by Dara Girard
Enslaved? She was free? It was her? “Yes,” Joscelyn said, no longer focusing on the conversation as blood-chilling anger slithered over her skin. She would make Catherine regret setting foot back on American soil.
54
“I know the reason for all our recent trouble,” Joscelyn said.
It had been years since the three sisters had been in the same room. Today they sat in Joscelyn’s sitting room. Outside a bright moon hung in the sky, inside a tense energy filled the air. Marie refused to eat any of the elaborate snacks laid out on the table and Lorna couldn’t stop.
“Trouble?” Lorna said, munching on a carrot, wiping tears from her eyes. “You call the destruction of my marriage a bit of trouble?”
“You think that’s anything?” Marie said. “I’ve lost all my money, I had to beg a drug dealer not to force Aaron to work for him and pay off a debt one of the girls I help owed.”
“It’s because we’re under attack,” Joscelyn said. “We have to be extra careful.”
“Attack?” Lorna asked.
“Why?” Marie asked.
“Someone doesn’t like us very much,” Joscelyn said.
“Who?” Marie said outraged. “I haven’t done anything. I’ve spent the last several years trying to help people and—”
“And you think you deserve a gold star or something?” Joscelyn said with a sneer.
Marie folded her arms. “Why are we here?”
“Do you want me to charge interest on the loan?”
Marie let her arms fall. “I shouldn’t have asked you.”
“But you did,” Joscelyn said in a low voice, then pinned her sister with a fierce look. “Some things cannot be changed.”
Marie let her gaze fall.
“He took my girls,” Lorna said. “I can’t believe Greg left me and took the girls with him. They need their mother. How could he do this?”
Joscelyn crossed her legs and leaned forward. “I may be able to get them back for you.”
“How?”
“You said we’re under attack,” Marie said impatient. “By who?”
Joscelyn leaned back with a satisfied smile of triumph. “If I’m correct, you’ll find out very soon.”
55
The sight of three dozen yellow roses in her bedroom was a surprise. Catherine walked up to one bouquet and read the note:
To my darling daughter Evelyn. Much love, Mom
Catherine took the card and found Vera in the kitchen washing out a tea cup.
“What’s this?” she asked holding up the card.
Vera turned to her and beamed. “Because you’re so wonderful.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
Vera wagged a finger at her. “It’s just like you to be so humble.”
What was she talking about? “I really don’t—”
“Okay, okay. We’ll pretend that you didn’t convince one of your friends to come by my office today and make a generous donation.”
An icy prickle of fear coursed through her. She didn’t have friends. She couldn’t afford to. “Friend?”
“Yes, Joscelyn Payton.”
Joscelyn had gotten to her? “She saw you?”
“Yes.” She hugged her. “You don’t have to pretend that you didn’t put her up to it. She’s not known as the most generous woman. But I guess her mother’s sickness has changed her.”
Catherine started. “Her mother’s sick?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
Catherine could only manage to shake her head.
“Yes, cancer. It’s terminal. She seemed very distraught, which is understandable, but I didn’t think she’d share so much with me.”
“How long does her mother have?”
“Months.”
Mummy was sick? The ten year old who still lived inside her raged against the thought. How could she be sick? In her mind her mother had seemed invincible. She couldn’t be sick. She couldn’t die. Not yet. She was supposed to live a long life. She may never see her again. She hadn’t realized how much she wanted that, until now. She wanted to see her stepmother’s face again and say ‘Mummy, I’m home’ and be held in her embrace. But would she care? Was it best to leave things alone?
How was she taking all that was happening to her daughters? Was that making her illness worse? She’d hoped to punish her sisters, not her mother. Catherine stopped her rapid thoughts. Why had Joscelyn told Vera about her mother? She knew her sister was usually a very private person. Had she told her on purpose. And why?
Why had Joscelyn given Vera a check? What was she up to? What was her plan? She knew she’d made an enemy, but hadn’t expected the next move to be this. What game was she playing?
Catherine knew the answer didn’t matter. The fact that Joscelyn had approached Vera was a sinister sign. She knew her sister wasn’t above hurting others and she wanted to keep Vera and Noah safe. Now the clock was ticking. Her mother was dying.
She didn’t have the time she needed to put together a grand plan, she had to face her now and she needed help.
Desperation. That was the only reason she’d contacted Tytus. She had to expose Joscelyn’s true nature and tell him the truth. She leaned against a column in the atrium of the National Museum of Natural History in the rotunda where a giant elephant looked as if it were ready to roar.
She’d sent him a text and he’d replied, but she wasn’t sure he’d show up. He could change his mind at the last minute. He hadn’t been convinced the last time she’d hinted at Joscelyn’s nature and she may not be able to convince him now, but she had to try. She straightened from the column when she saw him enter the museum, his big, powerful form making its way easily through the crowd of people. Don’t make me part of your game. He was right, she’d selfishly brought people into her quest for vengeance—Jason, him, Noah and Vera—and she had to stop before someone else got hurt.
