by Laura Snider
“That’s where the Parker family comes in,” Katie finished for him.
“Yes. My parents paid a good deal of hush money to keep the adoption quiet, but these things have a way of coming out.”
Katie nodded. Skeletons had a hard time staying buried.
“And while I still love my adoptive family,” Forest continued, “I have grown very close to my father, Peter Jennings.”
That was his name. It had been nagging at Katie for the entire meeting, tugging at the tip of her tongue.
“He lost everything,” Forest said. “Peter, that is. My parents could have helped him out, but he didn’t want their assistance. He said they’d done enough for him by taking such good care of me.” Forest swallowed hard, possibly fighting back tears. “That’s what kind of guy he is. Always thinking of others.”
Katie’s view of the city councilman was changing. His life wasn’t all perfection and politics. He’d lost someone he had only just begun to know. He was lonely in the same way she was.
“All the other victims got off with a slap on the wrist, if that. But not him. Not Peter. He went to prison.” Forest sighed, picking up the picture and gazing down at the two smiling faces. “I blamed you for it. I thought that you should have cut him a break. Given him another chance, considering the circumstances.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Katie’s. They were wide, sparkling, pleading with her to understand.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Katie said, sighing. “I remember him well. I did feel bad for him—I still do—but the case was out of my hands at that point. Elizabeth had been arrested, too, so everything had gone to the attorney general, who chose to pursue charges since his victim was a church. I think it was more for political reasons than anything. To show that law enforcement wasn’t broken.”
Elizabeth Clement was the former Brine county attorney. She’d been involved in the blackmailing scheme and murder plots, all of which were carried out by others including John Jackie. Katie had thought all that was behind them. Obviously not. Forest Parker still believed law enforcement was broken and so did many others within the Brine community. The sentiment had driven Forest to punish the police department.
“He’s not a bad person, he just made a mistake.”
Katie quirked a small smile. “You sound like Ashley Montgomery.”
“Ashley tried to help,” Forest said, “but she couldn’t get him completely out of it. She did cut his sentence in half, though.”
“That’s something.” They were both silent for a long while, lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Katie spoke. “So, that’s what has been driving your ‘shortchange the cops’ movement.”
Forest shrugged. “If a thing’s broken, throw it out and start fresh.”
“But I solved those crimes. Remember? Both John Jackie and Elizabeth Clement were tried and convicted. At least your father wasn’t the only one to go to prison.”
“I know,” Forest said, shaking his head. “It just didn’t feel fair to me. Jackie and Clement’s crimes were so much worse than my father’s. They used a position of power to victimize people. My dad always intended to pay the church back.”
“I didn’t make any promises. Not to any of the witnesses,” Katie said in her most reassuring tone. For now, she understood the root of Forest’s anger. It was based on what he perceived to be the unfairness in the eventual outcome. That was something she could sympathize with. “I told them all, including your biological father, that I couldn’t promise immunity. That the prosecutor could do what he wanted with the evidence provided by John Jackie’s victims. Secretly, I did hope that the attorney general would go easy on them. Which he did, for the most part…”
Forest nodded, but he didn’t make any concessions. Katie could only hope that at least some of what she had said had gotten through to him. The silence stretched out, filling the room.
“So…” Forest said. “We both know each other’s secrets, don’t we?” He leaned forward and his eyes twinkled in a mischievous, almost flirtatious way.
“I guess we do.”
“Not to change subjects, but I assume you wanted to meet with me to discuss something other than our family histories.”
Katie opened her mouth and then closed it again. If she ended the conversation now, they’d leave on good terms and there would be a foundation to build on the next time they spoke. The problem with such a diplomatic approach was that she was under a severe time crunch. She also wasn’t all that good with diplomacy.
Katie took a deep breath, releasing it through her nose. Here goes nothing, she thought. “I wanted to talk to you about the budget for the police department too.”
“I thought so,” Forest said, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands behind his head. “I can’t divulge much information now, but I can virtually promise that things will work out for you in the end.”
Virtually promise? That was an optimistic way of saying hope, and hoping was for dreamers. She was a realist. “Does that mean the money will be reallocated to the police department?”
Forest shook his head. “No. It doesn’t. But it does mean that you’ll be fine. I can practically guarantee it.”
Heat prickled at the back of Katie’s neck. She was growing irritated with his non-answers—his politician responses. He was saying words that sounded like something but were packaged in a way that allowed an exit route if he chose not to keep to his word.
“I don’t understand what you are saying.”
“You will, Katie,” Forest said, flashing a smile. “You will.”
“You know what,” Katie said, rising to her feet. “I’ve got something to follow up on in the recorder’s office.” She could not risk sitting there any longer. She would lose her patience with the politician and likely say something that would upset the delicate balance of their truce.
“It was nice talking to you,” Forest said, his eyes sparkling.
“Likewise,” Katie said as she moved toward the door.
“Katie,” Forest called after her.
She paused and looked back at him.
“Don’t get too worked up about what’s happening at the police department. It will work out in the end. To both of our advantages. You’ll see.”
