“He went out.”
“Are you sure?”
When James didn’t respond, Kinsey called out. “Mom?”
There was no reply, but the open door beckoned Kinsey. “The basement is down there,” Kinsey said as she flung it wide open. “Mom?” she called. “Are you down there?”
Zane moved to her side. “Remember your ribs,” he said. “Let me go look.”
“The light switch doesn’t work,” Kinsey said as she flipped it on and off with no effect.
“Must be a fuse,” James said. “I’ll try to find a flashlight. If she’s fallen, she may need help right away.” He called out, “Frances, can you hear me?” to no avail.
“I can see well enough to get started,” Zane said as he took the first downward step. The first half of the steep stairs were sided on both sides by solid walls outfitted with a handrail. About two-thirds of the way down, one wall stopped abruptly, but there was still a railing for support on the open side. Zane had expected the light to improve at this point, but it didn’t. He paused to look back toward the kitchen. Kinsey stood framed in the light at the top. “Tell James to hurry with that flashlight,” he called.
Instead of answering him, she turned and suddenly James loomed beside her. It appeared they struggled. Zane started to climb back up to help. Before he could take more than a couple of steps, Kinsey shot toward him, her hands grabbing for the railings, her feet working overtime to catch up until the inevitable happened and she missed a step. A second later, she flew into Zane. Her momentum sent them both crashing against the open railing that broke under the onslaught.
They landed six feet below in a heap of humanity and splintered wood.
*
KINSEY RAISED HER HEAD and looked down at Zane’s slack face. He’d taken the brunt of the fall and seemed to be unconscious. She moved off him and checked him as well as she could in the very poor light. “Zane, honey, wake up.” He didn’t move, but at least his breathing sounded steady and his skin felt warm. Was her mom down here, too? Why was it so dark? Had someone covered the windows?
She crawled to the wall where she could leverage her weight to stand. Gasping as her ribs protested, she clearly recalled James ripping her bag from her shoulder and shoving her down the stairs.
Was it possible he had also shoved Zane into the street over a week before? Of course it was.
Everything that was happening had to revolve around this house and its hidden treasures and her mother’s inheritance. At least she could still feel the papers against her skin, but where did Zane fit into it?
Her phone had died in the slough, but what if James had acted impulsively and then run away? Maybe she could just walk upstairs and use the phone to summon help.
The lights came on suddenly, just about blinding her. She looked up the stairs to see two men standing in the open doorway. She quickly ducked out of sight. The men at the head of the stairs started speaking.
“Did you search her apartment? Was it there?” It didn’t sound like James.
“Yes, I searched... no, I didn’t find anything,” James replied.
The other man swore. “I leave for a couple of days and look what happens. Did you even check Hastings to see if he was carrying a gun before you pushed him down there?”
“Give it a rest, Kevin. Everything is fine. You don’t carry a gun to a wedding and that’s where they thought they were going.”
“But they missed out, didn’t they?” the other man said. “I knew you’d marry the old broad before Dodge took his last breath. Had to make sure you were in her will, didn’t you? It hasn’t shown up, so now you got married for nothing. The house will come to me, just as we originally planned.”
“And I’ll get half,” James said.
“Sure,” the other man said breezily as the stairs squeaked. They’d begun their descent. Kinsey looked for a place to hide but stopped abruptly when she saw Zane. There was no way she’d leave him unprotected. She couldn’t see her mother, but there were a couple of ancillary rooms down here. Maybe they’d locked her in one of those.
“I’ll be a widower by midnight,” James added. “And let me remind you that we wouldn’t have to get rid of all three of them if you’d done a proper job of it in Shreveport. Either time, I might add.”
“You’re the one with connections up there. You were part of the legal team for Chemco, not me. You should have gone and done the dirty work. Besides, you had two chances to get rid of Hastings, too, and you bungled both of them.”
