Afterward, while the three of them cleaned up, he asked, “Do you know if Mays is my real name?”
He saw them both pause. Mrs. Payne met his eyes. Seeing what appeared to be guilt reflected there, he asked suspiciously, “What do you know that you haven’t told me?”
He glanced between them and watched her look over to the colonel as if seeking guidance or maybe support—he wasn’t sure which.
He waited. They appeared torn, and because they had yet to answer, frustration rose. “How much do you two know about me?” he asked again, trying not to shout.
The colonel took the lead. “Your name is Mays, and according to what we were told, your father’s name was Lawrence. He was from Philadelphia and lost his life in a car accident a few months before you were born. You’re named for his grandfather.”
Tears stung his eyes. “And my mom?”
Mrs. Payne replied quietly, “Her name is Margaret.”
“So she’s alive?”
“Yes,” the colonel confirmed, “but she doesn’t want to be contacted.”
That hurt, really hurt. Now he understood how Amari must’ve felt last fall when he was told the same thing about his birth mother.
Mrs. Payne said, “But, Preston, apparently she hasn’t spoken to her mother for fourteen years for making her give you up. I think she must have loved you very much.”
He saw her tears and swiped at his own. “May I be excused?” he asked around the thick emotion clogged in his throat.
“Of course,” the colonel said.
Preston hurried from the kitchen. Up in his room, he closed the door, sat on the bed, and cried uncontrollably. His mom was alive, and according to Mrs. Payne, she hadn’t wanted to give him up. That mattered, but that she didn’t want to be contacted added to his already broken heart.
A time zone away, on the outskirts of Boston, Lenore Crenshaw entered the formal dining room of her stately old mansion, feeling alternately angry and blue about her trip to Kansas. The moment she returned to Boston, she had gotten on the phone to the former clerks and colleagues of her late husband, Marvin, explained her dilemma, and been informed that the Brown woman was correct. Not even she, a member of the DAR and wife of one of the nation’s first Black jurists, could rescind the adoption request she’d signed nearly fifteen years ago, nor was there anything to be done about the threatened restraining order, either.
So what was she supposed to do? she’d asked in a last-ditch phone call to one of Marvin’s frat brothers, a member of the Supreme Court, but he didn’t have an answer.
Neither did anyone else, it seemed. If she couldn’t use her biological grandson as a means to soften her daughter’s stance, Lenore faced the prospect of spending her remaining years estranged from her own flesh and blood.
No one had faulted her and Marvin for making the decision they had made concerning Margaret’s out-of-wedlock child. It hadn’t mattered that Margaret and the boy were planning to marry; that wouldn’t’ve been allowed either. What mattered, once the father of the child was dead, was extricating Margaret from the embarrassing situation so the Crenshaw family could get back their well-heeled, scandal-free lives. Lenore couldn’t have imagined showing off a baby with such questionable parentage as her grandchild—the gossip would’ve been intolerable—but for some reason Margaret refused to view the matter in that light.
After the baby boy was handed over to the adoption agency, Margaret left the hospital and went to live with Marvin’s younger sister, Ellen, a woman Lenore refused to have in her home because of her loosey-goosey lifestyle. Lenore didn’t care that Ellen was a world-renowned artist. A woman with her upbringing had no business opening her mansion to fund-raisers for Angela Davis, Bobby Seale, and the like; those hoodlums were jailed because they were supposed to be jailed. But she and Ellen always disagreed. That Margaret chose to live with Ellen over her own parents had been quite a blow, but Lenore and Marvin stuck to their guns, even though he hadn’t been as stoic as she might have wished. He’d always wanted to call and work things out, but Lenore had nixed the idea, believing Margaret would eventually come to her senses and return home.
She hadn’t, and now that Marvin was no longer among the living, Lenore had no one in her life outside of the backbiting women in her social clubs, her priest, and the small cadre of house servants and groundskeepers who tolerated her and her constant corrections only because she paid them well. She turned to watch the housekeeper, Mallory, setting the table for dinner. “Don’t forget to set a place for Mr. Crenshaw.”
“Yes, ma’am.
Marvin had passed on, but Lenore continued to act as if he hadn’t because it made her feel less alone. Having Margaret in her life again would help with that as well, if she could just find a way to bring her back into the fold. During her initial phone conversation with the Brown woman, Lenore got the impression that Preston really wanted to meet Margaret. If she could somehow bring that about, Preston might be so grateful, he’d willingly talk to Margaret on her behalf.
“Dinner is served, Mrs. Crenshaw.”
“Thank you, Mallory.”
Lenore took her seat at the head of the elegantly set dining table. As Mallory quietly placed a salad in front of her for the first course, Lenore began to formulate a plan. She’d given the Brown woman Margaret’s phone number, and even though she’d no idea what transpired afterward, she was certain something would happen if she shared Margaret’s contact information with her son. Her mind made up, she decided to send Preston an e-mail first thing in the morning. After which she’d cross her fingers and hope it all worked out in her favor.
