Authors: Dara Girard

Honest Betrayal (28 page)

***

Hunter sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dusk particles as they fell in front of the lamp light. Evening had settled in a warm darkness. The outside encased in stillness; inside he heard Brenna move about in the closet. He should be preparing for bed as she was, but he couldn’t seem to move. All that he had known about himself—his past—had been destroyed. Like a raging fire, Angie’s words had turned everything it touched into ash. He felt as though his mother had left him again. The same desolate numbness entered his heart as it had years ago.

Odd how he never remembered seeing her leave. He remembered her coat being left by the door and wondering why she hadn’t taken it. He had always expected her to come back. If not for him then at least for it. His father said she’d gone away. There was no sit down talk or chance for tears. It was a matter of fact report. He’d nodded and gone back to his room—numb. Left with the only truth he could grasp—one moment she was there then she was gone. He didn’t remember much else. What did Angie mean by him finding her? What had he found? What did his family not want him to remember?

There had to be something. That night years ago when he’d gone to Angie in need (for what, he wasn’t sure, he just wanted to hold her) still brought shame. There was something pushing its way through his mind. He’d just wanted to be with her, love her.

He was careful never to show that need now. Brenna would not see what Angie had. Although at times it welled up in him so strong he had to leave the room. There were times when he would bury his face in her pillow craving her warmth, craving to be inside her. He could feel that need now. Angie’s words had left him without his shield, exposed like the soft flesh of a crab. He hated the feeling and fought to control it. He would control it. He was always in control.

He heard Brenna come into the room and felt his entire body tense. He couldn’t look at her. Instead he continued to watch the dust particles fall. He closed his eyes when she sat beside him the scent of her lilac soap circling him. He felt her press her lips against the back of his neck.

He moved away then wished he hadn’t. He moved to touch her, but Brenna had already put distance between them. He stood and paced.

“Your family doesn’t like me,” she said. “But they like you even less.”

He stopped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Then why the warning? Why can’t you ask about your mother? You have a right to know.”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care that your mother was crazy?”

“It’s the past.”

“Your past.”

His tone hardened. “A past I don’t want to remember.”

“This is what they wanted. They wanted you to feel ashamed so they can keep you in line. What if they’re lying?”

He shook his head. “They’re not.”

“How do you know?”

“They wouldn’t lie to me.”

She bit her lip. “Why not?”

“They’re my family.”

“And they’ve never lied to you before?”

“They have no reason to lie.”

She folded her arms then softly asked, “What have you been doing at work?”

He went to the bathroom.

She followed. “What have you been doing at work?”

“Regular—”

She held up a hand. “I want the truth.”

He sighed exasperated. “I’ve been asking some questions.”

“Such as?”

“Things in accounting don’t add up. I wanted to know why.”

“Did you find out?”

“In a way.”

She nodded glad the pieces were coming together. “Then you have your reason. Someone wants to stop you.”

“They won’t be able to.” He turned on the faucet and washed his hands although he didn’t need to. “Someone probably made a mistake and is in deeper than they thought. I can clear things up then go along with my plan.”

“If they let you,” Brenna said in a voice so low, he didn’t hear her.

***

Brenna was not surprised by the invitation to visit the Virginia ranch that showed up two days later. She arrived as a chill wind blew, knocking against the bare branches of the trees that stood silhouette in the distance. Patches of snow was scattered about on the gravel drive. Ruby invited her to have tea in the kitchen nook where they could enjoy cucumber sandwiches and pastries.

“I’m glad you could make it,” Ruby said. “I wanted to apologize for how poorly things were handled Saturday.”

Brenna nodded. “It was an awkward situation.”

“Has Hunter spoken about it since then?”

“No, he’s following your advice and leaving it in the past. He’s too focused on work to let it bother him.”

“Of course. His work is a big part of his life. Most of us wives get used to it. Curtis and I used to talk about the company for hours.”

Brenna smiled faintly as she put sugar in her tea.