“Not my fault. I had to act fast when I heard Hastings asking about the Dodge housekeeper. No time to plan things properly. And the hospital attack would have worked if that damn nurse hadn’t shown up when she did.”
The men paused where the railing had given way and stared down. Kinsey did her best to meet their gaze with defiance. She saw that the new man was younger than James and carried a gun. Even from six-plus feet away, she could see the arrogance burning in his green eyes.
“Kinsey,” he said. “Wish I could say it was nice to see you.”
In that instant, she recognized his voice. But the man she associated with that voice had curly blond hair and dark brown eyes. “Ryan?” she said, confused.
He shook his head. “Kevin Lester, alias Ryan Jones, alias Chad Dodge. Heck, by now I answer to almost anything. Go ahead, call me Ryan.”
“What’s going on? Where’s my mother?”
He stepped off the last stair and looked down at her. “How about a kiss for old time’s sake?” he asked and started to claim one.
She slapped him. A piece of his beard came loose and dangled from his chin.
He reached up and plucked it off. “Hair dye, applications, optical contacts...you can learn a lot in prison if you pay attention, and I did. That’s where I met Bill Dodge’s real nephew. By the time I got out, I knew more about Chad Dodge then I did about myself. When Chad overdosed, I was able to convince Bill Dodge I was his long-lost nephew.”
“Until you got cocky and aroused his suspicion,” the lawyer chided. He looked at Kinsey. “Bill asked me for guidance. He didn’t trust his nephew, so he’d hidden all his valuables, but he wouldn’t tell me where. I told him to tread gently because his nephew had a hot head but that I would hire a private investigator and have Chad verified. Of course I did no such thing.
“Anyway, Bill was determined to change his will to benefit his loyal housekeeper. He wanted advice about how to protect her inheritance if it was proven she’d committed a capital crime. That got me curious, but about then he stopped talking. He wouldn’t even let me draw up the will, said he’d do it himself and make sure it was safe.”
“Crime?” Kinsey asked. “My mother a criminal? What in the world are you talking about?”
“That’s what I wanted to know. That’s why I sent him to get friendly with you,” Fenwick said with a nod toward Ryan. “When that didn’t work, I decided to warm up to Frances.”
“And then we lucked out,” Ryan boasted.
“That’s right,” Fenwick said, nodding. “I hardly ever go in that little grocery store down the road, but there I am one afternoon when Hastings waltzes in and starts asking questions about Mary Smith and the Dodge housekeeper. I had to know why he was interested in your mother, so I stole his wallet and phone. Thanks to that, I was able to figure out where Hastings was from and that narrowed my search. I finally figured out what was going on and I knew that if Bill Dodge made Frances his beneficiary, she needed to stay lost to the world at least until she made a will of her own. Hastings had to go.”
“But you guys screwed that up,” Kinsey said softly.
“Yeah, well, once we found out Hastings had amnesia and that you and he were getting close, it seemed like we might skirt by until Bill died, Frances inherited and she died. Then we could disappear substantially better off than we are now.”
“You had to make sure my mother married you before she knew about the money. Otherwise, she’d leave most of it to me.”
Kinsey was determined not to ask this man what he thought her mother had done that would land her in jail. If Frances had committed a crime, it went a long way toward explaining why she’d spent Kinsey’s life looking over her shoulder, restless and suspicious. Kinsey wanted answers, but not from this jerk.
Ryan nudged Zane with his foot. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead.”
Zane groaned as his eyes flickered open. He tried to sit. Kinsey knelt to help him. Ryan grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “Leave him down there. Fenwick, check for a weapon.”
A moment later, Fenwick finished a quick search. “He’s clean.”
“Where’s my mother?” Kinsey demanded.
“In the washroom,” Fenwick said over his shoulder.
“You’ll have time to catch up while we wait for it to get dark,” Ryan said. “James, get the tape.”
James took a roll of duct tape off a nearby shelf. As he did that, Ryan put a stranglehold around Kinsey’s throat. “You, Hastings, get up nice and slow or the lovely Ms. Frost won’t live long enough to say goodbye. Walk over there toward that closed door. There’s a washroom back there. Move it.”
