For the Sake of Their Baby

by Alice Sharpe

  “Did you see the envelope when you hid the scarf?” she asked as she picked up the single sheet of paper.

  He replaced the books. “No. But I didn’t look, of course. I was in a hurry. It must have already been there.”

  Liz scanned the paper while Alex unfolded the document. As the realization of what he held sank in, he heard Liz gasp.

  “According to this paper, these tapes are recorded conversations with Roger Kapp,” she said, talking so fast it was hard to understand her even without the distraction of the document. “This paper lists the times and contents of the calls, and makes a note of the money Uncle Devon handed over in return for Kapp’s silence. Geez, it wasn’t just the rezoning thing. Alex! This is proof of what Roger was up to. I can sue him on behalf of my uncle’s estate. I think. I’ll have to talk to his lawyers. At the very least, this information will ruin his public life! I can prove he was a blackmailer!”

  As she said all this, she stuffed the tapes into her purse. “Alex?”

  So focused was he on the riveting words in front of him that he barely heard her. The document was the result of a private investigator’s research into the Chase family. Alex’s head reeled as he read the summary.

  His father: deceased.

  His mother: retired teacher, San Diego.

  John, his older brother: former cop in New York City, present whereabouts unknown.

  Theo, his middle brother: Seattle, current occupation unknown.

  Juliet, his younger sister: a student, San Diego.

  His sister? He had a sister?

  “Alex?”

  Dazed, he refolded the papers. Devon Hiller had investigated his family, looking, no doubt, for something so scandalous that Liz would immediately consent to a divorce.

  Alex hadn’t thought of his brothers in a long time. He’d been so wrapped up in making a life for himself that he’d put his family’s fate and whereabouts out of his mind, out of his heart. They came stampeding back with a vengeance that pierced his soul in a million different ways. And with them, they brought a sister named Juliet.

  “Alex? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he finally said, tucking the folded papers into his jacket pocket. When she raised her eyebrows, he shook his head. “Later,” he said.

  “But—”

  He kissed her quickly, shutting her up for the moment, then kissed her again because it was impossible not to. They spent the next few minutes looking around the room, opening closets, peering behind draperies, turning up corners of area rugs until Liz finally threw up her hands and sighed.

  “It’s hopeless,” she said. “I mean, what are we looking for?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea.” He moved close to her, took her hands in his, and smiled when she looked into his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t ask him to choose between a life with her and profiting from her uncle’s fortune sometime in the future. He loved her with all his heart; all he wanted was for her to love him in the same way, to trust him again.

  Perhaps he needed to go first. “We have the scarf,” he said softly. “More importantly, those tapes will prove the sheriff is a blackmailer.”

  “If Kapp knew my uncle had recorded him doesn’t it make sense he might have tried to find the tapes or even that Uncle Devon may have turned the tables and started blackmailing the sheriff?”

  “Exactly. Maybe it’s time to do what you’ve wanted to do from day one. Maybe it’s time to hire a really good attorney and fight this the legitimate way. You’re right about DNA and forensics—a good investigation might turn up clues we can’t begin to uncover for ourselves.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so relieved! And, Alex, the killer may have left some of himself on my scarf. We’ll turn it in, too.”

  “Maybe,” he said, still not ready to put Liz’s fate quite so openly on the line. As he spoke, he felt a vibration in his pocket and withdrew his cell phone. Flipping it open, wondering who could possibly be calling him, he heard a voice broken by static, but the message was clear and set his adrenaline pumping.

  “What is it?” Liz demanded as he folded the phone and fought with himself over what to do. “Alex!”

  He put his arms around her. “It’s the dispatcher. There’s a fire in Old Town. Half the buildings…Liz, they want every available trained fireman and that means me. This is my chance to be part of the team again, but…”

  “Go,” she said.

  “I can’t leave you here by yourself—”

  Gesturing at the phone on the desk, she said, “I’ll call for a taxi. I’ll be fine.”

