Wicked Obsessions (45 page)

Authors: Marilyn Campbell

The gates began to open and Simon glanced at his watch again. Only thirty-two seconds had passed, barely half the usual time. Perhaps they knew what he wanted to speak to them about.

He hoped not. He was counting on his news to surprise the normally unflappable couple, while proving to them that their best interests were still of primary importance to him. Nothing specific had been said by either Howard Hamilton III or his wife, Edith, but in the last year or so, Simon had the distinct impression that they were no longer satisfied to pay him an enormous retainer for doing little more than standing by.

Between his advancing age and his taste for expensive possessions, two ex-wives and four children, he couldn't afford to start over. In fact, ever since he'd met the woman he was hoping to make number three, he had been wracking his brain to come up with a reason to increase his fees. What he needed was a grandstand play to renew the Hamiltons' faith in him.

The touching photo in the newspaper seemed like the answer to a prayer.

He hadn't seen the woman in the picture in nearly ten years. Actually, he had completely forgotten about her until this morning. It was the boy that had captured his attention. He was a carbon copy of Howard Hamilton IV as a child.

A wild speculation had sent him rummaging through old files in search of a picture of the mother. Comparing that picture to the one in the paper, checking the dates involved and the fact that her first name was Barbara was enough for him to order a background search to confirm what his eyes had guessed.

The investigator easily confirmed the date and place of birth of a boy named Matthew Howard Mancuso. But he was going to have to dig a lot deeper though to explain why the Mancuso mother and child dropped off the grid a few years ago or why the Johnson mother and child's records seemed sketchy prior to that time.

Decker had used the investigator often enough to trust his instincts and those instincts were saying Barbara Mancuso and Barbara Johnson were the same woman. If anyone could prove or disprove it that guy could.

His foot pressed a bit harder on the accelerator. He could hardly wait to see his clients' faces when they realized they might have a grandchild.

* * *

Only a handful of people knew Barbara's cell phone number and every one of them called her by Sunday night.

Two coworkers who knew nothing of her past called to congratulate her on appearing on AOL's home page. Her mother further confirmed what she had feared the moment she'd seen the morning paper. The picture had been picked up by a wire service. A search for her name on the internet showed the picture had been posted in enough places for her to want to cry.

After all, it was the image of compassion, a story without words. The photographer would probably win some sort of prize for it. He couldn't have any idea what damage he may have caused. Since she hadn't given any sort of permission she supposed she could sue someone but no cash settlement would undo the exposure.

They may as well have hand-delivered it to Russ Latham.

One of the calls was from Shelley, a friend who had helped Barbara and Matthew slip out of Albuquerque in the middle of the night four years ago. She was also the one who put Barbara in touch with the organization that eventually helped her establish a completely new identity two years ago.

Barbara had been certain she had finally outsmarted Russ and he had quit trying to find her. She desperately wanted to be able to go back home, even if it was only for a weekend visit. But it wasn't safe. So she and her mother limited their communication to sporadic calls using throw-away phones.

Two years ago, she would have already begun packing. A part of her
was
tensed in preparation for flight, but a greater part of her resisted. She and Matt were truly happy here. He had friends and was doing well in school. She had a good job with excellent benefits. The house they were in was only rented, but they had turned it into a real home.

There had to be a way they could stay in Fredericksburg. In the past, her flights were nearly always prompted by mindless panic. Perhaps this time, knowing in advance that Russ might try to find them in the near future, she might be able to prepare better. If nothing else, she would hold out as long as possible without endangering Matthew.

She had been making choices based on her son's welfare for so long, it was hard to remember that she was once a young, carefree girl whose toughest decision was whether to follow her dream of being an actress to Broadway or Hollywood.

She smiled as she recalled the stunned expressions on her girlfriends' faces that long-ago day when she made her selection by plucking petals off a daisy. To her, life had been that simple. She had identified her dream and outlined a plan to achieve it. All she had to do was go for it. Thus, she had left for New York City immediately after graduating from high school, with a two-year plan in mind. If she wasn't well on her way to becoming a Broadway star by the end of that time, she would head for Hollywood and try her luck there.

