Stunner

by Niki Danforth

  “What did Juliana do to stop Marion?” I ask.

  “I think Juliana keep all her secrets very close and careful,” he says. “If that little girl in photograph her daughter, nobody ever find out. Even Mr. Wentworth.” He shakes his head regretfully.

  Then he gets out of the Ferrari and comes around to open my door. “Ronnie, this is private between just us.” He smiles. “And I hope you have enjoyed my little tour.”

  “Thank you, Dragomir,” I respond. “You’ve been so generous with your time and so kind to share with me your impressions and experiences with Juliana. Such a nice way to help me get to know my maybe future sister-in-law.” Juliana definitely has trust issues. I guess I would, too, if I had a wicked step-daughter like Marion Wentworth. But I suppose Juliana had problems long before that. “Dragomir, may I ask a favor of you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “If you promise not to tell Juliana for a little while that I was here, then I promise to call you first when they decide to marry,” I say. “She might think I’m being nosy about her life, when my reason for being here really was to see Drea. Meeting you and joining you on this wonderful tour, well that was a bonus.” I reach out to shake hands. “Deal?”

  He looks at me, breaks out in a huge smile, and shakes on it. “Deal. Ronnie, you have charm the same as my dear Juliana.” How interesting that he compares the two of us.

  But my plan is to wrap up this meeting on a lighter note. “I have to ask you, where does the name Dragomir come from? It’s so romantic and has the sound of mystery and intrigue,” I enthuse.

  Dragomir laughs. “I was given my Bulgarian grandfather’s name. I am happy for this. In L.A., I think I am the only Dragomir!” He sweeps me into a huge hug, and I pat him on the back.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  My Mustang idles on the dirt road that leads up to Meadow Farm. The car’s canvas top is down, even though it’s a cloudy day (unlike yesterday’s perfect California blue sky). Warrior sits in the passenger seat, and we both look through the front windshield. The view of the house is beautiful. I should be happy. I’m not. Having never before been exiled from this farm where I grew up, I feel like a miserable outcast.

  The music’s on, of course, and Warrior, looking at me with big sad eyes, whines along with the crooning of Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down.” It’s as if Warrior understands the pain I feel because of the situation with my brother. I lean over and bury my face in my dog’s neck, nuzzling his soft coat. I feel cut off from family and forlorn. The first loss was of Peter years ago—not my fault—and now I’m at odds with Frank—this time my fault. How did I make such a mess of things?

  Both Frank and Peter told me as far back as I can remember that I was the most stubborn kid sister on the planet. You’d have thought that age and experience would have mellowed me—not a chance. Not when it comes to Frank’s welfare and happiness, even if he can’t see it, and I’m the only one who can.

  Making a quick U-turn, I take off, the wind blowing through my hair and over Warrior’s face, and Tom Petty’s wailing voice and lyrics boosting my confidence to not back down.

  I drive aimlessly along the back roads, narrow and twisty, trying to escape the hurt and worry of a possible permanent break with my brother. I go back to what Dragomir told me about Juliana’s true kindness to the old woman at the end of her life. Will Juliana offer lifelong kindness and happiness to Frank? Will she be compassionate enough to not interfere with our sibling relationship?

  There aren’t many left in my immediate family of origin. Excluding the younger generation and our estranged brother, it’s just Frank and me. I suddenly miss our parents deeply and make a quick decision, turning back toward town.

  At the outskirts of the village, I pull up to the beautiful stone chapel that is part of the church our family has attended for generations, although my own attendance in recent years has been spotty. The intense feeling that has lured me here has come on so fast I blink back tears, and I want desperately to visit the graves of my parents.

  When I park, I feel a sudden wind come up. I notice the sky has turned darker and pull the top up on the Mustang. “Warrior, I’ll be right back.”

  Walking on the stone path to the side of the chapel, I head toward the cemetery around back. Before I turn the corner, though, voices stop me. Familiar voices. I can’t understand what they’re saying, but I know who they are.

