Another Man's Son

by Glenys O'Connell

  “I don’t know, Hanover. Have you been doing something illegal?” Ket Morgan snickered down the line. He found the idea of Hanover being afraid very appealing, but his pleasure didn’t last for long.

  “Just do something about it. Remember, Boss, if I go down—so do you.” Hanover slammed down the receiver.

  Ket quietly replaced the receiver. There was no mistaking the threat that had been made. If Hanover had trouble with the police, he’d save himself by throwing Ket to the wolves. He drummed his fingers on the desk and sat for a long time, staring into the growing dusk.

  Chapter Eight

  She was sitting at the kitchen table, her unseeing gaze fixed on the quays where the lobster boats were unloading, when Cynthia came in from her weekly visit to the stores. One look at her employer’s face and the housekeeper rushed to put the kettle on. Moments later, she handed Kathryn a steaming cup of tea laced with brandy. “My old Irish Grannie’s remedy for shock, and you, my poor lady, look to be in shock.”

  “I don’t know if it’s shock…more paralysis. I just don’t know what to do, yet I feel as if I should be doing something,” Kathryn admitted, feeling the warmth from the doctored drink seep through her body like a fine mist.

  “What can you do? I know you must be worried sick about your son, we all are. But I don’t think you can do much except pray, and leave it in God’s hands…and in the hands of the police. Sheriff Asher seems very competent.”

  “Yes, yes, I suppose he is. I knew him, once.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Ah, yes. I suppose the town is full or rumors.” The bitterness laced her voice. “Lots of speculation, but no one really knows the truth.”

  The housekeeper sipped her own coffee, watching Kathryn thoughtfully. “So long as you know the truth, what does it matter what anybody says?”

  Kathryn shrugged. “I know the truth, but everything seems to have gone wrong.”

  “Maybe you need to think about when it started to go wrong. Then maybe you can figure out what you can do to make it right?” Cynthia said gently.

  Kathryn smiled grimly. “It all started to go wrong as soon as I started lying.”

  Cynthia was silent again while the pendulum clock on the kitchen wall quietly checked off the passing minutes. Eventually, she reached out and put a gentle hand on Kathryn’s arm. “Listen, dear, I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I’m certainly not the clichéd wise, old family retainer. But I have lived a fair bit longer than you, and one thing I have learned is that you don’t put things right by worrying about them.”

  “Well, just how do you put them right?”

  “I’m not sure. But I’d say you have to go back to where you went wrong, and start putting it right. And now…”—the other woman heaved herself up from her seat—“That’s my soothsaying for the day. How many will there be for dinner? I’d better get started.”

  ****

  Kathryn barreled along in the big, four-wheel drive vehicle that she used for errands, dropping Alex off at school, and all the other little day to day trips. Just like all the other mothers, she thought to herself, fighting down a wry grin. But I’ve never been like all the other mothers. She hammered one clenched fist against the steering wheel, knowing she was only a hair’s breadth from hysteria but not caring any more. What she was really feeling was a sense of euphoria, a sense of being alive that she hadn’t felt for years.

  Except for that brief moment, back in her study, when Ben Asher’s lips had claimed hers in a branding that had brooked no denial.

  But now everything was up to her. She knew Ben and his officers would be doing their best to find Alex. Dear God, please let them find him before it’s too late! But she could hardly bear to think of the too late part, and so she pushed those thoughts from her mind.

  Cynthia had been right when she said to go back to where you started going wrong, and change things. That was exactly what she intended to do. And the whole Morgan clan could go to hell.

  ****

  Back in the office, Ben was in a foul mood after his meeting with Kathryn, which had stirred up too many memories of the past. Her simple grace as she poured coffee, the light perfume she still wore. Wouldn’t you think she’d have moved on to some ridiculously-expensive, sophisticated brand now that she was a Morgan wife?

  “Don’t go getting settled in that seat, Agent Asher.”

