Too Many Secrets

by E B Corbin

  “It’s still not right,” Her mother didn't give up. “Can you trust her?”

  “Who knows?” Roxanne accepted she would not win this argument.

  * * *

  At Roxy’s house, her mother became distracted. From the front seat, she examined her sister’s home. Then, despite the snow, she walked up the driveway, before checking out the garage at the rear of the house. “This is a lovely place,” she remarked as she joined Roxanne and her father at the car. “How in the world did Roxy get all this? She had nothing when I left her in Ireland.”

  “I don’t know.” Roxanne shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll find out eventually—when we track down the will.” She pulled her collar snug. “I like it. It’s comfortable too. Why don’t we go inside? I can show you around.”

  Patrick called, “I’ll be along in a moment.” He climbed into the car to fiddle with something in the glove compartment.

  With her mother in tow, Roxanne opened the door, hoping against hope no one ransacked the place while she moldered in the hospital. Her worries disappeared when she found everything as she left it. The furnace warmed the rooms, and the jars with the various tea leaves remained scattered on the counter. Her father joined them, standing silently beside her mother with his hands in his topcoat pocket. Roxanne showed them through the house, wondering when she acquired such an unusual pride in ownership.

  She asked, “Would you like tea?”

  Her mother replied, “No, thanks, dear. We have to be going soon.”

  Her father shifted uncomfortably. “I should get back to the office this afternoon.”

  “Okay, sure,” Roxanne felt reluctant to see them go. She had more questions about Roxy, about how they pulled it off, if Roxy ever found their father’s relatives, also about the misunderstanding between her mother and Roxy. Only now was not the time.

  “Will you be all right here by yourself?” her mother asked. “Where’s your car? I didn’t see it outside.”

  “My car is in the shop. It should be ready soon.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing much, barely a few dents when I slid off the road in the snow. I’ve been using Roxy’s pickup; it’s better on snowy roads. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

  “Well, I guess we should go then. Are we okay? You and me?”

  “We’ll be fine,” Roxanne answered. “It’ll take some getting used to.”

  “I hope so.” Her mother gave her a hug; headed for the door.

  Her father caught his wife’s hand. “I left the car running. You go on out. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  As soon as the door closed behind her mother, her father slipped a small, black handgun from his coat pocket. “Don’t tell your mother. This is for you. Do you still remember how to handle a gun?”

  “Sure I do. You taught me well.” Roxanne took the gun, checked the safety, before turning it over in her hand. “This isn’t the one I used before.”

  “No, it’s new. It’s a Beretta 3032 Tomcat with laser grips. Put the red dot on your target then pull the trigger. It’s reliable with no surprises like that James Bond-special we used to have.”

  “The Walther PPK.” Roxanne remembered it well. Small enough to fit her hand easily, the damned thing used to jam all the time.

  He reached into his other pocket to pull out a package of bullets and an extra clip. “You’ll need to load it. I didn’t have time. The clips hold seven rounds each. Plus one in the chamber gives you eight shots. You should practice with it before you enter any contests.”

  She grinned at him. “I think my days of entering contests are over. But thank you for this. I really appreciate it.” She’d had fun times with her father when they snuck out to the shooting tournaments. She earned several trophies which she’d promptly hidden from her mother. Not that they were something she’d put on a shelf for everyone to see, she simply wondered where they were now.

  She gently laid the gun and bullets on the table to give him a kiss in thanks for the gift.

  “I wanted some time alone to show you everything on the gun.” As a honking horn interrupted, he gave Roxanne a woeful smile. “You’re mother calls.”

  “You’d better go. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

  “Oh, I forgot cleaning supplies. You can pick them up at the house next time I see you.” He accepted her peck on the cheek as he hurried out the door.

  Roxanne knew better than to mention the gun in front of her mother. She’d been adamantly opposed to her father teaching their daughter how to handle one. Roxanne and her father came up with a myriad of excuses so they could practice at the range a couple of miles from their home without her mother’s knowledge.