“So what’s this about?” he asked, looming over her.
She headed down one of the corridors not having the courage to look up at him. “I need to tell you all that I know. I—”
“Wait,” he said taking her hand and stopping her. “Why do you look terrified?”
Because I am.
“What’s happened?”
She bit her lip. Too much.
“No matter what you tell me, I won’t hurt you. You’re safe with me.”
Safe. When was the last time she felt truly safe? She glanced down at his hand for the first time not frightened by the feelings he ignited in her. She wouldn’t run anymore. “You’re right,” she said in a low voice. “We did meet before. I was a slave for over ten years when I met you.”
“A slave to what?”
“People. I was property.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
She lifted her gaze, a wry grin on her face. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to.”
“You were a slave? A real slave?”
Are there fake ones? She nodded.
“Where?”
“Many places. Nigeria, Germany, England. That’s where you met me. I’d recently escaped from my last mistress and was being held by Robbie and Faye. I finally left them and was found by two kind women. That’s where I met Evelyn. She worked for them.”
Tytus rubbed his forehead, glancing down the corridor before looking at her again. “Wait, you mean you were an actual slave?”
Catherine sighed. If he couldn’t get past that, how could she tell him the rest? “Yes.”
“I knew you were in trouble. You looked so scared. You said I frightened you.”
“You did. When you’ve seen what I have, you learn to be frightened.”
“I could have helped you.”
“I wouldn’t have trusted you.”
“How did it happen?”
“I was sold as a little girl. When I saw your brother, I felt a connection to him. I could tell he’d been enslaved too, in another way. That was our bond. I wanted to help clear his name,”
she said, knowing she’d never tell him she’d initially just meant to use him. “And now I am a slave again. Because you hold the key to my freedom.”
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s true.” Tears fell down her cheeks.
“Why won’t you believe me when I say I won’t hurt you? You know how I feel about you.”
“You don’t know me.” She tugged on her shirt. “These clothes hide a body deformed by scars and marred by beatings. But they are nothing compared to the scars that have mutilated my heart. I didn’t love your brother enough to protect and care for him as I should have. He was too good for me. I warned him not to love me and I’m giving you the same warning. What you see before you is not a woman. I am a ghost, wandering through life and haunting others. That’s my only true existence.”
He cupped the side of her face, his gaze tender. “No, it’s not.”
Catherine held herself still to stop herself from leaning into his touch. His words stirred up hope in her, hope she’s buried long ago. But she wasn’t here to feel human again, she’d come for one reason only. “Joscelyn is dangerous.” She held up a hand. “Just hear me out before you argue.”
He let his hand fall. “I wasn’t going to,” he said, then continued down the corridor.
She took a deep breath and followed him, glad she didn’t have to hold his gaze anymore. “I believe Joscelyn is responsible for your brother going to prison. I had an investigator help me look into her affairs. Her skin care company was doing poorly, so she devised a scam. Sintex was a ghost corporation, which she secretly bought several years back under another name. Owners remain unknown and individuals face little risk of being investigated because of this. Once she owned it, she used this company to infect the files of several large hospital systems nationally so that they would have to pay Sintex exorbitant fees to fix the problem. She then funneled money made from the scam into her skin care company to make it look profitable although it wasn’t.
“Your brother, while working at Sintex, unwittingly found out about the scam and reported it to one of his directors, and they needed a scapegoat to cover their tracks and he was selected. Everything was fine until he looked deeper into it when he got out of prison and discovered that the scam was larger than anyone suspected. He went to Joscelyn, not knowing she was involved, hoping she’d help him.”
“And you think she hired someone to kill him?”
“I don’t think. I know. A friend of Jason’s discovered who had been hired and got the man to talk.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and kept his tone neutral. “Is this friend willing to talk in court?”
“No, but I was able to get a key document and send it to influential people who will make life a little more difficult for her.”
He shook his head. “This won’t work.”
“But—”
“She’s clever and she’s clean. No one can link her to my brother’s death or this scam. She’ll fire the CEO or CFO and claim ignorance. It will take too much time and money to make any charges stick. Trust me, I’ve considered every option.”
“But how could you…?” She sighed as a thought came to her. “You had his laptop, didn’t you?”
“No, but I did find the flash drives.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I told you we should work together,” he said without apology. “And from the digging I’ve done we can make her nervous, she may get a suspension or reprimand, but nothing serious. We can’t touch her.”
Catherine could feel herself trembling. She’d come this far and Joscelyn would remain untouched? There was nothing she could do?
“But even if we could,” he continued. “I don’t think Joscelyn would go that far. Do you think she’d be with me while she hired someone to kill my brother?”
He didn’t believe her, he wouldn’t help her. She was on her own again. “She’s capable of anything.” She spun away.
Tytus grabbed her arm then immediately let go when she flinched. “What is this personal vendetta you have against her?”
