“My Harrison got set up. He did,” Tillie insisted.
“Do you have any proof, Mrs. Taylor? Is it any more than what was presented in his trial? Are you, perhaps, a distraught grandmother who has only her belief in her grandson and his word?”
“For years, I have felt I have failed my boy. I know there is someone out there who knows the truth. So I figured if I gave a reward, they might come forward. That’s why I saved up my money. Now that I am able to publicize the reward, I’m gonna free Harrison.”
Kincaid read over the next statement twice.
“$50,000 reward for information leading to the killer of Officer Gregory Steiger on April 19, 2003 and the release of Harrison Taylor….”
Fifty thousand dollars. Where on earth had a woman of obvious meager means come up with that kind of money? It had been the next question presented by the reporter.
“I cleaned houses and put away every dollar I could manage,” Tillie answered. “I did what I had to do. The plain and simple fact is that justice costs money.”
“Have you had any responses?”
“Nothing that has been helpful yet,” Tillie admitted. “I tried to hire a lawyer to help me, but nobody worth a grain of salt will take on Harrison’s case. Was told it would take more than the money I got to investigate his case after all this time. I thought that if I could find the killer myself, then the authorities would have to release my boy.”
The article showed Tillie Taylor’s courage in her steadfast belief her grandson was innocent. Over the years, it had never wavered. She had worked twelve-hour days, six days a week with one purpose in mind—freeing her grandson.
Concluding the piece, Josh thought it would make a wonderful human interest story, but no more than that. He wasn’t in the habit of investigating the wrongly convicted. Not to mention, the odds that Harrison Taylor was innocent were extremely low.
There again, even if Taylor was innocent, the case was in South Carolina. It had no connection to New England and his viewers.
He clicked off the story and returned to the original email, certain he was missing something. It wasn’t like Maggie to send him something that hadn’t any relevance.
He was right. There was an attachment.
Opening up the downloaded document, it immediately had his attention. A mugshot of a young Harrison Taylor stared back at him. Underneath the picture was one word—FRAMED.
Chapter Two
Riley Ashcroft parked her fifteen-year-old Jeep under the gaslight. It wasn’t a parking space, but it would serve her purpose. It would only take a minute.
She reached for her phone and texted her cousin.
Looking up at the second-floor window of the Back Bay townhouse, the curtain swayed. A moment later, Frederick Walter Ashcroft—Freddy to family and friends—bounded out the door and plopped in the seat beside her.
“You’re late!”
“What did you expect? You only woke me up an hour ago,” Riley countered, tapping her short, neat nails on the wheel. “Besides, traffic was worse than usual.”
Immediately, Freddy began wiping dog hair off his shorts. “Geeze, cuz! You let that mutt sit in the front seat!”
“It’s Bailey’s place.” Riley shrugged indifferently. Her Jeep’s appearance mattered little this morning. “You’re lucky she likes you or you would be in the back now.”
Looking over his shoulder at the yellow lab, Freddy’s face contorted. “Did you have to bring her?”
“She goes everywhere with me on summer break. She loves riding with the top off.”
“That’s another thing…what are you doing still driving around this old Jeep? I know it was your father’s, but my God, you’ve had it since you came up here for college.”
“You forget I don’t have Daddy paying my bills.”
Her statement silenced Freddy for a moment. Despite being born into one of the country’s wealthiest families, Riley had not enjoyed a life of ease. Far from it.
She had been born a long way from the family’s Boston residence. The Ashcrofts had lived on Chestnut Street for over a hundred and fifty years, since their fortune had been made with the expansion of the railroads way back in the 1850s. The family’s name had become synonymous with Boston as much as baked beans, clam chowder, and the Boston Tea Party.
Over the decades, the family had developed strong political ties. Riley’s great-grandfather, Henry Ashcroft, served as governor during the turbulent 60s, followed by his son, Lawrence, as senator until his death in an unfortunate airplane crash in the early 90s.
