Worth Dying For

by Beverly Barton

  “Yes, we did.” He tumbled across the bed and grabbed the phone off the hook. “Moran here.”

  “Dante, it’s Dom. What the hell’s going on? Lucie’s been trying to call you and Tessa for several hours now. And you do realize you didn’t inform us where you’d be staying. I had to track y’all down.”

  “What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

  “Yeah, something’s wrong. The whole town of Fairport got let in on the big Westbrook secret this afternoon.”

  Dante sat straight up on the side of the bed and eased his feet onto the floor. “Who and how?”

  Tessa crawled over and inched up beside him. “What is it?”

  “Somebody made a bunch of phone calls,” Dom continued over the phone. “Probably the same person who sent Leslie Anne Westbrook those newspaper clippings. Anyway, the mystery caller informed one and all that Tessa was raped seventeen years ago and impregnated by her rapist. And the caller didn’t leave anything out, including the rapist’s name.”

  Dante gritted his teeth, then reached over and put his arm around Tessa’s waist. “We’ll head home right away. Any chance we can commandeer a helicopter ride back to Fairport?”

  “I’ve taken care of that. There’s a helicopter waiting for y’all at the airport. Just get back here as fast as possible. Lucie says things are bad and getting worse by the minute.”

  Dante hung up the receiver and turned to Tessa. “We have to go back to Fairport immediately.”

  He hurriedly relayed the information Dom had given him. Tessa jumped up off the bed and began picking up their discarded clothing, her actions frantic and unsteady. Dante grabbed her and hauled her up against him. “Calm down, honey. Everything will be all right. I’m going to be right at your side, no matter what happens.”

  “I don’t care about myself,” she told him. “All that matters is Leslie Anne.”

  No, Leslie Anne wasn’t all that mattered. Tessa mattered. To him, she mattered more than anything or anyone else, just as Amy had. Whatever suspicions he now had about Tessa couldn’t be fully explored until later. Not until they took care of the current crisis. But once he reunited Tessa with her daughter, he was going to find out how it was possible that Tessa Westbrook had a birthmark not only in the exact same spot as Amy Smith, but that the leaf-shaped nevus was identical to one that had been in the crease of Amy’s inner thigh.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “SHE LOCKED HERSELF in her room and barricaded the door,” Lucie told Dante and Tessa as they rushed up the hall toward Leslie Anne’s suite. “I’ve been able to maintain a dialogue of sorts with her, but she’s angry and confused. And it doesn’t help any that we haven’t been able to clear out that three-ring circus downstairs. I believe your aunt is making arrangements for the whole lot to spend the night.”

  On the flight in from Rayville, Dante had held Tessa’s hand and assured her that she could count on him to help her through whatever she and Leslie Anne faced. And she had clung to Dante, not only in a physical sense, but emotionally, as well.

  “When we spoke to Aunt Sharon downstairs, she told us she had called Dr. Lester and that Leslie Anne and Olivia managed to persuade Daddy to take the sedative the doctor prescribed,” Tessa said. “I’m as concerned about my father’s health as I am about what this is doing to Leslie Anne.”

  “Is Mr. Westbrook still lying down?’ Lucie asked.

  “Yes, and he’s resting,” Tessa said. “Olivia is sitting at his bedside. Aunt Sharon says that Olivia has actually been quite helpful.”

  “Much to my surprise, she has been,” Lucie said. “And so has Leslie Anne. You would have been so proud of your daughter. Despite what she was going through herself, she managed to hold it together until she made sure her grandfather was all right.”

  “Leslie Anne did that?” Tessa swallowed her tears.

  Lucie eyed Dante’s arm clasped around Tessa’s waist, then gave him a what’s-going-on-here look. “Did y’all come up with any useful information in Louisiana? Any clues that might help us identify our mystery caller?”

  “No, nothing that will help us figure out who’s creating all these problems for the Westbrooks,” Dante said.

  Lucie nodded. “If you two want to take over here, I’ll go down and give Vic and a Dom a hand.” She looked at Dante. “Vic and Dom have a report for you, when you have time to sit down and go over it with them.”