The smile that memory triggered faded as she thought about how terribly naïve her plan had been.

Barbara had no idea how long it might take for Russ to find them, but she began taking protective measures the next morning. She drove Matt to and from school rather than let him take the bus. She reminded him to keep alert, stay with the crowd and run for help if necessary. She notified the school principal and Matt's teacher, filed a watch order with the local police and advised her employer of a potential problem. But being prepared didn't stop her from quaking inside or jumping at every sound.

She felt some relief when she picked Matt up from after-school care on Tuesday and he assured her that everything was still fine. As they approached their house, however, there was a familiar-looking van parked in the driveway, and a man wearing a parka and ski hat was at the door.

Because she had been anticipating a problem, she was able to outwardly control her fear for Matt's sake. The man turned around when she pulled the car onto the swale in front of the house and shut off the engine. Even from that distance, the dark skin on his face confirmed that he wasn't Russ, but that didn't mean they weren't in danger.

"Pop quiz, kiddo. You come home with a friend, my car's in the driveway but there's a strange car out front. What do you do?"

Matt rolled his eyes at her, wordlessly expressing his boredom with her constant reminders. "I look at the living room window. If the elephant is there, it's okay for me to go in. If it's not, I should run to a neighbor and call the police."

She had originally purchased the foot-high Indian elephant because Matt was intrigued by its colorful mosaic tiles. When they moved into the house and saw the wide sill of the picture window, they decided the statue looked very impressive standing guard there. Using it as a part of their code only came to her yesterday.

She rubbed the top of his head. "Perfect. Okay, that man might not be anyone to worry about but just in case, you stay here while I go speak to him. Watch for my hand signals." Satisfied that he was paying attention, she got out of the car and walked up to the stranger.

"May I help you?" she asked.

"If you're Barbara Johnson, you sure can," he answered with a broad smile. "I'm Otis. I deliver the newspaper."

Now she knew why the van looked familiar. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm Mrs. Johnson."

"Great. They got some stuff at the
Post
addressed to you. They asked me to deliver it, but I wasn't sure if I should just leave it—"

"What kinds of
stuff?"

"Mostly letters but there were some plants and flowers too. It'll only take me a few minutes."

She waved at Matt to come help then opened the front door. Otis made several trips to the van, bringing back a small bag of mail, two small packages and a number of plants and floral arrangements.

Barbara had Matt take in the mail but instructed Otis to return the packages unopened. She then carefully inspected each plant and bouquet. Once she saw that there was nothing hidden in an arrangement and that the card was not from Russ, she let Matt take it inside. She was about to relax when Otis set the last two vases on the porch. They both contained beautiful sprays of roses, but one sent a shiver down her spine. She stopped Matt from carrying them inside and hurriedly dug a few dollars out of her purse to give to Otis.

Though she was fairly certain the bouquet of yellow roses was innocently sent, she read the card just to be sure, then handed the vase to Matt. As he went inside and Otis headed for his van, she carefully searched the bouquet of peach Oceanias—the same variety as the first Russ had cut for her at the Hamilton estate ten years ago. There was nothing within the greenery to frighten her, not even a card to identify the sender, but that didn't mean they weren't from him.

With trembling fingers she slowly examined one rose stem after another until she found what she was looking for. Just beneath one blossom, where a person might place her fingers when sniffing the rose, was a sharp thorn. If one didn't know better, one would assume that the florist simply missed it in the process of removing all the thorns from the stems.

But Barbara did know better. That single, hidden thorn had been left on intentionally. It was all the message Russ had to send to cause her stomach to clench.

She straightened and looked up and down the street. She saw no sign of him, but that meant nothing. He was nearby. She could practically smell the cigarette smoke she had come to associate with him. He might even be watching her that moment from behind a tree or bush in a neighbor's yard.

She wanted to scream loudly enough to shatter windows. She wanted to go hide under her bed and cry her fears away.

But more than anything else she wanted someone to explain how an affair that had begun so sweetly had turned into a ten-year-long nightmare....