Since then, the Ashcrofts had been known more for their lavish lifestyle and scandals than political accomplishments. Rumors abounded about the family, including her own father’s suicide thirteen years ago.
For thirteen years, Riley had lived with the knowledge and it tore at her soul.
She had only been fourteen at the time, but she remembered it as if it were yesterday. The papers had crucified Jack Ashcroft, accusing him of fraud and embezzling his father’s money. The FBI had investigated him. His own father had cut him off and then, Harrison had been arrested. It had been too much.
Riley remembered not believing a word of the printed lies. She believed steadfastly in her daddy until she found him with his head on his desk with the gun lying to the side. He left only a short statement on his computer…I’m sorry.
Sorry did little to compensate for her loss.
Her mother died of complications from diabetes when Riley was two; her father’s death had left her an orphan and with a tremendous amount of guilt. Nothing she had ever done had relinquished that guilt.
Long before his death, Jack Ashcroft had been estranged from his father. He had moved to South Carolina, married a local girl, and set up a law practice in Whipple, a small town outside of Charleston. He had left his old life in Boston behind.
And she had returned…
“No,” Freddy countered, his brow furrowed. “But don’t pretend you weren’t Grandmother’s favorite.”
“Favorite? Is that what you believe? I wouldn’t be in my predicament if that was true,” she stated bluntly as she put the Jeep in gear.
After waiting for a car to pass, she pulled back out into the street. The mention of her grandmother upset Riley further. Her grandmother had passed away five months ago after a long battle with cancer. Her death had only intensified the strife between her uncles and herself.
As she merged onto Storrow Drive, she glanced over at her cousin. He looked better than the last time she had seen him six months ago…right before his dad had him admitted to Harmony Hills out in Utah to address his addiction to OxyContin…right after Freddy had betrayed her trust.
Strung out, Freddy had lashed out at his father and told him that Grandmother had a will leaving Riley the home Florence Winslow Ashcroft had been raised in back in 1933. Riley had lived in the old Victorian house in Dedham for the last four years, since she had graduated from college.
Freddy buckled up and ran his hand through his disheveled light-brown hair. He needed a haircut, but he had gained weight. His face had lost the gaunt look. From his tan, Riley surmised he had been down at the family house on the Cape.
“Sorry. Guess I kinda screwed your life up telling Dad what Grandmother had done. You know I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know.”
The words hung in the air. Riley held no doubt Freddy spoke the truth. She had been there. Freddy had wanted to hurt his father. Instead, Freddy ended up in rehab and Riley was thrown to the curb, accused of trying to manipulate her nana.
Immediately, her Uncle Walter had had a new will drawn up. Moreover, five psychiatrists had visited Nana on her deathbed to testify to her mental competency.
What hurt Riley the most was she never got to say good-bye to Nana. After the discovery of what Nana intended, her uncles had denied her entrance into the townhouse.
Florence Winslow Ashcroft died the day after the new will had been filed. Riley had not been surprise
d to find that she had been left nothing.
Now, Walter wanted to evict her. She had received the order last month. In turn, she had gotten an injunction. Not that she could afford it, but she obtained a lawyer. Her lawyer said it would only delay the inevitable, but she refused to quit. Nana had promised it would be hers.
How unfair life had been! Her grandfather had died two years ago. At the time, she had assumed he had taken care of her. He had told her he had, but it turned out that wasn’t the case.
After the funeral, her Uncle Walter had taken great pleasure in telling her that her grandfather had taken her father out of his will…which meant her as well.
Riley felt that her nana’s house had been a gesture on the part of her grandmother to make up for the oversight of her husband. Valued at a meager two million, the house was a pittance compared to her grandfather’s vast holdings, rumored to have been over a billion dollars.
Despite only being fourteen years old when her father passed away, Riley had been left with the debts her father had incurred…along with the refusal of his life insurance to pay out due to suicide.
