by Dara Girard
Daniella shook her head. “I just—”
“I haven’t finished. What you’re prepared to do is to go after a complete stranger whose past could be hidden for a reason—a dangerous one. I’m older. I know that life has a dark side—every person, too. If you dig deep enough you may find something you’re not prepared for and can’t handle.”
“I don’t care.”
“That’s the problem,” Isabella said. “You should care. This is a big undertaking and we just want you to weigh all of the risks.”
I have and it’s worth it, Daniella thought, but knew it was best to keep her thoughts to herself. “I will.”
Mariella stood. “Good. Now that that’s done I’ll see you later.”
Gabby left with Mariella, and Sophia disappeared into the kitchen. Isabella looked at Daniella for a long moment. “Did he kiss you?”
Daniella stiffened. “What?”
Isabella raised her brows. “You heard me.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“So I guess that’s a yes.”
“I didn’t say yes.”
“You don’t have to. I was curious at first because of how determined you were to convince us that you only saw Richard as a story instead of a man.” She grinned. “Now I don’t have to be curious anymore.”
Daniella didn’t want to talk about kissing him, stunned by how quickly she could remember the feel of his lips on hers and the touch of his hand as it skimmed across her skin.
Isabella’s grin grew. “Ah, yes, that’s what I thought. He’s more than just a story.”
“That’s not why I’m going after him.”
“Whatever your reasons, be careful.” She sighed. “No matter what I say you still want to find out more about him, don’t you?”
Daniella knew she could lie, but Isabella would see right through her. She nodded.
“Then go for it.”
“To be honest, I don’t even know where to start.”
Isabella paused then said, “Was there anything about him that really stood out?”
Daniella thought for a moment then snapped her fingers. “His tattoo.”
“That’s a good place to start. I’ve heard that tattoo artists have signature looks. Someone could give you a lead, just be careful. I’m not trying to scare you, but you know how Mariella’s hunches have a way of coming true so be careful. If you ever need anything you know we’re here for you.” Her sister rose and gave Daniella a big hug.
“Thanks, but this is something I have to do on my own.”
* * *
Daniella drew a quick sketch of Richard’s tattoo from memory then posted the image online asking if the image looked familiar to anyone. Over the next seven days she received many replies. Most of them useless. One respondent thought that the tattoo was a rip-off of a comic book hero; another thought that the wearer was part of a secret alien race. After weeks with no decent leads, Daniella was about to give up when one email caught her attention. She opened it:
I know that tattoo. I believe it belongs to my missing son. Why do you want to know about it? Please call me at…
His missing son? If he was his son, why would Richard be missing? It couldn’t be the same person. Maybe a group of guys got together and got the same tattoo.
“Call him,” Sophia urged after Daniella showed her the message.
Daniella paced. “It just seems wrong. How could Richard be missing?”
“You won’t know until you find out. Look, if you want to back out now I understand.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Then why are you stalling? You’ve gotten this far, why stop now? Whether it’s this guy’s son or not you have to find out the truth.”
“I know.”
“You’ve already raised this poor man’s hopes. There’s no turning back now.”
It was a definite lead. She licked her lips then dialed the number.
“Hello?” a deep voice answered. It was gravelly but warm.
“Yes,” Daniella said in too high a voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hi, this is DD,” she said. She’d decided not to list her full name in the email, only her initials. “You responded to my post about the image. You said you think that the tattoo belongs to your son.”
“Yes, my wife wasn’t too sure of my answering your email because there are a lot of crazies on the internet. But something about your query seemed genuine and I trust my instincts.”
“Yes. And you think it belongs to your son?”
“I know it does. Only four of us have that particular tattoo. I have it, so does my son and two others. The words stand for a group we were all part of when my son was younger. Also, his tattoo has a unique extra marking, which I recognized in the sketch you posted. Why are you looking for him?”
“He saved my life and I wanted to thank him, but he disappeared before I had a chance.” At least that wasn’t a complete lie.
“That sounds like my son. He doesn’t like to take credit. How did he do it?”
“Do it?” Daniella echoed, confused.
“Save your life.”
“Oh. We were on a small plane that was about to crash and he—” She heard the man catch his breath. She stopped. “Sir?”
“I thought that might have been him,” he said amazed. “I read the story in The New York Times about the crash and the passengers surviving in the forest for four days, but I wasn’t sure. Marnie! This girl has found Trenton!” he shouted to someone who was there with him.
Trenton? “No, wait, there may be a mistake,” Daniella said quickly. “The man I’m looking for is called Richard Engleright.”
“I don’t care what he calls himself now. I think that you could be our chance to get our son back.”
Daniella hesitated. She would hate to raise their hopes and then dash them. “I think I should do a bit more background and research first.”
“We can give you all the background you’ll need. Could you come see us?”
