Return to Sender

by Fern Michaels

  Lin did as instructed. Nerves made her fidgety. If Nick only knew what was about to befall him. Shuddering just to think about it, she composed herself while waiting for Jason to explain their next move.

  He sat down in the chair next to her. From a side table he took a folder, opened it, flipped through until he located what he’d been searching for. “What I’m about to share with you isn’t public knowledge. Old man Pemberton wielded some major power in his day. He was able to keep this information out of the press. I’m not even sure if Nicholas knows the complete story. He could, but as I said, I don’t know. If he does, it won’t affect what you’re planning.” Jason continued to flip through the file, stopping to remove a black-and-white photograph. He held it out to her. “This is Naomi Pemberton before she became ill.”

  Lin looked at the picture. Will’s grandmother. She was beautiful. Dark, wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders. Perfectly arched brows topped almond-shaped eyes. Her mouth was full, almost too full. Naomi Pemberton reminded Lin of Angelina Jolie, the actress well known for her voluptuous lips. Lin thought Naomi’s eyes appeared vacant, devoid of any emotion. Empty, like two dark holes. Lin gave the photo back to Jason. “She was very striking. A shame she died so young.”

  “According to the information I have, Nick would’ve been around three or four when she died.”

  “It must have been hard for him growing up without a mother. I can’t imagine my…It’s very tragic, I would think.” She’d almost slipped but caught herself. As far as she knew, Jason was still unaware of Will’s existence. She wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

  “He was raised by several housekeepers and a few nannies. None of them stayed very long. I made a few phone calls. Three of these housekeepers and one of the nannies are still alive. They’re all in the New York area. According to the women I spoke with, Nick Sr. was a son of a bitch to work for. Each had a similar story. Long hours, barely minimum wage. Apparently, the old man forced them to have sex with him on a regular basis. He told them it was part of their duties; hence the turnover in staff.”

  Lin’s first thought was, Like father, like son. But in all fairness to Nick, he hadn’t forced himself on her. She’d been more than willing to give herself to him. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought, but then there was Will. The only regret she had was that the man who’d fathered him had never bothered to even acknowledge his existence. Lin found it hard to comprehend that he’d never once read her letters, never had the least bit of curiosity as to why she continued to write to him all those years. But then again, all she knew was that they had come back to her marked, RETURN TO SENDER.

  Lin wasn’t sure where the PI was going. “What does this have to do with Nick now?”

  Jason held up a tattooed arm. “I’m getting there. Remember, this is all about reputation.”

  She nodded. “Go on.”

  “None of the women that I spoke with ever reported Nick Sr.’s behavior to the authorities. One of the women”—he shuffled through the papers—“a Maria Torres, worked for the Pemberton family while Naomi was still alive. Apparently, the employees weren’t the only ones who were victims of his abuse. Maria said she’d observed Mr. Pemberton hitting Naomi on more than one occasion.”

  Lin’s stomach churned at the thought. What if Will were to duplicate his grandfather’s abusive behavior? My God, the Pembertons were no better than her own father!

  “When Nick Jr. was two or three—Maria wasn’t sure of his age at the time—Naomi was pregnant with their second child.” Jason paused, allowing her to absorb the information. “Mr. Pemberton didn’t want another child. He had his heir. Another child would complicate his life, or so Maria said.”

  Curious, Lin interrupted. “What happened to the child?”

  “This is where it gets nasty. Naomi delivered a daughter, but she was stillborn.”

  Lin drew in a deep breath. “That’s heartbreaking.” She could only imagine the loss Naomi had felt.

  “Medically, there was no explanation for why Naomi delivered a stillborn little girl. She went to the doctor. She wasn’t a drinker. Didn’t smoke. All the things you’re supposed to do to deliver a healthy, normal child, she did. However, she never reported the beatings she received from her husband. I would guess she was too frightened or too ashamed. Probably both. Maria said when she returned from the hospital, Naomi was never the same. She coddled Nick Jr. more than ever, wouldn’t let him out of her sight. Maria said when Mr. Pemberton was home, she would take her son and lock herself and Nick in her room.

