelmed with joy. Said he always loved Jacqueline. Said the worst mistake he ever made was letting her leave The Pines. And he told Irene to please go find his son because he wanted him to inherit his estate.”

  Falcone’s cough sounded like gravel shaking in a tin can. “Radford said those words?”

  “Basically, yes.”

  “Will Irene swear to that under oath?”

  “She will.”

  “Good Lord Almighty! We gotta find the son fast! Where is he now?”

  “Irene has no idea. Zelda kept everything secret!”

  “What? What about the boy’s mother, this Jacque …?”

  “Jacqueline.”

  “Where’s she now?”

  Quinn paused. “Sadly, she died in a car accident when the boy was a baby.”

  “Good Lord!”

  “And then, Zelda handled the boy’s adoption.”

  “To whom?”

  “Only Zelda knew … and the answer died with her.”

  “Damm! This keeps getting worse, Quinn. What’s this boy’s name?”

  “Irene’s trying to remember it.”

  “Awww shit! No first name. No last name. No name of the adoptive parents. No date of birth. Dead mother. I’ve got nothing to work with here, Quinn.” Falcone coughed hard again.

  “I sorry, Mr. Falcone. That’s all Irene knew.”

  “How am I going to find this boy?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “If he knew Radford was his father, he probably would have come forward by now, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Boy, Quinn, this changes everything. I’ll put out a legal notice immediately in the local media. But I can’t even put in his name, or the date he was born … and I sure as hell can’t run a notice in every damn newspaper in the country.”

  “Try the Internet. Put a notice on those sites that connect children with birth parents and vice versa. And try Facebook and Twitter.”

  “Good ideas. But I gotta get my ass in gear. Our probate court date is just days away!”

  “Good luck, sir!”

  “Thanks, Quinn, for informing me. But if you or Irene remember anything else about the boy, let me know fast.”

  Falcone huffed a few times like he’d just sprinted a hundred-yard dash. Quinn was afraid the three-hundred-pound attorney might keel over any second.

  “I will.”

  They hung up.

  Quinn wondered if the son would ever see the notice. And if he did, would he realize he was Radford’s son? The boy was only three months old when his mother died.

  What if the son lived in another state or another country? Or serving in the military. He was the right age. What if by some incredibly cruel twist of fate the boy died in Iraq like his half-brother, Rick Radford?

  But, if by some miracle, the boy was located, he’d have to prove that he was Leland Radford’s son. And prove it in the next few days.”

  Quinn’s cell phone rang. It was Irene.

  “Quinn, I just remembered.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The name of Leland and Jacqueline’s son. She named him Alex.”

  “Alex. That helps, Irene! Thanks.”

  He immediately phoned the boy’s name to Falcone who sounded greatly relieved to at least have a first name to work with.

  Moments later, he pulled in to a Phillips gas station and filled up. The station triggered another name. Maude Phillips. They’d dated his senior year, until she transferred to the University of Miami to study dolphins. Only time he lost a girlfriend to a fish. At Maude’s farewell party, she introduced him to Jennifer. And when Maude moved to Florida, Jennifer moved to Quinn. She started hanging around his law school, phoning, inviting him to her sorority events, mildly stalking him until they began dating.

  Jennifer was stunning, outgoing, and a DuBois, one of Kentucky’s oldest and wealthiest families. In the beginning, Quinn was swept away by her lively beauty – and frankly by her family’s affluence. He’d never known such wealth. Once, at her parents’ home when the chef asked him what he’d like for lunch, he’d jokingly said a peanut butter sandwich. Quinn watched in awe as the chef took fresh cashews, peanut oil, brown sugar, molasses, and put them in fancy blender. One minute later, he ate the best peanut
butter sandwich in his life.

  Jennifer and he grew closer. But after a few months, he noticed a subtle, but disturbing change in her. She was demanding much more of his time. Time he didn’t have because of his law studies, legal clinic hours, and his part-time job at the car dealership. She also kept suggesting he stop hanging with his football player buddies. She dismissed them as “knuckle-draggers” even though some had higher grade point averages than she did. But more than anything, it was Jennifer’s need to know where he was, and with whom, at all times.

  Clearly, it was time for a heart-to-heart talk, something he’d been putting off for too long.

  He needed time apart from her, time to think.