Katie had no idea what he meant. There was absolutely no way it could work out for both sides. They were completely at odds. Instead of arguing the point, which would get her nowhere fast, she continued toward the door and called, “Have a good day,” over her shoulder. She’d have to figure out how to deal with him later. For now, she needed to get to the recorder’s office.
Katie headed down the long hallway toward the staircase, passing the two other city councilmembers’ offices. Both were men, but they were very different than Forest Parker. One of them was a staunch Republican and in full support of the police department, the other a swing vote that had been swinging in Forest’s direction more often than not as of late.
The door to the Republican’s office was closed and a large sign hung on it that read Support Our Boys in Blue. One word stood out. Boys. Katie looked down at her uniform. It, too, was blue. Yet she didn’t fit in the good ol’ boys club that controlled much of Brine’s upper echelon. She sighed and kept walking. Sometimes she didn’t feel as though she fit anywhere.
The county recorder’s office was on the second floor. Katie took the steps two at a time. A clerk greeted her warmly as she stepped inside.
“Hello, Katie. How can I help you?”
“Yes. Keisha. Wonderful to see you. This job suits you.”
Keisha had graduated a year early from Brine Senior High School, taking night classes in order to do it. All so she could get a “real job” with medical insurance instead of working at the animal shelter. Katie and Ashley had helped her get the job with the county recorder the moment a position had opened.
“Thanks.” Keisha wasn’t one to be influenced by flattery.
“I’m here to get a copy of a birth certificate. Not an official one. Just a copy
.”
“Okay,” Keisha said, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to do that.”
“True. But then I’ll just get a county attorney subpoena and come back for the same thing. It’ll save us all a lot of time if you do it now.”
“All right,” Keisha said warily. “Whose is it?”
“Rachel Smithson.”
Keisha blinked several times. “I know you don’t mean that girl they have locked up for baby killing.”
“I do.”
“I thought she was from Waukee or something.”
A wry smile spread across Katie’s lips. She’d been surprised to discover the news herself. “Rachel Smithson grew up in Waukee, but her mother gave birth in Brine.” What nobody understood was why Mrs. Smithson had driven an hour away to give birth when there were plenty of excellent hospitals in the Des Moines metro area. That was something Katie intended to figure out.
“I’ll look,” Keisha said, stepping away from the counter and disappearing into the back.
She was gone for a good five minutes but returned with a document, holding it away from her body as though it were radioactive. She slid it across the counter to Katie.
“Thank you,” Katie said, looking down at the document.
Then her breath caught. Next to “mother,” the document read, Lyndsay Smithson. The “father” line was blank. So, there it was. A possible reason for Lyndsay to drive to a small-town hospital to birth a baby. An attempt to avoid her husband. To keep his name off Rachel’s birth certificate. But why? And had Rachel followed the same reasoning when she checked into that hotel in Brine?
It was time for Katie to have a chat with Lyndsay Smithson. Outside the presence of her husband. The only problem was that Isaac Smithson was always around. He would never allow his wife to speak for herself, especially if it had the potential to incriminate him. She’d need to come up with something creative. At the moment, no ideas came to mind.
16
Ashley
64 days before trial
Ashley gripped the wheel of her SUV tightly as she drove toward Des Moines. The radio was set to low, just enough to cut through the silence. A distraction rather than entertainment. Thoughts of Tom consumed her concentration. Still, she hadn’t heard a word from him. Not by text, message, or mail, aside from the baffling package left on her front porch. She was at her wits’ end.
“I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” Ashley said to herself. “Then I’m out.”
Unless Tom had a really good reason for his behavior, their relationship was over. Their friendship, too. Over the past several days, she’d cycled through every emotion, switching from fear, to sadness, to helplessness, to fury, then back to fear.
A stray piece of hair fell into her eyes, tickling her nose. Ashley brushed it aside, and as she did, the sleeve of her sweater inched up, exposing the bruising that spread all the way from her hand, down her wrist, and toward her elbow. She hadn’t paid much attention to the bruising because she had thought it was starting to heal. But it was back again in full force. Dark purple blotches, like tiny pools of blood just below her skin.
It had to be stress, right? The same cause as the nosebleeds and chronic fatigue. Nothing else had changed, at least as far as she knew. And she’d read online that stress can cause nosebleeds. Granted, she’d read it on a webpage written by a man who called himself Dr. Awesome. It wasn’t exactly a scholarly journal, but it served its purpose. It explained her problems in a way that wasn’t dying of a serious disease, which was good enough for her.
If it was stress related—and she hoped it was—then she might as well get used to the symptoms. Rachel’s case was still in the discovery phase and there was a lot of work left to do. All murder cases were difficult, but Rachel’s was exceptionally soul sucking. Partially due to its nature, but also because Ashley was growing fond of her client. Even though the allegations, if true, were difficult to stomach, she still felt drawn to the girl.
But Rachel’s case was not Ashley’s only source of stress. She was also dealing with Tom. He had created unnecessary anxiety. Tension that she could address. Or at least try to. Ashley had overreacted when she heard Harper laughing in the background, but his response was ridiculous. He was avoiding her, but he couldn’t keep it up forever. If he wanted to end the relationship, then fine. It would hurt, but she’d survive. This weird limbo where he ignored her calls while sending her homemade chocolates had to end.