  I peek around the corner, and I see Juliana and Bobby Taylor on a bench that happens to be dedicated to my parents. They sit with their backs to me, talking to each other, their faces in profile. No voices are raised; no taut body language indicates the two are fighting.

  As a matter of fact, this get-together looks a bit too friendly. What is going on here? Anger wells up inside of me, but I resist the urge to dash out and verbally blast at them. Instead, I watch quietly.

  The general tone of their conversation sounds friendly enough, even though I still can’t catch what they’re actually saying. Their faces are close as Juliana and Bobby talk. They look like two people who are relaxed with each other.

  Then he does it. Bobby take Juliana’s hand in both of his and kisses it. She shakes her head and her posture droops, as if she’s sad.

  A few drops of rain plunk down on my head. The two of them look up at the sky. He drops her hand, puts his arm around her and pats one of her shoulders reassuringly.

  For an instant, I can hear what Bobby says to Juliana. “It’ll all be OK. I’m sorry I’ve been such a jerk.” He pulls his arm back and rubs her neck.

  Feeling a huge sense of betrayal on behalf of Frank, I can’t watch anymore and silently retreat. I’ll save my visit to my parents’ graves for another day.

  Now, why’d Juliana have to do that, look so cozy with Bobby, exactly when I was beginning to think she might be a good person and the right one for Frank? And to think she met him near my parents’ gravesite. This can only be bad.

  ~~~~~

  Will pulls up to my cottage to find Warrior and me in the garden playing catch with a Frisbee. At the moment, my German shepherd sits quietly with the Frisbee in his mouth, looking quite pleased with himself. “Stay,” I say.

  I turn my attention to Will and wave him over. “Come in through the gate.”

  Once Will stands next to me, I instruct Warrior to “come.” The dog trots across the grass, reaches us and sits, still holding the Frisbee in his mouth. Will and I both squat down, and I take the Frisbee from Warrior.

  I rub my dog’s head. “Warrior, you remember Will.” The German shepherd gives what I call his happy bark, and Will rubs his neck.

  The three of us sit on the lawn, horsing around with the Frisbee—sliding it flat but upside down across the grass or rolling it vertically on the lawn. Finally Warrior has had enough, and his head drops between his paws. His big brown eyes grow heavy for a nap, but then pop open to stare at me. “You’re such a good boy, Warrior,” I tell him. “You, too, Will.” We humans laugh.

  “On to more serious matters.” I recount the scene I witnessed at the church where it looked as though Bobby Taylor was protecting Juliana—from what, I don’t know.

  “Ronnie, just because the incident looked bad doesn’t mean it was, especially if you couldn’t hear most of their conversation.” Will is using a calm tone, in stark contrast to my tense, upset voice. “It’s a mistake to jump to any conclusions.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better, Will.” I bite my lip. “What do I do?”

  Will looks at me as though he’s giving this some thought. “First, how much does your brother know about your investigation of Juliana? Does he know anything about you building this timeline of Teresa Gonzalez’s life as she transformed into Juliana?”

  “Not at all. At least I hope not,” I respond.

  “So why not drop it if it’s upsetting you so much? You haven’t really come across any other red flags since her Scranton Gang days, have you?” His eyes meet mine.

  “True,”
I say, and Warrior snores gently. “But Bobby Taylor is a major red flag, and he’s dangerous—”

  “Let me take care of Bobby Taylor,” Will says with sympathy in his voice. “Let me see if I can find any trip-ups since he’s been released that we can prove and would get him thrown back in prison.” He pauses. “Let your brother and Juliana make their plans, and you stay out of it.” I look at him as if he’s scolding me. He smiles. “Ronnie, why can’t you let go of this?”

  “Will, how many brothers and sisters do you have?” I ask.

  “There are eight of us. Five boys and three girls.” He notes my look of surprise. “Hey, what can I say? On my mother’s side, we’re a big Irish family.” Warrior’s asleep, and his legs kick as if he’s running somewhere in his dream world.

  “Are you close?” I ask. “Do you enjoy being together?”

  “Yeah, for the most part, we like seeing each other.”

  “Bingo. Will, you are blessed with a big family of origin, and you probably have loads of nephews and nieces, too.” He nods. “Were you ever married?” I ask.

  “For a short while in my twenties,” he answers me.

  “So you know, Will, marriages can come and go. And then you’re left with the family you were born into—”

  “And your friends,” Will interrupts.

  “That’s true. But you get my point about your original family, and now it’s just Frank and me.” My voice gets a bit shaky.

  “It doesn’t have to be, Ronnie.” His eyes are kind and his voice is tender, which surprises me. He reaches across the grass for my hand and holds it gently before speaking. “It doesn’t have to be—”

  “Will, what are you saying?” I’m suddenly panicked. “You and I, this, this is professional—”

  “I know, Ronnie, and you pay me faster than any other client,” he says and laughs. “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate it. But you don’t have to do this all alone. You can depend on friends—” His voice turns husky. “—Or one special friend.”

  We don’t say another word, but Will continues to hold my hand. I remain speechless. His unwavering, piercing blue eyes cut right through me for what feels like forever.

  I snap back to reality, pull my hand away as if I’ve noticed the heat on the burner of a stove and stand up quickly. I look at my watch and feign surprise. “Sorry, Will. I’m late, uh, and if I don’t hurry, will probably, um, miss Warrior’s vet appointment. Please stay as long as you like, but I’ve got to run. Warrior, come. Sorry, Will.”

  “But, Ronnie—” He looks bewildered.

  “Talk to you later,” I mumble and flee my house with my dog.