Daniella paused. “Can you hold on a minute?” She put the phone on hold and sat. She looked at Sophia. There was no turning back. She had to do this. She reconnected. “Okay, let’s meet.” She got the information she needed and agreed to a meeting. When Daniella hung up she remained silent. Sophia shook her. “Well?”
“I’m going to Pennsylvania.”
Chapter 4
This has to be a mistake, Daniella thought as she drove up the gravel driveway leading to the expansive house ahead. Somehow she’d expected a small, stately home, but this one was moneyed. No, this couldn’t be the right people. She felt her heart sink. She could call and cancel. She could tell them that she didn’t think it was the right fit and just leave. She started her ignition, then saw a short, stout woman rush out of the house.
The woman came up to the car window and tapped on it. “Daniella?”
Daniella suppressed a groan and shut off the car. She couldn’t escape now. She got out of the car and plastered on a grin. “Yes. I wasn’t sure I had the right place.”
“You do. You must be tired after such a long drive. I have refreshments waiting inside.”
“Thank you.” The woman looked so hopeful, but she also looked nothing like Richard. She had bright, beaming brown eyes and a face like that of a young girl’s although she was clearly a woman in her sixties. She had an ageless glow. Maybe he took after his father.
“Come in,” Mrs. Sheppard said. “My husband went to run an errand. He’ll be back soon.”
Daniella followed Mrs. Sheppard inside the house and the moment she did so she felt instantly at home. They lived in a split-level with a large picture window showing a view of an enormous back garden filled with an array of colorful flowers. The walls were painted a soft peach, with off-
white trim that contrasted wonderfully with the polished oak floors. Mrs. Sheppard led her to the main living room, where Daniella settled into the large corner seating arrangement that almost filled the room. In the middle of the room, she spotted a teapot and cookies on a center table.
“I can’t tell you how happy we are that you’ve found us,” Mrs. Sheppard said while a dour-looking woman entered and took Daniella’s handbag and coat.
Mrs. Sheppard rushed ahead and lifted the plate of cookies. “I’ve been hoping for this moment for years.”
Years? Daniella took a bite of her cookie and chewed slowly, hoping to come up with a delicate response. “Mrs. Sheppard, I don’t want you to—”
“I wasn’t sure when Gilford told me about you, but after meeting you I’m sure. You were meant to come into our lives and help us find our son. I read your article about the crash. It was very powerful.”
Not cute? She wished Pascal had been around to hear her. “Thank you, but I’m not sure yet that I—”
They heard the front door open and Mrs. Sheppard jumped to her feet as if on springs. “That will be Gilford. Excuse me.”
Daniella glanced around the room, but didn’t see any pictures of Richard or Trenton, or whatever his name was. Perhaps it was too painful? She buried her head in her hands. She would hate having to give them the bad news that she didn’t really know their son. Especially when they seemed so certain. Daniella glanced up when she heard footsteps approaching and saw a figure disappear behind a wall. The housekeeper, maybe? Or just her imagination? She didn’t get much time to speculate because Mr. Sheppard entered the room displaying a big smile. He looked like he could pass for a black Father Christmas. There was no resemblance to the hard man she’d met months ago. She looked at the couple and couldn’t see Richard in either of them. How could such warm, loving people have such a hard, distant son?
Daniella stood and shook his hand. “Before we continue I think we should stop speculating.”
“You’re not sure he’s our son?” Mr. Sheppard guessed.
“You’re both such lovely people.” And unless he was adopted I think we’re talking about two different men.
He reached into his back pocket and took out a photo from his wallet and handed it to her. “Is this the man you’re looking for?”
Daniella took the image and saw a good-looking man smiling. He stood in front of a plane, holding a puppy in his arms while a gorgeous woman in a sleek dress, with a short pixie haircut and three-inch high heels, stood by his side. Her heart sank. “No, this isn’t—” She stopped when she focused on his mouth—that was familiar. She looked closer to make sure. Yes, his mouth and those lips she remembered, her gaze drifted up to his eyes, but they were nothing like what she remembered. The brown eyes in the picture were bright, hopeful and happy. It couldn’t be him…but then again she remembered his eyes after he’d kissed her and how they seemed to glow, transforming his face. This picture of him looked like it was taken a lifetime ago. She slowly sank into the chair. It was him. But what had happened to him?
Mrs. Sheppard stood beside her. “Is it him?”
“Yes,” Daniella said. “But he doesn’t look like this anymore.”
“We know,” Mr. Sheppard said with a weary sigh.
“After the accident and divorce he was never the same,” Mr. Sheppard explained.
Daniella frowned, remembering Richard—Trenton talking about an old injury. “Accident?”
Mr. Sheppard nodded, seeming to age years, the weight of his loss a constant companion. “Look up Trenton Sheppard on the internet and you’ll find all you need to.”
“Except the truth,” Mrs. Sheppard said.
“Yes, except that.”
“He won’t talk to us. We’ll get a postcard every year, but that’s it.”