Zane shuffled off in the commanded direction. Kinsey was afraid another head injury following on the heels of the first had exacted a devastating toll. He opened the door to the small room full of laundry equipment and one other human. Her mouth covered with a strip of tape, ankles bound together and hands secured behind her back, Frances sat on the floor by the washing machine, her eyes growing huge as she looked from Kinsey to Zane and then to James Fenwick.
With the gun still pointed at Kinsey, Fenwick taped Zane the same way he had Frances except for the mouth, and then it was Kinsey’s turn. He tore the tape from Frances’s lips. “Yell all you want, dear wife. It’s a big old house, no one will hear you. You have some explaining to do to your daughter before you reach the pearly gates.”
“After it’s dark, we’ll take a road trip to the swamp,” Ryan said as he turned off the overhead light. “Friend of mine owns an alligator farm. You’ll love it there. At least, at first you will.” And he closed the door.
Chapter Fourteen
The only light in the small room came from the front-loading dryer after Zane managed to open the door that activated the interior bulb. Then he and Kinsey took turns trying to release each other’s wrists, but the tape just stuck harder the more they struggled. Frances sat nearby, oddly subdued.
“Mom?” Kinsey said. “What’s going on?”
“James is a maniac,” Frances said. “I’ve been down here for two days. He’s convinced Bill left his house and treasures to me. That’s what he and that phony nephew of his have been looking for. A will.”
“We have it,” Kinsey said.
“You do?”
“Bill gave it to me. Zane and I found it this morning.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now,” she said. “James and I signed wills leaving everything to the other right after we were married.”
“We also found a letter Bill wrote you. It was meant to be an apology because he’d betrayed your trust and told Fenwick the truth you’d confided in him. What truth, Mom? I don’t get it.”
“I do,” Zane said.
Kinsey turned to face him. “Really, Zane? You’ve figured it out?”
“Most of it. There’s something else. It’s time to start calling me Gerard.”
She stared into his eyes, suddenly understanding the difference she’d sensed in him after he recovered from the fall from the stairs. “Your memory is back?”
“Splotchy but improving. You two scoot as far over there as you can. I’m going to be making some noise.”
“It won’t help,” Frances said. “This part of the basement is as good as soundproof.”
Kinsey scooted over, as did Frances, when it became clear Zane didn’t intend to yell for help. Instead, he raised his bound legs and brought his shoes down on the open dryer door. He did this four or five times, then took a rest, breathing hard for a moment. “I know why I was in New Orleans,” he said with a glance at Kinsey over his shoulder. “I remember who sent me and why.” His gaze shifted to Kinsey’s mother. “It was to see you, Frances.”
She shook her head.
“Your daughter sent me.”
Kinsey jerked. “I sent you? Huh?”
He twisted his body around to face her. “Kinsey, I suspect this woman’s true name is Mary Smith. She’s not your mother.”
“What are you talking about?” Kinsey said, looking from Zane to Frances.
“Right before my father’s wedding, his bride showed me a letter she’d just received. It was from a man in New Orleans who used to know her family. He swore that he’d seen Mary Smith in his neighborhood. He didn’t know what name she was using, but he had heard that she worked for a rather well-known man in the area, a guy by the name of William Dodge.”
“This has nothing to do with me,” Frances said. “Kinsey, don’t listen to him.”
Zane continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Trouble was, Mary Smith was supposed to be dead. Grace had to know the truth, but she didn’t want to tell my father. She begged me to come look into it. That’s why I drove here. To find Mary Smith and hopefully, a girl named Sandra.”
Kinsey could feel the shakes starting in her body’s core. “Sandra?”