  Ben looked up, startled to see a tall, athletic-looking blond woman standing in his office doorway. He’d been so engrossed in his thoughts of Kathryn he hadn’t heard her enter. He stood and extended a welcoming hand.

  “Ah, Sheriff Lawton, I presume?”

  “You presume right—and you’re looking altogether too much at home in my office.” She softened the words with a grin as she stepped forward to shake his hand and then seat herself on a visitor’s chair.

  “You’re getting married this weekend.” Ben resumed his own seat. “I would think you have more interesting things to think about than the Lobster Cove Sheriff’s office.”

  Her smile transformed her face from pretty to beautiful. “Yes, the wedding and then the honeymoon. An extended honeymoon, courtesy of the FBI.”

  “You’re welcome. Is there anything I should be aware of, anything I need to keep a watch over? After all, even though I’m here on assignment, I need to do the job properly or people will be suspicious.”

  “You mean you want to appear to be a proper lawman instead of a Feebie?”

  Her wit made Ben laugh outright. “I guess that’s about the sum of it.”

  They spent the next twenty minutes or so as she acquainted him with some of the ongoing cases in her files and sketched out various characters he should keep a watchful eye on.

  “It’s usually pretty quiet at this time of the year, before the tourists and cottagers really start arriving.”

  “What about the Morgan family and their employees, like Bertie Hanover?”

  Lynn frowned. “As you know, I’m relatively new here but I have been keeping a watching brief on them on the advice of the last Sheriff Lawton, my father. If it’s the union busting incidents that Hanover was involved in several years ago, you’d be better picking Dad’s brain about that.”

  “Thanks for the tip; I’ll give him a call.” Ben briefly wondered what it must be like for Amos Lawton to have lost the sheriff’s election to his own daughter. None of his business, he quickly decided.

  “He’s a great guy, old school cop. No nonsense and he won’t be messed around,” Lynn warned.

  “I’m FBI, we don’t mess people around.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, really. Well, good luck with everything, and don’t start a crime wave while I’m gone. I want to come back and find my town intact.”

  “Don’t worry—your job will be waiting for you when the honeymoon is over. Lobster Cove is a nice place to visit but I wouldn’t want to live here.” Ben shook Lynn’s hand and walked her to the door.

  Back to reading the files, his handsome features creased into a frown as he read the faxed information about Bertie Hanover. Before the man had come to Lobster Cove, he had been a constant thorn in the side of whatever law enforcement agency had been unlucky enough to have him in its jurisdiction. He had a long and colorful list of convictions, including violent assaults and involvement with racketeering. Mostly small time, vicious stuff which nonetheless had led to jail terms.

  Even in jail he’d been far from a model prisoner; having been brought into court on two counts of assault against other prisoners, and one of issuing threats to a prison guard, even while he served time. Bertie Hanover was a nasty piece of work.

  Yet after he arrived in Lobster Cove, Hanover seemed to have seen the light and metamorphosed into a model citizen, working a regular job, paying his bills on time, and generally, living a reformed life. At least on the surface.

  Ben flicked through the original file that had caught his attention. Charges had been laid against Hanover and then dropped. The idea itched at Ben’s mi
nd like a burr beneath the saddle of a frisky horse. After thinking for a long time, he reached out and picked up the telephone receiver, dialing the number himself for convenience and privacy, rather than ask Tess to get it for him.

  He had just pressed the last digit when Tess came into his office. Her pretty face flushed under her cap of red hair. Things had been a little strained between them since they had “discussed” proper etiquette for in the office and over the phone and radio. She had apologised profusely and was now anxious to show how organised, efficient, and indispensable a secretary she was.

  Ben’s lips twitched as he watched her place the coffee mug on his desk and remove the half-drunk one she’d brought in only a short time earlier. He’d never been served so many coffee-apologies in his life.

  Retired Sheriff Amos Lawton answered at the seventh ring, sounding out of breath like a man who’d had to rush to answer the telephone.

  “Get you at a bad time?’ Ben said, identifying himself.

