by Beth Flynn
The implication of what Valerie had just revealed sent a jolt of shock through Anthony, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from interrupting.
She blew her nose before continuing. “Vivian was a good mother to Richard despite the charade of a marriage and Van’s numerous affairs.”
“Why didn’t she divorce him?” Anthony interrupted.
“Because Bobbi wouldn’t allow it. Like I said, it was all about keeping up appearances,” she continued, using air quotes for emphasis. “And besides, this was way before he started gambling and using drugs so he wasn’t blowing through the money. And as far as keeping it in his pants? Bobbi didn’t care one whit about whether he was cheating on Vivian. After all, she’d still slept with Van after he’d married her only child.”
Anthony rolled his eyes. He may have been a lot of things. A thief, a loan shark, a money launderer. A murderer. But one thing he wasn’t was disloyal to his woman. He caught a scent of something sweet and fresh and noticed a bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. It reminded him of sunshine. And Christy.
“Fast forward about five years and guess who shows back up at the dealerships looking for a job?” Before Anthony could answer, Valerie said, “Vivian’s first love. Patrick Slade. Enough time had passed, and nobody noticed or cared when he was rehired. And then it happened. Vivian showed up unexpectedly to pick up a new car for herself, and…”
“She saw Patrick,” Anthony concluded.
“And they started having an affair. And Vivian got pregnant,” Valerie continued.
“Christy isn’t Van Chapman’s daughter,” Anthony said in a calm voice. He looked relieved as he scrubbed his hand down his face.
“I’m sure you can guess the rest,” Valerie prodded. When Anthony didn’t reply, she added, “Van obviously knew Christy wasn’t his and Bobbi knew Van had stopped sleeping with Vivian years earlier. She ran the mechanic off again before any gossip started that the perfect family wasn’t exactly perfect.”
Anthony shook his head.
“And when Vivian should’ve been taking care of her son and new baby girl, she started self-medicating instead. And it only got sadder after that.” Valerie’s face was downcast and she dabbed at a corner of her eye. As if catching herself, she sniffled and sat up straighter. “Vivian stopped caring. Thank goodness she had the presence of mind to hire a nanny. Litzy loved those children. Especially Christy.”
Anthony stared at Valerie while she composed herself.
She slowly shook her head and continued, “As God is my witness, I never thought he’d go after that poor child. He knew she wasn’t his biological daughter, but she was still his stepdaughter. She was raised thinking Van was her father.” Looking thoughtful, she added, “But maybe somebody who is a product of real incest doesn’t see having sex with their underage stepdaughter as incestual.”
Anthony frowned in disbelief. “Van was a result of an incestual relationship?” he asked, unable to mask his surprise.
“Van's parents were brother and sister," Valerie replied directly, leaving no question.
"Does Christy know?" Anthony asked in a low voice.
Valerie nodded. "Bobbi told me she'd confronted Van in his office. After he stormed out, she found Christy hiding in the closet. So, yes, Christy knows. She was young, so whether she remembers it or not, I can't say."
This explained a lot. Christy definitely remembers, Anthony thought.
Valerie folded her hands in her lap before continuing. "Anyway, when Bobbi found out Van's family secret, she didn't like it. As always, she was able to sweep it under the rug." A beat passed. “Until he got Christy pregnant.”
Anthony sat straight up. “Bobbi knew that Van got Christy pregnant?”
“I don’t remember how she found out, but when she did, she went ballistic. She realized then that she’d been wrong in her hasty attempt all those years earlier to keep Van around by marrying him off to her daughter, thereby ruining Vivian’s relationship with Patrick Slade in the process. Christy’s pregnancy is when Bobbi finally came to her senses and she decided it was time to get Van out of the picture without burying him. She wanted to avoid a family scandal for Christy’s sake and so she was going to use the auto theft ring to bring Van down.”
Anthony’s eyes widened.
“I know who you are and what you do with the automobiles, Anthony. Right before she died she was going to call in a tip on her own dealership and have it all lead back to Van.” She smiled at him knowingly. “Sorry, but you would’ve been collateral damage.”
Anthony narrowed his eyes. “You know about the auto theft ring?”
“Who do you think set it up?” She smiled.
“Why haven’t you called in a tip of your own?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. He was feeling somewhat grateful that Bobbi’s death had allowed him to dodge a bullet.
“I would have if Bobbi’s autopsy showed any signs of foul play. I would’ve assumed someone involved in the ring figured out what she was going to do and offed her. When the results showed that she wasn’t murdered, I didn’t pursue it.” She raised her chin.
“Christy told me that Vivian had Bobbi cremated before an autopsy was done,” he replied. He couldn’t hide his skepticism.
“C’mon, Anthony. You as well as anyone with your background and connections knows that anything can be bought. Since Vivian didn’t authorize an examination of Bobbi’s remains, I had to find someone who would handle it before the cremation. The only person who received a copy of those results was me.” Seconds ticked by. “Bobbi Bowen died of a brain aneurysm.”
The room grew quiet as the two stared at each other. It was a lot of information, and Anthony was digesting it when Valerie spoke.
