What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 5)

by Cathryn Fox

  “No, don’t go. We have to talk anyway.” Barry still wasn’t smiling, but at least his look had softened. She wondered what he wanted to talk about. He never wanted to talk, or at least he never admitted he wanted to talk before.

  “Right now you and I, Barry, need to go over your response to the TRO request. The preliminary injunction hearing is in an hour,” Al said. He looked at Roxanne. “Maybe you should wait out…”

  “TRO?” Barry asked.

  “Temporary restraining order.”

  They both looked at Al.

  “Listen, I want some straight answers. Does Paris have a chance? Could the courts possibly give him custody of my daughter? Can he actually stop me from seeing her?” Barry asked.

  “If they were convinced it was in her best interest.”

  “Is it?” Barry shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and stepped to where he could look out the window.

  “Only you can answer that.” Al said.

  Roxanne couldn’t believe Barry had even asked the question. “Are you crazy? Barry Dennis, she’s your daughter. You damn well better show her you know it. And that you want her.” She leveled a stare at Barry and didn’t let up.

  “Who the hell are you? My conscience? I’ve been nothing but an uncle to her all these years and you know it.”

  “And Paul Paris was nothing but her mother’s husband. Her second husband.”

  “I’m not in any position to raise a young girl.”

  “Paul Paris isn’t in any better position.” She wheeled around to Al. “Are you going to sit here and let him make excuses?”

  “Yes. If he doesn’t really want custody, I’m not going to bother representing him.” Al looked at Barry. “You might both have a problem with custody if the maternal grandparents decide to petition for it.”

  “What?” they said simultaneously.

  “You heard correctly. I received a call today from their lawyer. Just an inquiry at this stage.”

  “But a little girl needs her father,” Roxanne insisted, unable to stop herself from pitying Lindy as she remembered her own father’s lack of attention.

  “That depends on the father,” Al said. They both looked at Barry. His eyes were hard.

  “I’m her father. And I will retain custody. With or without your help. I’m responsible for her, whether I asked to be or not, and it’s time for me to face it. Are you going to represent my interests in this?”

  “You want full custody? Not just partial custody like before, when her mother was alive?”

  “Full custody. Her mother isn’t alive anymore. That’s something I can’t get around. No more taking the easy way out. I don’t want my daughter being raised by her grandparents.”

  “All right. I’ll represent you on this. Be warned. The media’s going to love it. And…” Al turned to Roxanne. She smiled with her pleasure at Barry’s decision. Lindy would be so happy.

  “And what?” Roxanne said.

  “It would be better if you stayed out of it. It should be cut and dry, but the publicity factor could affect you both.”

  “You can’t be serious, Al? The press hasn’t said anything for a long time about Don’s death. How could they since I denied the inheritance? This private detective Penelope has snooping around is not going to find anything. There’s nothing to find. Soon he’ll prove what we already know—that Penelope is letting her vindictive imagination get the better of her. Then that will be the end of it.”

  “That’s true except they have the new lawsuit now. And except the part about the PI not finding anything. I’ll have to talk to you about that later.” He turned to Barry. “I’m advising you as your attorney to steer clear of Roxanne for the duration. Roxanne should stay away from Lindy. It’s in your best interest. In Lindy’s best interest.”

  Roxanne held her breath. Tension froze her. Could she really harm his custody battle? And what did Al mean about the PI finding something? She felt dizzy waiting to hear Barry’s verdict. He took his time, but finally spoke.

  “I want Roxanne to come with us to the hearing,” Barry said in a sure voice.

  Al pursed his lips. “You’re paying me. But I’m advising against this.”

  Barry was full of surprises, Roxanne thought. This one made her want to hug him on the spot, but something told her not to press her luck.