  “This behavior went on for months. Nick Sr. decided enough was enough and put his foot down. He removed Nicholas from his mother’s room. Maria said within days of the child’s being taken away, Nick Sr. had his wife committed to an upscale institution in Vermont.”

  “How terrible for Nick. My God, his father was a monster!” Lin exclaimed. What kind of father did that to his own child? Sadly, she knew from firsthand experience. An evil son of a bitch without feelings, one like her father. She was convinced more than ever that she’d made the right decision by refusing any further financial responsibility for her father and his care.

  “It gets worse. Little more than a month later, a male nurse found Naomi dead in her bed. According to the medical examiner’s report, she died of a drug overdose.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible if she was in a hospital. Where did she get the drugs?”

  “There were others asking the same question. The official report states Naomi was given Thorazine twice a day. It’s assumed she stockpiled the drugs. Then, when she felt she had enough to do the job, she did so, causing her own death.”

  Lin shook her head. “That doesn’t sound like something a woman who goes to such great lengths to protect her son would do. Suicide doesn’t fit the person this Maria claims to have known.”

  “I agree. Maria hinted that it was possible Naomi didn’t take her own life.”

  “Why? Does she have proof?” The story was becoming more and more bizarre. Lin didn’t understand how the past events related to her current situation.

  “If she does, she isn’t telling me. At this point in the conversation, she clammed up, said she’d already said more than she should have.”

  Frustrated, Lin twisted her hands. “Then what was the point in telling you anything? I don’t get it.”

  “The point is, there’s a history of domestic violence in the Pemberton family. If this information is available to the public, it will reinforce the claims printed in the Post and the Times. Remember, it’s all about the reputation.”

  “The powerful and mighty Nicholas Pemberton could get another retraction.”

  “Maybe. But we don’t know that for sure. And even if he did, the damage is done. Not only is Nick Sr. an abuser, but he’s passed the admirable trait on to his son. Fortunately, Nick Jr. never had a son. In all likelihood, he would have continued the Pemberton cycle of abuse.”

  Lin gasped. In her wildest dreams she could never imagine Will as an abuser. “I see.” She didn’t, but there was nothing she could say without revealing her secret. Questions lingered, but she was afraid to ask them, fearing Jason would suspect she knew more than she was telling.

  “I’ll send the medical examiner’s report to my source at the paper. I’ve located some Pemberton family photographs to accompany the report. If my plan goes as expected, Nick’s reputation will go right down the tubes. I don’t want to do anything else just yet. I want to wait and see what kind of reaction we get.”

  “Who will give you that information? It’s not like you have a plant, or whatever they call them, in the Pemberton office, or do you?”

  Jason winked at her. “Don’t be so sure of that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? You can’t just…say something like that and not back it up, explain it, whatever you want to call it!” Lin challenged.

  “I can, and I did. Listen, the less you know about the inner workings of this investigation, t
he better off you are. As I said, you’ll have to trust me, Lin. I’ve been doing this for a while. I know what I’m doing.”

  “I’m sure you do, but remember I’m the one who hired you. If you’re doing something…underhanded, I think I should know. You know, just in case.” The words were barely out of Lin’s mouth when she realized what she’d said. “I meant…Oh, who knows what I meant? I’m digging a big hole for myself here, and it doesn’t look like you’re going to help me dig my way out.” She shook her head, a sardonic grin lifting the corners of her mouth.

  “Private investigation is oftentimes a sneaky and, yes, underhanded business but legal. I’m not breaking the law, Lin. You’ll have to take my word on that. Besides, I’ve never asked exactly why you want to ruin Nicholas”—Jason extended his arms, palms facing forward—“and I don’t need or want to know now. It’s your business. I guess what I’m trying to say is, let me do my job. If and when the need arises and you need to worry, I’ll let you know in plenty of time,” he said.

  Lin felt like a schoolgirl who’d been chastised by the principal. “I got it. I apologize. In my own defense I guess the only excuse I have is that I’m new to the game.”

