Daughters and Sons

by Tom Fowler

  “I’m not an asshole,” I said. “It was such a new experience for her, she forgot to stop me.”

  “What do you think you’re doing here?” he marched to me and stopped one step short.

  “You had a chance to be honest with me in your office.”

  “I was honest with you, Mr. Ferguson.”

  “Then why is the man who arranged for your daughter to be beaten half to death here in this room?”

  “You’re saying Jackson had Melinda beaten?” he roared

  I didn’t reply. Did he know Melinda took a pounding?

  Davenport stared at me. I stared back.

  “Jackson?” he said after a moment. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Jackson stood and looked at me. “I saw you in a parking lot,” he said. “You tried to keep Melinda from me.”

  “One way to look at it,” I said.

  “She’s not yours to hide away.”

  “She’s not yours at all, Jackson. It’s kind of the point.”

  “I still haven’t heard what this is all about,” said Davenport.

  “The point is your boy Jackson paid to have Melinda and a good friend of mine beaten,” I said.

  “You said so already.”

  “And I’ll keep saying it until it sinks in,” I told him.

  “She’s not yours to hide away,” Jackson said again, this time with an edge of desperation darkening his tone.

  “I took care of your friend Kormos, by the way. He’ll be all right after the bones in his face heal and he gets a lot of dental work.”

  “Mr. Ferguson, you should leave,” Davenport said. He stared at me again.

  I smiled at him. “At the risk of sounding like a child, Mr. Davenport . . . make me.”

  “The police can make you.”

  “I don’t think Jackson would want you calling them.”

  “Don’t listen to him, Dad,” said Jackson.

  “Dad?” I said, unable to contain my surprise. They both stared at me. “You aren’t related anymore.” I pointed at Jackson. “And hasn’t he done enough damage to your actual flesh and blood?” They both kept gaping at me. “You two are fucked up.”

  “Melinda made her choices,” Davenport said.

  “You don’t give up on family. I’ve . . . had to learn it myself.”

  “How touching.”

  “Check your phone, Mr. Davenport.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Just do it. Close the stock reports and look at your texts.”

  “How did you get my private number?” he said as he retrieved a Blackberry from an endtable.

  “You shouldn’t insult your guests.”

  Davenport glowered at me again. It must have been an important boardroom tactic. Maybe his stare cowed union leaders. I ignored it. Davenport diddled with his phone. I knew he looked at the picture when the color drained from his face. “It’s your daughter,” I said. “You see what Jackson ordered his friend to do to her.” Jackson muttered something. “Check your phone, too, asshole,” I said.

  He took an Android phone from another table. Jackson frowned a moment later. “There’s what I did to Kormos. He hurt a friend of mine, too. He’s lucky I stopped with his face.”

  “Fuck you,” Jackson said.

  “Eloquent.”

  “Jackson?” Davenport said. I heard small trembles in his voice. “Is this what happened?”

  “You’re going to listen to him?” Jackson said, pointing at me in the event of any confusion. “Him? Over me? I’m your son!”

  “Stepson,” I said.

  “Shut up,” Jackson said. “Just shut up!” He went back to the table holding his phone and opened a drawer. A second later, he held a pistol in his hand. My pulse quickened. I knew Rollins covered me from outside, but someone pointing a gun at me spiked the heart rate. The day it didn’t, I needed to quit.

  “Jackson, put that gun down,” Davenport said.

  “Yes, Jackson,” I said. “Put the gun down, before someone gets shot.” I said it more for Rollins’ benefit than for Jackson’s.

  “You mean like you?” he said.

  I heard a muffled report a microsecond before a large window at the back of the sunroom exploded. Jackson staggered forward from an impact I didn’t see. The semiautomatic tumbled from his hand as he pitched forward. Davenport dropped into a crouch and looked around with panicked eyes. “What the hell?” he said.

