Carrying His Secret

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Of course it is!” Patsy shouted angrily. “That was what your father did—he went around impregnating floozies. Spreading his seed. That’s how that worthless Ruby got her hooks into him. Too bad for her the kid disappeared after three months. But if he hadn’t, you might never have been born,” she informed Whit arrogantly.

  “Do you have any idea how hard I had to fight to make sure that no one else got their hands on our money? I had Ruby’s funds frozen, and as for this latest little twist,” she sneered, slanting a glance at Elizabeth’s abdomen, “a lot of things can happen before this conniving schemer’s due date.”

  Whit had no idea where to begin in order to set his mother straight. He sincerely doubted he could. And at this point, it didn’t really matter. He just wanted her dealt with and put away. “You’re a sick woman,” he informed Patsy. “You’re absolutely insane. A paranoid woman making up fantastical stories.”

  Patsy tossed her head, her overly blond hair swishing back and forth from the momentum.

  “Correction, Whit. I’m a smart woman who intends to get everything that’s coming to her.”

  “Count on it, Mother,” Whit told her. With that, he turned his back on her. Taking Elizabeth’s hand in his, he said, “Let’s go, Elizabeth. I don’t want you breathing in any more of this toxic air. It’s bad for the baby.”

  “Go ahead, walk away,” Patsy shouted after her son. “But you know I’m right. I only did what had to be done. I saved this family! You’d all be ruined if it wasn’t for me!”

  “Do you know what she’s talking about?” Elizabeth asked him.

  “Not a clue,” Whit told her. He deliberately locked the door from the outside, then dragged a chair that was against one of the walls in the hallway and wedged it against the doorknob. “There, that should hold her.”

  “Whit, what are you doing?” his mother shouted from the other side of the door. It rattled back and forth as she tried to turn the doorknob and open the door. “You unlock this door, Whit! Open it right now, do you hear me?” she demanded, screaming.

  He made no answer as he walked away.

  “What are you going to do?” Elizabeth wanted to know as they made their way to the other side of the house and away from Patsy’s quarters.

  “What I said I’d do.” He spared his mother’s part of the house one final glance before squaring his shoulders and moving on. “Have her arrested.”

  Elizabeth looked at him skeptically. “Isn’t that a little harsh?”

  He was right. Elizabeth was too kind and definitely too forgiving.

  “She almost killed you. That’s harsh,” Whit pointed out. “I’m also beginning to think that she might have killed my father.”

  Completely stunned, Elizabeth stopped walking. “Really?”

  “Think about it,” he told her. “All that anger and resentment building up inside of her all this time. She pushed you down the stairs either to kill you or cause you to have a miscarriage. When that didn’t work, she locked you in the barn and set it on fire. Shooting my father close up would have been a piece of cake for her. I wouldn’t put anything past her,” he said with feeling. “I don’t think you’re going to be safe until she’s locked up.”

  “But she’s your mother,” Elizabeth protested again. “You can’t have your own mother locked up like that.” Although, she had to admit the idea of putting the woman behind bars would make her feel a whole lot safer.

  He could and he would, Whit thought. And then maybe they could sleep again at night.

  “She’s not a mother, she’s a she-wolf,” he told Elizabeth simply. Reaching the foyer, he took out his phone to make the call to the police. “And if I have to choose between her and you, there’s no contest. I pick you—in a heartbeat.”

  Elizabeth would have loved to believe that love was what motivated him, but she was afraid to think that way. What if she were wrong? She wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment.

  “Because I’m carrying your baby,” she guessed, nodding her head.

  He canceled the call he’d started to make. This had to be cleared up first. Elizabeth had to believe him. “No, because I love you.”

  Elizabeth stared at him, almost speechless. This was too good to believe. “I thought you said that you didn’t think you could love someone.”

  “I didn’t think I could, but, as it turns out, I was wrong. Very wrong,” he told her. “Those few minutes when I realized that you were in that barn, that you might very well be...”

  He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence. “Well, I suddenly found myself praying that you were all right, that if you somehow came out of all this in one piece, then I was going to spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy.”

  There were tears in her eyes now. He meant it—she could tell that he meant it. It was all she could do to stifle the sob that rose in her throat.

  “You already have,” she said just before she kissed him.

  Whit allowed himself one very long moment to savor the taste of her lips. The taste of love. And then he drew back.

  “Much as I’d love to continue this line of conversation, I need to get the police out here.” He winked at her just before he pressed 9-1-1. “To be continued,” he promised.

  * * *

  Detective Otis Kramer arrived on the scene quickly. Still in charge of the initial murder investigation surrounding Reginald Adair, the detective was open to any possible new leads that might help him finally close his case.

  He listened carefully to Whit’s account of what had been going on, especially this latest development with his mother.

  Whit had been joined by Landry and Carson, both of whom backed up what he had to say about the fire, as well as Elizabeth’s orchestrated fall down the stairs. Elizabeth gave her own statement describing how she’d felt hands against her back just before she fell and that she had also caught a whiff of Patsy’s expensive perfume. Landry told the detective that she had seen her mother hurrying away from the barn only a couple minutes before it burst into flames.