At the time, she hadn’t understood the ramifications of being poor. Her mother’s family had taken her in after her father’s death. Grandmother Carver smothered her with love and affection. Riley hadn’t realized she hadn’t any money.
It wasn’t until Grandmother Carver passed away when Riley was a senior in high school that the reality of her situation sank in. She had tried to stay in Charleston. But after Dennis’s betrayal, she needed a fresh start.
Whereas her daddy fled from his family, she sucked up her pride and returned.
“I’m going to make it up to you, cuz. It’s why I asked you to pick me up this morning.”
Riley glanced over at her lovable slacker cousin. She hadn’t heard from him since he had gotten back. Matter of fact, she hadn’t even known he had come home.
“You don’t have to apologize,” Riley said solemnly, understanding it was part of his recovery.
“I am the reason Dad is trying to evict you from Nana’s house. I have to set it right. We just need to do one thing first. Can you take me over to Roslindale for a minute?”
Riley arched an eyebrow. “Freddy, I’m not…”
“Christ, I’m not doing pills anymore. I haven’t gone back to that life.”
It wasn’t the first time she had heard those words from Freddy. He was an expert manipulator, telling her what she wanted to hear.
“Let’s just go get breakfast. It’s probably for the best we don’t discuss the matter. I have a lawyer…”
“Yeah…yeah…yeah. I heard, but you know as well as I that Dad has better ones.”
“I’m fine…”
“Will you just let me help you for once?” Freddy shifted in his seat. “Dad asked me to do him a small favor. If I do it, he’s setting me up in a waterfront condo with a job working in construction. He promised it would be beneficial to you too.”
She frowned. Her chin went up. “I don’t need or want any help from Walter.”
“You sound angry. I get it, but before you get upset, listen to me for a minute.”
Riley swerved the Jeep off the exit to Boylston Street and maneuvered it down until they came to a gas station. She pulled in and shoved the gear shift into park.
“Talk.”
Freddy exhaled and ran his hand through his thick, curly brown hair. “Dad said he would let you stay in the house for another six months. That should give you plenty of time to find a new place. He said you could keep your rental income during that period. I figure that would be enough for a down payment for a condo or something.”
Riley’s frown deepened. The last she had seen of her Uncle Walter, she had endured his ire for turning Nana’s house into rental income, renting out four of the bedrooms to friends from college.
The 1900 Colonial was much too large for one person. It had six spacious bedrooms along with a suite for live-in help. The old stables had been converted into another living area away from the main house. Riley had chosen to live there.
Renting out the rooms to her friends had allowed Riley to maintain the house. Historical homes were expensive to maintain with repairs, taxes, and utilities. Though, she would have to admit she’d come to depend on the extra money each month.
Something told Riley that Freddy had been fed the information. The question became why. She wasn’t stupid. Walter was not in fear of losing the lawsuit. Why then offer her a compromise when he had been so adamant about not giving her a penny?
Her mind swirled with troubling thoughts. She realized there had to be a catch. She looked straight into her cousin’s eyes. “What does Walter want from me?”
“That’s the thing.” Freddy’s normal cocky attitude returned. “Old Mrs. Barlow took some papers by mistake when she retired. She’s refusing to take Dad’s call. All we have to do is convince her to give them back.”
That made her smile. Walter was many things, but being subtle wasn’t one of them. She didn’t have to ask. She assumed her uncle had accused Mrs. Barlow of stealing them.
“I fail to see what I can do.”
“Oh, come on, Riley. Mrs. Barlow’s got all bent out of shape over nothing. She liked you. We’ll just go by this morning and ask. That’s it.”
“We can’t just drop by without calling.”
“I called her before we left. She knows we are coming. I think she will do it for you because she feels you guys have a bond.”
A bond? An intense dislike for the man her uncle had become? Riley considered the request for a moment. It would be nice to have her uncle off her back for a few months…if she could trust him.
She shrugged. “Okay.”
“Great.” Relief was evident in his tone. “It won’t take long and then I’ll treat you to breakfast down at the Pleasant.”