  Jackson lay on the floor, clutching his left buttock. Blood oozed from between his fingers. The gun, a new-looking nine-millimeter, lay about six inches from his fingers. I walked to it and kicked it away, sending it sliding across the hardwood into the darkness of the yawning doorway beyond. “No, Jackson,” I said. “I mean like you.”

  “Mr. Ferguson?”

  “I didn’t come alone, Mr. Davenport. I couldn’t predict how Jackson would react.”

  “Will he be all right?”

  “I don’t think he’ll be able to sit down for a while, but he’ll live.”

  “Did he really do what you say he did?” I nodded. Davenport closed his eyes and shook his head. “What do I do now?”

  “Go see your daughter, Mr. Davenport. She hasn’t given up on you, even though she should have.”

  “I don’t deserve her devotion.”

  “You’re right; you don’t. But you have it nonetheless. Don’t squander it.”

  I walked out of the sunroom and left them as they were.

  Chapter 29

  When I arrived home, Gloria was already asleep upstairs. She heard me as I entered the bedroom and sat up as if waking from a nightmare. Even in the dark, I made out confusion and concern on her face, then saw them washed away by relief as she realized I’d come home. She sprang up and wrapped me in a tight hug. “I was worried about you.”

  “Everything went according to plan,” I said.

  “Davenport?”

  “I think he’s going to see his daughter.”

  “Really?” she said

  “She still loves him. It’s more than he deserves.”

  “What about Jackson?”

  “Rollins shot him right in the ass,” I said.

  Gloria laughed. “Sounds like everything is going to work out.”

  “I hope Davenport and Melinda can patch things up. They need each other. He’s as bad as she is.”

  “I’m just glad you’re home.”

  “Me, too,” I said.

  “Tired?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Come to bed,” Gloria said with a smile.

  I did. We were both asleep within a minute.

  * * *

  While I ate breakfast, my phone rang. It was Melinda. “My father came to see me,” she said. I couldn’t tell much from her tone.

  “Did he?”

  “He didn’t say you put him up to it . . .”

  “I didn’t. He wondered if he should go. I told him you still wanted him to, and I told him it was more than he deserved.”

  “Well, he came.”

  “How did it go?” I said.

  “It went OK. It was good to see him again . . . to talk to him.” Melinda’s tone perked up. “In some weird way, I think he needs me as much as I need him.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Thanks, C.T.”

  “Where do you two go from here?” I said.

  “I don’t know. He invited me to move back in with him when I’m discharged.”

  “And?”

  “I think I will,” Melinda said. “It’s better than the alternative. Then we’ll see about starting over.”

  I downed a mouthful of coffee. “I’m sure it will be easier with him behind you.”

  “I think it will. Maybe we’ll even give you the credit for all of it.”

  “All of it?” I said.

  “I’m Vincent Davenport’s long-lost daughter. Missing for five years and all that. It’s a big story. I’m sure Dad has people who are already spinning it for him. I’ll see if I c
an work your name in.”

  “I hope the spin doctors let you.”

  “Me, too,” said Melinda.

  * * *

  After lunch, I got another phone call. This time, caller ID indicated it was Leon Sharpe or someone in his office. I wondered if the panel at my hearing reached a decision. Only one way to find out. “Hello, C.T.,” he said when I picked up.

  “Wow,” I said, “not your secretary asking me to hold for you. This must be important.”

  “I wanted to call and tell you myself.”

  “Didn’t want someone else to cut my professional head off?”

  “If anyone is going to pull your license, it’ll be me.”

  “How reassuring, but you’ll have to get it from Rich.”

  “You can get it from him yourself,” Sharpe said, “so long as you wait thirty days.”

  I paused. Sharpe hadn’t called to tell me I was done, after all. “I’m suspended?”

  “Technically, I’m supposed to get you to turn in your guns, too, but this is a dangerous city. Try not to shoot anyone else for the next month, will you?”

  “I don’t plan to,” I said.

  “Maybe you should take a vacation.”

  “Maybe I will. How much did you have to do with the decision?”

