by Jane Goodger
Zachary raised the flame on his oil lamp and sat upon his bunk, almost afraid of what he would read. The further he read, the deeper his frown grew until he reached nearly the end of Nathan’s confession. “Judge Reynolds ordered the killings. I know not why.”
Judge Reynolds? Zachary shook his head in disbelief. Why would one of the most respected and richest men in New Bedford order the killings of a Vermont farm boy and his parents? It was preposterous, completely unbelievable, and Zachary felt a stab of deep disappointment that this was the best he could expect from Nathan Wright. Though he’d been away from home for years, certainly he would have known if his parents had some dealings with a man as prestigious a Judge Reynolds. The old man was so far removed from the Dawes’ social stratus that Zachary knew it was unthinkable his parents had known the judge in any kind of social way. Disappointment and confusion filled him.
But then, why would Nathan Wright pen such a confession on his deathbed unless it was true? It made no sense. Zachary pulled his pocket watch from his shelf. Seven o’clock. Certainly it was not too late to visit the judge. Donning his best suit and slicking back his hair, Zachary tucked the letter into his jacket and was about to leave before he stopped cold. If the judge had indeed ordered the killings—as unlikely that was—the confession needed to be in a safer place. He put it in his sea chest inside one of his boots.
Feeling foolish, but driven by curiosity, Zachary made his way up to The Hill, his mind whirling with questions. When he reached the lanes lined with gracious houses, he felt even more foolish for going to see the judge. The man would throw him out on his ear—and with justification. He’d never even met Judge Reynolds, having seen him close up only at Sara’s wedding. He had a stately presence and exuded power and success. Zachary’s hands grew clammy at the thought of accusing the judge of murder. Ridiculous as it seemed, Nathan’s letter seemed genuine. Perhaps he had truly thought the judge somehow involved. Perhaps, Zachary thought with a bit of relief, Nathan had a grudge against the judge and his final dying wish had been revenge. That made more sense than any other explanation. Certainly it did not seem possible Judge Reynolds would have involved himself in something as ugly and immoral as murder.
Zachary let himself through the wrought iron gate that separated the judge’s property from the street, his feeling of unease growing with every step. Flexing his fist, he grasped the heavy brass door knocker and let it fall with a resounding bang, wincing at loudness of it in the still evening air. To Zachary’s surprise, the judge himself opened the door. His shock grew when a wide smile appeared on the old man’s face.
“Mr. Dawes, is it not? Sara’s brother. Come in. Come in.”
Zachary stood uncertainly on the stoop, suddenly reluctant to enter the house. The judge stepped back, all congeniality and politeness, and Zachary stepped through the threshold shaking off his feeling of unease. He thrust out his hand, feeling awkward and gauche.
“Judge Reynolds. I’m pleased to meet you.”
The judge grasped his extended hand with both of his, clutching them firmly for a long moment, his eyes bright with happiness.
“Come in, my boy,” he said. Odd man, he couldn’t help but think, welcoming a virtual stranger into his home as if he were a long-lost friend.
“Why don’t we step into my study and visit.” The words seemed fraught with some deeper meaning Zachary couldn’t begin to understand. He was here to confront the judge with Nathan Wright’s confession and damned if the old man wasn’t making his distasteful business even more unsavory. If he’d been stand-offish or belligerent, it would have been a far simpler matter to tell him his business.
“Brandy?”
Zachary nodded, oddly flattered the judge was treating him like an equal. He forced his mind back to the business at hand as he watched the judge make his way over to a side table near the fireplace. Zachary looked about the room, noted the rich furnishings, and tried to stop himself from being awed by all that he saw. He knew a single candleholder in this room was worth more than all his worldly possessions. The hiss of a lamp drew his attention back to where the judge was standing by the side table. He was raising the flame high, making his face appear oddly gruesome, half shadowed, half lit by the brilliant light. With little interest, Zachary noticed a painting above the mantle.
