Luke blew out a breath. “That was Leigh?”
“Yeah.” Pete shook his head. “Houston found her pretty quickly, but told her he wouldn’t arrest her and strung her along until he needed her. That was this week.”
“We showed Houston’s picture to Jeff Katowsky,” Chloe said, “the guy who tried to kill Captain Beardsley. He identified Houston as the cop who busted him. Same song as Leigh. Houston didn’t book him in exchange for future favors.”
“Did Houston keep a journal?” Susannah asked sarcastically.
Pete’s smile was wry. “No, but he’s willing to talk. He’s scared of Georgia jail.”
“And of New York jail,” Chloe added. “Al Landers plans to charge him with rape. Yours. You never got to confront Granville or Simon, but you can confront Houston.”
Talia leaned forward. “But only if you want to.”
Susannah felt every muscle in her body grow still. “Oh, yes. I want. Thank you.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment, then Chase pointed to the ivory box. “Open it.”
Her hands steady, Susannah pulled on the gloves Ed offered and took the lid off the box. Then looked up with a frown. “Chess pieces? That’s all?”
Ed shook his head. “There’s a spring mechanism under the queen. Push it.”
She opened it. “His dog tags.” She pulled them out, let them dangle. “Ray Kraemer.”
“And a slug,” Luke murmured. “Looks old. Maybe the one Ellis shot into his leg.”
“Maybe. A photo.” Susannah’s breath caught. “It’s Mr. Grant, younger, with an older Asian man in robes. Oh my God. Mr. Grant’s got the walking stick.” She turned the picture over. “
‘Ray Kraemer and Pham Duc Quam, Saigon, 1975.’
”
Nancy studied it. “That’s Grant’s handwriting. I’ve been reading his journals all day.”
“I got Ray Kraemer’s and Michael Ellis’s military records,” Chase said. “Kraemer was captured in ’67, Ellis in ’68. It was thought Ellis was captured by the Vietcong while trying to desert, but nobody was sure. He found an army camp after escaping the POW camp. He’d been lost in the jungle for three weeks. Because they couldn’t prove he’d deserted, he was honorably discharged. Kraemer was listed MIA. Until today.”
“Mr. Grant was still there in 1975, according to this photo,” Susannah said. “He came back the next year, became Paul’s tutor. What did he do in between? Who is this man?”
“They look like they’re friends,” Luke said, then passed the photo around.
“We found robes similar to these in Charles’s closet,” Pete said. “Recently worn.”
“Here’s the Asian man again,” Susannah said, unfolding a frail piece of paper. “But not in the same robes. It looks like an advertisement. It’s got his name, then
thây bói
.”
“I had it translated while you were in the ER,” Ed said. “Pham’s a fortune-teller.”
“Why would Mr. Grant keep this?” Susannah asked, frowning.
“Because in addition to extorting money for secrets, Grant told the fortunes of a number of the wealthy women in Dutton,” Nancy said. “He kept records of how much they paid him, what he’d told them. Sometimes he paid out money to third parties to make the fortunes come true. Susannah, your mother was one of his clients.”
“Makes sense. Arthur said my mother was afraid of Grant’s ‘Asian voo-doo.’ ”
“Arthur’s journal says Borenson provided a fake death certificate for Simon the day before you heard that Simon was dead,” Nancy said. “Grant’s journal says that he read for your mother the day before Simon’s ‘death,’ that great tragedy was coming.”
“Because Arthur was going to tell her Simon was dead. Borenson must have told Grant,” Susannah said, pulling out more folded paper. “These are almost like playbills.”
Ed took them from her gently. “This one says this Pham person is a healer. This one says he channels spirits. This says they’re charging admission to hear him speak.”
“A flim-flam man,” Pete said, casting an arched brow at Nancy.
Nancy groaned. “Flim-flam Pham? Geeze, Pete.”
Susannah’s mouth turned up, then sobered abruptly. “Another journal.” It was small, hardly bigger than her palm. “The writing is so small.” She squinted. “The first entry is December 1968.
‘Today I realized I would not die. But I never want to forget the rage I feel. The man gave me this journal, so I’ll write it all down and never forget. Someday I’ll have revenge, against the USA for abandoning me in that hell-hole and against Mike Ellis. He’ll wish he’d turned that gun on his own head instead of my leg.
’ ”
She skimmed. “Ray Kraemer dug the bullet out of his own leg after Ellis left him for dead. He crawled through the jungle till he passed out. When he woke up he was in a hut, burning up with fever, being cared for by a Vietnamese man.
‘I never thought I’d be grateful to one of them, but this guy has taken care of me. I still don’t know why.’
”
She flipped ahead. “
‘His name is Pham. He gives me food and shelter. After a year in one of their hell-holes, I’m finally full and dry. I thought Pham was a doctor, or maybe a teacher, or a priest. I realized today that Pham is a con artist. A chameleon. He has an uncanny ability to pick up on what people need him to be. He gives them something meaningless that makes them happy, then robs them blind. We ate well tonight.’
”
“And so it began,” Chase said quietly, but Susannah was still reading.
“
‘Today I finally understood why Pham saved me. I am his bodyguard. I stand taller than his enemies. Today a man attacked Pham, calling him a thief. It was true, of course, but still unacceptable. I grabbed the man by the collar. Without breaking stride, Pham told me to kill him, so I broke the man’s neck and tossed him aside. It felt good. Powerful. Nobody in this town will bother Pham again.’
” She turned pages. “It keeps going, detailing their travels, adventures, all the people Ray Kraemer kills for Pham.” She cringed, horrified. “Dozens and dozens of people. My God.”
Luke took the book from her hands and flipped toward the end. “
‘Pham is sick. It won’t be long now. He said I should go home, find the man who left me to die. I want to kill him, but Pham says there are better, wiser ways. Find what a man loves best, then take it from him.’