Riley pulled back out into the flow of traffic. She knew the way to Mrs. Barlow’s home. At times, she had driven the older woman home after Riley visited Nana. It had been on her way.
The weather had finally turned warm enough to take the top off the Jeep. It was one of Riley’s secret pleasures, riding with the wind blowing through her hair in the vehicle that had been her father’s.
Turning off Bellevue Street, Riley wove the Jeep down the side streets of the quiet neighborhood. She slowed down and parked in front of a lovely brick gambrel. She killed the engine.
She turned to Freddy. “So what exactly are we going to say?”
“Just ask if we can go through the papers she brought home when she retired.”
Riley climbed out and walked around to the sidewalk. Pushing her bargain sunglasses back on her head, she looked at the door, and then back at Freddy.
“What exactly are we looking for if she agrees?”
“Marked envelopes. Dad said it would be obvious. Don’t worry, I know.”
She drew in a breath and knocked lightly on the door. She was sure that Freddy had been prepped to do precisely what Walter wanted. Strange, though, it had taken so long to realize it was missing…
Freddy stepped in front of her. “I like your hair. It flatters you.”
“Figured it would be easy to take care of for the summer.”
Instinctively, Riley ran her fingers through it. She had gotten her dark-auburn hair cut last week after school let out for the summer. Wavy and fine-textured, it was unruly at best, making the shorter look a must for the warmer months.
Most days when she wasn’t teaching, she wouldn’t make much of an effort with her appearance. This morning had been different. Having carefully applied her makeup, she chose to wear a Chambray shirt tucked loosely in her white shorts with a double long necklace with an antique pendant dangling at the end.
She had taken the look from last month’s Glamour magazine and then went out and put the outfit together at T.J. Maxx. When Freddy had woken her this morning, she had mistakenly thought she was going to see her uncle.
The last thing in the
world she wanted was for Walter to believe the last months had worn on her. She had had enough of feeling small and needy.
Freddy rang the doorbell and stepped back. There was no answer. He moved up again and this time, he knocked twice.
“I thought you said Mrs. Barlow was expecting us.” Riley looked over at Freddy.
“She’s home,” he contended. “I hear the TV. Maybe she is in the kitchen. I’ll go out back and check.”
Riley leaned against the door and waited. She sighed. The day wasn’t turning out like she planned.
From the corner of her eyes, she noticed a man, quite a handsome man, strolling across the lawn toward her. He smiled. A charming, engaging smile.
He wore a Boston Red Sox cap over his sandy-blond hair, but he tilted his head in a manner that she saw a twinkle in his deep-blue eyes. Dressed in fitted jeans and a tight white Oxford buttoned-down shirt over a light, brown sports coat, he walked with confidence of a man used to getting his own way.
“Good morning.”
When he spoke, he suddenly seemed familiar, but she couldn’t put a finger on exactly why. She knew he wasn’t Mrs. Barlow’s son. Mrs. Barlow had shown her pictures of her son and his family.
Nevertheless, she returned the stranger’s smile. She gestured with her hand to the door. “I’m afraid Mrs. Barlow isn’t answering. My cousin has just gone around the back…”
“You don’t mind if I wait with you, do you?” He extended his hand to hers. “Josh Kincaid.”
A sudden heat climbed her neck and cheeks with his touch. His eyes locked with hers and she lost herself in a sea of blue. Simply mesmerized.
Somewhere, though, in the far recess of her mind, his name resonated. She had heard it before…she knew his face. It came to her.
Abruptly, she released his hand.
“I know you…you’re the news reporter.”
“I’m flattered you recognize me—”
He got no further. Both heads turned as a scream emerged from within the house. Barking madly, Bailey leaped out of the Jeep in a swift motion and raced around the house.
“Bailey!” Riley cried. Afraid she would lose her dog, she rushed after her. “Bailey, stop.”
Framed: A Psychological Thriller (Boston's Crimes of Passion Book 2) Page 2
