by D. B. Henson
They shook hands and Toni left the construction trailer. She kept her head down as she walked. She didn’t want anyone to see the silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
Toni unlocked her car and slid behind the wheel. She leaned back against the headrest and sat there for a moment taking deep breaths. She retrieved a box of tissue from the back seat, pulled down her sun visor and stared in the mirror.
She appeared to have aged ten years in the last few days. She wiped her face with a tissue and then fished around in her purse for her compact. The powder covered her tearstains, but the haunted look in her eyes remained. That was something no makeup could fix.
Toni put away her compact and flipped up her sun visor. She had reached a roadblock. Alvin Harney hadn’t seen anything. And who knew where Nico Williams was? What if Alvin was right? What if Nico was one of the transient workers? He could be out of state by now.
And there was still the matter of tracking down Gloria Keith. Toni wished she could just cut through all the bull, and confront Brian directly. Tell him she knew what he had done. She didn’t have all the pieces yet, but she knew he murdered Scott. What would Brian say to that?
There was one way to find out.
Toni slipped off her shoes and cleaned them with a tissue. Then she started her car, pulled out of the parking area and drove back down the access road.
Was she crazy? Maybe. But even if she changed her mind and decided not to accuse Brian of murder just yet, she still needed to talk with him. She wanted to find out what he was doing at the hotel the morning Scott died. She could also ask him point blank why he was contesting Scott’s will. She could tell him she knew about the judgment against him.
Brian was staying at a hotel in downtown Nashville near Chadwick & Shore. Toni pulled up to the port cochere, handed her car over to the parking valet and went inside.
The lobby was a mass of confusion. What appeared to be about one hundred senior citizens, all decked out in cowboy hats and boots, were trying to arrange themselves in groups for a tour, without much success. Toni squeezed through the crowd and stepped up to the concierge desk. The pretty blonde behind the counter wore a smile painted on with bright melon lipstick. Etched into the badge on her lapel was the name Sarah.
“Hi,” Toni said. “I’m here to see one of your guests, Brian Chadwick. He gave me his room number, but I seem to have lost it. I was wondering if you could look it up for me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to give out that information, but I can ring his room and let him know you’re here.”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
Sarah browsed through the computer records and then picked up the house phone. Toni glanced at the keypad as she dialed. 1—1—2—4. After a few seconds, Sarah shook her head and put down the receiver. “There’s no answer. Would you like to leave a message?”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just call him later.”
Toni cut back through the heard of seniors and ambled toward the door.
Then she stopped.
Maybe this was the break she’d been hoping for. Her one chance to get some hard evidence against Brian. It was risky. She had no idea how long he would be away from his room. What if he was still on the premises? He could be in the bar or one of the restaurants.
Toni circled back around the lobby. She knew Sarah had a clear view of the elevators. Toni edged between two of the groups and peeked at the concierge desk. Sarah was too busy helping a Johnny Cash look-alike to notice her. Common sense was telling Toni to leave. Go home. Seek answers elsewhere. But her heart was crying out, “Go for it!”
The elevator was filling fast. Toni glanced back at Sarah. She seemed to be wrapping up her conversation with Mr. Cash. It was now or never. Toni made a dash for the elevator and managed to slip in just before the doors closed.
Crowded between a lady carrying multiple shopping bags and a rather large woman in a pale pink pantsuit, Toni glanced at the elevator keypad. The light for the eleventh floor was unlit. She pushed the button. At least she didn’t have to worry about any of the other riders getting off on her floor.
Toni watched the digital readout above the key pad as it counted upward. 2, 3, 4. The elevator chimed at the fifth floor. When the doors opened, the lady in the pink suit pushed past her. She reminded Toni of a giant ball of cotton candy. They made stops at three other floors, emptying all the passengers except for Toni and a young couple whispering and holding hands. Probably on their honeymoon.
