“Lisa, listen to me. That is not my child. I don’t know why, but she’s lying.”
“My heart is hurting so badly, Franklin.” Lisa’s words were strangled by her tears as she forced them out through her stuffed nasal cavity. “I wasn’t perfect, but I never thought you would repay me like this.”
Frank maneuvered his head so that his wife could not avoid his stare, visually engaging her while he continued to try to convince her of the truth. “You’ve got it all wrong.” He tried to grab her hand, but she refused to let him touch her, snatching her hand away. Frustration set into his stance as he realized his words were falling on deaf ears.
“Lisa, listen to me!” Clang, clang, clang, clang! The sound of his hand hitting the metal railing, emphasizing each word, echoed throughout the room. “Just listen! I didn’t do this.”
Frank’s clear agitation raised Lisa’s alarm bells, curling her body inward to protect herself. She cried even harder.
Frank stretched his hands in the air. “I would never hurt you.”
Lisa relaxed enough to launch her verbal assault, every sentence riddled with the pain that kept a fresh set of tears flowing. “You slept with her! You got her pregnant, Franklin!”
“I slept with her, yes, but that child is not mine.” Frank repeated himself, but Lisa shook her head in disbelief. “Lisa, I promise you. There is no possible—”
Click.
Frank’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of the opening of the large, metallic door of Lisa’s private room. Detective Baptiste, his face denoting the grim circumstances of the visit, stood in the doorway, flanked by two uniformed Saint-Martin police officers.
Frank immediately tensed up, fearing the worst.
“Mr. Franklin Mason, ya need to come with me now.”
Frank looked to Lisa, whose eyes hinted at the questions she had yet to verbalize. He stood completely still, uncertain of what to make of the situation.
“Mr. Mason, these officers will take ya into custody, if you refuse.” Detective Baptiste stared at Frank, reading his body language, willing him to come on his own volition.
Frank, focused on the ground beneath his feet, tried to settle his rapidly increasing heart rate. The sound of shoes shuffling across the ceramic floor brought his gaze upward. The officers were coming toward him. He wanted to move, but his legs weren’t listening.
Keeping her eyes on the detective, Lisa rustled her hands through the sheets until she located the remote that controlled her bed. Sensing that something was definitely wrong, she fumbled with the buttons, trying to adjust her bed so that it was in the upright position. Alternating her stare between the detective and Frank, she was waiting for one of them to answer.
“What’s going on? What’s happening?”
Detective Baptiste spoke first. “Ma’am, we have reason to believe that ya husband tried to hurt you, now. No charges filed right away, but he needs to come with us for further questioning.”
Lisa shook her head back and forth, from left to right, dismissing the notion. Lisa’s nonverbal claim failed to convince Detective Baptiste of Frank’s innocence. The background check had taken a few days to come back, but it revealed that Mr. Mason had been charged with aggravated assault in the States. Though it was not enough to nail him for the attack on his wife, it did show his propensity for violence. He was currently out on bond pending his trial date.
Detective Baptiste walked over to Lisa’s bedside. “Ma’am, did ya husband hurt ya? Did he do this to ya, now?”
She hesitated before responding, taken off guard by the question. “No . . . he hasn’t.”
Detective Baptiste peered into her eyes, weighing her statement against the intuition years on the force had taught him to rely on. Taking note of the fragility of Lisa’s mental state, Detective Baptiste interpreted her hesitance as fear, motioning for the officers to cuff Mr. Mason.
“I need to speak with Mrs. Mason alone, please. Take Mr. Mason to the station. Detective Saenz is waiting for you there.”
Frank, unable to move, offered no resistance. His limbs remained suspended as the officers placed the metal bracelets around his wrists and began moving him around the bed and toward the door. Focused on his wife, he seized the moment to plead for her forgiveness once more.
“Lisa, please. I’m sorry. I love you. I didn’t do it.”
Detective Baptiste gestured for the officers to expedite the removal. Frank continued to plead his case as the officers carted him off.