  “Nah, I was out working on my garden,” the older man replied, his voice roughened from years of whisky and cigarettes. “I was wondering how long it would take you to get to me.”

  “I hope you don’t mind my calling you, now that you’re retired.”

  Lawton chuckled. “Yeah, all this free time courtesy of my daughter. Still, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”

  “You know why I’m here, to take a look at the Morgan family’s activities.”

  There was a moment’s silence on the other end of the line. “Yeah, well, good luck with that. I’ve been after them for years but they’re kind of like Teflon—nothing sticks to them.”

  “And does that include Bertie Hanover?”

  Ben heard a sudden intake of breath at the other end of the line, and for a moment, he thought the older man wouldn’t answer. When he did, the man’s voice was hard and cold.

  “Exactly what are we referring to here?”

  “Seems the boy did a real reform act when he moved to Lobster Cove. Became an exemplary citizen, would have made the reformers weep to see.”

  “Maybe it’s the good country air and apple pie values of small town USA,” Lawton said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  “Uhmm, but looking beneath that glossy surface here, I see that something stinks. Looks like Bertie carried on with his nasty ways, and looks like someone was watching out for him, because the charges never made it to court.” Ben’s own voice was hard as granite, and the question behind his statement hung in the air like a bad smell.

  “Just what are you implying here, Asher?”

  “You tell me, Sheriff. I’m just the out-of-town boy reading through the files. You know what I’m looking for and Hanover might just be the way in. But I have to know.”

  The older lawman was silent for so long Ben thought he’d lost him.

  Then Lawton said, “Can you come around to my place? In small towns, even the phone lines can have ears. Come now, while my wife is out shopping? Make it a courtesy call, and we’ll talk this through.”

  ‘‘Good enough.” Ben swung his long legs down from the desk, feeling like a jerk for hassling the older man. He put the files he’d been reading carefully away in his desk drawer, out of sight of prying eyes, and pulled on his jacket.

  On an afterthought, he locked the drawer. He locked his office door as well, ignoring Tess’s hurt look.

  “I’m paying a courtesy call on the retired Sheriff Lawton, just to touch base with the man.”

  “Oh, give him my good wishes, won’t you?” Tess said. “Tell him the old office isn’t the same without him.”

  Ben didn’t know whether to laugh or scowl at Tess’s loaded little barb. He closed the door quietly behind him and strode out into the early spring sunlight.

  ****

  The look on her father’s face was enough to make up for all the hassle she had at the nursing home. From the moment she’d walked in and announced her intention to take her father home, the subservient attitude of the staff toward Mrs. Ketler Morgan had undergone a mean lightning change.

  Every obstacle possible was placed in her path. Finally, ushered into the Matron’s office, she was asked condescendingly if Mr. Morgan knew, and approved, of her intentions. For Kathryn, who’d spent the last seven years under the frowning countenance of Morgan control and disapproval, the question was like a flame to a short fuse. She exploded.

  A cold fusion. She told the Matron in no uncertain terms to have her father ready for the journey home, to provide whatever medication he needed on a regular basis, and to arrange for a homecare assistant to aid the old man for a few days until he was settled in and she could make more permanent arrangements.

  “Now,” she snarled icily as the other woman hesitated. The years of training as the wife of Lobster Cove’s despot and his scion stood her in good stead in dealing with lackeys. The tone of voice had Matron conceding defeat, although with poor grace, and jumping to carry out her orders.

  Twenty minutes later, as nursing home staff loaded his few things into the SUV; Kathryn helped her father into the passenger seat. As she finished fastening his seatbelt, he suddenly gripped her hand tightly.

  “I knew you’d come for me, girl, I just knew it. Some of the other old fools in there, they said I was wrong. Their kids had parked them here and thrown away the keys, they said you’d be no different, what with your fancy husband and everything. But I knew they were wrong. We’re flesh and blood, you and me, girl.”

  Looking into her father’s thin face, the full force of just how much her father had hated being in the nursing home hit Kathryn. What an unnecessary cruelty it had been. Her father was getting older but he was still in good shape. He’d been weaned off alcohol years ago. Why had Ket insisted he be kept in this home?

