The Blackwood Files - File One: Family Secrets

by Terri Reid

  Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button for her hands-free phone connection. “Call Mom,” she stated into the microphone.

  The system made the connection, and she could hear her mother’s phone ringing.

  “Brooke?” her mother asked as soon as she picked up the line. “Is that you? Are you okay?”

  “Hi, Mom,” she replied. “I was wondering if I could spend the night tonight.”

  There was a long pause, and finally Amy answered. “Of course you can,” she said. And then she added, “Your father will be home.”

  Brooke idly wondered if her father had all of the phones in the house bugged. She decided that she ought to assume that anything she said would be heard. “That’s great,” she replied. “I’d love to sit down with both of you and get some advice. This has been a devastating day.”

  “Have you eaten dinner?” Amy asked.

  Brooke smiled. No matter what crisis arose, anyone around her mother would be well-fed. “Actually,” she replied, “I haven’t. I would love something light, like a soup and sandwich.”

  “I’ll get Berta started on that right away,” her mother replied. “When will you be here?”

  “I’m on Lake Shore Drive, almost to Sheridan, so another twenty minutes or so,” she said. “Will that work?”

  “That will be perfect, dear,” Amy said. “I’ll make sure your bed is ready.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Brooke said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Well, we’re family,” Amy added. “That’s what families do.”

  Yeah, that’s what families do, Brooke thought as she hung up the phone, along with murder, mayhem and malice.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Art parked his car in front of his parents’ house on the northwest side of the city. He knew his mom would be home alone because his dad was guarding Niki. So, he’d made a quick stop and now had two white, fast-food bags in his hand as he approached the front door. Before he had a chance to knock on the door, his mother was there, greeting him with a smile.

  “I thought I heard someone drive up,” she said. “What a lovely surprise.”

  His mother would have made an excellent detective. Not only did she have nearly supernatural instincts, but she could also smell a lie from a mile away. At least it worked with her children.

  He held up the bags. “Chicago-style hot dogs and fries,” he said. “Am I welcome in?”

  “You are always welcome in,” she said, enfolding him in a hug. “Come in.”

  They immediately went into the kitchen, bypassing the more formal dining room, and Art placed the bags on the Formica-topped table. His mother went to the cabinets and pulled out glasses and paper napkins for their meals. “Plates?” she asked, looking over her shoulder.

  He bent over one of the bags and tore it from top to bottom. “See, Ma, it’s a bag and a plate,” he replied with a smile. “Ketchup?”

  “Not on hot dogs,” his mother replied, horrified.

  “I meant on the fries,” he said.

  She nodded. “Sorry. Yes, of course.”

  He pulled the ketchup out of the refrigerator while she filled two glasses with ice water and set them on the table. Art waited until his mother was seated, and then he joined her. She picked up one of the hot, greasy French fries and bit into it, closing her eyes briefly in total enjoyment. “These are so good,” she said. “Thank you so much.”

  He munched on a French fry and nodded. “You are very welcome.”

  She ate another and then looked across the table at her son. “So, what’s bothering you?”

  He smiled and didn’t even try to prevaricate. “Ma, do you believe in ghosts?” he began.

  Shaking her head, she smiled at him. “Is that the question you really want to ask me?” she replied doubtfully. “You are asking an O’Reilly if I believe in ghosts?”

  He sighed. “Ma, I’m talking to a freaking ghost,” he said. “He’s appearing to me in elevators and in my apartment. Am I nuts?”

  “And what does he want of you?” she asked.

  He sat back in his chair. “He wants me to protect his daughter,” he said. “And help solve his murder.”

  “Murder is it?” she said, taking a deep breath and meeting his eyes. “Well, I suppose that’s part and parcel of your job. And who’s his daughter.”

  “Brooke Callahan,” he replied. “Actually, Brooke Blackwood.”

  “Blackwood,” she said, her voice quiet. “And that would be the ghost who’s been visiting you. Do you remember the story your Da told about the ghostly encounter in the basement of the 12th District? He always wondered if that had been Blackwood.”

  “The ghost brought him a file to help him solve a case he was working on,” Art said slowing, remembering the story.

  “And he got him out of the basement when the others were looking for him,” Margaret added. “Probably saved his life.”

  He nodded. “It had to be Blackwood, Ma,” he said. “He did the same thing for me and Sam the other night. But it was his files we were trying to find.”

  She lifted her water and took a sip, and Art noticed that her hand shook just a little. She carefully put the glass back down on the table and looked at her son. “When your father told you that story,” she said, “he didn’t tell you how frightened he was, not just for his life, but for his family. If Blackwood was the ghost who got him out of there and gave him the file, then we all owe him.”

  Art nodded. “Yeah, Ma, we do.”

  It took a moment for his mother to reply. She sat there for a moment, just staring at him. Finally, she took a deep breath, cleared her throat and asked, “And what else is going on? That you’re not telling me?”

  Art chuckled softly. “It’s not what you think, Ma,” he said, and then he paused remembering the kiss in her apartment.

  “I know that look, Arthur O’Reilly,” she said. “Tell me.”