  The judge’s chambers of the county’s Probate and Family Court were not particularly plush, but as they were shown through the doors, Roxanne felt relieved. She hated how quickly the media could turn a serious legal proceeding into a three-ring circus. The judge had been rightly upset at the number and volume of reporters and cameras outside. The judge was very suspicious of Paul Paris’s lawyer, insinuating he may have tipped them off earlier.

  Roxanne had her own suspicions on that score. She sat next to Barry on the worn leather couch and Al squeezed in next to her. Just as she was thinking how cozy this was—not—the judge slammed the door behind them.

  “All right, people. I’ll pretend that fiasco never happened. What gives?” The judge looked directly at Paul Paris’s attorney, a man named Scotty. She folded her arms. She was a big woman and Roxanne would have been intimidated if she were Scotty.

  “Your Honor, if you please, we’re here on behalf of a little girl,” Scotty began in a drawling southern accent that sounded ridiculously out of place to Roxanne.

  “Save it, Scotty. Get down to business and be quick about it.”

  “Mr. Paris is petitioning to have the custody revoked from Mr. Dennis for Lindy Dennis, whose mother recently perished in a horrible accident. Your Honor, the little girl, only seven years old, has suffered gravely, both physically and emotionally, for the past seven weeks. Her natural father, who has never spent much time with her, has only visited her at the hospital on a handful of occasions.”

  “You want me to extend a TRO because he’s not been visiting enough? That sounds a lot like cutting off the nose to spite the face.”

  “Oh no. There’s more.”

  “Get to it.”

  “Your Honor, may I speak?” Al asked.

  “Not yet, Al. Be patient. Go on, Scotty, and please get to the point,” the judge directed as she took her seat.

  “Your Honor, we can show that it is more detrimental at this time to the child to have her hopes built up only to be dashed by sporadic visits and rash promises by this irresponsible, uncaring man, who admitted on public television that the game of basketball is more important to him than his own daughter. We have expert opinions from respected child psychologists to substantiate this. We assert that Mr. Dennis brings further danger of severe and lasting psychological damage to the child by his association with this woman, present here, known as Roxanne Monet. Ms. Monet, according to a wrongful death suit filed today, is currently under suspicion of murdering her late wealthy husband.” Scotty turned to stare Roxanne in the eye.

  Roxanne gasped. Her head floated and her body turned to fire. She felt Barry stiffen.

  Al jumped from his sitting position and papers slid from his lap. “Your Honor, this accusation of murder is outrageous to the point of slander,” he said.

  Barry sat with his head down and one hand covering his face, completely still and taking deep breaths. Alarm for Barry compounded her anxiety for Lindy and herself.

  “I agree, Al. Take it easy,” the judge commanded.

  Roxanne felt calmed by the huge woman, who had control of the situation.

  “Scotty, this is serious stuff. I hope you have something to back it up because you’re not playing this case to the media in here. I’m making the call. And remember, it’s not Ms. Monet you are requesting the TRO against.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have it all right here. Police files and all.”

  At that, Al jumped up again. “Your Honor, may I see those papers?”

  “Scotty, did you bring a copy for Al?”

  Scotty gave Al his copy and the judge glanced over the papers, then looked at Roxanne. Roxanne felt dizzy. Queasy.
She needed to hold it together. Resisting the urge to grab onto Barry’s arm and squeeze tight, she balled her fists and lifted her chin.

  “Is it coincidence that brings you to these chambers today, Ms. Monet? Or do you in fact have a relationship with Mr. Dennis?”

  Roxanne stared at the woman. She shivered. She opened her mouth. What could she say? She didn’t know the answer. She couldn’t guess at the right answer. She was damned.

  “Let me answer that, Your Honor,” Barry spoke, dragging his hand from his face. Roxanne could barely stand to hear it. His voice sounded strained yet firm.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Dennis.” The judge shifted her ominous gaze in his direction. They all did.

  He did not look intimidated as he leveled his formidable blue eyes directly and unblinkingly at the judge. Roxanne recognized his game face. She had no idea how he would respond to that question. He could say almost anything—and it might be true.