  It would be difficult for both of them.

  TWENTY

  Ellie saw Quinn’s TrailBlazer turn into Carrie Ann’s driveway. She said good-bye to Carrie Ann and her mother, then hurried out and got in.

  “So how was your meeting with the housekeeper, Irene?”

  “Incredible. Turns out, Leland Radford had – ” Quinn froze, obviously realizing he shouldn’t reveal anything more.

  “Had what?”

  He shook his head. “If I told you, I’d have to kill ya!”

  “That’s strict!”

  He smiled, but wouldn’t tell her.

  Her cell phone rang and she answered. “Oh, hi, Judge Nesbitt.”

  She pushed the speaker button so Quinn could hear the Judge whom they’d visited earlier. Quinn leaned closer and she smelled his pleasant, lemon-scented aftershave.

  “Ellie, I remembered something,” the judge said. “You see, my brain’s rustier than a wrench left out all winter. I jumpstart it with crossword puzzles. This morning I needed a seven-letter name for a pipe tobacco that started with a D.”

  Ellie wondered where the good judge was going with this.

  “Then bingo, I remembered – Dunhill!”

  Judge Nesbitt cleared his throat.

  “See, there’s a tall woman named Dunhill lives over in Barbourville. Drucilla Dunhill. Midwife. Delivers more babies than an obstetrician. Folks call her The Stork.”

  Ellie’s pulse ticked up a notch.

  “But Drucilla also is rumored to handle informal adoptions that, you know, circumvent the legal system. No official documents. Drucilla apparently delivers babies of young women who aren’t capable of raising the infant due to young age, drugs or whatever. Drucilla finds only good homes for the babies. Never charges one red cent.”

  “But I was adopted here in Harlan County.”

  “Drucilla has delivered lots of babies to Harlan County and all over Kentucky. Even Tennessee. She worked mostly with the House of Grace, a good home that helps young pregnant girls and women. Mind you, Drucilla’s no spring chicken!”

  “Where’s the House of Grace?”

  “Also in Barbourville. Drucilla works with a woman there named ah … Mary Louise. If you see ’em, tell ’em I said hi … and good luck!”

  “I will and thank you, Judge.”

  They hung up.

  “That sounds promising,” Quinn said. “And the House of Grace is right on our way back to Louisville.”

  “Great!” Ellie felt hope. Just maybe Drucilla delivered me to the Stuarts … or knows who did … or maybe she even knows my mother!

  Ellie could barely contain her emotions as Quinn drove off. But a hundred yards later they came to an abrupt stop. A thick tree limb blocked most of the narrow country road.

  Quinn started to back up and drive around it when they both heard a loud BANG!

  A second later, something ripped into the car’s roof pillar inches from Ellie’s head.

  “Ellie, get down! Someone’s shooting!”

  They ducked down to the floor. Ellie’s finger hit 911.

  Huntoon Harris cursed himself for missing the easy shot. He lay hidden in the forest, maybe ninety yards from where he’d dragged the big tree branch across the road.

  But instead of driving over the small end of the branch, the Chevy driver backed up fast, screwing up the timing of his shot.

  Huntoon flipped open his cell phone and reported in.

  The boss was enraged, but gave him new marching orders.

  Huntoon put away his Ruger.22 hunting rifle, took out his Glock and shoved in a full 15-round clip.

  TWENTY ONE

  “An officer’s here, Ellie,” Quinn said.

  They stepped from the TrailBlazer, introduced themselves to the tall Harlan County deputy and explained what happened. The tall, muscular deputy, whose badge read Bill Greenlee, looked quite concerned. He fingered his moustache, then walked them around to the hole in the side roof pillar.

  He aimed a pin-light into the hole. “Yep. That’s a bullet down in there.”

  Ellie realized the bullet struck four inches from her head.

  Officer Greenlee pulled on a latex glove, took out a skinny tool, pried the bullet out, studied it, then dropped it in a baggie.

  “.22 Hornet. Small hunting caliber. The angle suggests it came from over yonder. That forest.”

  Ellie looked over at the thick forest.

  Greenlee nodded. “Folks hunt turkeys back in there a quarter mile. Not supposed to aim toward the road! But some idiots forget where this road is. These damn stray-bullets happen now and then. Could have caused a terrible accident!”