  Their bogus stories made Roxanne smile as she sat at the table studying the Beretta. If they had gone to the Dairy Queen as many times as they told her mother, they’d both have turned into blimps.

  The laser sight built into the grip felt bulky in her hand. She’d have to get used to the different feel. She loaded one clip, slammed it home, slipped a bullet into the chamber, and then pointed the gun at the refrigerator. The red dot on the refrigerator’s thin handle tempted her to pull the trigger to test the weapon’s accuracy. Not wanting to shoot an innocent appliance, she lowered the pistol.

  She needed practice. No gun fanatic, she hadn’t fired a pistol in over twenty years. Until now she hadn’t even really thought about guns. But she could probably hit something if she pulled the trigger. Under the circumstances, she felt a tad more comfortable with the gun than without.

  After double-checking the safety, she slipped the gun into her messenger bag, hoping she never had to use it.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The house felt lonely when her parents left, but Roxanne didn’t have time to waste. She needed to feel normal again and wondered if that would ever happen. She tried to put the news about her mother out of her mind for now. Should she contact the office or take a shower first?

  The shower won. She stood under the hot water until her skin turned pink and tingled as each drop hit. Her head stopped pounding at some point; her whole body felt relaxed and invigorated. She eased out of the warm water to the cool air in the room wrapping herself in a thick towel.

  Since the Band-Aid on her forehead had loosened from the steam, she ripped it off. Once she cleared the mirror, she saw an inch long scab, puckered now from the dampness. Surrounding the cut, the swollen skin turned pink, blue, and yellow making her look like an extra from The Walking Dead. At least there were no black stitches adding to the effect. Instead of searching for another bandage, she’d let the injury heal in the air.

  She dressed in fresh jeans, added a clean sweater. If she hung around here much longer, she’d run out of clothes. All the more reason to get the damn will. It would bring a welcome end to at least part of her uncertainty.

  Her phone faintly played the familiar blues riff indicating a call from the law firm. The tune ended while she dug through her messenger bag. A ding sounded, signaling a voice message. She hesitated, caught between wanting to know and afraid to hear the decision. Finally, she pushed the voicemail button: two messages. The first from her assistant, Anne, sent at eight this morning: “Roxanne, about the Lincoln case, they settled without going to court. If you want more details, call me. Oh, um, I’m sorry you didn’t get the partnership this time but don’t give up.”

  She didn’t get it? What the hell? Those bastards. They implied she was a shoo-in. So did they choose someone else, or did they decide not to dilute their profits with another partner? She needed more information.

  Glad she missed the second call from her friend, Lauren, Roxanne debated whether to play the message or not. She didn’t need her friend’s pity. Lauren could easily go overboard with her sympathy. When curiosity got the better of her, she pushed the button to listen: “Roxanne, did you hear the news! It’s wonderful! Eric turned down the partnership. He’s moving to Texas to be closer to his wife’s family. That means you’re in! Congratulatio
ns! CALL ME!”

  Roxanne sat staring at the phone. First she didn’t have the partnership; now she had the partnership. Her mind spun, her thoughts going off in a million directions. She’d worked so hard for this. It should have meant everything to her. She’d focused on little else since her divorce. It turned out to be more important than Richard. More important than easing her mother’s worry she would turn into an old shrew with only cats for friends. If she were honest, even more important than happiness itself.

  She should be ecstatic. Instead, she grew angry. Angry she hadn’t been the first choice. Angry Lauren thought second place good enough. Angry the partnership went to a man with less than two years at the firm when she’d dedicated herself to them for over five. She felt like a runner-up winning the crown by default. No way would she spend the rest of her life trying to prove herself worthy to a bunch of ignorant senior lawyers.

  She put the phone on speaker before dialing Anne. While she waited for the connection, she started a pot of much needed coffee.