Over at the Power Plant, Bernadine slowly packed up for the ride home. Her eyes brushed the beautiful roses, and she debated whether to take them with her or not, but decided she liked having them where they were. She and Mal often met at the end of the day but he was at his weekly AA meeting, so she was going home to relax, enjoy Crystal, and try and come down from the long day that had begun with the visit from Preston’s grandmother. She was tempted to put in a call to Margaret Winthrop to let her know about her mother’s antics, but she didn’t because of the no-contact mandate she’d agreed to.
Bernadine still thought Margaret should be alerted, but she had enough on her own plate at the moment. She’d figure out what to do about that later.
She took one last look around her office to make certain she had everything. Before she could start toward the door, the desk phone rang. Lily was already gone for the day, so she picked up.
“Good evening, Ms. Brown.” The voice was deep, sinister, and electronically altered.
Ice filled her veins. “Who is this?”
“We’re going to play a game. It’s called Run Bernadine Out of Town, and if you don’t leave, you die. Hope you’re ready.” The laugh that followed sounded like Satan himself, and then the line went dead.
Heart pounding, she dropped into her chair. With shaking hands, she called Sheriff Dalton, and then Mal.
Chapter 10
Dalton arrived fifteen minutes later, accompanied by a younger man wearing a suit she’d never met before.
“Thanks for coming so quickly,” she said. Henry Adams had no police force, so it and other small towns relied on the county sheriff and his deputies for law enforcement.
“Lucky I was just up the road and not two hundred miles away. This is my son, Kyle. He’s currently with the Bureau, but for some reason wants to give that up and come home and be a county sheriff like his old man.”
“Pleased to meet you, Kyle.”
“Same here.”
Dalton said, “So tell me about this call.”
Bernadine related the chilling phone call.
“Any chance you taped it?”
It came to her that it had been. “Yes, Lily has the answering machine set up to record everything that comes in on the landline.” She forced her hands to stop shaking.
“Will it upset you too much to play it back for us now?”
Even
though she could still hear the satanic laugh echoing in her head, she told him no. She replayed the call, running it through the speaker on her desk.
When it was over, she noticed Kyle take out his phone and step out into the hallway.
The sheriff said, “That’s one of those cheap voice-alteration devices. Outside of Al Stillwell, have you had any run-ins with anybody lately?”
She managed a smile. “When do I not have run-ins?”
He nodded understandingly.
Since purchasing Henry Adams, Bernadine had crossed swords with everybody from the phone and cable companies to Leo’s oil bosses. She’d never imagined someone would threaten her life, though.
Dalton said, “Then how about just this week?”
She thought back. “Let’s see, we have Leo and his oil company. Preston’s birth grandmother, Lenore Crenshaw.” She spelled the last name for him. “Franklin mayor Wiggins, and the legal eagles from Big Box Inc.”
He looked up from the pad in his hand. “Big Box? How’d you get on their bad side?”
She told him.
“Why would Wiggins want them around? They’ll bankrupt every mom-and-pop business from here to the Nebraska border.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Anybody else I need to add to this list? Riley giving you any problems?”
“No. He’s been keeping a pretty low profile.” She hadn’t seen him since winter began.
“You fire anybody in the last, say six months or so? Know of anybody fired on the construction crews?”
“You’d have ask Warren or Trent about the crews, but I personally haven’t fired anyone.”
He made a few more notes before placing the small spiral-bound book into the shirt pocket of his uniform.
Kyle stuck his head around the open door and pulled the phone from his ear. “Ms. Brown, what’s the number on your landline?”
She replied, and he stepped back out of view. “I didn’t know you had children, Will.”
“Vicky and I have three—two boys and a girl. Kyle’s in the middle.”
“Do you think this could be a prank?”
“Helluva prank, if you ask me, but we’ll be treating it as if it isn’t. Can’t have folks trying to scare you off. You leave town, my carpenter brother-in-law will be out of work, and talking about moving in with me and my wife. Not having it.”
Bernadine had liked Will Dalton from the moment they were introduced. The former UK linebacker was in his forties, but he looked like he could still suit up.
Kyle reentered the office. “Called in a few favors to put a trace on the call. I’d like to record it too, if I may. Lab folks can run it through special software and hopefully come up with a real voice.”
“How long will it take?”
He shrugged. “Depends. Hopefully not very.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. On the way over here, Dad was telling me how great you’ve been for the area. Least we can do is find the person responsible and make sure they’re prosecuted.” Kyle Dalton was a younger, less broad version of his father. His hair was sandy, as opposed to Will’s corn gold, but both men had eyes the color of a Kansas blue sky.
Mal came rushing in. “Are you all right?”
She was so glad to see him. “Yes, I am.”
He and Dalton exchanged greetings, and afterward she told Mal about the call.
“Do you think it was Al, Will?”
He shrugged. “Hope not. I talked to him yesterday and told him Bernadine wouldn’t press charges if he stayed away from her. He assured me he would.”
“Do you believe him?”
Will shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll wait and see what the lab people find out when they analyze the tape. If it’s his voice, I’ll pick him up.”
Mal looked her way. “Anybody wanting to hurt you will have to go through me.”
“I know.”