  “I don’t think anyone actually wanted to pull your license. Maybe they only needed a few minutes with me to realize it.”

  “Whatever you did,” I said, “I appreciate it.”

  “Sounds like you’ve come to like your work. I didn’t know if you’d come around.”

  “It took me a while.”

  “I’ll deny I ever said this if someone asks me,” Sharpe said, “but you do good work. I’m glad we have you on the job.”

  “Thanks, Leon.”

  “Don’t mention it. Now get out of town and don’t shoot anyone on your way.” Then he hung up.

  Thirty days. I wouldn’t need to find something else to do, after all. I breathed a sigh of relief as I set my phone back on the table.

  * * *

  My parents have owned a timeshare for years. They rarely use it because they’ll end up going away with friends for two weeks and renting a palace. When wealthy, aging couples get together, only a palace will do. The result is my parents’ timeshare account accrues unused weeks. Because I know the password my mother uses for everything, I accessed their account with ease, transferred three unused weeks to myself, and traded them in for three weeks in Hawaii. Then I paid for the fourth week. Might as well be gone for thirty days.

  “Pack your bags,” I said to Gloria. “We’re going on vacation.”

  “Really?” she said, her eyes widening and a hopeful smile dominating her face.

  “Really. My parents never use their timeshare, so we’re going to Hawaii for four weeks. We’re staying at the Ko Olina Beach Club.”

  Gloria wrapped me in a hug and kissed me. “Our first vacation as a couple,” she said.

  I hadn’t thought about it, but she was right. Now I had to hope Gloria didn’t attach too much significance to this trip. I merely wanted to get out of town, not think about cases or my sister’s murder for a few weeks, and have sex with my girlfriend in one of the most beautiful places on earth. No diamond ring would find its way into my luggage.

  “I’ll book the flights,” she said. “I have a ton of miles from my tennis tournaments.”

  “Sounds good,” I said.

  The next day, we departed Dulles International Airport on a nonstop flight to Honolulu.

  * * *

  Gloria and I spent most of our first two days in Ko Olina in bed, alternately sleeping off the six-hour time difference and tiring ourselves out. We’d become well acquainted with our large and quite nice hotel room. Even Gloria couldn’t find fault with it. On our third day, we ventured out to the private sand of the Ko Olina Beach Club. Blue water splashed onto the white shore. The Hawaiian sun, about forty degrees warmer than Maryland this time of year, made for perfect bathing suit weather, and Gloria wore the perfect bikini. It would be a pity to stop gawking at her long enough to get into the water. Thankfully, Gloria got in, and I stayed on the beach, allowing me to stare at her as the water washed over her body.

  As we lay out on our chaise longues, my phone rang. I’d gotten a few calls from strange numbers so far and ignored them all. This swell of publicity normally happens after I close a case. If Melinda name-dropped me to the press, my potential incoming business would be greater than normal. Regardless, it could wait a month. This time, however, my parents called. I answered it. “Coningsby, you’ve been awfully quiet of late,” my mother said.

  “There’s been a lot going on,” I said.

  “Yes. Richard told us.” She emphasized my cousin’s name, no doubt in an attempt to make me feel bad. Being in paradise with a beautiful woman, however, is a great way to mitigate guilt.

  “I figured he would.”

  I could hear my mother sniff and tsk over the phone. “I know we’ve experienced a trying few weeks, Coningsby. Let’s have dinner soon. We can celebrate.”

  “Sounds nice, Mom,” I said, “but I’m out of town.”

  “Oh. For how long?”

  “Four weeks.”

  “Four weeks!”

  “My license got suspended for what I did to the bastard who killed Samantha. I figured I might as well take Gloria and get out of town. So we got way out of town.”

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “Hawaii.”

  “Well, you certainly went far. Are you staying someplace nice?”

  “Have we met?” I said.

  “Of course you are. Between you and Gloria, I can’t imagine you’re at anything less than a fine resort.”

  “You know us.” I didn’t tell her I cashed in their timeshare weeks. They’d probably never know.