After a delicate pause she asked, “Do you and Hunter talk about things?”

“Not about work.”

“I see.”

Brenna sipped her tea then set it down. She sent Ruby a direct look. “So if there’s anything you want to know, you’ll have to ask him.”

She looked chagrined. “Not very subtle, was I?”

“I realize Hunter’s proposed changes can be unsettling, but he has the company’s best interest in mind.”

“Yes, I know.” She stirred her tea then set the spoon aside. “He just doesn’t know how powerful Orson is.”

“Orson should be proud of what Hunter is doing or trying to do.”

Ruby’s tone turned bitter. “Orson is only proud when things reflect well on him. Hunter must realize the company is not his to run.”

“He knows that. He—” Brenna stopped before she mentioned the accounting errors. “He loves his family.”

“In the strange way they are able to love I suppose. He was different not just because of his mother but because he was him. He was a very self-contained child. It was odd to see a four and five year old able to occupy himself for hours. He accepted me almost immediately when I came. Perhaps he was desperate for a mother figure, I was never quite sure. He was easy to handle, a good child except.” She picked up a pastry and stared outside.

“Except what?”

She turned to Brenna with regret. “Except he had these moments of temper. We couldn’t understand them. Moments when he would just tremble, his eyes turning black without any reason. It was quick, unpredictable then gone. His mother said they scared her.”

“So you knew her?”

“I didn’t know her well.”

“How did you meet her?”

“I visited her once to tell her about Hunter.”

Brenna leaned forward eager. “I want to know more about his mother.”

Ruby’s smooth tone dipped. “No, you don’t.”

“Since the beginning of our acquaintance I’ve sensed you wanted to tell me something.”

“There’s nothing more to tell.”

“Could I at least know her name?”

Ruby let her gaze fall then reluctantly said, “Marlene.”

“What did she do? Did she work? Is she still alive?”

“There is a trunk in the attic that may answer some of your questions. I think—”

“So glad you could join us,” Curtis said, entering the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Brenna said frustrated by his appearance.

“Must have been quite a drive for you.”

“It was fine.”

He squinted out the window. “You should have had Hunter drive you.”

“I can drive myself.”

He turned to her with faint praise. “An independent woman.”

Ruby spoke up. “I sent the invitation directly to her. Hunter didn’t need to come.”

He nodded then left. Just when Brenna was about to ask about the trunk, the chef required Ruby’s assistance with the dinner menu.

Brenna excused herself, asked for directions from one of the housekeeping staff and went to the attic. It was better kept than she’d expected. It had a little desk and chair, old clothes and toys and strangely no dust. She spotted the trunk Ruby had been referring to and opened it. There wasn’t much inside. A journal of household expenses, childish drawings and reports, then she saw lose papers written in a woman’s hand. One started ‘Dear Ruby’ and ended ‘Marlene’. She grabbed the letters and began to read them. Unfortunately, they didn’t make sense. Marlene spoke of a crying child and sadness then strange flights of fancy.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps as someone climbed the attic stairway. She heard the door open then a bolt lock.

Curtis came into the room. He tried to smile, but the expression didn’t warm his eyes. “Now how did you find your way up here?”

“I was looking to see where Hunter spent his time as a child. Ruby told me he spent a lot of time here.”

He held out his hand. “Whatever you found I suggest you give it to me.”

“Why would I find anything?” she challenged.

He smoothed out his beard. “Because you have an active imagination.”

“I don’t have anything that would concern you.”

“How would you know what would concern me?” He stood in front of her. “My first wife was ill. There’s no hidden story to unearth. It’s a painful chapter in my life. I’m trying to protect my son from it. This is how I like to remember her.” He held out a picture.

Brenna took it and stared at the faded photo. She noticed the dimples, the easy smile.

“There was no sign of madness when I married her. Perhaps I ignored it. I was busy with work, I admit to not seeing any signs until too late. She stayed home with Hunter and his nanny. Things were fine until she began to hear voices. I’d come home and find Hunter under the bed or in the closet where she’d put him to be safe. I knew then that something had to be done. The Mitchell Home took her.”