“Yes, Bobbi really died of an aneurysm. Unlike Van’s heart attack on the toilet.” She gave him a knowing smile. “I was always disappointed in the fact that he left this world so easily. I find comfort in knowing that certain people aren’t afraid to do what’s right. That they know how to take things into their own hands.”
She knows, he thought. She knows, and she approves. He liked her even more than he’d originally thought. He gave a faint nod, and without breaking from his gaze, Valerie added, “And you know the rest.”
Yes, he knew the rest. He leaned forward and placed his hands on his knees. Looking at the floor, he asked, “Did Vivian know that Abby was Van’s child?”
“Probably. But I honestly don’t know,” came Valerie’s soft response.
He looked up, and his expression startled Valerie. His eyes had somehow gotten darker, and he leveled a severe look at her. “Did it ever occur to you to tell Christy when she got pregnant that Van wasn’t her father?”
Valerie relaxed then. “I didn’t have to, Anthony. Bobbi assured me that she was going to tell Christy before the baby was born.” As if a light bulb went off, her face softened, and he saw honest regret in her eyes when she said, “Unless Bobbi died before she told her. Oh no. That never occurred to me. That poor girl has suffered all this time thinking that she gave birth to her father’s child. I’m so sorry, Anthony.”
He knew she was telling the truth and didn’t press her. He’d heard everything he needed to hear. He would go home and share it all with Christy. She didn't only have the right to know, she needed to know. He stood and thanked Valerie for her time. As an afterthought, he noticed her left hand and the absence of a ring.
“So, what about you? With all the drama of the Bowens and Chapmans, you ever settle down? Have a family of your own?”
She stood too and looked wistful. “I only ever had eyes for one person and even though we were together, I always played second fiddle in public. And I was okay with that.”
“Seems like you should’ve demanded more, Valerie,” he told her. His voice held a tone of warmth she hadn’t expected.
“It was a different time. People like me had to keep who we loved hidden. Especially who I loved.”
She smiled when his expression changed from one of bewild
erment to one of recognition.
“I was just out of high school when Bobbi hired me and like I told you before, she liked them young. I consider myself lucky that she kept me around. We were together up until she died.”
Christy leaned back against Anthony’s workbench. “I know you’ve always thought that we were mismatched. That I was too good to be with you. You never said it, other than your occasional heiress and criminal comments, but I’ve seen it in your eyes and I’ve always thought the complete opposite. I considered my dysfunctional background and my old hang-ups as being the weight in our marriage.”
“I’m a bad man, Christy. You know that. It carries a weight no matter how you try to spin it.”
She looked away and said, “And you know I’m not completely innocent, Anthony. You know what I’ve done.” She turned back to his workbench and fiddled with the tiara. “How long did you tell me it took you to figure it out?” she asked.
“I don’t remember,” he answered. “Just that it was before I went to see Valerie. I remember being impressed that she knew and approved of it.”
With her back to him, Christy continued, “I remember talking with Ginny years ago and telling her I envied her conscience. Grizz tried to protect her from the things he did because she was so sensitive.” She scoffed before adding, “I always thought it was kind of sad that he never had the chance to give up his life of crime to prove his love. And you made that same offer to me, and I didn’t want you to. Crazy, huh?” She didn’t expect him to answer.
She swung around and gave him a level look. “I was in the bathroom and heard you the night you cut off that man’s head at the Glades Motel. I didn’t flinch once. When you told me that you tortured and murdered the man who tried to rape me at your camp, you could’ve been telling me you just changed the oil in your truck. Not to mention all the things you’ve done over the years that I’ve known about.”
“So, what are you trying to say, Christy?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just trying to let you know that marrying you wasn’t the burden you think it was. To an outsider, we’ve always looked like opposites. You know, the criminal and the heiress?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “The Jolly Green Giant and the little sprout,” she laughed. “But I think we were more alike back then than we realized. And we’ve changed for the better.”
“Well, at least you have,” he told her. He smiled at her then. Not a small smile, but one that was so wide it made his dimple look like a cavern.
She approached him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. Looking up into his eyes, she added, “You didn’t kill Ben Diamond when you had the chance.”
“Don’t give me too much credit, Owani,” he corrected. “I didn’t kill him, but I messed him up good. Then I realized that death would’ve been too merciful. So, I consigned him to a fate that I thought was worse than death. I left him in prison with Grizz. I’m sure his life was torture for the five years that led up to Grizz’s death. Maybe even still is since Grizz had so many loyal followers in prison.”
“You were given a chance to do the right thing by not killing him, Anthony, and you took it,” she said into his shirt.
“I didn’t let him live because killing him would’ve been wrong. I haven’t found the…what do you call it?” He paused. “I haven’t found the moral compass that you found.”
“And having children hasn’t changed you?” she asked without looking up.
“Of course it has, Owani. It’s made me more cautious, but that’s about it. I have a wife and family to consider now. Just because I chose not to kill Ben Diamond doesn’t mean I wasn’t capable of it,” he told her, his voice hard. “That I’m not still capable of it.” Anthony may have walked away from Camp Sawgrass, loansharking and his other criminal activities, but he’d stayed well connected. He was just less visible due to his family life.