His voice grew gentle. “Mary Smith is your grandmother, not your mother. She shot and killed your father, kidnapped you and disappeared from Idaho. Then she arranged your fake deaths so the authorities would stop looking for her. That’s why your life was so nomadic, that’s why she was always anxious. She’s been running for almost twenty-five years. Your given name is Sandra.”
Frances had buried her face against her bent knees.
“Wait a second,” Kinsey said. “Your new stepmother is my...my mother?”
He nodded.
“But I have a birth certificate and a social security card saying I’m Kinsey Frost.”
“Frances, don’t you think you owe Kinsey an explanation? You can’t hide from this any longer.”
Frances looked up. Her tear-stained face terrified Kinsey. “It’s true,” Frances whispered. “After I...took you, I got a job caring for a sickly baby about your age. When she died, I stole her identity and gave it to you. I changed my name so we’d match and just avoided situations where I had to prove who I was. I did it because I had to.”
“You had to?” Kinsey repeated. “Why?” She blinked back tears. “Why?”
“To save you,” Frances whispered.
“Save me from what?”
Frances shook her head and pressed her lips together.
Kinsey’s throat tightened. “I can’t hear any more right now,” she said, and then in an abrupt turnaround added, “What about my father? I mean the one who died in a bus crash.”
Frances took a shaky breath. “Your grandfather died years before you were born. I had to give you a father. When I read about the unidentified man on the bus, I decided to use him.”
Unspent tears burned behind Kinsey’s nose. Everything was made up. Her name wasn’t her name. Her birthday wasn’t real. Her mother wasn’t her mother, the father she’d mourned had never existed. “I don’t believe any of this,” she whispered.
Zane looked at her again. “I’m sorry, Kinsey. I wish it were different. I have to keep trying to break this door.”
“I know,” she said.
Once again he raised his legs. Kinsey could only imagine the strain and stress of what he was doing as time after time his feet slammed down on the dryer door. The machine was old, but the hinges held.
He took breaks now and again, scooting next to Kinsey, putting his face close to hers. As time passed and the hope of creating some way to cut their bonds began to seem increasingly remote, he whispered into her ear, “I want you to know I love you,” he said. “If we survive tonight, I want you to be my wife.”
“But you must remember Ann
and Heidi now. Are you ready to move on?”
“I never thought I would be,” he said. “I thought I’d just hurt forever. And then I met you. I know we both need time to...adjust to everything. I just wanted you to know how I feel. I hope you feel the same way.” He kissed her gently. “I can’t bear the thought I might ever lose you.”
“You won’t,” she said. “Never.”
“Okay, love. That’s settled. Now, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to sit back to back and use each other to get to our feet. Can you do it?”
“I’ll try.”
It was harder than she thought it would be because of the muscles she needed to use that were connected to her cracked ribs, but stifling a scream of pain, she managed. “Now what?” she said.
“I’m going to sit on that damn door and you’re going to sit on my lap.”
With that, he dropped himself down hard on the dryer door. Kinsey inched her bound feet close to join him, but it proved to be unnecessary. The door groaned and ripped off of the machine. Zane fell with it to the floor. Sure enough, the metal hinge had torn away from the dryer and jutted out in all its snaggletoothed glory just waiting to saw through some duct tape.
“You go first,” Kinsey said. Zane managed to get on his knees and back up to the busted hinge. A minute later, he was free.
*
“NOW WHAT?” KINSEY SAID as they all stood. They’d removed most of the tape, but Frances had been sitting for over two days and hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in that long, as well. Moving stiffly, she drew a handful of water out of the laundry faucet and drank it down like it was champagne.
Zane caught Kinsey staring at Frances and wondered what she was thinking. Having just recovered the memories and emotions, both good and bad, that define any individual, he considered what was worse: to have no memory of what you’d lost or to have to redefine everything you thought you knew. He hoped he could help her see that many of the people and things she’d believed in were still real, but he knew it was going to take her time to work through it all. At least she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost six o’clock. Darkness was still hours away. “Is there another way out of the basement?” he asked.
Alice Sharpe Page 18