  “We’re not sure it’s an accident,” Ellie said.

  “Why’s that ma’am?”

  She and Quinn explained about the attack by the van as she rode her bike to school and the red pickup truck that followed them around Harlan.

  Officer Greenlee grew serious. “In that case, ma’am, I’m gonna check out who’s huntin’ with .22 Hornets in that forest today … and whether any of them drive red pickups. And if I find the guy, I’ll question him. Where can I reach y’all?”

  Ellie and Quinn handed him their phone numbers, thanked him and left as Officer Greenlee walked toward the woods.

  Quinn drove toward Barbourville. Ellie emotions raced wild partly because a bullet had nearly slammed into her head. But mostly because she’d soon be at the House of Grace where she might meet Drucilla Dunhill and Mary Louise … two women who may have known her mother – and may still know her.

  Quinn’s phone rang. He answered, listened for a minute and hung up.

  “That was my pal Tim at the State’s Community Based Services. I’m sorry, Ellie, but Tim can’t find any record of your adoption in the state files or in Harlan County’s. He even checked Indiana and Tennessee databases and came up empty.”

  Ellie nodded. “Did he search for my birth record?”

  Quinn paused. “Tim found nothing, Ellie. Sorry.”

  Ellie slumped in her seat. The familiar frustration flooded back.

  “How can there be no records of my birth or adoption?”

  Quinn shook his head. “I wish I knew, Ellie.”

  “It’s natural to want to know your biological parents …”

  “Of course.”

  “Not knowing them makes me feel … I don’t know … disconnected from my ancestors, my natural family … maybe unwanted … like a feather blowing in the wind.”

  Quinn started to speak, stopped, then placed his hand on hers. It felt comforting.

  She remembered the first time she wondered whether Joyce and Harold Stuart were her natural parents. She’d been on an eighth grade school bus trip to Cumberland Falls. Their teacher pointed to a magical mist hovering over the waterfall and told them all to make a wish.

  The mist created a stunning white arc in the night sky … a Moonbow. Ellie looked at the Moonbow and wished for a college scholarship. Years later, her Moonbow wish came true – she was awarded a full scholastic scholarship to the University of Louisville.

  The Cumberland Falls class trip had been great fun until the bus ride home … when Lurleen Gatlin, Queen of the Mean Girls, walked up the bus aisle, pointed at Ellie and announced in a loud voice for everyone to hear, “My Momma says you gotta be ‘dop
ted, cuz you ain’t lookin’ nothin’ like what them Stuarts does. Momma says them Stuarts pulled you out of a garbage can.”

  Ellie’s face turned beet red. Lurleen’s words had hurt because some people laughed, but also because the words had the sting of truth. Ellie had wondered why she was taller and thinner and lighter skinned than Harold and Joyce.

  Now, years later, she checked herself in her visor mirror. She did look different than the Stuarts. Her face was thinner, and she had higher cheekbones and blue eyes, not brown like theirs.

  As to Mean Lurleen, word was she worked at Popeyes Chicken on the gravy machine and weighed two hundred fifty pounds.

  “Hey there,” Quinn said, “You’re kinda quiet.”

  “Just thinking …”

  “About what?”

  “Well, what if my mother was not the wonderful mother I’ve always pictured – the woman who wept and gnashed her teeth as I was ripped from her arms? Maybe she couldn’t wait to dump me! Maybe my father was an axe-murderer!”

  Quinn looked at her. “Maybe you’d rather visit the House of Grace another day?”

  “No. I’ve waited too long for this day.”

  “Good. Because we’re here.”

  He pointed up at the House of Grace, a massive, three-story Victorian home set high on a hill.

  Huntoon Harris had kept his black Navigator a few vehicles behind the TrailBlazer. He’d been told to follow Ellie and Quinn, and report where they went. He watched them park in front of a rambling three-story house.

  Why here? he wondered, sipping vodka from his flask.

  Huntoon made a call. The man answered on the first ring.

  “They just parked in front of a place called the House of Grace.”

  The man cursed under his breath for several seconds.

  “When they come out, check their faces. Let me know if they seem pleased or happy.”

  “What do I do if they seem pleased or happy?”

  “Then you have an assignment.”

  “What?”

  “The same assignment you just fucked up in Harlan!”

  TWENTY TWO