About Face

by Fern Michaels

  “Robert!”

  “Yes?” His patience was starting to wear thin.

  “What should I say?”

  “Figure it out. You’ve managed to convince me for years what a tragic life you’ve led. Get out your bag of tricks and convince the hubby’s pilot how desperate you are to get to Savannah.”

  Roland Parker adjusted his heavy weight in his new leather chair and tried to find a comfortable position. As he shifted his bulk, he paused, waiting for the expected noise, and when none came, he relaxed. Yes, this is how it should be. A sheriff should have a good chair when he questioned his suspects. He needed to be comfortable when he dealt with the public or various suspects brought in for questioning. Yessireee, a good chair was important.

  He frowned. The subject at hand tonight had the power to wreck his career in law enforcement. If that’s what you could call sitting here on your ass all day filing reports and making an occasional trip out to the Berry place to toss old Charlie’s home brew on the front lawn after he’d pissed Louise off one too many times.

  He’d received a phone call earlier today from that bastard, asking him to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open. What in the hell did he think he’d been doing for the past ten years?

  Tired at forty, he’d give his right nut if he could turn back the clock ten years. He’d handed that bastard his balls in a basket when he’d agreed to participate in his scheme. At the time, it had made sense in a cockamamie kind of way. If he needed to justify his actions back then, it was that he’d been too inexperienced and frightened to stand up for himself and enforce the law.

  Now, all he could do was hang his head between his legs and hope against hope that no harm came to the girl.

  Or, a nagging voice of reason whispered in his ear, You could tell the truth. Pick up the phone and call him. You didn’t break the law.

  He actually placed his hand on the receiver and lifted it from its cradle. He gripped it so hard his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t do it. He dropped the phone on the desk, not bothering to put it back in the cradle. He didn’t care if he got any phone calls. Vera could handle the office; she practically did anyway. He was nothing more than the typical overweight, uneducated, country island sheriff.

  If it wasn’t for him, he could’ve been so much more. His stomach rumbled hate.

  He’d manipulated him from his first day in office and hadn’t let up. At first he’d get a wad of cash in the mail. He never questioned where it came from. Sometimes, he’d even get a note telling him he’d won a weeklong stay at his favorite fishing lodge. And then he’d go for months with no contact. When they passed one another on the street and Parker caught his eye, he knew it would only be a matter of days before he received another gift.

  None of it was worth the anguish he went through every night. For the past five years he couldn’t even think about going to sleep until he’d consumed at least a six-pack of beer. He knew it would get worse if he didn’t put a stop to it.

  He couldn’t spend another sleepless night wrestling with his guilt. It was time to salvage his soul.

  Casey woke to the smell of brewing coffee. She smiled in her half-awake state and rolled over on her side. The down comforter caressed her, and she snuggled deeper into the soft folds, wishing Blake were there to hold her. She imagined how he would feel next to her. Their skin would be slick with sweat from their passionate lovemaking. She knew that his chest and leg hair would lightly tickle her sensitive skin. And he’d have that woodsy smell that she loved. She inhaled and instead of her imagined scent she smelled coffee. She tossed her fantasy aside as she threw the down comforter to the bottom of the bed.

  Out of habit she neatly made her bed and went to shower. She looked at herself in the mirror, expecting to see something other than her usual self.

  A murderer, she thought. What exactly does a murderer look like? As she toweled herself dry, she watched her movements. She didn’t know what she hoped to see, but whatever it was, it didn’t magically appear.

  She needed to remember killing poor, disturbed Ronnie. The day before she had her chance, and she blew it like a snuffed-out candle.

  Something about the doctor had made her skin crawl. He barely looked old enough to be a doctor, but that wasn’t what bothered her. He’d reminded her of an opossum—sneaky. She’d felt him watching her with his pale blue eyes. No, she’d made the right decision. Drugs force-fed to her over the years had prevented her recovery. She would heal herself without more “therapy.”

  Casey was surprised to see her mother in the kitchen, especially after her last visit. Was it only a few days ago that Evie freaked out?

  “Mother! I’m so glad to see you. How’s John?” She poured herself coffee and refilled her mother’s cup.

  “He’s had somewhat of a setback,” Evie whispered.

  Casey watched her mother as tears glazed her eyes. Eyes so like my own, she thought.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. What do the doctors say?” She hoped she didn’t sound as empty as her words, but she didn’t know what else to say. After all, she’d yet to meet her stepfather.

  Evie blotted her eyes with a cloth napkin. “His blood pressure is elevated; they’re not sure why. That Dr. Foo, I’m not sure about him.” Evie sniffed. “I wish John had an American doctor.”

  “Mother! What on earth do you mean?” Casey asked.

  “He’s a Jap or Chinese, I don’t know. I just think Americans take care of their own.”

  Then she should meet Jason Dewitt, Casey thought. “I’m sure he’s a good doctor. Blake and Adam seem to like him.”

  “That’s not saying much as far as I’m concerned, dear. Adam is so secretive about everything, and Blake”—her mother actually huffed—“doesn’t take life as seriously as he should, so as you can see, I don’t put much stock in either one of their opinions.”