His heart slammed, suddenly and painfully, against his chest as he looked at his own face in the portrait. “Sir,” he choked out. “That is an interesting portrait.” Zachary somehow knew he had to keep a grip on emotions that were raging through his blood as his mind raced for a rational reason for his portrait to be hanging in the judge’s study. And when the answer came, brutal and stunning, it took all his resolve to remain—at least outwardly—calm in front of the judge. The confession tucked into his sea chest had taken on a larger, and more ominous, importance. He had the connection—the deadly connection between the judge and his parents.
“You knew my mother,” Zachary said, resisting the urge to flee.
The judge smiled at him. “Oh, yes, yes. Quite well, as you can see,” he said, looking up at the portrait. “She wouldn’t allow me to see you, of course.”
“No. She never told me who my father was. Sir, this is all very distressing.” It was more than that. This man had killed his parents, killed the man he’d loved as a father, killed his mother. He’d nearly killed Sara.
“Distressing? My boy, I assure you it’s nothing of the sort,” he said jovially. “I’ve wanted to make your acquaintance for years.” He looked at Zachary’s untouched drink. “You’re not drinking, son.”
Heat engulfed Zachary. “Do not call me that you murdering son of a bitch.” Even as he said the words, he knew he was being foolish. Now that he knew, beyond a doubt, that the judge had murdered his parents, he realized he should have left this house and gone straight to the police with Nathan Wright’s confession. But he was standing in the presence of the man who’d cold-bloodedly killed his parents and the rage he felt could not be contained.
The judge looked taken aback. “Such harsh words,” Judge Reynolds said thoughtfully, taking a sip. “Just what is it that brings you here, in my home, to say such a thing to your father?”
Zachary’s distaste for this man grew. “I have Nathan Wright’s confession in which he named you as the man who ordered the killings.”
The judge chuckled and moved behind his desk. “Nathan Wright. Can’t say that I recall ever having met such a person.”
“You, sir, will hang for what you’ve done,” Zachary spat.
“I doubt it. I’m certain whatever you think you have in your possession is some falsified document. Why don’t you let me take a look at it. I’m sure this is all a terrible mistake. Really, son, you cannot think me capable of murder. It’s absurd. Let me see this so-called confession and we can resolve this little matter.”
“It’s well-hidden. And if you call me son one more time I will not be responsible for my actions. I am not your son.”
This seemed to distress the judge. “Well, I can give you proof of your birth,” he said, opening up a drawer.
Zachary expected him to withdraw some sort of legal document, but his heart stopped when the judge withdrew a large pistol and aimed it at his head. “Oh my, you look a bit peaked. Son.” The judge smiled weakly. “Now. Tell me where this confession is.”
Though Zachary’s blood ran cold, he refused to allow this man to see just how terrified he was. “I will not.”
The judge sighed. “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you, as much as I regret it. I didn’t much like the idea of killing Evelyn, but she really gave me no choice. That farm boy, really.”
Zachary foolishly thought he could reason with the man. “If you kill me, you will never know where the confession is.”
The judge seemed to think on this a bit. “True. But if you’re dead, you cannot tell anyone else of its existence either. Unless your sister…”
“My sister knows nothing of this,” Zachary sai
d, fear for Sara nearly driving him to his knees. “Do you truly think I would come here and put my sister in danger?” Zachary swallowed and felt a bead of sweat move down his forehead.
“As a matter of fact, son, I do.” And he pulled the trigger.
Sara had just finished dining with West and a handful of guests when their butler announced Judge Reynolds had come for a visit and was requesting an audience with her. As the small group was about to move into the drawing room, Sara asked the butler bring the judge there so he could join their party.
Sara and West led their guests into the large drawing room, startling Judge Reynolds, who was staring contemplatively out a window. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you were entertaining.”
“Please, don’t worry yourself, judge. You are always welcome and this is only a very small entertainment. We’re happy you’re able to join us,” Sara said, taking the judge’s hand warmly. “May I offer you a brandy or glass of wine?”