“Please believe me, Lisa, please.”
Detective Baptiste stayed behind, hoping that in her husband’s absence, Mrs. Mason would feel comfortable enough to tell the truth.
Chapter 12
Things were not progressing as Michelle had expected. The magical, budding new beginning she had hoped would eventually envelop their relationships had yet to happen. Her relationship with Brianna was at a standstill, and she was no closer to forgiving her mother than she had been six weeks ago. If anything, she found herself becoming more distrusting as time ticked away. Making matters worse, Brianna’s presence in her home was widening the emotional divide between her and Armand. She felt guilty for blaming Brianna, but she couldn’t think of what else it could be. On some level, she admired how tender and thoughtful he had been regarding her sister, but not at her expense.
Brianna’s insipid attitude had rubbed her the wrong way, and though admittedly Brianna needed help, Michelle needed it too. The situation, unfortunately, was not alien to her. She understood that people could not see what she did not make visible, but Armand was supposed to be different. Even when she resisted their closeness, her truth had always been detectable. Her fiancé, on numerous occasions, had displayed the ability to recognize her vulnerability, but lately he hadn’t noticed, focusing instead on Brianna and seeing to it that her needs were met. It was becoming too much for Michelle to bury.
Michelle stood in the doorway of Brianna’s bedroom, her guest room, reflecting on their situation. As much as she adored her sister, the three of them—Armand, Brianna, and herself—would be unable to cohabitate for much longer. Normally, she would have discussed the situation with her mother, but she had not spoken with her since the will fiasco. Their conversation made it clear that they still had a long way to go, and it hurt. Michelle missed her mom, her best friend.
For a moment she had thought that perhaps Brianna could help fill that void, but she didn’t.
Michelle felt like an orphan, not having any real family ties, and watching Armand drift away was heartbreaking. The isolation trapped her, sealing her spirit inside the pain she was learning to live with. Everything she had lost—her father, her mother . . . in some ways, she had even lost pieces of herself. With no prospect of ever getting any of them back, the reality left a supernova-sized hole in her heart.
She managed her emotions by searching for the answers to the questions still lingering in the air. The truth of her birth was known, but the pathology leading to her mother making such an awful decision was still a mystery. The best place to start was with the maternal grandparents she grew up believing were dead. Taking a break from her business, Michelle had spent her time climbing her family tree. She searched without any help from anyone, assuming any information her mother would give to her would be faulty.
Considering everything that had happened, it was surprisingly easy to trace. Using her mother’s maiden name, Freemont, Michelle determined that her maternal grandparents were former Dallas Mayor Richard Freemont and his wife, Katherine. Apparently, the Freemont family name survived generations in Dallas. Sophie Lucille (Freemont) Lewis had been quite the social butterfly in her heyday, but then had mysteriously disappeared from the scene.
Her father’s past was far more difficult to unearth. His father was unknown, and an addiction to methamphetamines had claimed his mother’s life when he was a teen. That was as far back as she had been able to go. It was not a complete loss, though. The information was small, but vital, giving Mic
helle a little insight into the man who raised her, allowing her to reach a place of healing even in his absence.
Even as she found answers, it also created more questions for her. Her father was a survivor, flourishing despite all that had been taken away from him. He was the type of guy who always found a way to push forward. Michelle had found his sudden death difficult to accept, and the information she learned made it even more so. It didn’t make sense that he would not have reached out to her beforehand. Their relationship was strained, but in her heart, she always knew that he loved her. She never went without and couldn’t imagine him dying or being on the brink of death without informing her of his condition. It did not make sense.
The sound of the front door closing pulled Michelle out of her thoughts. Tapping her hand on the door frame, she turned and leisurely made her way to the front of the house.
“MK?” Dropping his gym bag by the door, Armand hobbled toward the couch. “MK?”
Michelle made it into the living room just as he collapsed onto the sofa. “Were you limping just now?”