  Casey shrugged. “I guess we all have our reasons for what we do and don’t do.” She knew it probably wasn’t the time, but she’d seen her mother so little since her return. She had to ask her now. Another opportunity might not present itself for a while if John took a turn for the worse.

  “Mother, I need to ask you something.”

  “What is it, dear? I just came home for a change of clothes. I have to hurry back to Worthington Enterprises. We’ve a meeting scheduled today. You do know I’ve had to hold the fort down as they say. I can’t disappoint John.”

  Was this her mother’s way of saying now isn’t a good time? It didn’t matter. What she had to say needed to be said.

  “I know, Mother. Flora told me. I’m sure John is grateful you’re there. I imagine having family at a time like this makes all the difference in the world.”

  “Yes, it does. But the responsibility is enormous. John and Adam never thought I could handle it. I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Evie said in a conspiratorial tone. “I’ve been waiting for this day for years. I’ve dreamed of being at the helm of Worthington Enterprises. Do you realize just how many holdings John has?” She looks dreamy, Casey thought.

  Casey felt uncomfortable discussing her stepfather’s financial status and wished her mother hadn’t brought it up.

  “Actually, Mother, I don’t. I’m sure they must be substantial, you know, Swan House and all.” Casey looked around, hoping her mother would pick up on her unease.

  “Not only does he own all the paper mills in Brunswick, he owns dozens of businesses overseas. The man had his hand in everything imaginable.”

  Casey wondered if her mother was aware that she had spoken of her husband in the past tense.

  “I’m glad you found someone to take care of you. I’m sure John’s a decent man, with or without his holdings.”

  “That’s true, dear, but he’ll never take the place of your father.”

  “I have no memory of him, but I’m sure he must’ve been a fine man, according to Flora.”

  Suddenly her mother’s face turned an angry red. “What did Flora say?”

&nb
sp; “Nothing. Just that he was a good man. Please,” she placed a hand on top of her mother’s. “Don’t get upset. Flora didn’t say anything. Really,” Casey assured her.

  Why would her mother care if Flora talked about her father?

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that Flora troubles me sometimes.”

  Flora? Her mother must be in one of her “bad states.”

  “Flora did tell me about a visit to Doc Hunter’s office when I was a child.” It was time to find out exactly what her mother knew.

  She watched her mother compose herself. “What visit are you talking about, dear? Flora took you most of the time. I had Ron.”

  “I know about Ronnie, Mother. I know what I did.” Casey looked at her mother, hoping for some reassurance, something to indicate she’d been wrongly accused, justified, anything. She waited. Her mother remained silent, her expression totally blank.

  “You shouldn’t have been told!” Evie’s voice raised several octaves.

  “I’m not upset, Mother. You shouldn’t be either,” Casey placated her.

  Evie licked her pink lips and swallowed. “I wanted to tell you, Casey. With John ill and me running the business, I haven’t had time. I thought when everything quieted down, we’d have a talk. But someone,” her mother’s voice turned hateful, “someone took that right away from me as usual.”

  “It’s all right. I can handle it. What I can’t handle is the not knowing. Blake and Flora both seemed to think Doc Hunter thought I’d been . . .” She hated to say it to her mother, it just didn’t seem right. “. . . molested.” The last word was barely a whisper.

  Her mother’s face turned white. “Why! I told them . . .” The wind blew out of her sails as she slumped forward, resting her face on her arms. Her small shoulders shook with sobs. Casey was reminded of a time when her shoulders had shaken with uncontrollable sobs. Another visit to the closet, another day-trip to fear.

  “Mother,” she asked, her voice now strong and insistent, “who locked me in the closet when I was a child?”

  Evie’s face turned ashen, her mascara trailing down her face like two silvery black snakes. She fumbled with the cloth napkin, twisting it into a tight roll. “What are you talking about, Casey? I don’t know anything about a closet.”

  Maybe this wasn’t real even though it seemed to be. And the closet was always in her dreams. That alone gave the closet substance. Maybe she should let it go for the moment. While she had her mother’s undivided attention, other questions were more essential.

  “Mother, did Dr. Hunter tell you he thought I’d been molested? Do you know who could’ve done something like that to me?” She found it hard to stay calm in the face of her mother’s mindless expression.

  Evie blew her nose quietly, then took a sip of coffee that had turned cold. “Yes, Casey, I knew. Dr. Hunter came to me the day Flora took you to his office.”

  “Your behavior was odd, I’ll admit, but I never thought it was because of . . . that. When the doctor told me, though, I knew right away who was responsible.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.” Evie took a compact from her purse and reapplied her lipstick. Composed now, she continued, “After your father died, I more or less lost interest in life. I met a few men, and we dated. They were all very casual, nothing serious. Until I met Marc.”

  Casey had never heard of a man named Marc. She reached for the pot of coffee and refilled their cups as she waited for her mother to continue.

  “Marc was exciting. After your father, who was always concerned with making a living or taking care of his mother or Ronnie, Marc was like a breath of fresh air. I never knew what he did. I didn’t want to know. He lived in Brunswick and would take the ferry over on the weekends.” Her mother paused, as if trying to recall a time in her life that really wasn’t all that long ago.