“Is she still there?”

“No, a sister of hers took her out after a few years and I haven’t heard from her since.”

Brenna handed him back the picture. “And you’ve made no attempts to find her?”

“There’s no point. I doubt she’d even remember me.”

“What was she diagnosed with?”

He hesitated. “Diagnosed?”

“Yes, the mysterious illness must have had a name. Psychologist love naming things.”

“Schizophrenia I believe. They used a lot of technical terms.”

“So that’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you lock the door when you just came in?”

He blinked. “I didn’t lock the door.”

Her brows furrowed. “But I heard—”

“You can check for yourself.”

She did the doorknob turned easily.

“Active imagination,” he said behind her, mocking. “I’ll go get your coat.”

Brenna didn’t believe him. She drove home a decision seizing her: She would find out about the institution and Marlene Randolph.

***

Stephen sat in front of the couch and turned on the TV. He was half asleep when someone knocked on the door. He rubbed his eyes and opened it. To two uniformed police officers stood there.

“Yes?” he said.

“Stephen Garrett?”

“Yes?”

“We have a warrant for your arrest in connection with the death of Percy Seaborn...”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Stephen sat in the interview room trying not to stare at the acne pockmarks of the interrogating officer Ramos. He had a round face and easy manner unlike the other officer who stood in the corner. A lean man with a face like a boxer and small dark eyes which made his expression hard to read. Stephen let his gaze drift away still shocked that Percy had been bludgeoned to death.

“When I left him he was fine,” he said, answering a question neither officer had asked.

Ramos rested a hand on the table. “We found your fingerprints on the murder weapon. Why don’t you make this easy on yourself? I know he stole from you. He’s done it to others. You got upset and things go out of control. Trust me, you weren’t the first one this guy made angry. Identity theft is a personal crime.”

Stephen leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. “I wasn’t that angry.” He lowered his head, scraping his shoe against the floor. “Actually, I felt a little sorry for him.”

“So he did steal from you?”

He glanced up. “Yes, but I didn’t kill him.”

“We have witnesses that saw you leaving the residence in a hurry. An autopsy proved that he was dead around the time you left.”

“I didn’t kill him.” He glanced at the guy in the corner then back at Ramos. “I’m not saying anymore until I get a lawyer.” The man’s eyes narrowed; Ramos sighed. That obviously wasn’t the statement they wanted to hear.

***

The next day, Brenna stared at her brother through the glass barricade as he sat in his prison jumpsuit trying to look brave. She absently hooked her cane on the edge of her chair, hoping this was all a bad dream. Her mother’s voice mail message still echoed: ‘They’re trying to hang your brother’. She remembered listening to the message three times certain that she’d misheard. She’d wished that Hunter had been home so that he could have heard it to. But he was away on business. So she stood by the phone in the large house feeling as though her world was collapsing.

Stephen didn’t meet her eyes; he stared at the high window behind her. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Nothing could keep me away.” When he didn’t reply she said, “Are you okay?” She wished that she had something more substantial to say. He didn’t look okay. He looked tired, anxious. She couldn’t blame him.

“I’m fine.” He let his gaze fall to the table. “The arraignment is to be held tomorrow.”

“You should get off on bail. You’re not a flight risk.”

“Hmm.”

“Scared?”

“Yea.”

“Me too.”

He rested his chin in his hand and sighed then lifted his gaze to her face. “Look after Fiona for me will you?”

Brenna inwardly cringed, but nodded. “Has she come by yet?”

“No. I don’t want her to see me here anyway,” he added in defense.

Brenna looked down at the table letting the subject drop. “It’s all a mistake. I’m sure everything will get cleared up soon.”

He tugged on his goatee. “Yes, have you told Hunter about this?”

She hesitated. “No, he’s busy. This is a family issue.”