  “Roxanne and I are seeing each other. And she is not a murderer.” Barry glanced pointedly at Scotty. By virtue of his calm certainty, Barry made the lawyer’s assertion seem ludicrous.

  “Just stick to the issue of your relationship. What exactly do you mean that you are ‘seeing each other’?”

  “I doubt we have the type of relationship that Scotty is insinuating.”

  “And what kind of relationship do you think he insinuated, Mr. Dennis?”

  “He insinuated that it was serious, Your Honor.” Now he quirked a half-smile at the judge and Roxanne watched her nod.

  “And your relationship with Ms. Monet is not what you’d characterize as ‘serious’?”

  “No.”

  “What do you call serious?”

  “Engaged, living together, married.” He finished.

  She looked at Roxanne. “Do you agree, Ms. Monet?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.” Roxanne didn’t hesitate a second. She stifled the urge to give the Scout’s Honor signal, feeling partly relieved and, though she had no right, partly disappointed. She found it easier to breathe now. But her hand shook as she pushed a strand of hair off her face.

  “Your Honor, she visits his daughter daily. And they may as well be living together.” Scotty looked at Roxanne with innuendo in his eyes.

  “You’re speaking out of turn, Scotty,” Roxanne said. She gave him a hard look. The man’s audacity was incredible.

  “That’s my line, Ms. Monet,” the judge warned her. “She’s right, though.” The judge glared at Scotty and flicked a glance at the quiet, brooding Paul Paris before turning back to Roxanne. “Do you visit Mr. Dennis’s daughter regularly?”

  “Yes. I work for the hospital. I visit a lot of the kids.”

  “You’re a nurse?”

  Roxanne smiled at the note of disbelief. “No. I’m a volunteer with the CMH League. We do fund-raising.”

  “That’s more like it. Why do you visit with this particular child?”

  “She has no mother.” Roxanne spoke immediately and then realized she should say more. “She’s very sweet and we get along well. We talk basketball.” Roxanne had to stop herself from saying too much now. She looked at Barry who was eying her impersonally as if she were some anonymous witness on a stand.

  “There—you see? She talks basketball. They talk about the girl’s father. She makes false promises defending the man. That’s very psychologically damaging. And she’s influencing the child with her loose morals.” Scotty continued to speak in his circus voice.

  “That’s enough, Scotty. You’ve made your point. Such as it is. But I think the media circus that has been created out of this situation will prevent the child from being insulated from psychological harm. I won’t say any more on that subject for now. Al, let’s hear from you.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Al stood. “It’s true that Mr. Dennis has not visited his daughter frequently, not as much as she needs, nor as much as he’d like to. But he has serious commitments and some difficult adjustments to make. This situation has been almost as traumatic for him as it has been for his daughter. As he continues to address the increased importance of his role as parent, he is eager to show the court that his intentions are to do nothing less than foster a growing and stronger relationship with his child. This is tricky for the best of parents.” Al paused and threw Barry a significant look. Roxanne knew something was up.

  “To that end, we are prepared to submit a schedule of planned visits.” Al paused again to hand a sheaf of papers to the judge. He flashed another glance at Barry. This time the look was threatening, as if to warn him not to say a word.

  Roxanne looked in Barry’s direction, trying hard not to show her anxiety. Barry had mastered a look of indifference. She wondered how deep the indifference went. Then Al continued.

  “The schedule includes a minimum of two visits weekly with the child and additional time with the team of doctors, including the child psychologist, as deemed necessary by them to fully participate in Lindy’s care and further prepare himself for her homecoming.” Al sat down. The judge smacked the papers against her palm.

  Roxanne looked at him. Roxanne suspected he hadn’t expected Al to commit him to any schedule. She could feel the tension emanating from his body, even if he didn’t let it show in his face. He turned to her.

  She silently applauded Al for throwing Barry straight into it.

