But Christ, I didn’t want it to end.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Chloe asked, and I nodded. She placed a bookmark in the book she was reading, putting it down on a coffee table next to the armchair. My eyes went to it, and I grimaced when I saw the title. It was Jane Eyre. The whole hidden room thing in the book hit a little too close to home at the moment, and it took all I had in me to stop thinking about the hidden attic room Chloe had found a couple of days ago.
“Yeah,” I finally replied, managing to tear my eyes away from the book. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Figured this was the safest place to do that without... y'know, raising any suspicion.”
Her smile was a little uncomfortable and she slid over to the arm of the chair so I could sit down. I did as she wanted, but instead of letting her sit on the overstuffed arm, I pulled her into my lap. Chloe giggled and put up a bit of a play fight, but in seconds, she was settled comfortably on my lap and snuggling close. I got the feeling she loved these moments when it was just the two of us, feeling each other's bodies pressed together. I loved them, too.
More than I could possibly tell her.
“It's about the talk we had in the park.” I decided to cut straight to the chase, because there was no point in messing around. Chloe stiffened in my arms, and I turned her over so she was straddling me. Her lips parted with a small, soft moan, and I crossed my arms behind her back. “I know it's been bothering you. You don't have to lie to me. I just want to get to the bottom of this so we can finally leave it be.”
“You mean my night at the murder house? Or the actual murder?” she asked.
“Both,” I said before explaining my thought process from the other night and how I was no longer sure her father was really guilty.
“You really think he might actually be innocent?” Chloe asked with wide eyes when I was done.
“Maybe, and I can't let my mom rest in peace if I don't know who the true killer is. If your father is innocent, that is,” I explained, and Chloe looked away guiltily. Before she could go on, I raised a finger in the air to quieten her. “And Chloe, for the last time, it wasn't you. You had nothing to do with it, so stop wondering if you did. Although I do wonder if you saw something at the house that night; something the killer doesn’t want you to remember.”
“But...” she protested, but I wasn't having any of it.
“No buts. You didn't do anything wrong,” I said. I grasped her wrists in my fingers and she let me, her guilty eyes finding mine. “I know you, Chloe. We’ve been through this already. You wouldn't hurt anyone, and you didn't have anything to do with it. And that's fucking final.”
She pouted for a second, then sighed deeply, and it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off the both of us. “Okay,” she said. “Let's say, for a minute, I believed I had nothing to do with it, and it wasn't my dad either.”
Her hopeful eyes connected with mine, and I nodded gravely. “Right.”
“So who was it, then?” she asked me pointedly. “Who had the motive, the time and the access to that house to kill Catalina and pin it on my father? Who even knew Catalina was staying there?”
We sat there in silence, mulling over the answer. My fingers were drawing circles down her back distractedly, and she leaned into my touch as we contemplated what the answer could be.
“Let’s just look at it in a practical way,” Chloe finally said. “Don’t judge me, but I love crime shows. Anyway, I remember someone saying in an episode of something I watched a while ago that most violent offenders tend to be males aged between eighteen and fifty.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down much.”
She sighed. “I know. It was just an idea.”
She was trying so hard to help; I couldn’t shut her down so quickly. “You’ve got a point, though,” I said. “Let’s think of people who fit that profile. Most obvious suspects first.”
“Okay.”
“Well, it wasn't my dad,” I said. “He despised my mom for leaving us all those years ago—but only sometimes. Deep down, somewhere in a very dark place he preferred to hide from everyone...” I tore my eyes away from Chloe and looked into the empty fireplace across the room. “I think a part of him still loved her, despite everything she did to us.”
“Yes, I understand,” Chloe said softly, and now it was her turn to stroke my arms gently. “He had an alibi too, right?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, trying to recall it. “He was out of the country on a business trip the night mom was murdered. The police confirmed everything. They had witnesses.”
“So obviously it must've been someone else,” Chloe said, her voice soothing to my troubled mind. “But who the hell could it be?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. There was a long list of people who didn’t like my mother, given what she was like,” I said. “But they were all cleared by the cops during their investigation. All had alibis.”
“Yeah, I know, I remember that from my dad’s trial,” Chloe said quietly. “So we really need to look for someone who was never questioned about it at all.”
“Yep.”
I had no idea who it could be, and the more I thought about it, the more I thought I'd never be able to figure it out. But then a memory appeared in my mind, clear as crystal, and I sat up straighter. I couldn’t believe this hadn’t occurred to me before now.
“What about the conversation we had in Andaluz the other day?” I said, and Chloe's gaze shot up. We'd been so wrapped up in one another and our own worries that we'd never even spoken about Catalina's other baby—my half-brother, who I never knew.
“What about it?” Chloe asked. I could practically see the cogs turning in her head. “Do you think it could've been the father of that child? Like maybe he found out she had his baby and gave it up without letting him know?”
I shook my head. “I don't think so,” I said. “We don't know who the father was. She was having a lot of affairs back then. I don’t think he even knew she fell pregnant, whoever he was.”
“Oh, yeah. And your dad said Catalina didn’t even know who the father was, right?” Chloe asked, and I shrugged.