As if not hearing him, she said, “If I could go back and change—”
He knew what she was going to say and he shushed her. “It’s okay, baby,” he said.
“I tried to fix it, make it right, but it was too late. There was no going back.” Her voice was barely a whisper, and she hugged him tighter. “A deal was a deal and no amount of money could reverse what I’d done.”
“The fact that you tried is what matters, Christy,” he said as he softly stroked her hair. He decided it was time to change the subject, so he pulled back and, looking down into her face, he said, “Maybe we should save the iron tiara for the woman who Christian falls in love with. I have a feeling she’ll need it.” He gave a nod toward his workbench.
Already knowing the girl who held Christian’s heart, Christy replied in a lighter tone, “You might be right, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be coming into her own soon. I have no doubt that she’ll be strong enough to handle Christian without the tiara.”
Her face got serious then and she said, “I remember when I used to look into your eyes and was afraid because I didn’t think I could see anything. It was so hard to read you back then.”
“And now, Owani?” he asked, his voice tender.
“Now, I see myself in your eyes. You’re the better half of my soul, Anthony,” Christy told him, her eyes misty.
“You have it backwards, honey. You’re the better half of this marriage.”
He took her face in his hands and looked down into her eyes. “Two hearts connected by strands of gold. My heart you will always hold. Safe by my side, you will always be. My forever love, you belong to me.” He tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “Not bad for an eight-year-old,” he teased as fond memories of Nisha’s game warmed his heart.
“When did you know you loved me, Anthony? Was it the day you took me from Vivian’s bedroom?” she asked, breathlessly. “Or the day you made the iron tiara?”
“No, Owani. It wasn’t the day I took you.”
She looked at him sideways, her eyes bright.
“It was the day I knew I needed to own your heart forever.” He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Pulling back, he gave her a mischievous wink. “The same day I decided that you belonged to me.”
Epilogue
South America 2003
The old man lay on his tattered bed and stared at the roof of the thatched hut he’d called home for almost twenty-five years. The spatterings on the threadbare blanket that now covered him were evidence that a creature had taken up residence somewhere in the rafters of his dilapidated hut. It wouldn’t have been the first time, but he was too broken and weak to care.
He’d prayed every night to any god that might hear him for a quick and merciful death. He’d spent every day for more than twenty years barely existing. When he first arrived at the compound, he couldn’t understand what his captors were saying as they spoke in a language he didn’t recognize. But after meeting some of the other men who were also held against their will it became apparent, and his life quickly turned into a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.
He’d been sentenced to life without parole in a camp that was specifically designed to imprison people who’d committed heinous crimes and escaped prosecution under the law. There were men here from all over the world, and they were all provided barely enough to keep them alive.
They were forced to work hard labor every day. And it wasn’t constructive labor. They weren’t building bridges or paving roads. It was anything that caused their muscles and lungs to ache. The men called it nonsense labor. They dug ditches and then would have to carry heavy boulders to fill them in. They would transport the dirt they’d dug for miles only to create mini-mountains that served no purpose. The same thing every day. Day in and day out. They were allowed one shower a week and were provided no entertainment. Nothing to read, nothing to watch, no music or instruments, no radio, and definitely no women.
They were given only enough food and water to sustain them, but they were always hungry and thirsty. If they became ill, medicine was provided. Their clothes and living conditions were deplorable, yet nothing
that would cause their demise. The camp was created to ensure a miserable existence, much like a forgotten animal that barely survived at the end of a chain and lived at the mercy of a heartless owner. And it didn’t help that just beyond the electric fence, their captors lived in luxury.
He remembered once trying to goad another prisoner into bashing his head in with a shovel. But the man refused, explaining that the punishment for attempted suicide was starvation for both the intended victim, should he survive, and the accomplice. But not starvation as an end to life. They would be starved up until the brink of death and then brought back again.
It was then he realized his fate. The compound was specifically created for its inmates to endure a despondent life with no hope to die of old age. And someone had paid a lot of money to ensure that it happened. They were under constant surveillance. Their huts were ramshackle, but that didn’t mean they weren’t equipped with the latest electronic devices that monitored their every move. In other words, suicide was next to impossible.
Staring at the ceiling, he felt the splat of fecal matter as it hit his forehead. He was an old man, and his withered and shriveled body could’ve kept on going, but didn’t want to. Instead, he chose to work through the symptoms of what he thought was pneumonia. If his captors suspected his ill health, they’d give him medicine and he didn’t want medicine. He wanted death. He envied his friends who died from diseases. Once an illness was determined to be life-threatening, they would no longer receive medication, and their captors would let the disease run its course without medicine that could’ve eased their pain. He would’ve traded a slow agonizing death that might’ve taken up to a year rather than the almost twenty-five years he’d now endured. His breathing was labored, and he prayed that darkness would swallow him before he was expected at breakfast. He didn’t want a shot of penicillin. He wanted to die.