  “Hey, no big deal. Stuff happens. You don’t understand, you ask me, and I’ll explain, or at least as much as I consider necessary. I do have my sources to protect.” Jason flashed a smile so big and bright, Lin couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Fair enough. What about Naomi’s death? If it wasn’t accidental, shouldn’t there have been an investigation? I can’t imagine sweeping something like that under the rug. If you know something about that, then it’s your duty to inform the authorities so justice can be served. Killing someone is never an option and should not go unpunished.” Lin felt such outrage, she was sputtering.

  “I’m checking into that, too. I’m working on locating Naomi’s former doctor. Maybe he’ll be able to fill in some of the blanks. Naomi had two private nurses attending her while she was at the hospital. I’m trying to locate them also. If we’re lucky, they’ll talk, unless someone else got to them first. If they won’t talk, I’ll give this information to the police, and they can take it from there. There is no statute of limitations on murder.”

  It sounded so cut and dried to her. Was it possible that Will’s grandfather had had his wife murdered? Could his beatings have caused their child to be stillborn? Lin needed answers. She couldn’t ask Jason to find them unless she was willing to share her true story. And if she did, she would put Will at risk for the public to speculate that he, too, could become an abuser. Even worse, her life’s lie would be uncovered. She had to keep her goal in mind. She was there to ruin Nick Pemberton’s life big-time, then return to Dalton and resume a quiet, normal life, knowing she’d gotten the revenge she longed for.

  Lin stood up, brushing imaginary lint from her jeans. “So now we wait?”

  Jason stood up next to her. Placing his arm at the small of her back, he led her out to the small hallway and back to the reception area. Mabel Dee sat at the desk.

  “Mabel, this is Lin. She’s a new client. Lin, this is Mabel Dee, secretary extraordinaire.”

  Lin held her hand out to the impeccably dressed woman, surprised Jason employed a woman her age. With steel gray hair in a youthful pageboy, a round face with a beautiful peaches-and-cream complexion, a sharp black suit with a frilly turquoise blouse, the woman had to be in her seventies, at least.

  “Pleased to meet you, Lin. If there is anything you need that cartoon man can’t help you with, let me know.” Mabel Dee winked at her employer.

  Raising her brow, Lin looked at Jason. “Cartoon man?”

  “It’s Mabel’s pet name. Ignore it.”

  “Of course,” Lin replied, smiling at Mabel.

  Jason turned to Lin. “For the next couple of days it’s a waiting game. Do some shopping. Take in the sights while you can. As soon as I know anything, either Mabel or I will call you. Let’s get a taxi to take Ms. Townsend home. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “I will. Thank you, Jason. I…just thanks.” Lin couldn’t put into words what she really wanted to say, but maybe someday she would be able to. This man was the perfect instrument to use to exact her revenge. Lin figured Jason’s feelings about Nick were a bonus. All she could do was wait. She wasn’t ready to hit the streets on her own. Maybe another day.

  The Monday following the disastrous dinner at Nick’s club, Chelsea decided that she needed to speak with Nick’s doctor. She was his wife; she needed to know exactly how sick Nick really was. Something told her that her husband wasn’t telling her the complete truth. She found Evan Reeves’s number on Nick’s prescription bottle. She wasn’t worried about Nick catching her on the phone, because last night, while he was taking a shower, she’d taken his bottle of Ambien and crushed three ten-milligram capsules in a cup of hot tea. She’d liberally poured on the honey and lemon to mask the taste, but Nick had been in such high spirits after a fairly good day that he hadn’t questioned her bringing him the hot drink.

  She dialed the number from the prescription bottle. “I need to speak with Dr. Reeves. Yes? Well, no, I’m not a patient. My husband is. Nicholas Pemberton. Yes. Yes, I’ll hold.” Chelsea peered down the hall just to make sure there was no sign of Nick. With Nick, one could never be too sure, drugged or not. The man was like Arnold Schwarzenegger’s character in The Terminator. With every attempt on his life, he came back better and stronger than ever.