  “Come with me. I’ll drop you off—”

  “Our house is in the other direction and you know it. People are in danger, Alex. A fire. They’ll burn. Go!”

  “But—”

  “Alex, for goodness’ sake, go!”

  He kissed her soft lips and did as she asked, half worried about her, half thrilled at being back in the loop no matter how unconventional the approach. He heard her call to him as he tore open the front door.

  “Be careful, come back to me,” she cried.

  They were the words she always called, and for a second, he paused, then he thought of her parents, dying in orange and red flames, and realized that she wanted him to go—she needed him to go—to do his job, or at least what had once been his job, to save another child from what she’d suffered.

  As he ran to his truck, he listened for the sound of sirens.

  LIZ TURNED to pick up the desk phone and paused. Out of the corner of her eye, as it had since the minute she walked into the room, the huge curio cabinet seemed to beckon to her. Made of polished walnut and glass, the cabinet stood about six feet tall and held on its shelves a plethora of items both large and small.

  She pulled a chair close and opened the glass door. Where had Emily found that necklace? Here with the delicate jade dragon or on the top shelf with the oriental lacquers? Everything was spotless, as usual, and she realized the housekeeper had no doubt been dusting the cabinet each week as usual. If she’d found an empty spot, she’d probably just moved something over to fill in the space.

  Liz stared at the valuable, beautiful things, and heard herself say, “What does any of this mean to me?”

  She’d lived in this house from the ages of eight until twenty-one. Fourteen years. She could count on one hand the times she’d dared to sneak downstairs and open this cabinet, touch these things. She’d never slid down the banister, her room upstairs held few happy memories. She’d lived in a gilded cage just as Alex had lived in one with too many bent and twisted bars.

  As she touched her bare ring finger, she realized that from the moment she’d walked into this house today, she’d been overcome with conflicting emotions. Nostalgia for the past, greed for the opulence, desire to replace bad memories with good ones, and maybe even fear, an unconscious desire to push Alex away because she was so afraid of losing him.

  The solution came to her as she stared at the lead glass bowl which occupied a place of honor on the middle shelf. Alex was right. These things and this house represented her uncle’s accomplishments, as nefarious as they now seemed. They were the sum of his dealings and passions, not hers.

  Her passion was Alex. Her future was snuggled deep in her body, almost ready to embrace life. Her desire was to make the safest, most wonderful home possible, where she and Alex and their children could find genuine happiness.

  When the estate was finally settled, she would sell it all and give the money back to the community, to build, rejuvenate and preserve. Generosity would be her uncle’s ironic epitaph.

  As she replaced an exquisite string of ivory beads, she heard a noise in the foyer. By the time she rose and turned the corner, she found Ron closing the front door.

  “Ron? What are you doing here?”

  “The door was unlocked. Where’s Alex? Did you find the scarf? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is fine.
Alex had to go fight a fire.”

  “I thought I heard sirens. I knew you’d be here and I wondered if I could get a tour of the place.”

  She glanced through a front window. “Where’s your car?”

  “I parked a few blocks away and walked awhile for the exercise. It…it helps take my mind off…I just can’t seem to force myself to…well, to go…home.”

  She immediately understood. Look how long it had taken her to come back into this house. “I’m glad you came. I was going to call a cab—”

  “Now you won’t have to,” he said. He whistled as he ran a hand over the high back of a carved wooden chair. “Is this a Caquetoire chair? What a beauty.”

  Liz was more excited about her new plan than the old chair. “Listen, Ron, you know how I’ve been struggling with what to do with my uncle’s belongings? Well, I’ve reached a decision. I’m going to sell everything and set up a philanthropic organization to administer the money to help the community! I’m so relieved to have figured this out. And I’d be happy if you’d consent to choose something for yourself. I know how you admire antiques.”

  He stared at her for a moment, finally saying, “You’re amazing, Liz. I mean, who else would even consider giving away a fortune?”