  ~~~~~

  “Good evening, Mr. Bond.” I ease into the warm tub with my glass of pinot noir, looking up at the large picture of Sean Connery hanging on the bathroom wall. The candles are lit, and the lighting is low. The mood is just right for a conversation with my favorite spy.

  I settle back. “Well, James. What do you think? You know, he’s fifteen years younger than I am.” I take a drink. “He’s kind. He’s gentle. He’s strong.” I laugh. “He’s good-looking, and those blue eyes, wow.” I take another sip of pinot. “From what I can tell, he’s got a great body, too.” I chuckle. “What more can I say?”

  I stretch out my arm holding the glass and pinch its tricep for droopiness. Then I pat my stomach under the water. “Definitely not as flat as a few years ago, James.” I splash a little and take a final drink of my wine. “Anyway, not really sure if he’s interested in anything more than being friends…”

  I blow bubbles in the water. Can’t remember the last time I had sex, what with my marriage coming apart for some time and then finally the divorce.

  “What’s that you say, James?” I look up at the photograph. “Go for it? Oh, I don’t know…”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Stepping out of the tub, I notice the beautiful dim light of dusk cutting through the grey clouds outside the window. I throw on some clothes, leave the cottage, and walk Warrior up the road that leads to my big house, the one I’m renting to the Lattimore family. When the sprawling white clapboard farm house comes into view, I see the two youngest children playing outside. I flash back for a moment to happier days there when my own kids were still children enjoying one another’s company.

  I take a left turn well before getting close to the house and walk across a field to a bridle trail that meanders along a stream. This is one of Warrior’s favorite walks, and we enjoy the early evening together. I can’t get the scene between Juliana and Bobby in the cemetery out of my mind. I also wonder about the mystery of Juliana’s baby. How’d she keep that a secret for all those years? It’s got to be Francesca, right?

  A sudden splash in the stream from a rising trout sends a barking Warrior running over to paw at the water, churning up ripples.

  “It’s a good thing, boy, that I’m not fishing right here.” He runs back to me, and I crouch down to scratch his neck. “Warrior, you’ve probably scared away every fish in this pool.” I hug him, and several large rain drops splatter on the stream and then us. “Ready to run home?”

  Once back in the cottage, I sit peacefully on the rug with Warrior listening to the gentle rain. I lean back against my favorite chair and think about Juliana’s baby, imagining the child now as a teenager. As Francesca? Does Frankie know who her mother is?

