by Carys Jones
She wore a long turquoise maxi dress which just skimmed the floor, with her hair partly tied back so there were still some blonde ringlets cascading down her back. Her aviators were perched on her head and her blue eyes regarded Aiden nervously as she hovered by the door.
The cold, self-assured woman he had encountered at the game had been replaced by a much more anxious version of herself.
‘Come in,’ Aiden gestured once he’d remembered his manners, having gotten over the initial shock of her being there.
Deena came in, still looking uneasy.
‘Can I get you a coffee?’ he offered kindly.
‘No, thank you. I don’t plan on staying long,’ Deena told him.
They were unaccustomed to receiving visitors in the office on a regular basis, so Aiden had to hurriedly wheel round Edmond’s office chair for Deena to sit in.
She elegantly lowered herself into the chair, her hands clasped in her lap.
‘What can I do for you, Mrs Fern?’ he asked, having no idea why she’d be there.
‘I know why my husband hired you,’ she said, her voice resuming its usual coolness.
‘Why has he hired me?’ Aiden asked her, not sure if she was bluffing.
Deena cleared her throat and took a moment to answer, as though she were psyching herself up.
‘He doesn’t believe that Davis is his son,’ she told Aiden simply, giving him a long, hard, confident look. Her previous nerves now seemed to have completely disappeared.
‘A simple blood test will silence any doubts from either party,’ Aiden said as diplomatically as he could, hoping that Deena had come in to give her consent for the paternity test which would save him a great deal of headaches over the matter.
‘I have no doubts!’ Deena answered sharply.
‘Silence your husband’s then,’ Aiden offered. ‘Look, I shouldn’t even be discussing this with you as it’s your husband who hired me but to allay your fears, it’s a very straightforward test. Davis won’t feel a thing and we can have the results back in under forty-eight hours.’
Aiden had seen the way Deena put herself out for her boys at the game. Surely she’d do this one simple thing to appease her husband and secure the family’s future?
‘Mr Connelly, let me make myself perfectly clear,’ Deena began, sitting up straight in her chair, her blue eyes locking on him with frightening intensity.
‘There will be no paternity test. There will be no further investigation in to myself or my son because it is insulting to have to weather these accusations as a mother and I’m sickened that you’d entertain it for my husband, even for a second!’ her words came out angry and fierce.
‘Mrs Fern—’ Aiden wanted to explain himself but she denied him the chance.
‘Drop the case, Mr Connelly!’ she shouted at him, standing up from the chair and preparing to leave as she smoothed creases in her dress.
‘But your husband has employed my services.’
‘Then lie to him. Do what you have to but, I advise you, seriously, to drop this case.’
‘Are you threatening me?’ Aiden asked, shocked.
‘Should I be?’ Deena countered.
‘Look, Mrs Fern—’
‘Just drop the case, please!’ Deena said, her voice losing its harshness. ‘Leave me and my family alone. We’re happy; this is just a rocky patch. Samuel and I will get through it.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘Then drop the case!’ she pleaded again, her blue eyes misting over. ‘I need you to promise me that you won’t pursue this any further?’
‘I can’t promise that.’
Deena pursed her lips together as she thought hard. Aiden sensed that she had expected him to back down about the case, no questions asked.
‘Please, won’t you drop it, for me?’ she tried a different tactic, tossing her hair and batting her eyelashes at him. Aiden rolled his own eyes in response.
‘No.’
‘Really? Because word around town is you’ll do anything for a pretty blonde!’ she retorted spitefully.
Aiden recoiled inwardly from the viciousness of such rumours but didn’t let it show.
‘Word around town is wrong,’ he told her coolly.
‘Mr Connelly, please,’ she lowered herself back into her chair so that they were at eye level.
‘Please, I am begging you. This test will tear my family apart.’
‘Your husband hired me to—’
‘It’s not normal, is it, to question who fathered your two-year-old son?’ Deena interrupted. ‘Samuel is sick and he’s delusional but I refuse to let my children suffer because he is losing his grip on reality.’
‘Are you saying he has dementia?’ Aiden queried gently, confused by the whole scenario which was unfolding in his office.
‘It’s a terrible affliction,’ Deena stated, her hard exterior returning. ‘Samuel is forgetting things and lashing out at me and the boys. You saw that for yourself when you came to our home.’
Aiden felt reluctant to label Samuel Fern as suffering with dementia when the old man had seemed completely coherent when he visited him.
‘Is he seeing a doctor about it?’
‘Several.’
‘Where are they based?’ Aiden asked, thinking that before taking Deena’s word for it he’d need a professional opinion. After all, if Sam Fern did have dementia it wasn’t fair to put his whole family through further stress and turmoil.
‘They are specialists, not from round here.’ Deena waved a dismissive hand. ‘So, can you promise me you won’t take this further?’ she asked, her voice serious.
‘I can promise you that I won’t take this further until I know more,’ Aiden told her. He was unwilling to completely drop the case without uncovering more about Samuel Fern’s condition.
‘Well, thank you for your time.’ She stalked out of the office, completely composed and poised. It was though their heated conversation had never happened.