  “Dr. Reeves, hello. Yes, this is she. No, no, Nick is fine. I just had a few questions. You see Nick doesn’t tell me anything about his illness. I know he has leukemia, but that’s about it. I want to help him, but I can’t if I’m not armed with information. I guess what I really want to know is exactly how sick my husband is.” Chelsea crossed her fingers, praying the good doctor was about to offer her his sympathies.

  “Actually, Nick is doing quite well. When we tested his blood and did another bone-marrow examination last week, his blood tests were fairly normal, so I gave him a four-week reprieve from the chemo. I think he needs to gain some weight, get his strength back. While he certainly isn’t out of the woods, he’s making remarkable progress.”

  Chelsea felt like crying. That was not what she wanted to hear. “So, then, he’s not dying?” She faked a crying noise.

  “I didn’t say that, Mrs. Pemberton. The chemotherapy is doing what it’s supposed to do. Nick’s body can stand the four-week break. In no way is he out of the woods. His type of leukemia moves quickly and can be deadly. Let’s just look at this as a respite for your husband. Chemo is very hard on the body.”

  He could die? Chelsea wanted to jump up and down like a child, but refrained. “Are there symptoms I should look for? Something to indicate he’s getting sicker?” She knew she sounded like an idiot, but just then she didn’t care, as it was to her advantage to play stupid. She was sure she could get more information out of the good Dr. Reeves by acting naive. And Nick thought it took a college degree to make one smart. If only.

  “He’ll tire out easily. He might even be short of breath. Trust me, Mrs. Pemberton, your husband is very well informed about his illness. If he should take a turn for the worse, he’ll know.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Reeves. I feel much, much better knowing Nick is aware of the seriousness of his disease. He sometimes makes light of things.” She paused. “Yes, I’ll call if I have any more questions. Thank you, Doctor.” She hung up the phone. Chelsea knew her smile was as wide as the moon. Good old Nick might not win this battle, after all. She couldn’t wait to see him fall from grace, couldn’t wait to get control of his fortune.

  She was already visualizing his funeral. She’d wear Chanel, of course. And one of those black lace things to hide her face. If possible, she would have the services at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The irony, she loved it! Most likely it would be a full-court press. Foreign dignitaries had attended his father’s funeral; no doubt they would feel obligated to attend Nick’s as well. The vice pres
ident might even show up again. It could be the social event of the season. If she played her cards right, she just might attract a future husband, if she wanted one, while putting dear old Nick six feet under.

  Chelsea had plans. She wasn’t about to let Nick ruin them by living.

  Determined not to sit still and idly watch his life go by without a fight, Nick planned on staying one jump ahead of his disease. He’d spent plenty of time reading the books Dr. Reeves had suggested; he’d even joined an online support group. Chelsea would have a blast making fun of him if she found out. Nick didn’t plan on her doing so. The subject of bone-marrow transplants had been weighing heavily on his mind. What would he do if it came to that? Since he had no siblings or children, the likelihood of finding a suitable match in a short time didn’t look good. He’d read about the National Marrow Donor Program registry. After he read what the odds were of finding a suitable match, an idea planted itself in the back of his mind. If it came down to the point that he needed a transplant, he was going to do whatever he could to plan for such an event. He was about to put the Pemberton family’s money to good use.

  Nick Pemberton was going to start a bone-marrow drive. And the winning match would be rewarded with a very large sum of money. A business venture, if you will. It would be the biggest recruiting drive in Manhattan. Hell, he’d get NYU involved. They owed him for that freshman banquet. It would be perfect. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. Knowing there would have to be an incentive for a bunch of healthy college students to offer to donate their marrow, Nick was going to lure donors in with the promise of the good old green stuff. Cold hard cash. He’d figure out the amount, maybe enough to cover the cost of an iPod or one of those new iPhones. That, of course, wouldn’t be the main attraction. If a match was found, Nick would offer the donor ten million dollars. Yes, that was a nice figure. Who wouldn’t give up a few blood cells and marrow for the chance at ten million bucks?

  “When you’re good, you’re good.” Nick spoke out loud. He had almost four more weeks before his next treatment. Enough time to find some lucky bastard who might very well just save his life.