  “Promise me you’ll stay off the booze, Pa,” she said, hating the flicker of panic that shimmered over his face. “I need you now, Alex needs you, and you’d be no good to us or yourself drunk. You know that.”

  “I’ll be there for you, girl. I know I wasn’t in the past, but even an old dog can learn its lesson. I’ve learned mine,” he promised, his eyes misty. “I used to lie awake in there, nights, thinking of how I’d let you down, and how I didn’t want to die before I could do something to make it up to you. “I haven’t had a drink in five years. I don’t even want to drink now, the idea that one day you’d say I could come home was enough to keep me off the sauce.”

  The sincerity in the old man’s voice pierced her heart. Kathryn pulled the car over to the side of the road. Seeing the tears in his daughter’s eyes, Fitz opened his arms and held her while she wept.

  On the drive back, Fitz’ eyes lit up as he saw the lobster boats out on the water, the tourist vessels heading out in hopes of spotting whales, and the ferry from Nova Scotia passing Bar Island.

  “You know, girl, I once worked on that ferry. Course, I was much younger then…one of the finest times in my life.”

  But as they passed the Morgan Quality Shoes factory, Fitz scowled and turned his face away. “People need jobs, but they deserve better than the Morgans have offered them.”

  He was silent then until they arrived at the old Fitzgerald cottage. Kathryn had begged Ket to have her childhood home updated in case her father was ever well enough to come home. He’d sent a few of the men from the factory over, not considering the place worthy of proper contractors. However, under Kathryn’s direction and with Cynthia’s help, the men had transformed the drafty old house into a comfortable little home.

  It was only now that Kathryn realised Ket had had no intention of ever freeing Fitz to return to his home. She had been kept in the dark about her father’s progress, and now she wondered how long Ket had known her father was clean and sober.

  What hidden agenda did he have for keeping her father locked up in a nursing home when it was well past time that he’d have embarrassed the Morgan name by his drinking?

  Chapter Nine

  “Just what brought you to as
k about Bertie Hanover?” Lawton asked as he handed Ben a cold beer.

  They were sitting on the rear patio of the ex-sheriff’s modest ranch style bungalow, enjoying the dappled shade of mature trees that surrounded the garden while the rest of the landscape shimmered in the spring sun. The gardens were well kept and the fragrance of early roses from a nearby climber filled the air with intoxicating scent.

  Ben regarded the older man with interest. The retired sheriff’s reception had been more cordial than he’d expected from the telephone conversation and he had the sudden insight that Lawton wasn’t angry Ben was looking into the files. It was the mention of Bertie Hanover’s record over the telephone that had incurred the officer’s ire.

  Ben explained, “I was reading the old files, trying to cross-reference and come up with something, anything, about Morgan employees who’d stepped outside the law. For the most part, they seem a law abiding bunch, aside from a few Saturday night brawls.”

  “Most of ’em don’t earn enough these days to even tie on a good one on a Saturday night,” Lawton grunted. “The whole town’s going to the dogs, believe me. They’ve run those factories into the ground, that Ketler Morgan, Senior and his no-good son. His granddaddy started the company, bought the whole town with the proceeds. He was a tough old son of a bitch, but he treated the workers right and they in turn made money for him. He’d be twirling in his grave if he could see what his grandson and great-grandson have done to it.”

  “Wouldn’t think it to see the way the Morgans live.” Ben took a long slug of his beer, remembering that beautiful, cold house.

  “Ah, you’ve been inside the Morgan Mausoleum? That’s what folks around here call it. The first Morgan was trying to copy some English country house, so the story goes. But I’ve seen homier barns.” Lawton fiddled with a loose corner on the label on his bottle, sighed, and then added reluctantly: “And so we come to Bertie Hanover.”

  Ben sat back in his chair, enjoying the sun that warmed the stone patio. That prickle on the back of his neck told him he was about to learn something valuable and mustn’t spook the older man.