Mal seemed to notice Kyle for the first time. “Kyle? Long time no see. What’re you doing home?”
“Hey, Mr. July. Maybe moving back permanently, but we’ll see.”
“Are you still with the FBI?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You helping your dad with this?”
“Unofficially, yes.”
“Good.” He directed his attention back to Bernadine. “How about I follow you home?”
“Good idea,” Dalton said. “Soon as we get word on that tape, I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, keep an eye on your surroundings, Bernadine, and let someone know where you’ll be at all times.”
She nodded.
He and his son departed, and the first thing Mal did was ease Bernadine into his arms and hold her tight. He placed a kiss on her forehead, and his strength buoyed her own. “Thanks for coming,” she said.
“Please. Where else am I supposed to be when you’re in trouble?”
She could hear his heart beating. This would be the second time he’d be escorting her home, but she wasn’t going to eschew the offer like some stupid woman in a movie determined to prove her toughness, only to end up dead. The phone call scared her. On the surface she felt better, knowing Mal was with her and law enforcement was on the case, but inside, beneath the fancy suit, makeup, and gold jewelry, she was a mess. The demonic laughter rang out again, taunting her as if reminding her it was still there.
Mal drew back and looked down. “You ready?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be letting everybody know about the call so they can keep an eye out. Like I said before, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you, so I want to make sure nothing does.”
“And I appreciate that.”
He looked so serious, she hugged him tight. He had become her world, and she didn’t want anything to mess that up.
On the drive home, she decided Crystal needed to know about the call so she could be on the alert as well. Mal planned to have a short meeting at her house to inform Trent, Lily, and the rest. In truth, all she wanted to do was go home and fall out, but his idea was a good one. Those closest to her needed to know what was going on, and a meet-up would eliminate having to tell the story to each of them individually.
Once Mal had everyone rounded up and in her living room, she shared the details.
They all looked shocked.
“You okay?” Lily asked, scanning her features for clues. “Oh, my goodness, Bernadine.”
Everyone expressed their outrage and peppered her with questions. An angry-looking Crystal stood with her arms crossed tightly, shaking her head.
“Why would someone do this to you?” Sheila asked heatedly.
“The better question is who?” Jack added in disgust.
She shrugged, wishing she knew.
They spent a few more minutes discussing the matter but Lily must have seen the tiredness Bernadine felt rising inside because she brought the gathering to a close.
“Okay, let’s get out of here so she can get some rest. Bernadine, if you need anything call me, you hear?”
“I will.”
“And Crys, you too.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bernadine walked them to the door.
Trent told her very seriously, “Whoever it is will have to run a Lakota gauntlet before they can even think about getting to you, so don’t worry. Town’s got your back.”
Payne added, “And so do the marines.”
The last part lessened the tension a bit, but their worry and anger was still evident in the hugs and kisses on the cheek they bestowed as they exited. She let their silent affection buoy her as well.
Mal stood at the door. “I can sleep on the couch if you want.”
“No, babe. Crys and I should be good, but thanks—for everything.”
“Call me when you get up, so I’ll know you’re okay.”
“Will do.”
He said to Crystal in parting, “Take care of my girl, Crys.”
“Don’t worry. I got this.”
He nodded, g
ave Bernadine a peck on the cheek, and left the house.
Once they were gone, Bernadine opened her arms to Crystal and held her close.
“This is scary,” Crystal whispered.
“Yes it is, and no sense denying it, but I’m going to be fine. Sheriff Dalton will find whoever it is.”
She hugged Crys tighter, letting the love she had for her child fill her heart instead of the terror of the taunting laughter that kept echoing in her head. “Not going to let whoever it is keep me from loving you, or doing what I need to do for Henry Adams.”
Crystal pulled back to meet her eyes. “You need to get a permit.”
“A permit for what?”
“A gun.”
“I don’t need a gun, Crystal.”
“Then I’ll get the permit. Until this is over, somebody in this house needs to be armed and dangerous.”
As always, in situations such as this, Crystal Chambers-Brown was dead serious. “In fact, I should be the one, because I know you—if a perp comes in here, you’re going to try and talk to them, and be all nicey-nice and wind up getting hurt. Me—I’ll light that sucker up. Think I won’t?”
“Crystal—”
“No. If something happens to you, I don’t know what I’d do—maybe run off with Diego or . . .”
In response to Bernadine’s shocked and then narrowed eyes, her voice trailed off. Bernadine instantly went into mama mode, and asked quietly, “Why would you run off with Diego?”
The teen queen of Henry Adams squirmed. “I was just using that as an extreme example.”
“Again, why would you run off with Diego? Thought you said your e-mails bounced back?”
Looking-guilty-as-hell added itself to Crystal’s squirming.
“The truth, please.”
Crystal chewed on her bottom lip and viewed Bernadine as if trying to determine just how much trouble she might be in. “Um—”
Bernadine waited.
“We’ve been e-mailing since Thanksgiving.”
Lord! “He’s too old for you, Crystal.”
“Only three years.”
“Too old in terms of life.”
“But I lived on the street.”
A Wish and a Prayer Page 10