  “Sure thing. Just as soon as we let Leslie Anne know we’re here,” Dante said. “Her welfare comes first, before anything else.”

  “Yes, of course.” Lucie offered them a smile. “See y’all later.”

  “Later,” Dante replied.

  Tessa smiled at Dante, loving him for caring about her daughter. Battling the tears threatening to choke her, she knocked softly on the bedroom door. “Leslie Anne, it’s Mama. Dante and I are here. May we come in and talk to you?”

  “Dante’s here?” Leslie Anne asked, a pathetically hopeful note in her voice.

  “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m here,” Dante said.

  “You know what’s happened, don’t you?” Leslie Anne spoke through the closed door. “Everybody in Fairport knows that Eddie Jay Nealy was my father.”

  “How about opening the door so we can talk face-to-face?” Dante tightened his hold around Tessa’s waist.

  Silence. Then they heard a bumping sound, followed by scraping and finally the click of the lock. The door swung open and a red-nosed, swollen-eyed Leslie Anne came barreling toward Dante and threw herself into his arms. Tessa moved aside when Dante enveloped her daughter in his big, strong arms. At that moment, Tessa closed her eyes and said a prayer of thanks that God had sent Dante Moran into their lives. He was a good man, with an understanding heart. A man capable of deep, abiding love.

  As he stroked Leslie Anne’s back comfortingly, Dante talked in a low, steady voice. “The whole town learning the truth is pretty bad, isn’t it? All your friends and their parents know what happened to your mother seventeen years ago, and you’re worried about what they’ll think and how they’ll feel about you.”

  Clinging to Dante, Leslie Anne gulped down a sob. “I knew you’d understand.” She glanced up over Dante’s shoulder at Tessa. “Mama, I know this isn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it’s not your mother’s fault.” Dante turned Leslie Anne in his arms, cupped her chin and lifted her face. “Look at me.”

  She did. He smiled at her. Tessa held her breath. And miracle of miracles, Leslie Anne smiled back at him.

  “You have people who love you, people who will take care of you and protect you,” Dante told her. “Your mother loves you more than anything. You know that. And so does your grandfather. And I care about you and I’m going to be sticking around to protect you. So, listen up, okay? It’s not going to be easy facing the world, but you’re going to do it. And you’re going to hold your head high. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “But I am ashamed of—”

  Dante tapped her mouth with his index finger. “You’re ashamed of nothing. You are Leslie Anne Westbrook. You’re beautiful, intelligent and your mother’s daughter.”

  “I wish everyone could see me as you do.”

  He caressed her cheek. “You’re going to find out who your real friends are over the next few weeks. But remind yourself as often as necessary that if anyone cuts you out of their life, it’ll be their loss, not yours.”

  “Oh, Dante. You sure do know all the right things to say, don’t you?” Leslie Anne hugged him again, then turned to her mother. “I’m sorry your trip was cut short. How did it go?”

  Tessa laughed, then reached out and pulled her daughter to her. “Why don’t we let Dante go downstairs for his meeting with the other Dundee agents while you and I have a mother-daughter talk?”

  Leslie Anne hugged Tessa, then looked at Dante. “You won’t leave, will you? You are going to stick around like you promised.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he told her. “I don’t make promises
unless I intend to keep them.”

  “I trust you,” she said. “You trust him, too, don’t you, Mama?”

  “Yes, I trust him,” Tessa replied. I trust him with my life…with my heart.

  DANTE MANAGED to avoid the Westbrooks’ guests, whom he’d been told by Hal Carpenter were in the parlor and waiting to be assigned bedrooms for the evening. Luckily the old mansion was enormous. He figured there might be as many as ten bedrooms divided among the center of the house and the two wings. When he entered the library, he found the other agents scattered about in various chairs throughout the room.

  “Sorry to have kept y’all waiting,” Dante said, then zeroed in on Lucie. “I’d like to speak to you privately, Lucie. I have a special assignment for you, concerning this case.”

  “Want us to step outside?” Vic asked.

  “No, Lucie and I will step outside, then I’ll be back to listen to what y’all have found out.”