Three days later he writes,
‘Pham is gone.’
It starts back up again a week later.
‘It is long past time for me to go home. Ellis wanted to get home, to find his son. I will find Ellis and his son will die. Ellis will watch. I will have my revenge.’
”
“But he didn’t kill Paul,” Chloe said. “Why not?”
Susannah reached into the drawer, felt a bent photo in the back. She tugged it free. It was Grant with a young Paul. “I think he grew to care for Paul. Everything here is from his life before he became Charles Grant, except that picture.”
Talia sighed. “In his own way I guess Charles loved him.”
Luke shook his head hard. “No. Charles possessed him. He used him. He manipulated him for his own purposes. That wasn’t love.”
Talia’s eyes widened at the vehemence in Luke’s tone. “Okay . . .”
But Susannah understood. Luke had promised to teach her. That had been his first lesson. No, not his first. He’d been teaching her about love and decency all along. She squeezed his knee under the table. “You all gave me the support I needed when I’d reached a crossroads, and I want to thank you.”
Ed was sober. “That sounds like good-bye, Susannah. Are you going home?”
“To New York? No. There’s nothing for me there.” She huffed a chuckle. “And certainly not to Dutton. I’ve had enough of that town for a lifetime.”
“Haven’t we all?” Chase asked wryly. “What will you do?”
“Well, Daniel and I have a lot of catching up to do.” Under the table Luke held her hand tight. “There’s the issue of all the people my . . . that Arthur extorted over the years. There needs to be righting of those wrongs. Restitution. I’ll need a good civil attorney.” Wryly she looked at Chloe. “And a criminal attorney, too, I suppose.”
“We’ve dropped the concealed-weapon charge in return for your cooperation in the resolution of Arthur Vartanian’s crimes.” Chloe smiled. “You had a good lawyer.”
Susannah’s pulse settled along with her stomach. “Thank you.”
Beside her, Luke let out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thank you, Chloe.” He stood. “My mother said she’s made dinner for an army and to invite anyone who wants to come.” He looked down at Susannah with a smile that warmed her, inside and out. “There will be time for restitution tomorrow. Tonight we celebrate.”
Dutton, Thursday, February 8, 2:45 p.m.
It had been a quiet funeral service, few media and fewer mourners in attendance. A handful of deputies who’d served under Frank Loomis bore his coffin. There were no official honors, no twenty-one-gun salute, no taps.
Daniel sat in a wheelchair, pale and sober, Alex behind him and Susannah at his side. Luke held her hand until it was over.
“He was my father,” Susannah murmured. “And I never knew him.”
Daniel looked up at her, muted grief in his eyes. “He was a far better father to me than Arthur, Suze. I’m sorry you never knew him.”
Frank Loomis had one other mourner. Angie Delacroix stood off to the side, also pale and sober. A uniformed officer stood behind her.
Susannah squeezed Daniel’s hand. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Luke walked with her and she was grateful for him. Hand in hand, they stopped in front of Angie Delacroix. “Miss Angie,” Susannah said, “I need to know. Did you tell me the truth that night?”
“Everything I said was true. Frank never knew what happened to you. He would have come forward. It haunted him that you were his and he couldn’t claim you.”
Somehow that helped. “Why did you tell me?”
“Because Charles told me to.” Then she lifted her chin. “But I would have anyway. For Frank. You have his eyes.” She sighed. “Frank was a better man than he knew.”
By now Susannah had read most of Charles’s journals. She knew he’d used Angie Delacroix to listen for gossip for his blackmail schemes and to bring him wealthy women who’d believe he had the gift of clairvoyance. “You brought my mother to Charles.”
“She had money. Charles wanted it. I’m so sorry you were caught in the middle.”
“Why? Why did you do his bidding all those years?”
Angie’s eyes filled. “Whatever Charles made him do, Paul was still my son.”
Luke tugged Susannah’s hand. “Come on. The family’s waiting for us.”
The family.
The very words were enough to chase away the sadness. Susannah walked to where Mama Papa and Luke’s father stood with Leo, Mitra, Demi, and Alex, and was enfolded in a group embrace that made her smile and want to weep all at once. But it felt good.
I belong to these people. They’re mine. And I’m happy
.
“Come,” Mama Papa said, taking her left arm. “We go home now.”
Mitra slipped her arm through Susannah’s right. “And later, we’ll go shopping.”
Luke waved her on. “I’ll push Daniel. You and Alex have girl time with my sisters.”
“That’s nice to see,” Daniel said huskily as the women chattered to raise Susannah’s spirits. “Suze has never had that before.”
“She’ll have it for as long as she wants it,” Luke said, muscling Daniel’s chair forward through the soft earth with his good arm.
“So what do you intend to do with my sister?” Daniel asked, very seriously.
Luke had to swallow his grin.
Exactly what I did last night and this morning
. But he kept his voice serious. “I could say it’s none of your business.”
“But you won’t,” Daniel said dryly.
“I want her to be happy. I don’t want her to wonder who her family is, ever again.”
Daniel crossed his arms over his chest. “You do realize this could make us related.”
“If I do it right, yes. I can deal with it if you can.”
“I can.” Daniel was quiet a moment. “I wouldn’t mind being an uncle. Just sayin’.”
Luke smiled. “Then I guess I really have to do it right.”
K
AREN
R
OSE
is an award-winning author who fell in love with books from the time she learned to read. She started writing stories of her own when the characters in her head started talking and just wouldn’t be silenced. A former chemical engineer and high school chemistry and physics teacher, Karen lives in Florida with her husband of twenty years, their two children, and the family cat, Bella. When she’s not writing, Karen is practicing for her next karate belt test! Karen would be thrilled to receive your e-mail at
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.