She left leaving Aiden with only his mountain of paperwork and now questions about Samuel Fern. Could the old man really have dementia and he’d missed the signs? He considered asking Buck Fern, but doubted if the sheriff would be any help. He’d withhold information just to irritate Aiden, even when the case involved his own brother.
Unsure how to proceed, Aiden did a quick Google search for dementia specialists near Avalon. There weren’t many, maybe a dozen or so.
If he completed his paperwork in time, he’d be able to make a few calls before finishing for the day.
Aiden thought he’d better text Isla to confirm what time he’d be home. As he unlocked the keypad for his iPhone, he was greeted with a picture of Meegan smiling furiously whilst she waved one of her beloved foam fingers. It was one of his favourite pictures of her as it showed a moment of pure, unabated joy.
He loved his daughter more than anything. He’d never felt compelled to query if she was his, he’d always just known instinctively that the blood which ran through her veins was partly the same as his. He assumed all fathers felt like that. A bond so strong you couldn’t see it but could never break it. So how did Samuel Fern look at one of his sons and suddenly not feel it? Maybe he really was sick and his memory, the parts which identified his children to him, were slipping away?
Either way, Aiden felt he had been drawn further into the case and things were just about to get interesting.
Chapter Four
Cradle and All
Aiden struggled over Deena’s suggestion that Samuel Fern was suffering with dementia. He replayed their meeting over in his head at home. If anything, Samuel Fern had struck him as being especially astute, not a quality you’d expect to find in a man with developing memory problems.
His search for relevant local specialists for the condition had proved less than fruitful. As he’d anticipated, no one would give him any information about a patient over the telephone. He did however manage to speak to a doctor and raise his specific query, ‘Could someone with de
mentia still identify an individual, but forget that they fathered them?’
‘So they’d believe the child to be someone else’s?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Yes, that can happen, they could assume the child belongs to someone else and isn’t theirs. Usually they forget people, faces stop being familiar, or they mistake someone for a younger version of themselves or a relative.’
‘But they aren’t aware that they are making those mistakes?’ Aiden queried.
‘Not usually, no,’ the consultant told him. Whilst his voice was kind, it was also fringed with tension, as though he didn’t really have time to spare to dwell on the hypotheticals Aiden was presenting him with.
‘I see.’
‘Mr Connelly, dementia, like all mental illness, is different with each case and can be extremely difficult to accurately diagnose. If you have concerns about an individual, I suggest you have them medically assessed as soon as possible.’
‘Can any of the treatments make a patient hallucinate or have a memory lapse?’ Aiden asked as the question formed in his mind.
‘Not to my knowledge,’ the consultant answered. Aiden realized he’d already taken too much of his time.
‘I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my questions.’
‘Not a problem,’ the consultant told him and the line went dead.
Aiden sighed and leant back in his chair. It squeaked in protest at the extra pressure. He felt unsure how to proceed with the case. If he went ahead and set up the paternity test, he risked pulling a family apart. What if it was all attributed to Samuel Fern’s state of mind? He needed to know more before he felt comfortable in moving things forward. He considered speaking with Samuel’s secretary, but doubted they would be forthcoming of any information he needed, if they’d even know it at all. He needed to speak to someone who knew him well, someone trusted, a family member.
‘Dammit,’ Aiden cussed to himself alone in the office as he realized what he had to do. He needed to speak with Buck Fern. A task which only ever filled him with dread.
*
The best place to find Buck Fern was the sheriff’s office. If he wasn’t out on patrol, then that’s where he would be.
It was a typical small town office, a plain building with windows lining the front side. A modest sign pointed visitors towards the main entrance.
Aiden parked on the equally small parking lot. He had a number of spaces to choose from; he doubted the office was ever particularly busy. Stepping out of his car Aiden shook off the still air from the drive and looked over to the entrance.
It was a hot day but the sun was long gone, replaced by a dense covering of cloud which left the air feeling thick and moist. A storm was coming. The sound of crickets usually danced on the wind but today they were quiet, already hidden away, pre-empting the angry weather which was about to rain down on them.
The storms didn’t bother Aiden too much. Meegan hated them. She’d squeal frantically at each rumble of thunder and flash of lightning. Outside of practical fears, like getting struck or a power line getting hit, Aiden wasn’t bothered by them. They could be exposed to much more adverse weather conditions, like tornados or earthquakes. So, in comparison, the storms really weren’t so bad. If anything, Aiden kind of welcomed them as the everywhere always seemed fresh and renewed once they had passed.
Taking a deep breath from the charged air, Aiden walked towards the office.
The door opened with a rusted screech and inside the air was artificially cool. Aiden almost shivered from the contrast to the mugginess outside. He approached the main desk where a middle-aged brunette wearing glasses looked up at him with disinterested eyes.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked flatly, her Southern accent thickly covering the words so that she prolonged their pronunciation.
‘I’m here to see Sheriff Fern,’ Aiden answered politely.
‘Do you have an appointment?’
‘No, I was just hoping if he was free I could have five minutes of his time.’
‘You need an appointment,’ the receptionist told Aiden sternly, her eyebrows raising behind the lenses of her glasses.