  Alone in the hallway, Dante scanned left and right, as far as he could see, making sure there were no eavesdroppers nearby.

  “This isn’t about the Westbrook case, is it?” Lucie asked.

  “Only indirectly.” He condensed the story that Deanetta Knight had shared with him and Tessa, hitting the highlights, but giving Lucie the basic information about another young, blond girl’s body being cremated and her ashes buried in Richland Parish.

  “Oh, Dante, I’m so sorry,” Lucie said. “You’re pretty sure this other girl was Amy, aren’t you?”

  “I was until…” Until I discovered a leaf-shaped birthmark on Tessa’s body.

  “Until what?”

  “You’ll tell me I’m crazy, that I’ve lost my mind.”

  “Try me,” Lucie said.

  “I want you to find out something for me.”

  “You aren’t going to tell me—”

  “Tessa Westbrook has a birthmark identical to one that Amy Smith had and in the exact same spot.”

  Lucie stared at him, eyes wide, mouth open.

  “Say something, Lucie.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “What are the odds that—”

  “Two young blondes were found tossed out on the side of Interstate 20 in Richland Parish, less than a week apart. One was dead and the other barely survived.” Lucie took in a deep breath and blew it out on quickly. “But G.W. identified the one who was alive as his daughter and no one who knew her questioned who she was when he brought her back to Fairport.”

  “Correct.”

  “Tessa may have a birthmark like Amy, but she doesn’t have her face. Tessa doesn’t look like Amy,” Lucie said.

  “No, she doesn’t, but her daughter does.”

  “Are you thinking plastic surgery? But why would she have needed plastic surgery?”

  “Maybe she didn’t need it,” Dante said. “G.W. told everyone Tessa had been in a car wreck. That would be the perfect excuse to have plastic surgery performed.”

  “Are you saying you think G.W. purposefully identified the wrong girl and had her face altered to resemble his daughter? Is that what you want me to try to find out for you, whether or not Tessa had plastic surgery?”

  Dante shook his head. “I intend to ask G.W. that question myself, as soon as he’s rested and calm. What I want you to find out for me is Tessa’s, G.W.’s and his late wife Anne’s blood types. When I confront G.W., I want proof of some kind that Tessa—or whoever she is—isn’t G.W. and Anne Westbrook’s daughter.”

  I COULD WAIT until things settle down, but if I do that, it could be too late. I need to act very soon, while the household is in utter chaos. Although Leslie Anne managed to conduct herself quite well this evening, it was obvious to everyone that she’s teetering on the edge. And I helped add a little fuel to the fires of speculation by making a few well-chosen comments to the others, hinting that the poor child couldn’t help being unstable, all things considered. I even suggested that she should be watched closely, just in case…I didn’t use the word suicide. I didn’t need to. Everyone knew what I meant.

  Now that Tessa and Moran have returned, there will be two more people hovering over the pampered princess. She’ll be guarded more securely than Fort Knox. That simply means I will have to find a way to get her all to myself for just a few minutes. And when I do, I know precisely how I’ll dispose of her in order to make it look like suicide. Of course, I shall be devastated by the child’s death, completely heartbroken. And there will be no reason for anyone to suspect me of having lured Leslie Anne to her death.

  “THE PACKAGE Leslie Anne received was posted here in Fairport,” Vic told Dante. “Regular U.S. mail. The date and place are plainly visible on the envelope. Lucie checked the envelope, newspaper clippings and note for fingerprints before she handed the package over to you and found only one set of identifiable prints. We compared them to Leslie Anne’s and as we suspected, they were hers. The other prints were smudged, but our guess is they belonged to various postal employees. Our mystery guy—or gal—would be too smart to leave fingerprints.”

  “Okay, so we know the package was posted locally,” Dante said. “That doesn’t mean the sender lives here in Fairport. He could have posted the package here hoping to make it appear he lives in the area.”

  “I’d say the odds are he does,” Dom said. “And the odds are even greater that it’s someone close to the family. He didn’t try to blackmail G.W. or Tessa, so quick cash wasn’t his objective. Whoever sent the package and made those phone calls wants to destroy the Westbrook family.”