When they reached the eleventh floor, Toni stepped out of the elevator. Black lettering on the wall indicated that rooms 1100 through 1129 were to the left. She turned and headed for 1124. When she reached Brian’s room, she stood staring at the door. Okay. Now what?
She decided to knock. He might be back in his room by now, or he could have been in the shower when Sarah called. Toni tapped on the door. She waited a few seconds and tapped again. Still no answer. So far, so good. But how was she supposed to get in?
Toni spotted a cart laden with towels and toiletries at the end of the hallway. As she approached the cart, a middle-aged Hispanic woman in a blue housekeeping uniform came out of one of the rooms. Toni read her nametag – Rosa.
“Excuse me, Rosa?” Toni said. “I’m Mrs. Chadwick from room 1124. I’ve done the silliest thing. I was on my way to meet my husband – we’re going on a tour – and I accidentally left my camera and my key card inside the room. I was wondering if you could open the door for me.”
Rosa put her hands on her hips and gave Toni a look of exasperation. “What you say your name is?”
“Mrs. Brian Chadwick, room 1124. If I don’t hurry, I’ll miss my tour.”
Rosa looked Toni over, and then laughed and shook her head. “You need to slow down, be more careful.”
Toni followed Rosa to the room. With a quick swipe of the housekeeping card, the door was open.
“Thank you so much,” Toni said. She handed the housekeeper a tip. Rosa shook her head again and tucked the money into her pocket. Toni closed the door behind her.
The suite was small but comfortable, decorated in shades of taupe and hunter green with floral drapes and a matching sofa. A dark wood armoire housed a television and mini bar. The day’s newspaper lay neatly folded on the coffee table. She didn’t see any of Brian’s personal items.
Toni entered the bedroom. The bed was rumpled, but as in the sitting area, she didn’t see anything interesting lying around. She dropped her purse on the bed, crossed the room and slid open the closet door. Three suits hung inside along with several shirts, a couple of pairs of khaki pants, and a pair of jeans. An empty suitcase and a garment bag lay on the floor. She rifled through the pockets of Brian’s clothes, but only found some change and a parking receipt from the hotel.
She moved to the dresser on the opposite wall and pulled open the top drawer. Nothing but underwear. Boxer briefs. Ralph Lauren. The drawer below held several pairs of socks. She poked through them, running her hand underneath. Her fingers touched something that felt like a small magazine. She pulled it out. It was an envelope. The kind you get at a one-hour photo shop.
Toni opened the envelope and took out the prints. Her breath caught in her throat and she started to tremble. She sank down on the corner of the bed.
The face in the photos was her own.
Brian drove the Mustang into the parking lot of his hotel, bypassing the valet. He found an empty space and slid the gearshift into park, leaving the convertible top down. Small white clouds billowed across the turquoise sky. The mercury had risen to an unseasonable seventy-five degrees. The day was far too beautiful to waste in an attorney’s office, which was where he had spent the last two hours.
He had learned that Toni now had a new attorney in her employ. Mark Ross had brought in a probate specialist, famous for settling some of the largest estates in the south. Whenever millions were on the line, family battles usually ensued. Only in this case, Toni was hardly family.
Brian’s best
chance at claiming the estate was to find out if Scott had any former wills. There was a good possibility Brian had been named as the heir prior to Scott’s engagement. Since Toni had never become a Chadwick, the judge might be convinced to revert to a prior will.
Brian switched off the ignition and scooped the case containing his laptop computer off the passenger seat. He wondered where Toni was now. He had tried to locate her earlier in the morning using the tracking website, but the server had been down. He would try again when he got back to his room.
With shaky hands, Toni thumbed through the prints. Brian had shot the film the day of the funeral. Several of the pictures featured Toni alone, standing in her front doorway. Others included Mark holding a grocery bag. The photos that disturbed her the most were close-ups of her face.
Brian had been watching her. But why? Was he planning to kill her too?
Toni heard the door to the suite swing open.