Armand grimaced as he carefully lifted his leg, elevating his swollen ankle, placing it on one of the plush pillows gracing the couch. “Yeah. I twisted my ankle on the court today.”
Rushing to his side, Michelle inspected the baseball-sized knot. “I’m surprised you were able to walk at all on this.”
“I couldn’t.” Armand laughed lightly. “Didn’t you see me hopping?”
“I’ll get you some ice, but I think a trip to Care Now would be better.” Michelle headed toward the kitchen. “That’s a pretty bad sprain. Something could be torn.”
“Did I miss you getting your medical degree?”
“Ha ha, very funny. A few basketball injuries make every athlete an expert.”
Armand groaned dismissively. With his right foot planted firmly on the ground, reclining on the couch, he laid his head on a pillow similar to the one his swollen left ankle rested on.
“Well, no, I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
She shook her head, knowing he would decline the suggestion. Armand had a serious bias against medical facilities. Michelle quickly made her way down the short hall and into the kitchen. The three-bedroom house had belonged to them for a few weeks, and she was still adjusting to living there.
Opening the freezer to grab the blue ice pack, she yelled to Armand, “I’ll give you a couple of days and then we’re goiiiinnnnng!”
“I doubt that,” he said, forcing a smile as he spoke. His eyes shadowed her as she made her way back into the living the room.
Pausing, Michelle eyed the room in search of something.
“What is it?”
“Where is your gym bag?”
“Why?” Armand inquired, apprehension cracking his voice.
Michelle spotted the bag under the table by the door and walked toward it.
“Wait, Michelle. What are you looking for?”
“What’s the big deal? Relax.” Immediately after opening the gym bag, Michelle was able to answer her own question. “What is this?”
Dropping the ice pack on the floor, she reached into the bag. Pulling out a 9 mm handgun, Michelle turned around to see the agitation shift his features.
Clearing his throat, Armand decisively regained control of the conversation. “Put that down.”
Ignoring his request, Michelle leered at him, insisting that he answer. “That wasn’t a question.”
Michelle kept her cool, despite the cloud of uneasiness circling her waistline. Turning the heavy firearm in her hand, inspecting it, Michelle reiterated her question. “Where did you get this, Armand?”
Armand sat up on the couch, combating the powerlessness he felt, given his current physical limitation. “MK, it’s for protection.”
“Protection from who? Is there something you’re not telling me?” Michelle’s voice rose ten notches in alarm.
“What?” Issuing a tepid response, Armand tried to steer their dialogue. He lifted his arms into the air to abdicate his position. “MK, ease off the gas. There’s nothing to hide over here.”
“Then explain this. Two plus years and I have never seen it.” Squirming from side to side, Michelle readied herself for what Armand would say. Neither of them had ventured to discuss the details of what had happened last month, particularly those surrounding the Marx Brothers disappearance or his rescue of Brianna. The miniature volcano erupting within her hinted that this news would not be favorable.
Armand toyed with the platinum band on his finger, stalling before opening the proverbial floodgates. “The manner in which I came into possession of that particular gun is not important.”
Michelle opened her mouth to protest, but the look in Armand’s steely-gray eyes silenced her. He put his hand up, requesting that he be allowed to complete his sentence without interruption.
“I have guns all over this house, easily accessible by me should I need them. I have seen enough to find it necessary, MK.”
“I’m not objecting—” Michelle started to interject, but again Armand muted her with a wave of his hand.
The look on his face was unyielding. He took another look at Michelle before he spoke again. “Let this go. I know what you’re thinking.”
Pursing her lips, Michelle gritted her teeth, keeping her words in her mouth. She had an idea regarding the weapon’s origin, and it did not sit well with her. Short of Armand admitting it, she wouldn’t know definitively if her hunch was correct. Recalling a minor detail of Brianna’s rendition of her captivity, Michelle knew that gun belonged to one of her captors.
“Do you know? What did you do, Armand?”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
Michelle did not back down. “Yes, you are. I want to know.”