Tom lived in an apartment building not far from Drake University. It was once a large, grand house with gleaming white pillars and sprawling gardens, but it had long ago been broken down into four separate apartments, a shell of its former self. Like a once beautiful girl, grown wrinkled and bent with age. Yes, the old pillars still existed, but large splotches of paint had peeled away, leaving the yellow, rotting wood below on full display.
Ashley parked in the circular drive out front. Hers was one of seven other vehicles. Tom’s truck was among them, but she didn’t recognize the others. Not that she’d expected to.
“You can do this,” Ashley said to herself as she sat in her vehicle, taking deep breaths and gathering her strength.
She spent her time leading up to today’s trip to Des Moines thinking of ways she would confront Tom. Things she would say, insults she would fling. She’d developed a script of sorts. A list of words strung together to express the full extent of her hurt and anger, all of which had disappeared from her mind. But she couldn’t keep putting off the confrontation.
“Now or never,” Ashley said to herself.
She issued one last sigh and unbuckled her seatbelt. If she didn’t force herself out of the car, she never would. She’d lose her nerve. That would solve nothing, she reminded herself. I’m here to put an end to this relationship limbo for good or for bad. Her purpose was to resolve one source of stress. Nothing more. Besides, procrastination always made things worse.
The car door closed with a bang, and gravel crunched beneath Ashley’s feet as she approached the front door. Everything was still, silent. It was still early, only 8:30 a.m. While Des Moines was no college town, this area was occupied by mostly college students. Few would be awake. Three steps led up to the front porch. They groaned a heavy, ominous protest as Ashley ascended.
Four mailboxes hung by the main entrance. Ashley scanned them all, looking for Tom’s last name. She had never been to his apartment. He had always driven to Brine on the weekends. It had started out as him offering, then it just became almost an unspoken rule. Now that she thought about it, Tom hadn’t even invited her to see his place. Not once. It was odd, but she had been too busy to notice before now. Which, she supposed, had probably contributed to their relationship woes.
The third mailbox had two names posted just below the number 3. Archie, Tom’s last name, and Langston, a name Ashley did not recognize. A heavy sense of foreboding settled in her stomach. Tom had never mentioned a roommate, a fact she should have known if not as his girlfriend, then as a friend. It wasn’t an overlooked trivial matter that could easily be explained away. This Langston person lived with him, yet Tom had failed to mention him even once. He had intentionally kept her in the dark about this person. But why?
Ashley’s stomach roiled, her insides twisting. Part of her needed to know who this person was, discover the reason for Tom’s lies of omission, while the other part of her screamed for her to leave now. To never ask, never learn the truth. Running won’t solve anything, she reminded herself. She was there to solve a problem. Her stress. To end an unbearable romantic purgatory. She gathered her wits and stepped up to his door, knocking two times.
All was silent for a long moment. Maybe nobody was home. But why was Tom’s car there? Then she heard footsteps. Not Tom’s heavy footfalls, but they weren’t dainty either. An unfamiliar cadence that stoked Ashley’s anxieties. It had to be the roommate. Ashley’s heart raced at the thought. But her purpose for the visit was to confront the unknown. While this particular u
nknown was unanticipated, it was now part of the equation.
The footsteps stopped in front of the door. There was a long pause as the person inside studied Ashley through the peephole. A moment passed, then two, before a lock clicked, the door swung open, and a familiar face greeted Ashley. She sucked in a sharp intake of breath.
“Lydia,” Ashley said, almost breathless.
“Harper,” the woman said. It wasn’t a denial but a correction.
Ashley shook her head, disbelieving. The woman standing before Ashley was the spitting image of her former foster sister, only older. She had the same large, doe-like eyes, each a deep mahogany brown. Long eyelashes that fluttered in the same way they had so many years earlier, back when they were both ten. While no longer cut in the childish style of Lydia’s youth, the hair color was still a dark chocolate brown.
Ashley’s eyes traveled up to the woman’s hairline, searching for an oddly shaped mole. Two round ears and a head like Mickey Mouse. It was there, just peeking out from beneath a fringe of bangs. “No. It’s you, Lydia.”
The woman quirked a smile. “Harper. Lydia. Langston. My parents changed my name when they adopted me.” She spat out the word parents like it was poisonous. A disgusting word that she loathed to use. She leaned against the doorframe, picking at her nails. “They let me keep my old name as a middle name. So gracious of them, right?” Her words were sarcastic, biting.
Ashley took a step back, shaking her head.
“Thought you’d never see me again, didn’t you?” Lydia’s eyes met Ashley’s as a devilish grin spread across her perfectly proportioned face. “Surprise,” she said while mocking Ashley with jazz hands.
Ashley’s heart pounded so hard that she felt the sound was audible. She needed to get out of there. Away from this psychopath. But Lydia was not Ashley’s reason for coming, Tom was. She was not leaving like this. It wouldn’t solve anything. Running now would only make things worse, and she was tired of the nosebleeds. She didn’t need an ulcer on top of it. She gathered her nerves and steeled her emotions.