Catherine stared at him for a long moment, knowing the moment would come, but still surprised how hard it was to say the words. “I know her better than you do.”
“How?”
“Because she’s my eldest stepsister and she was the one who sold me.”
Tytus stared at her for a long moment, stunned. Then his expression clouded in anger and regret. “Shit.”
“What?”
“I think I helped Joscelyn figure out who you are.”
56
The angry sound of a fly trapped in a spider’s web buzzed in his ear as he sat on the orange vinyl-covered chair and added sugar to a cup of coffee he’d probably not drink.
Tytus glanced up at the corner where the large spider’s web hung, then let his gaze fall to a faded photograph of the Lincoln Memorial. The out of the way diner wasn’t one of the nicest places to eat, but he hadn’t chosen it for the food. He wanted a place to talk to Catherine without being seen and he needed to think. He was still trying to absorb all that she’d told him. She and Joscelyn were stepsisters? On a trip abroad she’d been lured into a van and sold? She thought Joscelyn may have gotten Jason killed? How could he have misjudged her so much?
“You can stay with me,” he said.
“I won’t hide from her,” Catherine said, using her fork to poke the large slice of chocolate cake he’d ordered for her.
“I’m not asking you to hide, but…I feel responsible.”
“I’m not running either. She’s made a move and she’ll wait to see how I respond.”
“Or she might not. You don’t have much time.”
She set her fork down hard, splattering some chocolate flakes on the table. “I know.” She grabbed a napkin to clean up the mess. “Excuse me,” she said, then went up to the counter to grab some extra napkins. On her return to the table, she bumped into the maid cleaning the floor. “Excuse me,” she said.
“Sorry, mah,” the woman replied.
Catherine paused, recognizing the accent, then slowly turned and looked at the young woman. The woman had a round face with a stocky figure and pretty West African features. She seemed familiar.
“How long have you worked here?”
“Not long, mah,” she looking nervous, fear clear on her face. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, you’re not in trouble,” Catherine said quickly, recognizing the fear. “The floor is spotless. Keep up the good work.”
The woman smiled. “Thank you, mah. Your words are kind.”
The smile was hers. That smile that seemed to make the clouds drift away. Catherine stared at her, speechless, shock leaving her mute. But could it be? After all these years? She’d survived too? Or was this just a foolish hope? She had to be sure. She made a simple gesture of twisting her wrist in a request for water. One she’d made many times when trapped in the cage.
The woman’s eyes widened, then she dropped to her knees and covered her eyes.
Catherine knelt down and wrapped her arms around her. “It is you.”
Helen continued to weep.
“All these years,” Catherine said, tears streaming down her face. “I wondered.”
“Me same,” she said in a whisper. “I no think you’d live.”
Catherine touched her face. “Is this a dream?”
The owner approached them. A stick figure of a man with frizzy hair and a matching mustache. “What is going on here? Has she insulted you?”
Catherine stood, lifting Helen up with her. “No,” she told him before looking at Helen again. “How much do you get paid?”
Her hesitation told Catherine everything she needed to know: She was still property. Catherine looked at the man, daring him to challenge her. “She is leaving with me.”
“I can’t,” Helen said her voice rising in panic. “I have to—”
“You’re not working in this place anymore.”
“I must,” s
he said in an urgent whisper. “I have a son.”
Catherine paused. That made things more complicated, but not impossible. Before she could say more, Tytus approached them. “Is there a problem?”
“That depends on him,” Catherine said nodding to the man. “Where is her son?”
The man sent Tytus a wary look, then his shoulders drooped in defeat. “Working in the back.”
“I’ll get him,” Tytus said, leaving no room for argument.
Catherine wrote a check, then handed it to the man. “You don’t know where she is. Understood?”
The man folded the check and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “Clearly.”
Moments later, Tytus returned carrying a little boy, his face like thunder. He walked past the man and said in a low voice. “Let’s go.”
In the car, he swore. “That child is barely five years old and that bastard had him in a hot kitchen peeling pots of potatoes nearly as high as him.”
“That is not unusual,” Catherine said.
“But it doesn’t make it right,” Tytus said. “What do you plan to do with them?”
She inwardly groaned. Just as she had as a child, she’d behaved recklessly.
“You need to deal with your situation first,” he continued when she didn’t reply. “And that means Joscelyn. If she reveals your real identity and your parents file charges—”
He was right. What would happen to Helen and her son? “I haven’t thought that far.”
“Don’t worry, I have.”
57
Unlike many Georgian-style homes, Tytus’s home appeared to grow more impressive the closer they got to it, although its wide and relatively shallow architecture had been designed to complement the grand landscape and strike guests with its remarkable size at a distance. But it was not the home’s size or design that most shocked Catherine, it was its familiarity. Although she knew she’d never been there before, she felt an eerie sense of recognition. And as Tytus took them to the guest house where Helen and her son would stay, the recognition seemed to grow stronger. But she pushed her feelings aside determined to make sure that Helen felt okay.