“Nothing for me, my dear,” the judge said, smiling at her.
The judge took a handkerchief out of his pocket and drew it over his face. Indeed, he looked a bit flushed and Sara wondered if the man was unwell.
“Your brother visited me this evening,” he said.
“Did he?” Sara asked, completely surprised.
“He mentioned he was in possession of an important document concerning myself and was rather stubborn about sharing its location with me.” The old man chuckled. “Quite reminded me of myself at that age. All fire and indignation.”
“So Zachary knows about you, that you’re his true father?”
He tucked the handkerchief back into his jacket pocket. “Oh, yes. He was quite surprised.” He frowned, his mouth curving downward dramatically. “Wasn’t all that pleased, come to think of it. No. Not at all. Not the meeting I would have hoped for. Ended badly.”
A sliver of fear made its way slowly up Sara’s spine, ending in a fiery, prickly heat at the base of her skull. “I don’t understand why Zachary went to see you. He couldn’t have known about you, for I didn’t tell him. Did he find his birth records or something that would have proved his lineage? Is that what the document was about?”
Something hard and awful glittered in the old man’s eyes. “Then you don’t have it.”
“Have what?” Sara turned to look for West, relaxing slightly when she saw he was not far away talking in a group of men. But Sara still felt afraid, even as she told herself the judge was no threat.
“He said you had no knowledge of it, but I didn’t believe him.” His eyes darted a bit wildly before he visibly relaxed. “Well, now I feel quite awful.” He shrugged and smiled down at Sara, only adding to her confusion. “How was your wedding trip?”
Startled by the sudden change of topic, Sara could only shake her head. “Where is Zachary now? Was he terribly upset?”
Judge Reynolds patted her hand. “Now don’t you worry about your brother, my dear. He’s likely gone back to the ship.” He paced a bit, then nodded. “Of course. The ship.” The judge walked away, hailing an acquaintance as he did, leaving Sara with a strong feeling of foreboding.
Pulling West rudely away from a group of guests, Sara said, “I’m worried about Zachary. He’s just found out Judge Reynolds is his father and I’m afraid something happened between them. Judge Reynolds is acting strangely. Or might I say, more strangely than is usual.”
Concern marred West’s handsome features, and Sara was grateful he did not dismiss her fears as unfounded. “Tell me what happened?”
“As far as I can tell, Zachary went to the judge because of some document, something that the judge now wants. He thought I might have it and seemed quite relieved when I told him I knew nothing about it.”
“A birth document?”
Sara shook her head. “That’s what I thought as well. But why would that disturb the judge? He already knew he was Zachary’s father.”
“Perhaps he is not,” West offered.
“No. The resemblance between the two is uncanny. The judge must be Zachary’s father.” Sara chewed on her lip a moment and West smiled at the endearing habit. Her eyes lit up. “I have an idea. You tell the judge Zachary gave you the document for safe-keeping. Since we don’t know what it is, you can say you haven’t read it, that you are simply holding it for my brother.”
“And what will that accomplish?”
“Perhaps then we can find out what it is?” she asked hopefully.
“Why don’t we just wait and ask your brother.”
Sara nearly stamped her foot in frustration at West’s maddeningly logical response. “Because I want to find out now. Tonight. Something happened between the judge and my brother, West. I know it.”
He squeezed her hand. “All right, Sara. I’ll talk to the judge.”
West made his way over to the older man, more curious than alarmed about what had transpired between his former mate and the judge. But he hated to see Sara worrying about anything, not when she’d had a lifetime of worry already. “A word with you, sir?”
Judge Reynolds nodded and followed West to a small sitting room across the hall away from the guests that continued to linger in the drawing room. When they were both seated, West said, “Sara told me you were asking about a document of her brother’s.”
The other man stiffened and West, despite what Sara had told him, was surprised the judge was so visibly affected by his innocuous words. “Yes. It’s quite important that I retrieve it.”