  “You’ve reached Tucker, Jones and Steinmetz, Roxanne Boudreaux’s office, Anne Miller speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Anne, it’s Roxanne.”

  “Oh, Roxanne,” Anne sounded hesitant, unusual for her assistant. “Um, did you get my message this morning?”

  “Yeah, I did… I just got one from Lauren too.”

  “Good, I’m afraid I jumped the gun. Did Lauren tell you? Things have changed since my earlier call. Congratulations!”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Roxanne muttered. “Don’t be too quick with the kudos. I might turn it down.”

  “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You worked so hard for it.”

  “I did, except I didn’t work my butt off to end up as second choice.”

  “Oh, Roxanne, think about it before you do something drastic.”

  “No need to think. I’m going with my gut on this. But you can do me a favor. If anyone asks tell them you don’t know when I’ll be in.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Anne said. “When are you coming in?”

  “Not sure… I’m in no hurry under the circumstances. Oh, if you get any kind of official notice about the partnership, you can tell whoever brings it that I’ll touch base with them when I get back. At this point, my initial instinct is to tell them to shove it.”

  “I can’t do that,” Anne protested. “You’re not thinking straight. You need time for it to settle in. I’ll say I haven’t heard from you.”

  “Fine, I shouldn’t ask you to do my dirty work for me anyway. You’re right; I’ll tell them myself. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Do you really not know when you’ll be in?”

  “I really don’t,” Roxanne told her. “I’ll tell you as soon as I decide.”

  “OK, um, do you want to hear about the Lincoln settlement?”

  “Not really. I wasn’t involved very much in making it happen, so there’s no need for me to rehash it. I’m glad it worked out for them. At least I don’t have to deal with it anymore. I could never get excited about it before, and now I just don’t care. Anything new since I’ve been gone?”

  “No, nothing. You cleared your schedule for the Lincoln case. Since it’s over, there’s not much to do. They agreed to pay a portion of the taxes this morning. No one expected it, especially Mr. Linden but somehow Eric convinced them it was the wisest choice.”

  “He did a nice job.” In a convoluted way, she understood his choice as partner, yet the underlying anger remained.

  Anne’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I can ask around to see if there’s something else in the works.”

  “Don’t bother, I’ll do it later. Do you have enough to keep you busy?”

  “Oh, yeah, since you’ve been gone Mary Shannon has been asking for my help.”

  “Mary Shannon?”

  “She’s the new labor law attorney they hired this past summer. Her assistant left in October to have a baby, and Mary is swamped with contract negotiations and keeping them up-to-date. She isn’t sure when the new mother will return, if ever.”

  “Well, I’m glad you found something worthwhile.”

  “Yeah, it’s interesting—not that what I do for you isn’t appealing.”

  Roxanne laughed. “Thanks, Anne. In case I haven’t told you recently, you’re a great assistant. You’ve been a tremendous help to me these past five years.”

  “Thanks. Just doing my job, but I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. I don’t think there’s any more I need to go over. Do you have anything?”

  Anne took a moment to consider. “Nothing I can think of, right now.”

  “Good. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Roxanne hung up more bewildered about her past, present, and future, than ever before. Swallow her pride? Accept the partnership? It was everything she wanted. Wasn’t it? Or was it her destiny to always take second place? Did she want to be a lonely old maid with nothing except a business partnership to show for her life? She felt lost, confused and uncertain about the whole situation and deserved time for moping so she poured herself some coffee and proceeded to sulk for the next hour.

  How did she miss Eric picking up her slack? She worked hard as a dedicated tax attorney, though deep-down, her heart ignored the charade. No doubt about it, with his latest success, Eric earned the promotion, besides, she didn’t even want it anymore, did she?

  When the office situation became too perplexing, her mind diverted to the state of affairs at home. She’d always considered herself a capable human being—intuitive and intelligent. How did she not have a clue her mother kept such an important secret? How had her mother, no, actually her aunt, done such a phenomenal job of hiding the truth?