“Yeah. I don't think she did,” I replied, and the words cut me like a knife. Talking about my mother this way and admitting she was so flawed was really getting to me. I couldn't have talked about it with anyone other than Chloe, and even now, I found I was touchy about the subject.
“So it's doubtful this man would know, either,” Chloe said in a calming voice, and I couldn't help but look at her from the corner of my eyes. She was so caring, always making sure I was all right. I guess it was touchy for the both of us, what with the victim being my mother and her dad sitting in prison for the crime. But we were getting through it, and it finally felt like we were making some progress, talking about what might’ve transpired that night a year ago.
“Even if he did, I doubt he'd come back eighteen years later for revenge,” I said, and Chloe nodded gravely, agreeing with me.
“Yeah.”
“Anyway, what about the kid?” I said, getting back to the reason I’d brought up the Andaluz conversation. “I was thinking he might have something to do with it.”
Chloe nodded vigorously, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, god. Yeah. The baby that was adopted out must be around my age now, right?”
“Yeah, Dad said they were looking for Christmas decorations when they found Catalina in labor, so the baby must’ve been born around then. And it was the same year you were born,” I said. “So right now he’d be a few months shy of eighteen. Maybe he finally found out about what my mom did, and he was pissed she abandoned him. That’s a strong motive right there.”
“That's possible,” Chloe said. “But we don't know who the kid is. We don't know if he's even aware who his real mother is.”
“True,” I replied with a nod. “But I don’t think it would be too tough to find the child. Dad said he handled the adoption and helped the kid get a good life with someone he knows, right
? I’m guessing it’s someone from Claremont Bay. So how many seventeen-year-old guys live around here that might fit the description?”
Chloe gave me a doubtful look, and I sighed, knowing it could be an impossible mission to find the right child in a place like Claremont Bay. Even if he was adopted by a wealthy friend of Dad’s, chances were the kid never learned the identity of his true mother—he might not even know he was adopted.
“I have an idea,” Chloe said, her eyes shining bright. “Your dad donates a lot to Wesley, right? As an alumni.”
“Yeah,” I answered, nodding slowly. “Why do you ask?”
“He probably gets all the school materials then, as a thank you.” She was rushing to get the words out and it was obvious there was an idea there. “Yearbooks, too?”
“I think so. He wouldn’t bother looking at them if they did send them, but his assistant probably files them away for him anyway.”
Her eyes were burning bright as she climbed off my lap. “We could go through them if we can find them. Find everyone of the appropriate age and scour the pictures, see if we find anyone who maybe looks like you or your mom.”
“It'll be like finding a needle in a haystack,” I warned her. While I knew I was attractive, my looks weren't so hard to come by—tall, dark and handsome was basically a prerequisite of any male in Claremont Bay. Furthermore, we had no proof that the adopted kid was even living in the city; that was just a hunch. He and his adoptive family could actually be anywhere in the world. Also, even if they were in Claremont Bay, the kid could’ve attended another school, because it wasn’t like Wesley was the only one. It was just the most exclusive, that was all.
“I know,” Chloe said. “But I can’t think of anything else, and I’ll go stir crazy if we just sit around and do nothing.”
I pondered the thought and found myself agreeing.
I left Chloe with a fleeting kiss on her full lips and headed into my father's capacious file room, which backed onto his study, where I could hear Alex hard at work sorting through papers. Luckily my father was out, as I assumed he'd be none too pleased about me rummaging through his things. I wasn’t sure exactly where to look, but it didn't take me too long to find several stacks of packages his personal assistant had stored in a filing cabinet. I went through them until I found the yearbooks for the last three years at Wesley, and then I took them back up to Chloe.
She was standing by the window, her hands poised on the windowsill as she looked outside. She looked stunning this way, with the soft light of the dying day falling on her porcelain skin. She looked at me over her shoulder and smiled sweetly, and something inside my stomach fluttered at the sight.
"Any luck?" she asked, and I forced myself to switch to the topic at hand. There was no time to waste; we needed to get to the bottom of this once and for all.
"Yeah, I got them." I handed her the yearbooks and once again, we settled in the armchair. There were bigger sofas in the room, but we didn't bother with those, because I loved the comfort and closeness of her when we were sitting like this.
"I guess we only really need to look at the seniors who just graduated this year, seeing as they’re the right age," I said, flipping open the yearbook from the current year.
Chloe nodded, and we rifled through the pages for a moment without much success. As we were about to turn to another page, my eyes paused on a familiar face, and I frowned. "Hey, it’s him. I forgot he went to Wesley.”
Chloe peered at the photo I was looking at. “Oh, cool. That’s a nice photo of him. But he’s not our guy, obviously. He looks nothing like you or your mother. Unless…”
My father's words suddenly echoed in my head as I remembered our conversation in Andaluz, and a revelation struck me. Apparently Chloe was experiencing the same thing, because her voice had just trailed off mid-sentence.
I exchanged a long look with her, and her eyes were as wide and shocked as mine.
"Do you think it could be him?" I finally asked. “Because the more I think about it, the more it seems completely fucking obvious. Especially with what happened to you near Andaluz.”