West’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity intensified. “I have the document in question. Mr. Dawes gave it to me for safe keeping.”
Judge Reynolds lunged to his feet. “I must have it.” His eyes were wild and a small amount of spittle had settled on his bottom lip.
Keeping his tone level, West said, “I don’t know what it contains, and I don’t care. But I have promised to keep it for Zachary. If you wish to see it, you must take it up with him.”
The old man breathed harshly through his nose, his face becoming so red, that for a moment West feared the judge was about to have a seizure. “That’s impossible,” he spat.
“I don’t see how. Mr. Dawes is a reasonable man. If the document somehow concerns you, I’m certain he will share its contents.”
The judge sat suddenly, as if his legs could no longer hold his body. “You don’t understand,” he said, his hands audibly clawing into the chair’s silk fabric.
“I’m certain I don’t.”
“None of it was my fault. You don’t understand. She…she…I will not be cuckolded,” Judge Reynolds said with intensity.
Though West appeared relaxed, his entire body was strung taut. He knew nothing about what the judge was talking about, but clearly the man was about to lose the tenuous hold he had on his sanity. West remained silent and waited for the judge to give him a clue about what he was so agitated about.
“I must have that document. I will get a warrant if I must.” Then he chuckled and shook his head, as if he’d amused himself. “No, no. That would never do.”
An instant later, West cursed himself for relaxing when the man began laughing, for Judge Reynolds drew a pistol from his coat, his eyes as hard and sane as his own. Judge Reynolds stood, looking haughty and assured, the gun steady and pointed directly at West’s heart. Only his eyes kept that slightly wild look that made an icy sliver of fear move along West’s spine. “I’ll have that document, young man.”
“He doesn’t have it,” Sara said frantically from a far door, and West’s fear grew tenfold. He should have known she would sneak around to listen to the conversation.
He watched with dread as Sara strode into the room seemingly oblivious to the danger she was putting herself in. “We don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Sara. Leave now.”
“Where is Zachary?” Sara said, ignoring West completely. The judge brought the pistol around to point at her and West’s heart stopped.
“Jesus God, Sara, get out of
here.” Sara wouldn’t even look at him. The foolish girl didn’t even look afraid.
“Where is Zachary,” she repeated. “Where is your son?”
The judge flinched at her words but his aim did not falter. Then, suddenly, his entire body sagged as if turning abruptly into the old man that he was. “Oh, my darling. I’m so sorry.” He began to weep, a horrible sound, wrenching and monstrous. When West took a step toward him, he spun around and thrust the pistol toward him again and West thanked God he’d distracted the old man enough to leave Sara alone. Judge Reynolds sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes with his free hand.
“Where is Zachary?” Sara whispered tearfully, and West feared they both knew the horrible answer.
“He said he wasn’t my son,” the judge said dully. “He said his real father was dead. That I killed him, that he had no father any longer.” Judge Reynolds shook his head sadly. “It happened so quickly. Before I knew what I’d done, he was lying there.”
A sob escape Sara’s throat. “No.”
He turned to Sara, his eyes red and watery. “Oh, my darling girl. I have done such awful things.” And then he turned his gun to himself and fired.
Chapter NINETEEN
Though he looked dead, though there was enough blood on the floor to make it appear as if murder had been done, Zachary was, miraculously, quite unharmed by the bullet that had grazed his head. He suffered from a mighty headache and was a bit woozy from a lack of blood, but the doctor proclaimed him well just a few hours after being knocked out by the grazing missile.
He was much more undone by his sister, who upon coming into Judge Reynolds study and finding him alive, nearly tackled him to the floor. Zachary had just been rising, his head muddled, his eyesight blurred, when he spied a flash of bright blue flying at him. He fell to the floor and promptly passed out. Two days later, he was well enough to attend his true father’s funeral, but opted instead to leave on the Julia with no remorse. Sara gave her brother a tearful good-bye while West bade farewell to his stiff and unforgiving brother.