  “Who has reason to hate the Westbrooks that much?” Dante asked.

  “G.W. has made some business enemies,” Vic said. “But we checked out everyone who’s ever threatened G.W. personally and we came up with nothing suspicious. That leads me to believe we’re dealing with someone who has a very personal reason to want to rip the family apart. Someone who’d profit in some way by wreaking havoc on the Westbrooks.”

  “G. W. Westbrook is a very wealthy man.” Dom Shea opened a briefcase lying atop the mahogany desk, removed a file folder and held it out to Dante. “And he has quite a few people financially dependent on him. We ran a check on those people and didn’t come up with anything conclusive, but several of them have less than sterling reputations.”

  “Give me a brief rundown on each person,” Dante said. “Not including Tessa and Leslie Anne, of course.”

  “Of course,” Dom replied. “First you have Sharon Westbrook, G.W.’s only sister. She doesn’t have a dime to her name. Her brother has supported her all her life by giving her a generous allowance.”

  “How generous?” Dante asked.

  “A hundred and fifty thousand a year, plus a clothes allowance.” Dom tapped the folder against his open palm. “Sharon is a free spirit, the type who joined the hippie movement in the sixties. You know—sex, drugs and rock ’n’ roll. She changes men like she changes underwear. And word is she has a thing for younger guys. Tad Sizemore in particular.”

  Dante rolled his eyes. “Interesting, but it doesn’t give her a motive. Besides, she seems genuinely fond of her family.”

  “Next, there’s Myrle Poole. G.W. has the same allowance set up for his sister-in-law as he does for his sister. Mrs. Poole is widowed and her husband, who was a gambler, left her and her daughter penniless when he died twenty years ago. Myrle’s high society here in Fairport because she was a Leslie. Her life seems to be comprised of social functions and little else.”

  “What about G.W.’s niece, Celia?”

  “She’s been married and divorced twice and gets alimony from hubby number two, but not a dime from her uncle.”

  “Hmm…” A lot of facts, Dante thought, but nothing that pointed a finger at anyone.

  “Then we’ve got the godson,” Vic said. “Charlie Sentell works for Westbrook, Inc. and makes two-hundred thousand a year. At least this guy actually works for his money, but word is that he’s overpaid for what he does.”

  Dom laid the file folder back in the brie
fcase. “And there’s the girlfriend, Olivia Sizemore. G.W. paid for her extremely nice riverfront home, gives her a five thousand dollar a month allowance and buys her jewelry and clothes. And mama takes care of her sonny boy, Tad, out of what she gets from G.W. But mama’s not the only older lady providing him with TLC. Like we mentioned, it’s rumored Tad’s got this on-again-off-again thing with Sharon Westbrook, who is old enough to be his mother.”

  “All this information proves is that G.W. is a generous man and he’s got a lot of deadbeats freeloading off him.” Dante looked from Dom to Vic. “Is that all we’ve got?”

  “That’s it,” Dom said.

  “No proof of any kind against anyone.” Dante grunted. “Any theories?”

  “Maybe money has nothing to do with it,” Vic suggested. “Maybe it’s only personal. But either way, we’ve got nothing. I’m not even getting a gut reaction to point me in the right direction.”

  “What we need is to get a look at G.W.’s will,” Dante said. “Money can be personal. Who, other than Tessa and Leslie Anne, are named in the will? It’s possible this entire upheaval has been set up to give the old man a heart attack.”

  “Could be,” Vic agreed. “At least you’ve got a theory. That’s more than Dom and I came up with.”

  “The only way we’ll know what’s in Westbrook’s will is if he tells us,” Dom said.

  A steady knocking at the closed library doors drew the attention of all three agents. Vic, the closest to the pocket doors, slid the doors open. There stood Lucie and Sharon Westbrook.

  “Sorry to bother y’all,” Lucie said, looking straight at Dante. “I made those phone calls and expect to hear back by morning.”

  Dante nodded.

  “I ran into Ms. Westbrook in the hall and she wanted to find out if we all need rooms for the night and if anyone would like a late supper.”

  “You can go to the kitchen to eat or Eustacia can bring you a tray,” Sharon said.