He was back!
She jumped up, grabbed her purse and ran into the bathroom, the photos still clutched in her hand. She was trapped. She had to hide, and fast. She hopped into the tub and pulled the shower curtain closed.
Beads of perspiration popped out on her forehead and upper lip. If Brian decided to take a shower, there would be no way out. If he found her, he would probably kill her right here.
Toni heard movement in the bedroom. She had forgotten to close the sock drawer! He would know someone had been in his room. He would discover the pictures were missing.
She heard footsteps on the tile floor of the bathroom. Toni had the sudden urge to scream, but she held her breath and willed herself to remain still and quiet. She could hear glass tinkling, as if Brian was moving things around by the sink.
More footsteps, and then silence. She could feel him standing on the other side of the curtain. Could almost hear him breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest. The acid taste of bile rose in her throat.
Without warning, the curtain ripped open and Toni screamed.
CHAPTER 11
“It was awful, Mr. Ross.” Nina, the private-duty nurse, shook her head, her pudgy cheeks flushed. “Really bad. The worst spell I’ve seen.”
Mark sat close to the bed, holding his mother’s hand. Nina had sedated her, but she remained semiconscious, mumbling incoherently. In her other hand, she clutched a rag doll with yellow yarn pigtails and a blue gingham dress.
“She was screaming and pulling at her hair,” Nina continued. “She threw her water glass at me. Nearly hit me in the head.” Nina smoothed her own blonde hair and tucked in the strands that had slipped from her tight bun. “She said I was trying to kill her. That’s when I called you.”
“Thank you, Nina,” Mark said. “You did the right thing.”
He let go of his mother’s hand and pulled the covers up around her. At fifty-one, Arlene Ross had the appearance of a woman in her late sixties. Her once lustrous chestnut hair was now dull and almost completely gray. Countless lines etched the face men had not so long ago described as beautiful. Her skin had grown sallow and her frame thin. The disease that ravaged her brain was destroying the rest of her body as well.
The doctors all said the same thing.
Her dementia was the result of a head injury she had sustained eighteen years earlier while working for the Chadwicks. She had accepted the position of housekeeper and nanny when Mark was only seven. The job included room and board. Mark and his mother had moved into a small cottage on the Chadwick property. There was only one bedroom, so Mark slept on a pullout sofa bed in the living room.
The arrangement was fine for a boy of seven, but became awkward as Mark reached puberty. When his discomfort became apparent, his mother had spoken to Mrs. Chadwick. Shortly thereafter, the Chadwicks cleaned out the storage room above their garage and converted it into a bedroom. The walls were painted. Plush carpeting was installed over the worn hardwood. New furniture and drapes were purchased.
When the renovations were complete, Mark moved into the main house. He remembered lying awake that first night in his new room, pretending that he too was a Chadwick son. Not the product of a housekeeper and a drunkard killed in a bar fight.
And the Chadwicks had made him feel like family.
The morning after his first night in the house, he came downstairs intending to join his mother for breakfast in the cottage only to find a place set for him at the Chadwicks’ table. For the first time, he actually felt as though he belonged. That he wasn’t just part of the hired help. The line that divided him from Scott had begun to blur. And his mother felt it too.
“Make sure you stay on your best behavior,” Arlene said. “Mind your manners and don’t cause any trouble. They’ve accepted you. Don’t do anything to make them regret it.”
He had taken his mother’s advice. Had done everything he could think of to remain in their good graces. He and Scott grew as close as blood brothers. But his newfound kinship was not destined to last. Just before he turned sixteen, Arlene had her accident and things began to change again.
It was a Monday morning in July, the week after the fourth. Though only around nine o’clock, the air was already thick with humidity. Mark, Scott, and Brian found solace from the heat in the back-yard pool. They were in the middle of a belly-flop contest when Caitlin came running out of the house screaming. At first, they thought she was just playing. Then they realized something was terribly wrong.