  He picked at the hot dog, lifting up the pickle spear and waving it before her. “Ma,” he said, “I don’t know what the hell is going on.” Then he bit ferociously into the pickle. “I really thought I had a handle on it. I need to focus on the case. That’s all. Just the case.”

  “What happened?” she asked softly.

  Art dropped the rest of the pickle back on the top of the hot dog. “I kissed her,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I really didn’t mean to.”

  She sent him a skeptical look.

  “No, Ma, really,” he insisted. “I didn’t even like her yesterday.”

  “What?” she asked.

  He briefly explained the events of the past twenty-four hours, his mother riveted to his words. “That’s amazing,” she said.

  “Then when we got to her place to pick up a few things, we discovered that it had been broken into,” he said. “They tossed her belongings all over the place. At first, she held it all together, and then she excused herself and went into her bedroom.”

  He picked up a French fry and bit it in half. “A few minutes later I went in to see if she was okay, and I found her crying. She was trying to be quiet about it, didn’t want anyone to know.”

  “The poor girl,” she said. “I can’t imagine how she was feeling.”

  “So, I went over and put my arms around her,” he said. “All I wanted to do was comfort her. And then she looked up at me…”

  “And you forgot all about comfort?” she suggested.

  He nodded. “Yeah, actually I wasn’t thinking about anything except kissing her,” he said. “Until I thought about Marilyn.”

  “She’s not Marilyn,” his mother said.

  He nodded. “I know,” he said. “But once I thought about her…”

  She shook her head. “You know better than that,” she said firmly, but gently. “You’ve seen true love. You’ve seen trust and loyalty. You know that all women are not like Marilyn.”

  Sighing, he nodded again. “Yeah, I know it in my mind,” he said. “But Ma, my heart…my heart is still a little afraid.”
<
br />   She stood up, walked around the table and hugged her son. “I know, darling,” she said, placing a kiss on his head. “I know.”

  “Ghosts and women, Ma,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her back. “I don’t know which is more unnerving.”

  She chuckled. “Aye, I’m not sure either,” she said. “I’m not sure either.”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Brooke took a deep breath and pasted a normal smile on her face when she stepped up to the front door of her parents’ home. She knocked lightly on the door and waited for a few moments until she heard her footsteps coming down the hall to answer the door.

  “Brooke,” Amy said, placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders and lightly kissing her cheek. “I’m so glad you came home.”

  She involuntarily stiffened when she heard her father’s footsteps on the staircase coming towards them. He walked over to the door and stood behind his wife. “I must say,” he stated, “that I was very surprised when your mother told me you had asked to spend the night. I didn’t think we were worthy to be your parents any longer.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply that,” she said softly. “I was, understandably I believe, upset to learn I had another father. But I never meant to imply that you weren’t worthy.” She bit back the bitter taste in her mouth. “After all, you are the only father I’ve ever known.”

  He studied her for a moment and then nodded, approvingly. “Well, come in,” he offered. “Your mother also said there were some things you wanted to discuss with us.”

  She stepped inside, her overnight case slung over her back and her purse and briefcase tucked underneath her arms. “Yes,” she said. “I’ve had a day that I would not like to repeat, and I really need some parental advice.”

  Amy took the overnight case and laid it on the floor next to the staircase. “We can deal with that later,” she said. “Why don’t we all go into the dining room? Berta put together a little dinner for you in there, Brooke.”

  The dining room had been professionally decorated to highlight the black and red abstract painting that held the focal spot in the room. A shiny, black lacquered table sat in the middle of the room. The matching black chairs had red upholstery and were made for show, not comfort. A low profile, Oriental-looking, black and red vase stood in the middle of the table, and tall, slender, silk flower arrangements that complimented the rest of the décor were placed in each corner.

  It could have been a display in any upscale furniture store, so lacking in personal touches, but Brooke had never noticed that before. She sat in the chair that had always been hers, where a tray with a sandwich and soup sat waiting for her. She smiled at her mother. “Thank you,” she said. “It looks wonderful.”

  Her parents took their respective seats and waited until she had taken her first bite of the sandwich before they spoke. “So, tell us about your day,” Reece prompted.

  “Well, first I received a call from my doorman Jake letting me know that Jacarius Robbins had tried to bribe his way up to my apartment,” she said. “Jake stopped him and called the police, but Jacarius was able to shoot at Jake and elude the police.”

  “Oh, Brooke, how awful,” Amy said, remembering the phone call Brooke had received when she was in Brooke’s apartment. “Is Jake okay?”

  Brooke nodded. “He ducked, and the bullet hit the plate glass window behind the desk and shattered the glass.”

  “I see,” Reece replied emotionlessly. “And do you know Robbins’s whereabouts?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “So I made arrangements to stay with Niki.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Amy replied.

  Brooke tasted her soup, trying to make sure that she didn’t allow the anger or disappointment to show in her voice. “Then, as I was packing a few things, I received a call from the office,” she said evenly. “I was terminated.”

  “What?” Amy exclaimed. “But they have always loved your work.”