  “Looks to me like it’s settled then.” The judge turned to Paul and Scotty. “TRO denied. We’ll schedule a full hearing in a couple of months—if you’re still intent on pursuing this matter at that time.” She turned back to Al. “We’re going to hold you to this,” she said pointing to the schedule. Then she turned to Barry.

  “You’re a hell of a basketball player, Mr. Dennis. Let’s see if you can bring some of that intensity, devotion and success to raising your daughter.” She turned and with a wave of her hand, dismissed them.

  Roxanne sat at her desk in her office at Children’s Mercy Hospital the next day. She confirmed the last minute details for the television shoot of the hospital’s children’s holiday party. She was about to disagree with the director about the sequence of events when she noticed two red lights flashing, signaling two callers on hold. The digital readout showed that Barry was on one line and Al was on the other. Thinking fast, she decided to take Al’s call and phone Barry back.

  “Roxy? Bad news. The Marblehead police called me a second ago and they want to talk. Penelope’s finally got her way. Seems the wrongful death suit convinced them to reopen Don’s file and they’re reconsidering the manner of death.” He paused. “They want you for questioning.”

  “God Almighty, Al. How could this happen? How could the police possibly take her accusations seriously?” She jumped from her chair and felt her hand squeeze the phone.

  “Apparently her PI dug up some new evidence.”

  “But how could that be? There is no evidence because I’m innocent. I didn’t murder anyone.” She lowered her voice. “Don wasn’t murdered.” She slowly sat back down in her chair. It felt unreal, but at the same time she always knew it would come to this. “What do we do now?”

  “They want to talk to you today. They’re at the house grilling Bonnie as we speak.”

  She pictured the scene. She felt bad for the detective who was stuck questioning Bonnie. “What kinds of questions will they ask?”

  “Everything. About the most minute and intimate details of your life. This is a career-making case for this police chief. Very high profile—not the kind of thing they normally see. I’ve already had calls from three reporters. We’d been lucky with the press up to now. But that’s about to change. In spades.”

  “How long will this craziness make it impossible to sell the house?” she asked, but her mind moved quickly onto the implications for Lindy and Barry.

  “As long as the wrongful death suit throws into question your rightful ownership of the house the way they have it written up, title to your house remains murky. But getting out from under your financial debt is
the least of your concerns right now. You have to take this police investigation seriously. You’re going to have to give me the whole story about Don before the police question you so we know what you should say. I have my suspicions about the angle they’re playing for.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning your rocky relationship with Don will never have done you more harm than now, honey.”

  “Al, aren’t you forgetting an important fact? I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t get his money. I didn’t have a motive.” She took a deep breath. “And you know as well as I do—everyone knows but won’t say it—Don committed suicide. I know it in my heart.”

  “Roxy, when the police detective gets into your past, no one is going to believe you ever had a heart. Your innocence isn’t going to matter if they dig up enough damage to turn sentiment against you. And I’d say they’re well on their way. You need to prepare yourself for the possibility of a plea bargain.”

  “What? Not a chance. I’m innocent and that’s how I’m going to play it all the way.” She turned rigid with anger, tightening her grip on the phone. She might need a new attorney.

  “Roxanne, you are far from innocent.”

  Now she knew she needed a new attorney. “I’m not a murderer, Al. I’m no Girl Scout, not even close, but it’s time I faced things square. If they want to convict me because they think I married Don for his money, then so be it. But it’s going to be as clear as hell that’s what it’s about. No more rationalizing. No more excuses. I’ll stand or fall on whatever my life adds up to at this point. Then at least I can go on from here with a clear conscience.”

  “You want this confrontation, don’t you? You want to be declared guilty or innocent by a jury because you can’t do it yourself? Is that it?”

  “Maybe it is. I guess there’s a conflict of interest involved or something.” She tried for levity to calm Al. His voice had taken a slightly hysterical note. She, for once, felt calm.