  Kramer listened to everything, jotting things down furiously but making no comment until everyone had had their say.

  “And you’re sure about this?” the detective asked once everyone had given their statements. His question was clearly aimed at Landry, because she was the only one who had seen Patsy running from the barn.

  It clearly pained Landry to confirm what she had just said, but she did. It made her feel disloyal to her mother, but she knew that she couldn’t allow her mother to continue to be a threat to everyone, especially to Elizabeth.

  “All right,” Kramer said, tucking his worn notepad into his oversized, misshapen pocket. “I have enough to take your mother in for questioning,” he told the four people around him. He waved the police backup he’d brought with him toward Patsy’s separate quarters.

  * * *

  The officer returned alone.

  “Well, where’s Mrs. Adair?” Kramer asked the officer sharply.

  The officer, Samuel Ortiz, a tall, imposing man in his forties, had almost a foot on the detective. But right now, he looked hapless.

  “She’s gone, Detective.”

  “Gone?” Kramer repeated incredulously. “What do you mean, gone?” he demanded.

  “We just left her in her suite,” Elizabeth told the detective. “Whit locked the door so she couldn’t get out.”

  But the officer shook his head. “Well, she must’ve gotten out somehow. She wasn’t there, sir,” he repeated. “I checked everywhere. I even knocked on the powder room door,” he told the man who gave him his orders.

  Incensed, angry at himself for not keeping tabs on his mother when he knew how very dangerous she could be—how dangerous she was—Whit hurried past the detective and the officer to check out the rooms for himself.
>
  He took the stairs two at a time, moving as quickly as he could. Swearing at himself under his breath.

  When he arrived in the quarters where he had confronted his mother less than ten minutes ago, Whit found them to be unoccupied.

  The door to her walk-in closet was standing open and it looked as if a few things had been taken. Most likely hastily tossed into a suitcase, he guessed.

  In any event, his mother had apparently taken off, choosing to run rather than remain and either clear her name—or take her punishment.

  Entering behind Whit and Elizabeth, Landry immediately crossed over to the massive bureau. Her mother’s jewelry box was pushed over to the side and no longer closed. Landry carefully lifted up the center layer, where her mother kept all her different rings. Beneath that was a small bottom drawer. It was different than the rest in appearance.

  The drawer, normally locked, wasn’t this time.

  Landry opened the drawer and looked inside. It was empty.

  “I don’t think you’re going to be able to find Mother very easily,” she said, turning to Whit.

  “What makes you say that?” Elizabeth asked, looking into the jewelry box, as well.

  For the most part, it looked as if Patsy had left everything. That struck her as odd, thinking that the woman could have definitely pawned or sold a few items if she needed ready cash quickly. Any piece there looked to be a fortune.

  “Mother kept her passport in the bottom drawer of her jewelry box,” Landry answered. “It’s gone. That means that—”

  “—she could be anywhere in the world,” Whit concluded in disgust.

  Kramer sighed, frustrated. “Looks like we’re out of luck,” he said. “My jurisdiction ends outside of San Diego County.” Which meant that he had to hustle to catch Patsy before she left the area. There was little to no satisfaction in notifying the proper authorities in another state, much less in another country, if Patsy made good her escape. Apprehending her could get very messy.

  The detective turned toward Landry. “You got a picture of your mom I could use? If we send this to all the airlines with flights leaving the country, maybe we’ll get lucky and have someone detain her until I get there,” Kramer said.

  “I’ve got one right here on my phone,” Landry told the detective. “Here,” she offered, “let me send it to you.”

  As the detective gave her his cell number, they all heard a commotion coming from the first floor near the front door. The sound of raised, angry voices carried upstairs, but Whit wasn’t able to make out what was being said.

  Whit exchanged glances with Elizabeth. “This day just keeps getting better and better,” he declared sarcastically. “If you need me, Detective, I’ll be downstairs, trying to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on down there,” he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way to the commotion.

  Elizabeth was quick to follow him.

  Though neither of them knew exactly how, Carson had somehow managed to get there ahead of him.

  His brother was talking to two women. They looked to be mother and daughter, from what Whit could see. If he had to take a guess, the thin, almost fragile older woman looked to be around his mother’s age, perhaps a little older. She certainly looked far less flamboyant than Patsy—more down-to-earth than his mother ever had been.

  The younger one was the fiery one of the duo, with long dark red hair and green eyes that right now seemed to be shooting sparks aimed at his brother.

  “What’s going on?” Whit asked Carson even as he looked from one woman to the other.

  The older woman spoke first.

  “I’m Ruby Adair Mason—your late father’s ex-wife,” the woman introduced herself in a soft, nonconfrontational voice.

  No such restrictions hampered the younger woman. “And your witch of a mother won’t release the money due my stepmother. We’ve come to claim what’s rightfully hers,” she concluded, nodding at the older woman.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” Carson said crisply. “You can’t just barge in here without any warning. We didn’t even get your name.”