Scott was first inside the house with the other two boys close behind. What they found would forever alter the course of Mark’s life. On the floor at the bottom of the staircase, Arlene lay in a pool of blood, a deep gash at her temple. A vacuum cleaner rested on the stairs a few steps above.
Arlene was in a coma for three days. When she awoke, Mark assumed things would return to normal. The doctors released her from the hospital and after a few days rest, she resumed her duties at the Chadwick home. But something was different.
The symptoms were mild at first. She would misplace things or forget to do the grocery shopping. But as the months stretched on, Arlene grew worse. One day she went to pick Caitlin up from ballet class and couldn’t remember how to get home. That night Mr. Chadwick told Mark to move back into the cottage. He needed to keep an eye on his mother. Make sure she didn’t accidentally harm herself. And although they let Arlene stay on, a few days later, a new nanny moved into Mark’s room in the main house. The Chadwicks’ trust in Arlene had been broken. The line dividing family and hired hand redrawn.
“She should be out for a least another hour,” Nina said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Iced tea would be nice.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Nina left the room and Mark rose and walked to the window. He peered through the blinds at the parking lot below. He watched a young mother strap her child into his car seat and slam the rear door before taking her place behind the wheel of her Toyota.
Mark had purchased the two-bedroom condo for his mother several years earlier. It was only a few miles from his own home in Blanton Hills. Close enough in case of an emergency, but far enough away to allow him to forget her constant agony when he so chose.
He had hired three private-duty nurses, each working eight hour shifts during the week, and one nurse who lived in on the weekends. He also employed two ladies who alternately cleaned and prepared his mother’s meals each day. They all took excellent care of Arlene. Much better than the care she had received in the nursing home. And he had set up a trust that would continue that care if anything ever happened to him.
The door to the bedroom opened, and Nina entered with a glass of iced tea and a plate covered with a thick slab of coffee cake.
“I thought you might be hungry,” she said.
“Thank you. I am a little.” Mark glanced at his watch. “You’ve had more than your share of drama for the day. Why don’t you go ahead and take off? I can stay here until Helen arrives for her shift.”
Nina placed the food on a table next to t
he window. “Are you sure?”
“You said yourself she should be out at least an hour. There’s less than two left on your shift. Go on home. You deserve it.”
“Well, I do have some shopping to take care of. But if something else happens and you need me, my cell number is on the refrigerator.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
Mark picked up the tea glass and returned to the window. He heard Nina leave through the front door. Sipping his tea, he watched her get into her Honda and pull out of the parking lot. He wondered if she had baked the coffee cake herself. Nina was a wonderful nurse, but her skills fell short in the cooking department. However, she didn’t seem to be aware of that fact. She habitually brought in desserts of one kind or another. She had made some cookies once that were hard enough to scrape ice off his windshield.
Arlene moaned, startling him. Mark left his glass on the table and sat down in the chair next to the bed. His mother tossed her head and mouthed words only she could understand. Then she began to whine. A helpless cry like that of a lost puppy.
Mark stroked her cheek. “Shhh, everything’s okay,” he said. “I’m right here.”
But he knew his words were meaningless. She had no idea who Mark was. She didn’t even know she had a son. The disease had robbed her of her memories. Had stolen her intellect. A mind that had once delighted in the poetry of Emily Dickinson now could not even comprehend the simplest rhymes of Dr. Seuss. She had trouble feeding herself and had no control over her bowels. Living had become a form of torture. There was no joy, only pain and confusion.
Spittle slid down the corner of Arlene’s mouth. Mark grabbed a tissue from the box on the nightstand and wiped her chin. She seemed to be settling back down, the demons in her head receding.
He tossed the tissue in the wastebasket and ran his fingers over her forehead. He brushed the hair back out of her face. Then he slipped his hand underneath her head and removed one of her pillows. Filled with down, the pillow weighed little more than a pound, but it would be enough.