  Not to overlook Richard. How did the deteriorating relationship go right over her head? Maybe her one-track mind never left room for taking anyone else’s needs into consideration. That realization depressed her far more than the reality of Richard leaving.

  The doorbell rang, bringing Roxanne into the present.

  Before she had a chance to get up, Callahan walked into the kitchen. “It’s hard to keep an eye on you.”

  “Yet you always seem to manage.” She smiled at him. “How did you get in? I ‘m sure I locked the door this time.”

  He held up a keychain. “House key on the ring with the truck key.”

  “Oh.” Roxanne wondered how many other keys to the house were scattered around. Maybe changing the locks should become a priority. “Did you find the will?”

  “Nope, it’s not there. I looked through everything.”

  “Dammit! That will is becoming a real pain in the ass. Who would want it and why?”

  Callahan shrugged. “You got me.”

  “Well, thanks for trying. Would you like some coffee? It’s fairly fresh.”

  “No, thanks. I can’t stay. I got a call from Ron. He and Gabe dug up some interesting intel on our Irish imposter. They’re on their way to Chester’s place now to fill us in.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, it’s kind of a need to know situation and right now…”

  “…I don’t need to know,” Roxanne finished for him.

  “I’ll let you know if it affects you in any way.”

  “You’d better.”

  “Besides, I think they’d be uncomfortable with a civilian involved. They don’t know you as well as I do.”

  “And you barely know me.”

  “It sure feels like I do. Anyway, I stopped by to drop the truck off.”

  “Thanks.” Roxanne was disappointed Callahan had no time to spend with her batting around what to do next. She wanted to tell him the truth about Roxy, about the partnership— about the vast dark hole swallowing her. Still, he didn’t owe her anything, she knew it without a doubt. He certainly didn’t need to hear her bitching about the unfairness of life. Her mind might have turned into a jumble of conflicting neurons; her heart just felt sad.

  He said, �
�Well, I should be going.”

  “Bye.” She waved without looking.

  He hesitated in the doorway. “Hey, don’t be like that. We’ll talk about what I find out later. I’m not cutting you out.”

  An absent-minded nod. “Sure.”

  “What’s wrong?” Callahan came back into the room pulling up a chair next to her. He took her hand, gently rubbing her fingers.

  “Nothing, my mother told me out something that sort of knocked me for a loop… then I found out I got the partnership.”

  “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “I guess… Maybe… I don’t know… I wasn’t their first choice.”

  “Does it matter? You’re still a partner.”

  “Yeah, it matters.”

  A car honked in front of the house. “That’s Gramps. He’s picking me up. You can tell me all about it later, okay? I promise I’m a good listener and you’ll have my complete attention.”

  “Maybe.” Roxanne didn’t bother to hide the hesitation in her voice.

  Interlacing one hand with hers, Callahan brushed the hair away from her forehead with his free hand, exposing the puckered injury. “Doesn’t look too bad.” His fingers ran down her cheek. “Try to be careful while I’m gone, you hear?”

  Roxanne managed a smile. “Fine. Now go. Don’t keep your grandfather waiting.”

  From the kitchen doorway a voice rumbled, “He always keeps me waiting.” An older man rested his hand against the doorframe. With his thick white hair combed away from his face in a style reminiscent of the fifties, he stood straight and tall, exuding a dignity that belied his years. He smiled at Roxanne, displaying the same lopsided grin as his grandson. Roxanne saw the diplomat hidden behind the wrinkles covering his face.

  “Gramps, I’m ready, just saying good-bye.” Callahan stopped caressing Roxanne’s cheek holding on to her hand a second longer.

  Chester asked, “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Oh, yeah, sure… Sorry.” Callahan made the introductions quickly.

  Roxanne rose to greet the old man, offering him the hand she’d freed from Callahan’s grip.