  “It sounds very nice.”

  Being in paradise with a beautiful woman goes a long way toward overcoming a troubled conscience, but it can’t eradicate the feeling. A small pang gnawed at me. “Do you want to come out here?” I said, wincing as the words left my mouth.

  “That sounds nice, Coningsby. Thank you for the offer. But you and Gloria enjoy your time away. We’ll catch up when you get back.”

  “All right, Mom.”

  “Your father and I put some money into your account. I know you helped someone else too, dear, but this is the most important work you’ve done yet.”

  My nod was invisible to her half an ocean and a continent away. “It really is. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Enjoy yourself out there, Coningsby. And if you’re going to propose, make sure you get down on one knee.”

  “Mom!”

  “Goodbye, dear.”

  “’Bye.”

  Gloria walked to me, dripping water from her small, provocative two-piece as she approached. I watched with interest as drops ran down her neck and over her breasts. I couldn’t wait to peel the suit from her later. “Who was on the phone?” she said as she grabbed a towel.

  “My mother.”

  “Oh. What did she want?”

  “Nothing we can’t put off about four weeks,” I said.

  END of Novel #5

  Dear reader,

  I hope you enjoyed the book. It was definitely C.T.’s most personally challenging case so far—and my favorite to write.

  If you’re new to the C.T. Ferguson series, you can go back to his first adventure in The Reluctant Detective or get the first three novels collected in one box set.

  The books can be enjoyed in any order. C.T.’s next adventure sees him searching for a missing girl and taking on the Internet’s worst predators in A March from Innocence. Flip the page for a preview of this next novel!

  Thanks,

  Tom

  THE END

  Bonus Preview: Chapter 1 of A March from Innocence

  Blue is an amazing and underrated color. Dust and water droplets scatter and diffuse light, making the blackness of the sky take on a vibrant h
ue. Three of my favorite colors of dress shirts are shades of cyan. Some people have eyes blue enough to have stolen the color from precious gems. At the moment, my favorite shade was the perfect and endless blue of the Pacific Ocean in Hawaii.

  Gloria Reading and I had been here on vacation over two weeks. My last case resulted in the suspension of my PI license for thirty days. It was only fair—I assaulted the bastard, but in my defense, he murdered my sister thirteen years prior. The fact I hadn’t emptied the magazine into his body didn’t merit much consideration from the panel deciding my fate. I chose to get away from the emotion of the whole thing and take my beautiful girlfriend to the loveliest place on earth.

  I lay on the beach, having applied enough sunscreen for two normal people. Early December in Baltimore is cold, sometimes rainy and snowy. In Hawaii, we enjoyed perfect beach weather. I lay on a chaise longue with a book, letting the sunscreen soak into my skin before I ventured into the water. Gloria, who wore a bathing suit which hugged her curves better than it absorbed water, swam in the pearlescent waves. Our resort featured a private beach and lagoon. It had pools, too, but why bother with a pool when the ocean is right there? Gloria and I swam laps every day we’d been to the beach.

  A few minutes later, I decided the sunblock soaked in as much as it was going to, and I joined Gloria to race out to a manmade barrier reef. Gloria’s athleticism usually manifested itself in tennis, but she was also a good swimmer. I, however, happen to be a great swimmer, and I beat her to the barrier. We then moved to a rock formation to our right about 200 yards away. As we got closer, the ocean got darker, shallower, and colder. Jagged stones made walking on the bottom painful, so we swam slowly up to a section of beach before exploring the formation.

  We didn’t have shoes, but we did have a powerful desire to climb, and we each harbored enough competitive fire to want to get there first. The slipperiness of the stone made it slow going, and we paused to give each other a hand now and again. Nothing like a little friendly cooperation among lovers in the middle of a competition. After a few minutes, we got over the rocks and found a virgin tract of beach. Here, we could swim past the man-made barrier if we chose. Instead, we lay on the warm sand, each of us breathing heavier than normal from our expedition.