  Alex would, she thought with pride. She said, “Where do you want to start your tour?”

  “I’d like to see your uncle’s den.” With that, he strode across the foyer and into the den, coming to a stop in front of the open curio cabinet.

  As she watched with ever increasing amazement, he reached in, scooped up a handful of small items and dumped them into his overcoat pocket. “I’ll save the Fabergé egg and the Breguet carriage clock for my satchel,” he mused.

  Liz stared at him, too shocked by his behavior to speak.

  Another handful, another bulging pocket. In his haste, he knocked the glass bowl to the floor.

  The noise made her jump. “Ron? What’s going on?”

  He looked at the shattered glass. “Damn! That was 18th century. Ravenscroft, I think. Well, don’t worry, Liz, really, in the long run it won’t matter.”

  Was he this upset about her plan? Is this how he interpreted taking something? Unsure what to do, but suddenly uneasy being alone with him, she walked quickly toward the desk, her attention focused on the phone.

  Ron’s words stopped her. “You know, your uncle tried that same thing.”

  It was odd how a few words could turn everything upside down. Turning, she mumbled, “My uncle?”

  “This time, I used Alex’s wire cutters on the phone line. You guys should have figured out that the house key you gave Emily also opens your garage. I made a copy for myself. It’s come in handy a couple of times lately.” As he spoke, he pulled the wire cutters out of his breast pocket and dropped them to the floor. Looking back at her, he said, “Liz, you look stunned! You didn’t honestly believe Emily killed your uncle, did you?”

  Liz’s hand flew to her mouth. Mind churning, baby ominously still, she finally managed to mumble, “Why?”

  “Why what? Why did I kill your uncle? Money, of course, why else? Why did I do my best to kill Harry Idle? The man messed up all my careful planning. See, I drove my car out your way and parked it off the road, took the bike from the back, rode it the rest of the way and got here in time to see Alex going down the stairs. I quickly followed him, untied his rope, climbed back up and was on my way for you. Only a matter of time before Harry figured out I was the one he saw lurking in your yard.”

  He reached into the other coat pocket and produced a small silver pistol which he aimed at Liz. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to shoot you. Come with me.”

  He pulled her arm and stuck the muzzle against the back of her neck, directing her to move through the silent house. “Open the door,” he demanded when they got to the kitchen, and she did as he asked, her fears lifting for a second as she thought he might be taking her outside. Perhaps he’d tie her to a tree or something while he robbed the place. She didn’t care, she just wanted to be away from him and the icy circle pressing against her neck.

  Two small gasoline cans and a satchel rested on the porch. Gasoline cans!

  Ron said, “Do you know that the wooded area back there goes straight through to a nice, private little country road? Of course you do, you grew up here. I keep forgetting.”

  Despite the gun, Liz tried to turn, to look into his eyes, to demand an explanation even though the logical one seemed all too clear.

  “Ron—”

  “Ssh,” he said as if to comfort a child.

  She stumbled down a couple of stairs, but he caught her arm and pulled her back. “Not so fast,” he said in that same warm tone. “You aren’t going anywhere. Fact is, Liz, you’re a hard woman to kill, but all’s well that ends well.”

  The gun trained right at her belly, he scooted one can inside and then the other, directing her to lift the satchel and come back into the house. Though she knew she couldn’t outrun a bullet, the thought of flight entered her mind. In the next instant, she knew she couldn’t try. Ron wasn’t as scattered as Emily, and in this instance, she didn’t have a head start. As long as there was a possibility of survival, she had to keep her head.

  Prodded with the gun, hoping against hope that an opportunity to save herself would arise, she shuffled back through the house. Could she swing the satchel and knock Ron off his feet before he shot her? He stayed far enough back that she knew she couldn’t. Besides, the bag was too light to do any damage.

  “Drop the satchel and sit in that exquisite Louis XVI chair,” Ron said once they re-entered the den. As the realization of what he had in mind burned in her head, he pulled several lengths of rope from the satchel.