  Brooke shrugged, watching her father’s non-expression surreptitiously. “They wouldn’t give me a reason. Just said it was in the best interest for the firm, and told me they would send someone over for my things.”

  “Oh, Brookie,” her mother said. “I can’t believe they would do that, yesterday of all days.”

  “Was there anything you have done that would have been in any way construed to be detrimental to the firm’s good standing?” Reece asked.

  That’s right, stick up for me, Brooke thought sarcastically.

  “No, I’ve been pretty above board,” she said. “My work’s been good. I’ve taken very little time off, and my reviews have been stellar.”

  Amy turned to her husband. “You know the owner of the firm, don’t you?” she asked. “Why don’t you give him a call and see if you can straighten this whole thing out?”

  Brooke bit back a smile. Oh, yeah, that would work.

  “Well, I really don’t like interfering with things like this,” Reece dodged. “It gets a little messy because it might seem like a judicial threat, and I would never want to be perceived as using my influence in such a way.”

  Of course not, Brooke thought as she took another bite of her sandwich.

  She sighed and smiled at her father. “And I really don’t want anyone to think that the only way I got my job is because my father is well-connected,” she inserted. “So, I’ll start looking for a new job tomorrow. Well, once Niki is released from the hospital.”

  “Niki is in the hospital?” Amy asked.

  “Yeah, it was the weirdest thing,” she said, lowering her eyes so she wouldn’t look at her father. “Because of the Jacarius incident, I asked Niki to move some of my funds to another account. I figured if he could find out where I live, he might have had someone who could also steal my identity. When she got home, a van pulled up next to her in the parking garage. Some guy jumped out, grabbed her, threw her into the van and was going to rape her.”

  Brooke stopped and took a deep breath. “The only reason they didn’t get away with it is rather ironic. The detective who was on the Robbins case was trying to get me to sign a complaint against Robbins after the attempted break-in. His partner happened to be at Niki’s place trying to find me and get me to sign a complaint there,” her voice cracked, and she bit back a sob. She thought she could do this emotionlessly. She thought she could sit at a table with the man who had made the phone call that nearly killed her best friend, but now she knew she couldn’t. She felt a wave of nausea hit. “Excuse me,” she cried and quickly left the room to go to the powder room.

  Once she was gone, Amy looked across the table at Reece. Her face was no longer soft and filled with concern. Now it was hard and angry. “I have just one question,” she said. “Did you have anything to do with the things that happened to Brooke or Niki?”

  He met her gaze for a few seconds, ice-cold meeting hot anger. “Amy, you don’t really want to know the answer to that question, do you?” he asked, smoothly pushing his chair away from the table.

  She stood up, too, looking at Reece with a face that Brooke would not recognize. “This is not part of the plan,” she said, her voice fierce. “Brooke and Niki were not supposed to get hurt.”

  “This is far beyond our control,” Reece said. “Once you agreed to help us get rid of Blackwood, we set things in motion that we can’t stop.”

  Amy shook her head. “No, Reece, you can stop it,” she said. “And you will stop it. I play the weak and timid wife when there’s a chance anyone can overhear us or see us. But here, in my home, you will not try to intimidate me. My connections go much further than yours do. My family is far more connected than yours. Don’t push me, Reece.”

  Reece inhaled sharply and nodded. “I apologize, my dear,” he said. “Yes, Niki was a mistake. I thought she’d been searching in my emails. I was just trying to send a message. The, er, messengers got carried away.”

  “Kill them,” Amy said firmly.

  Reece shrugged. “That partner of O�
�Reilly’s already did that job for us.”

  Amy smiled and nodded. “Good. I hate loose ends,” she said. “And now, I must go be a concerned mother, and you need to follow up and make sure that all of Bruce’s records are destroyed.”

  Reece nodded. “I’ll make a call.”

  “Good,” Amy replied harshly. “Do it.”

  Chapter Forty-four

  Splashing cold water on her face, Brooke looked at the wan reflection in the mirror. Was she really doing the right thing? Could she really fool Reece into thinking she had no idea he was involved? Was she just walking into a trap?

  She dried her hands, took another deep breath and came out of the powder room. To her surprise, her mother was outside the room waiting for her. “I decided that you need dinner in bed, Brookie,” she said. “Berta’s got the kettle on, and I’ll bring you up some tea. In the meantime, why don’t you go upstairs and get into your pajamas.”

  “But, Reece?” Brooke asked.

  “Well, he got one of his phone calls,” Amy lied. “So, he’ll probably be busy in his study all night.”

  Brooke nodded, picked up her overnight case and turned toward the stairs. “Thanks Mom,” she said. “Tea sounds perfect.”

  As she climbed the stairs to her old bedroom, the familiar surroundings seemed surreal. I’ve been living a lie all my life, she thought. She entered her old bedroom. The awards on the walls, the trophies on the shelves and the family photos on her dresser and desk seemed to mock her. This isn’t me, she thought. But if this isn’t me, who the hell am I?

  She put her bag down on the bed and pulled out her pajamas. She made quick work of washing up and changing and was just walking back into the bedroom when her mother knocked on the door.