  “We had such a wonderful time together. We’d go dancing, and sometimes we went to Underground in Atlanta and spent the whole weekend. Marc was very friendly to you and Ron. He didn’t have any children of his own, but acted so natural around you and your brother.

  “I guess we must have dated three or four months before I realized what he’d been doing. I’ll admit at first, he had me fooled. When I noticed how you were acting around him I asked him if he’d done anything to upset you.

  “Of course he said he’d done nothing. When Dr. Hunter came to me with his suspicions, I immediately went to Marc because you had told me that day what he’d done to you. It’s not something I want to talk about.”

  “Why didn’t you have him arrested?” Casey questioned.

  “I wanted to, but you begged me not to. You said you’d just die if anyone else knew all the ugly things he’d done to you. I called Marc, and of course he tried to tell me you’d teased him. I asked him just what a nine-year-old had to tease him with. He said he hadn’t really damaged you; after all, it was just fondling. He said there had been no penetration. Those were his exact words.

  “I had your best interest at heart, so I agreed not to press charges if he agreed never to set foot on Sweetwater Island again.” Her mother snapped her fingers. “He was gone like that.” She smiled sweetly at Casey.

  She wondered if her mother was in her right mind just then. Seconds ago, she’d just bawled her eyes out and now she looked like she was ready to greet her Married Ladies Club members.

  Marc. The name meant absolutely nothing to her. As far as she knew, no one had ever mentioned that name to her. Flora said she’d actually had intercourse. Could Flora have misunderstood Doc Hunter?

  “I guess that answers my question,” Casey whispered. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “Good. I’m glad we had this little talk to clear the air. Now”—her mother looked at the delicate band on her wrist—“I’ve got to go to that meeting, and then it’s back to John’s bedside. If you need anything, Casey, just ask Flora.”

  Evie dropped an air kiss next to her right cheek and fluttered out of the room like a bird in flight.

  That’s it? All the mystery and trauma of what she’d experienced as a child wiped away with a ten-minute conversation. She didn’t feel one bit better. If anything, she felt worse. And, down deep, she suspected her mother had lied to her.

  Robert Bentley glanced in the mirror and saw that he looked all of his fifty years. His lack of sleep was obvious from the dark, sagging pouches under his eyes. The meeting with Dr. Dewitt had been a total failure.

  The Cessna’s pilot delivered him to Savannah in less than an hour. He’d taken a cab from the small airport to the former home of Judge Dewitt. Nothing had changed. Still the same pile of bricks, the same hundred-year-old oaks, the same wrought-iron gate. Old. Respected. While Robert related to the former, the latter remained a lifelong desire. One he’d thought marriage to Norma would provide.

  He wiped shaving cream from his face and walked into the room they’d shared for more than a quarter of a century.

  It remained as it had been when he’d moved in after their wedding. Norma’s father had lived on the property, in the guesthouse until his death four years after their marriage. When the coffin closed, Robert had assumed he’d have the power he’d longed for all his life. He’d been wrong. And so, when the final shovel of dirt was tossed on Jacob Fulton’s grave, Robert began to formulate his plan. Oh, he’d not planned every detail, but a seed had been planted, and with the passing of years the fermentation process had taken on a life all its own.

  She hadn’t been part of his plan until that day twenty years ago. But now, he couldn’t imagine his life without her. He’d bitched, moaned, and groaned, but in his own sick way he loved her.

  The culmination of those hardworking years was about to come to pass. The only wrinkles in his plan: the girl and Macklin. Or so he’d thought until Dewitt entered the picture. He’d beat and banged on his door the night before until his knuckles bled. He’d even climbed a trellis covered with thorny roses to see inside an upstairs window, where he’d spied a light. Hell
, he’d damn near killed himself.

  The scratches were still tender. In the morning Norma asked how he managed to look like a cat’s victim, and he’d muttered something about subduing one of the crazies at Sanctuary. That shut her up. Lately Norma showed an unusual amount of interest in him and his activities. She’d always had her charities and that stupid Married Ladies Club. Enough things to occupy her. Why the sudden interest in his whereabouts and general well-being, he didn’t know. Whatever, she wouldn’t get in the way; he’d see to it.

  He knotted his tie and mentally reviewed his schedule for the day. He had to make an appearance at Sanctuary. He also had an appointment in Atlanta to show a suite in an office building he’d listed months ago. A small overnight bag he kept packed and ready just in case was waiting in the back of the closet. His tickets were in his briefcase at the office.

  All he had to do was put on the mask he wore exclusively for Norma, walk downstairs, kiss her wrinkled cheek, nod to the help, and be on his way.

  The previous night’s fuck-up had to be tended to first. While he hated to ask Adam for help, he didn’t have a choice. Doctors knew about one another. Adam had arranged for the girl’s appointment a few days ago. He might know where Dewitt had disappeared to. It was worth a try.

  Adam plugged his cell phone charger into the cigarette lighter and watched the fluorescent green buttons glow, indicating he had power. Actually he hated the damned thing but found it was as necessary to his profession as his prescription pad.