  “No!” she said. “I won’t. Ron, we’re friends—”

  He laughed as he lowered the weapon to her swollen belly. “Sit down, friend,” he said.

  He tied her hands to the arms of the chair and her feet together at the ankles. It looked to Liz like Alex’s rope, stained with the dirt from their bluff.

  Ron tightened the knots until they bit into her flesh. He patted her stomach and she reeled with disgust. “Too bad about the baby,” he said, “but we don’t need a little heir hanging around now, do we?”

  Gasping with fright, she babbled, “Ron, if it’s money—”

  “Too little, too late,” he said.

  He took off his long coat and draped it over a chair, then splashed gasoline out of the first can. Tears rolled down Liz’s cheeks and her heart pounded with the futile instinct to run. She twisted her neck and craned to see as Ron picked up the second can and moved across the foyer, his footsteps echoing on the floor. He quickly doused that room as well, tossed the can aside and threw in a lit match. Flames blossomed at once.

  “Nice tall ceilings, plenty of air to get a good fire going before a window blows and the fire is reported,” he mused as he came back into the den. “Shame to destroy all these expensive things. Your uncle’s collection is so delightfully eclectic. Just about breaks my heart.”

  “Ron—”

  “By the way,” he added, “I bought these cans in Meyer’s Junction. My shirt with the Ocean Bluff Fire Dept. insignia on the front and the cap with the same logo pulled down low over my face was all the clerk ever really noticed about me. Well, that and the fact that I talked about my darling wife, Liz. When Alex is convicted of murdering you for your money, he won’t be able to inherit a penny.”

  “Ron,” Liz said, nauseous now from the fumes, the smoke and the abject terror she could feel crawling inside her skin like fire ants. “Ron, think. You can’t inherit anything from me. You’re not in my will. This is pointless—”

  He held up a finger. “I can’t inherit, but the estate of my dear departed sister can and I happen to be her sole beneficiary. Now, I admit, her dying before you is tricky, but since you’ll die before your baby is born, Alex will be your only heir and he’ll be ineligible. I believe I can make a good case and at this point, what ha
ve I got to lose?”

  Liz had a moment of insight. “Emily’s middle name is Irene. It was on her lease application.”

  “My dear mother gave her first-born child her own name as a middle name. Couldn’t use the last name of Hiller because your uncle wouldn’t have a thing to do with either of them. After Mother died, I found the letters she’d kept and a copy of the birth certificate. That’s when I moved here.”

  Liz was close to choking on her own fear. “Emily could have told me—”

  A derisive laugh was followed by a snort. “Emily never knew. The knowledge and proof of the identity of her real father was like money in the bank and you don’t trust money in the bank to a loose screw like Emily.”

  “So you approached my uncle?”

  “A most disagreeable man. Told me to get lost. Told me he would amend his will to specifically exclude Emily. I thought, well, I’ll wait until the old guy dies and then approach Liz. But you got pregnant and your uncle threatened to give the whole ball of wax to a few birds and some fish. Obviously, he had to go. Right away. I couldn’t believe my luck when you showed up later that night, right as I was getting ready to strangle the old goat.”

  “You framed me.”

  “Alex almost screwed it up when he took the blame. Still, with Emily’s prodding, you were close to a divorce and I was making headway in the marry Liz campaign, so I wasn’t too worried. My plan was to wait until your divorce was final, but then Alex got out. I had Emily pretend to be from the sheriff’s department and call you. She was such a romantic, that girl, and so pitifully easy to manipulate. By the end, she thought she killed your uncle and that the best way to make sure you loved me was for her to kill Alex. Frankly, I didn’t care which one of you died on those stairs. If it had been Alex, I’d have let it slip little Emily was really your uncle’s daughter. I knew you well enough by then to know you’d fall all over yourself making sure she got her fair share. If it was you, Alex would look guilty as hell and be convicted of killing you as well as your uncle. Either way, Emily would inherit, and I’d be set.”