  And why the big secret? It’s not a scandal to have a child out of wedlock in today’s world. Finally, does Frank know about Juliana’s daughter, and if he doesn’t, would it affect his feelings toward her in any way to suddenly find out? If she hasn’t already, I would imagine Juliana probably plans to tell him. I would hope so, anyway, but who can be sure when someone has issues with trust the way Juliana does.

  I wonder how Frank and Juliana are enjoying their evening in Manhattan at the theatre, which I happen to know about because Laura called me earlier today. My niece also said she was going into the city to meet friends and that she, her dad, and Juliana would all be back in the morning. So, nobody home at Frank’s tonight.

  I close up the house. The rain is heavier, and my dog and I make a dash for the car. After I throw down a blanket, Warrior hops in the passenger seat, and we head over to Meadow Farm. If Frank or Juliana turns out to be there, my excuse is that Rita called me to pick up fresh farm eggs.

  It’s almost dark, but Rita has left a few lights on, as she does every evening when she leaves. All looks quiet, and I park around back near the kitchen.

  Usually the doors of the house are left unlocked at all hours of the day, but with everyone away, I know that Rita will have closed up and turned on the alarm. I pull out my key and go in with Warrior through the kitchen door. Frank gave me the security code years ago, and I punch it into the keypad to turn off the alarm.

  “Come on, Warrior.” We both shake off the rain. “Let’s get moving.” He follows me as I walk up the stairs, down the hall, and into Juliana’s room, where he stretches out and falls asleep. Flipping on the light, I stride over to the now-closed drawer of the bureau and pull it open. I’d like another look at Juliana’s old locket, the one with the chain hanging out of the red leather box that I saw when I first snooped among her things.

  Finding the box and locket, I turn on the lamp for more light and look at the piece carefully. It’s tarnished and scratched the way it was when I first saw it, and it’s still attached to a frail silver chain. I pull out my drugstore glasses to get a better look at the hard-to-read inscription.

  To MTG, with love, FEB

  …could it be FLB? Or an R instead of a B? So, FLR?

  I remember struggling to figure out the inscription before, and my glasses aren’t helping very much. I snap the locket open and stare at the clump of hair I saw the first time. Dark, like Juliana’s. Whose is it?

  I feel around the edges of the locket with my fingernail, but I can’t loosen the small piece of glass holding the hair in place. You never know. It might be handy to have a sample of this for DNA
analysis to establish maternity or some other connection. I’m sure Will could handle it for me. Of course, I can’t believe it’s come to this, as if I’m in the middle of some spy thriller. I put the box and locket back in the drawer. Any more brilliant ideas, Sherlock?

  I walk into the bathroom and look around. The small trash can catches my eye. Something odd is sticking out of the top.

  I lean over for a look and see it’s a wooden handle, a hair brush handle. I peer inside the can more closely and also see the other half of the broken brush. It looks like an expensive one with real boar bristles.

  My eyes dart to the long dark hairs that meander through the bristles. For sure this is Juliana’s broken brush. Then I notice a loose nest of dark hair to the side of the brush head, as if Juliana had cleaned the bristles after she used it.

  DNA! I rush to the kitchen and return with a large baggie and a small plastic garbage bag. Flipping the baggie inside out and putting my hand into it like a glove, I pick up the brush handle (in case I need fingerprints), the brush head, and the nest of hair. I zip the bag shut. Even through the plastic baggie, I can see that some of Juliana’s discarded hair strands still have their follicles attached. Pay dirt. I also empty the remaining contents of the trash can so Juliana won’t notice the missing broken brush upon her return from the city.

  I hear the growl of an engine driving up the road to the house. Sounds like a motorcycle. I don’t touch the lights, but creep to a dark bedroom next to this one, clutching the baggie with the broken brush and white garbage bag, with Warrior by my side. My dog barks. “Quiet, Warrior,” I say in a stage whisper.

  I look out the window and can barely make out a motorcycle stopping a hundred yards from the house. The rider parks his bike behind a bush and walks in our direction under trees when possible, doing his best to stay out of the rain, which appears to be easing up. He avoids a pool of light coming from a front-door lamp fixture.