  “That’s because I didn’t give it,” the younger woman retorted between teeth that were fairly clenched. It was obvious that she did not want to be here.

  “Georgia.” Ruby laid her hand on the young woman’s arm. “We didn’t come here to fight.”

  “You didn’t,” Georgia corrected, although her voice lost its confrontational tone when she spoke to her stepmother. “I made no such promise. Your mother,” she informed the trio before her, obviously mistaking Elizabeth for Landry, “has done nothing but create trouble for my stepmother whenever the opportunity came up. Now personally, I wouldn’t accept a gum wrapper from you people, but if nothing else, my stepmother deserves that money your father left her to cover all the pain and suffering she’d gone through at the hands of your father’s holier-than-thou family.”

  She looked from Carson to Whit. “So we’ve come to get the money in person. I’d like to wrap this up as soon as possible, please.”

  “Is there a problem here?” Kramer asked, joining them just before he prepared to leave the premises. Officer Ortiz was hovering nearby, waiting for instructions.

  “Nothing we can’t take care of on our own, Detective,” Whit assured the man.

  That was just fine with the detective. He already had enough to contend with. “Then I’ll see if I can find your mother before she flees the country.”

  His tone didn’t hold much promise, Elizabeth thought.

  “Wait, your mother’s fleeing the country?” Georgia cried, looking from one brother to the other. It was clear that this news did not sit well with her.

  “Long story,” Whit told her, dismissing it for now.

  Georgia frowned. “This is a family of long stories,” she commented. The comment definitely wasn’t meant as a compliment.

  As the detective and his backup let themselves out, both brothers turned their attention to the older of the two women.

  Whit scrutinized Ruby Mason for a long moment. “Are you Jackson’s mother?” he finally asked.

  The pain was immediate, etching itself into her face as if it had been there just beneath the surface all along and would always remain there as well.

  Ruby raised her head proudly, recalling the child fate had not allowed her to raise.

  “I am. I was,” she corrected herself as she sighed deeply.

  “My father mentioned Jackson in his will,” Whit told her. “He’s to get a quarter of the family business.”

  Ruby nodded her head. “Yes, I know. Your father’s lawyer sent me a copy of that section, as well as the section referring to the money Reginald left to me.”

  She had been surprised, to say the least, to discover that she was in her ex-husband’s will. It told her that he had cared for her after all, at least a little. The fact that he had left a portion of his empire to their son was far less of a surprise. Reginald had always held fast to the belief that the boy was still out there somewhere, alive and completely in the dark as to who he really was.

  “If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’d like to ask you some questions about Jackson,” Carson told her, barely controlling his eagerness. “We’ve been trying to find him, too.”

  It was obvious that he believed that pooling their information could very well help them locate their missing older brother.

  “I think she needs to rest a little first,” Elizabeth said, speaking up for the first time since Ruby and her stepdaughter had arrived. “They both do,” she said to Whit. “Heaven knows there are enough guest rooms here. Why don’t you put them up in one, let them freshen up and then when they’ve rested, they can answer your questions,” she suggested.

  Whit laughed, tucking one arm around her and drawing Elizabeth closer to him. Even as he did so, he silent
ly reveled in the overwhelming happiness he felt pervading all through him.

  Georgia put up a hand. “No need. I only came by to tell you that I plan to arrange a mediation meeting with an attorney who specializes in will disputes. I’m sure you can see why this would be necessary.”

  “Of course,” Carson indulged the woman.

  Ruby looked around uncomfortably, no doubt embarrassed by her stepdaughter’s blunt behavior. But before she could do anything, Georgia looped her arm through Ruby’s and showed their way out.

  “I tried,” Elizabeth said helplessly, looking around at the group.

  “You spoke like a true lady of the manor already,” Whit teased, whispering the words into Elizabeth’s ear. “I’m proud of you.”

  She blushed slightly, even though she knew that the others hadn’t heard what Whit said.

  She also didn’t say anything to deny the assumption that Whit had made by voicing his simple comment. That she was going to accept the proposal he had first tendered to her yesterday. Accept it gladly—but only because of what he had said to her after she had escaped the fire.

  That he realized that he loved her.

  That was all she’d ever wanted, to be loved by someone whom she loved.

  Sometimes a person had to face hell first in order to gain heaven, Elizabeth thought. She couldn’t speak for others, but in her case, she felt it was well worth it.

  Well worth it.

  Epilogue

  Despite Whit’s chiding and his reminders that there were people on the staff who could and would take care of all these details for her, Elizabeth insisted that she wanted to be hands-on when it came to throwing what was going to be their very first party.

  As per her request, Whit had invited a small number of family and friends to the party, telling them that this was a spur-of-the-moment, impromptu gathering with nothing fancy planned.

  Elizabeth was wearing herself out getting ready for “nothing fancy.”

  “You know, the cook is called that for a reason, Elizabeth,” he pointed out as he attempted to follow her around the kitchen without getting trampled when she made sudden changes of direction.