‘If you could just let him know I’m here, please, he might find the time to see me.’
She pursed her lips angrily and regarded him how an intolerant teacher would an obstinate child.
‘You need an appointment,’ she said again, slower this time, to make sure he fully caught each word. She held him in an angry gaze, her bobbed brown air framing her maddened expression.
‘Can you just tell him that Aiden Connelly is here to see him, I don’t mind waiting,’ Aiden said as he backed away to sit in the waiting area, which consisted of eight hard backed plastic chairs.
Looking back at the receptionist, he saw that her eyes had widened with surprise. Aiden Connelly was clearly a name she was familiar with. She sighed to herself, a sign of her continuing distemper, before picking up the telephone beside her.
‘Aiden Connelly,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘Uh huh, here,’ she continued after a pause.
Aiden considered the possibility that Buck Fern might refuse to even see him and then his journey would have been in vain. He hoped that the old man’s curiosity would get the better of him.
The receptionist looked up to catch his eye.
‘You can go on through to his office,’ she said curtly. Aiden nodded and stood up.
‘Thank you for your help,’ he smiled kindly.
‘Next time make an appointment,’ she snapped back in response.
Aiden found the sheriff’s office just beyond the main reception and knocked on the door.
‘Come in,’ the unmistakeable voice of Buck Fern instructed.
On opening the door, Aiden saw that the Sheriff’s office was in keeping with the rest of the building; small and worn.
Buck was sat behind a wooden desk which was very eighties in style. There was a large window on the far wall, covered with plastic blinds. The chair opposite the desk was covered in faded green fabric.
On the walls were various fishing pictures and accolades. Buck was obviously an avid angler in his spare time, something Aiden hadn’t previously known. Amongst the fishing memorabilia were also some wooden crosses and images of Jesus Christ. It crossed Aiden’s mind that such religious items probably weren’t appropriate decoration in a public office but then Avalon was considerably behind the rest of America in its mind set.
‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ Buck asked sarcastically.
‘I appreciate you taking the time to see me,’ Aiden said, trying to be gracious as he gently closed the door behind him and lowered himself into the faded green chair.
‘You show up at my office unannounced, I assume it is important,’ Buck answered tersely.
‘Well, I wanted to talk you about your brother, Samuel.’
‘I have but the one brother,’ Buck barked, insinuating that Aiden didn’t need to name him. ‘What do you want to discuss about him?’
Aiden suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He was aware that mental illness of any kind could be a very sensitive issue amongst families and he’d be unsure how to broach the subject at the best of times, let alone when he was addressing Buck Fern.
‘I was wondering if there was anything I needed to know about him?’ he said at last, settling for a vague request which was hopefully open enough that Buck might freely share the information if Samuel Fern did indeed have dementia.
‘Like what?’ Buck scoffed.
So much for tact, Aiden thought sadly.
‘Like, what sort of man is he? Any medical conditions that could impose on the investigation…’ Aiden tried to sound aloof, as though he didn’t really know what information he was trying to source.
‘He’s a rich man.’ Buck answered bluntly. ‘A very rich man. As for medical conditions, I don’t know. I reckon he’s got high blood pressure, who hasn’t at our age?’
‘So nothing serious?’ Aiden queried and
Buck’s grey eyes narrowed with suspicion.
‘What’s she said?’ he asked.
‘Sorry?’ Aiden pretended to be confused by the question.
‘Don’t play dumb. The bitch, what’s she said about my brother? What does she say is wrong with him?’ Buck was agitated as he spoke.
‘You come here and start asking questions! Don’t forget who hired you, Mr Connelly! Breaching my brother’s trust like this could get you disbarred! Haven’t you learnt your lesson yet? That when you dabble with beautiful blondes you can’t have, someone always get burnt!’
Aiden began regretting going there, feeling he was only adding to Buck’s dislike of his sister-in-law and all he was achieving was causing further animosity amongst the Fern clan. The blonde comment made his cheeks redden. It seemed everyone in Avalon had obscenely intimate knowledge of his innermost feelings for Brandy which was absurd.
‘Look.’ Aiden didn’t know what to say. He needed answers but wasn’t certain that Buck would be the guy to give them. But he had no choice, someone must know the mental health of Samuel Fern and he just had to hope it was his brother.
‘She intimated he may have dementia.’
Buck shook his head sadly and scratched his chin. His reaction surprised Aiden, he’d expected much more severe hostility.
‘Sam doesn’t have dementia,’ Buck answered, his voice low and soft, earnest. ‘I know my brother and he’s sharp as a tack, always has been. His quick mind was what helped him make his millions and he remains smarter than me, always beating me at poker. You’d think he’d let me win sometimes, since we only play for money, but no.’
‘So he doesn’t have dementia?’
‘No Mr. Connelly. My brother has many things, his mind and sanity counting amongst them. If he started to lose his grip on things, I’d be the first to notice.’
‘It’s just that Mrs Fern—’
‘She’s lying, Mr Connelly, can’t you see that? She’s backed into a corner over the paternity case and has resorted to fabricating lies about my brother’s mind.’
‘I appreciate your honesty,’ Aiden admitted.