Chloe nodded shakily. “Yes. It all makes sense if it’s him. I can’t believe I didn’t put any of this together before now.”
I closed the yearbook and lifted her off my lap. "Same. Let’s go find the bastard.”
"Alex?"
Chloe's hand found mine behind my back as we stood in the doorway to my father’s study, and I noticed she was trembling slightly—this confrontation was taking its toll on her already, and we hadn’t even started yet.
Alex looked over his shoulder and grinned at us. "Hey, guys. What's up? Need help with something?"
I looked for signs in his face. A hint of maliciousness, a trace of evil in his handsome features. Could he really be a killer? And could he really be my half-brother? It seemed almost impossible to believe. We didn't look anything alike, what with Alex's fair coloring and sweet nature. He was a nice guy whereas I was probably the biggest dick at Wesley in my time. However, he could’ve easily inherited his looks from whoever his father was, rather than my mother, and the odds were there, so we were about to set things straight once and for all.
"We need to talk to you," I said. Alex’s expression only faltered a little, though a look of obvious worry crossed his face for a second. "Mind if we sit down for a second?"
He nodded, so Chloe and I settled on the sofa while he took one of the chairs at the deep mahogany desk.
"What's this about?" he asked with a raised brow, and Chloe and I exchanged a worried look. She looked so shaken up that I wasn't sure if she'd even be able to talk, so I began the conversation. I hoped I didn't sound accusatory or nasty, because I didn’t want to risk setting him off if he was guilty of something, but at the same time, I was desperate for the truth.
"Alex,” I began. Chloe's hands tightened in her lap. "I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“A week or so ago, my father spoke to us, and we found out some…things. Serious things."
He frowned. "What things?" he asked.
Was I imagining it, or did his hands tighten on the stack of papers he was still holding in his arms? His knuckles had whitened, but I wasn't sure whether it happened because of my question or if the papers were simply slipping out of his grasp. Suddenly, I wished I'd brought something to protect us with. What if it was true? What if Alex was truly the adopted son, and he killed my—our—mother?
"My father told us something about my mother. Something we think you might already know," I said. "He told us she gave birth to a child around Christmas a few years after I was born."
"Weren't you born around Christmas, Alex?" Chloe added in a shaky voice. "I remember you telling me that a while ago."
"The child was a boy," I went on, without waiting for a reaction from Alex. "My mother abandoned him, just like she did with me and my father a few years before. No one knew who the father of this new baby was, so my father couldn’t contact him. So it became his responsibility to find a good home for the child.”
"You're adopted, aren't you, Alex?" Chloe suddenly blurted out. Her hands were shaking badly in her lap, and as she reached up to tuck a stray hair behind her ear, her eyes flitted to me nervously before looking back at Alex. “You’re the baby Catalina left behind, and you figured it out a while ago, didn’t you?”
Alex’s face remained impassive. “What makes you think that?”
“You were born at the right time. And you’ve seemingly always had a connection to Briarwood.”
"Yes. It almost seems like my father is your guardian angel," I added, and Alex's eyes went back to mine. He was sitting in the chair stiffly, his posture rigid as he stared at me. He still hadn't said a word, but I could tell we were on to something.
"You're the head landscaper's son," Chloe said. "He doesn’t earn enough to afford a private school, yet you've gone to the same exclusive schools as Asher. You told me and Mercedes a while ago that you were a
scholarship student…but I just looked it up before we came in here. Wesley doesn’t offer any scholarships. And you’ve been working here with Robert this summer, too. So you had all the opportunities, the education, and the things we were privy to. How, Alex?”
“Could it be that my father has been secretly helping you and your family all these years because he knew who you really were and felt guilty about it?" I added.
"I..." Alex swallowed a lump in his throat before speaking again. "I don't really know what to say. Even if I am who you say I am—the kid your mother abandoned—why does it matter? Why do you care so much? Are you that desperate for a new brother? Because I somehow doubt that.”
“I think you know why it matters,” I said through gritted teeth.
“No, I really don’t,” he replied, his voice steadier and distinctively cooler now.
“Then let me spell it out for you. We care because we think the adopted kid might’ve had something to do with my mother’s death,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “There’s a pretty obvious motive. And someone—we assume the real killer—has been stalking Chloe and attacked her the other night. She saw some blond hair sticking out of his hood, and you’re blond. He was about six feet tall, and you’re around that height. You were also in the dining room when my dad said we were going to Andaluz that night. So you knew where we were. You could’ve followed us there and then waited till you got Chloe alone.”
That little detail had been bothering me for a while now—how Chloe’s masked assailant had known she’d be at or near Andaluz that night. This was the only explanation that made sense. It had to be Alex.
He stood up all of a sudden, and so did Chloe. My heart pounded loudly in my chest as I jumped up too, standing in front of her protectively. Alex was tall and strong, but I wasn't about to allow him to hurt Chloe. I had a couple of inches and several pounds on him, and I was prepared to take him down for so much as looking at her the wrong way.
Scandal (A Dirty Money Novel) Page 17