“Why, MK? Why now? You haven’t asked before.” Swinging his leg off the couch, Armand scooted to the edge of the couch.
“What does that matter? I’m asking now.”
Leaning forward, dropping his hand between his legs, he huffed as he lifted his hands, running them through his short curls. “You’ve been so damn preoccupied with finding your grandparents.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Never occurred to you how all of this might be affecting me. You weren’t the only one going through something!”
“I cannot believe I’m hearing this.” Cupping the sides of her face, she felt the cold texture of the gun reminding her of its presence. Caught up in the argument, she had completely forgotten that she was holding it. Placing it on the small table in the foyer, Michelle wondered when the discussion had switched from it to her.
“The things I had to do to keep you safe. To get Brianna back.” Armand’s frustration covered his forehead with beads of sweat. “Jesus, Michelle. What did you think I did? Think my asking politely did the trick?” The intense pain generated from his hurt ankle kept him from vacating the room. Michelle remained silent, weighing his words. “My having a gun should not surprise you.”
“Not a gun, this one. Looks like the one John had, right down to the chipped handle, Armand!” Walking toward him, Michelle stopped in the center of the room, waiting for an explanation. “How did you get this? Tell me what you did!”
“Stop it, Michelle! Stop it, all right? Let it go. There are more important things that you should concern yourself with.”
“Like what? Brianna?” Michelle didn’t hide her envy.
“Not this again, MK.”
“I’m not the one who needs to be reminded that we all suffered.” Her cynicism seasoned her statement, camouflaging the chinks in her armor.
Armand scoffed. “And what is that supposed to mean?”
“All of your focus is on her. Every moment you have to spare is hers.”
“Come on, MK! Brianna was kidnapped. Twice!”
Michelle shook her head, folding her arms across her chest, and tasted her tears as they descended down her cheeks. She knew what happened to her sister was horrible
, but it didn’t just happen to her. It happened to all of them.
“I know that, but—”
“But nothing.” Armand interrupted. “You’re fine. I kept you out of harm’s way. Nothing happened to you. You were safe in your little bubble, playing Nancy Drew, while the rest of us were dealing with reality!”
“I lost my father! My mother! He’s dead, and she may as well be. Is that the reality you’re talking about? Is that real enough?”
“Give me a break. Brianna could have died, and that’s on me.” Armand sank back into the couch. Covering his eyes with his hand, he let his head rest against the cushion.
“She’s not your responsibility. Never was.” Michelle calmed down considerably as the fog girding her understanding slowly began to lift.
“She needs me. I cannot abandon her.”
Michelle stood still, transfixed by the inexplicable passion behind his words. She stared at the man who had proposed to her barely two weeks ago, confused by the admission. This man, who had spoken with such a deep litany of praise for her that she thought she had dreamt him. This man, who could barely keep his eyes off her, now couldn’t even bring himself to return her present gaze.
The guilt that divided his loyalties stretched beyond her understanding. Her heart ached to see him in such anguish, knowing that she was partly to blame, but that was of no consequence at this point. Something was broken between them. Restoration would not happen if Armand couldn’t see the ocean filling in their divide.
“I need you, Armand. I need you, too.” With that, Michelle returned to the bag, grabbing the towel she had sought earlier. She picked up the ice pack, wrapped the towel around it, and threw it at her impassive fiancé. “Here, ice your own damn ankle.”
Chapter 13
Frank’s wrists were sore from the cuffs that once adorned them. His new chair, in the humid, stank interrogation room of the Saint-Martin Police Department, enriched the twinge in his back. Nothing pained him more, however, than the look on Lisa’s face as he was dragged from her hospital room. Her consternation, paralyzing his mental faculties, weighed heavily on his mind. It was all he could think about. The curves of her face, like a curtain hiding a window, prevented him from seeing anything more. He had survived several hours of questioning before earning this small break. The room was without windows, but he suspected the moon’s beams were kissing the Caribbean waters by now.
Virtuous Deception 2 Page 7