“Last one had this postal code.” She handed Daniella the card. “We hired a private detective but nothing has worked. You’re our last hope.”
Daniella gripped the postcard. No pressure there. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I know you will, but I want you to know more about him first. I hope you don’t mind but it’s been so long since we’ve been able to talk about him like this and we feel the more you know the more you’ll understand him.”
I doubt it. “Sure.”
Mrs. Sheppard pulled out an album and opened it. “This is Trenton with his sister and their first pet, Bobo. He was devoted to that dog and when Bobo got arthritis in his hips Trenton made him a wheelchair of sorts. He always loved to help…” She went on to tell Daniella about his Boy Scouts days, his days at school, how popular he was and how marrying Fayola had been the happiest day of his life. She then got to the accident. “He said something was wrong with the plane, but no one was able to prove anything. I know my son wasn’t negligent and didn’t cause the crash, even though he was blamed for it.”
Mrs. Sheppard wiped away tears. Her husband gently patted her on her back. “It’s going to be okay, Marnie. We’ll get him back.”
“When you see him—” Mrs. Sheppard began.
“You mean if,” Daniella corrected.
“No, I mean when,” she said with certainty. “Because I know you’ll find him and when you do, please tell him to ‘keep the flag flying.’”
* * *
Bonita Zarro watched the stranger drive away then picked up the phone. “A woman came by asking about him.”
“Who?”
“You know. The Sheppard boy!”
“So what?”
“What does she want with him? Why is she asking questions?”
“Who knows? Who cares? It has nothing to do with us.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Have you been drinking again?”
“I haven’t had a drop in years and you know it. I think we should tell Dr. Brooks.”
“I think you’re blowing things out of proportion.”
“I don’t.”
“Fine, I’ll tell him. What’s her name?”
“Daniella Duvall and I think she’s one to watch.”
“She can’t do anything and neither can Sheppard. He knows what’s at stake.”
“Sometimes a person needs a little reminding.”
Bonita set down the phone.
“Who were you talking to?”
She spun around and stared into the hard glare of her boss, Mr. Sheppard. He seemed jovial and nice when he wanted to be, but she knew he had a cold, ruthless side. He was smart and she had to be careful.
“Nothing. I know I’m not supposed to make personal calls on duty.”
“Are you sick?”
“Why?”
“I noticed on my ID that three calls have been made to a Dr. Brooks and I overheard you mention his name.”
She’d been careless. In her panic she hadn’t thought that it would matter.
“Yes, I had an appointment, but I canceled.”
“Okay.” He walked away.
Dr. Brooks had made sure that she got her current job with the Sheppards. She couldn’t afford to lose it. Not with her record. And they were good people who treated her well and she didn’t want to have to leave them.
She would be careful. No, she had to be.
* * *
Daniella drove home feeling as if she could fly. She had a real name now and a lead. She was gaining on her target.
At home, she didn’t bother to change her clothes or get something to eat, but went directly to her laptop, went online and looked up Richard’s story. What she read made her heart break. Trenton Sheppard used to be a medic pilot. He was on an emergency rescue flight, when they encountered really bad weather. He was forced to make an emergency landing, and although there was plenty of space for him to land, he had somehow veered the plane off t
o the side and it had gone into a lake nearby. The pilot, medic and nurse all escaped, but although they tried to rescue her, the patient they had been transporting, a young woman in her early thirties, could not be extracted from the plane in time. She drowned.
In the days and weeks following the accident, an investigation resulted in Trenton being indicted for negligent manslaughter based on the fact that drugs were found in his system. Although he had denied the drug accusation, the lab results provided undisputable evidence that he was under the influence. He was stripped of his pilot license and fired from his job. While he did not face any jail time, his career was ruined. He was also sued by the victim’s family. He lost everything. His house, cars, boat, savings, investments and his marriage.
Daniella sat back remembering his words: You don’t know what it’s like to lose everything. This had to be what he was talking about. But a drug addict? He didn’t seem the type, and besides, his parents believed him. But they seemed the type who’d believe in the tooth fairy. Daniella knew she needed to remain skeptical. She needed the hard journalist edge that Pascal thought she lacked, and yet…she believed them, too. Richard— Trenton seemed too disciplined and focused to be the type to lie about what really happened. Then again, he could be good at keeping his addiction hidden. She knew of a prominent actor who had been an addict for years, but was a high-functioning addict who had no trouble getting and keeping great movie roles. But then again, you can never really know anyone. For a moment Daniella felt conflicted, but soon switched her thoughts to her memory of the middle-aged couple she had just met. Perhaps, if she could find him she could convince him to return home. His parents obviously missed him. She decided she would write a reunion story. The prodigal son returns home.
Daniella closed her laptop. No, she had to focus on the hard story. His past. She could just hear Pascal telling her she’d written another cute story. No more cute stories for her. She was determined to get to the truth. She drafted an outline for the article then sat back, satisfied, and called Pascal, ready to hear him eat his words.
