Family Ties (Flesh & Blood Trilogy Book 2)

by Morgan, Christina

  “What did happen to the baby?”

  Betty Sue seemed reluctant to share this bit of information with me, which made me lose my patience just a bit.

  “Betty Sue, you said yourself I have a right to know. So what happened to the baby?”

  “Annie gave birth to a healthy baby boy at the girls’ home in 1972. Annie has never been home since then. We haven’t laid eyes on our daughter since the day we dropped her off. We’ve never laid eyes on our grandson. Not ever. Annie still blames us for sending her away. I can’t say I fault her. But we did the best we could at the time. We were just scared.”

  I felt sorry for Betty Sue and Harold. I couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for them to not see their daughter for nearly forty years. And to never have even met their own grandson. Annie must have been beyond hurt by her parents’ decision to send her away. But who holds a grudge for that long? Clearly, Annie Larson did.

  “Do you have any idea how I might find my…your grandson? Anything at all?”

  Betty Sue looked down at her lap. “No, I’m sorry. If I had any idea where he was, I’d have reached out to him years ago.”

  “What about the home for girls in Virginia? Do you remember the name of the place you sent Annie?”

  She stared off into space for a few seconds then started mumbling. “Hearts…something…hopeful…no…sacred…that’s it! Sacred Hearts. The home was called Sacred Hearts!”

  “And it was definitely in Virginia?”

  “Yes. Grundy, Virginia. It’s about three, maybe four, hours from here.”

  It was a start, anyway. And probably the only piece of information I’d get from the Larsons regarding their grandson. I decided I had bothered Betty Sue and Harold long enough.

  “Thank you so much for inviting me into your home,” I said as I began to stand up from the couch. “And thank you for the information.”

  Betty Sue made like she was trying to push herself to her feet, but I quickly ran over to her and laid my hands on hers, shaking my head. I didn’t want her to strain herself on my account. Just then, Harold reappeared from down the hallway and rushed over to Betty Sue.

  “Here, let me help you,” he said sweetly as he pulled her to her feet.

  She stood unsteadily with both hands on Harold’s shoulder.

  “I’ll just see myself out. Thanks again for everything.”

  The couple just stared at me for an uncomfortable few seconds, but when I turned to reach for the screen door, Betty Sue spoke up.

  “If you find him…”

  “Mrs. Larson, I really don’t think I’ll be able to.”

  “I said if you find him, tell him we love him. Tell him we want to see him. Will you do that for us?”

  I sighed. “Of course. If I find your grandson, I’ll tell him just that.”

  I exited the Larson home, got back in my car, and drove along Sand Hill trying to process what I’d just learned. I called Harper, as I’d promised I would, and told her everything.

  “Oh. My. God,” Harper said once I finished my tale.

  “I know. It’s a lot to take in. And a little hard to believe. But it’s true.”

  “So you have a half-brother your father never even told you about?”

  “Yep. Completely left out that little detail.”

  “Wonder why he wouldn’t tell you?”

  “I have no idea. He’ll probably say it was to protect me. Or maybe he’s trying to protect his son? I don’t know, Harper. It just doesn’t make sense. But I have to find him.”

  “Want me to start digging?”

  “Not this time,” I told her gently. “I’d like to do it myself. But I’m sure I’ll need your help at some point. I’ll be home in about an hour.”

  She didn’t sound offended. I disconnected the line after she told me to be careful on my way home and dropped my phone into my purse.

  I turned off the radio and rolled up the windows. I needed complete silence in order to think through everything I had just learned. I had gone to the Larson home in hopes of learning information which might lead me to Annie Larson, or at least, tell me if she was alive or dead. Instead, I had learned much, much more. For starters, Annie Larson was alive and well, at least as of five years ago, but she was nowhere to be found. I learned the reason Annie had approached Randy all those years ago in the high school cafeteria was to tell him she was pregnant. He had accidentally knocked her up in a moment of drunken weakness and she had naïvely believed he loved her in return. She had left school so abruptly, not because some foul play had befallen her, but because her parents were ashamed of their unwed and pregnant teenage daughter.

  Because of their shame, they had sent Annie to a school for teenage mothers in Virginia. Annie had been so traumatized by the experience, she was unwilling to forgive her parents, even forty years later. They hadn’t spoken to her since the day they dropped her off in Virginia.

  And I had a brother. Half-brother, mind you, but a brother nonetheless. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that. I had gone my entire life without siblings and I never really felt as if anything, or anyone, was missing. Part of me wanted to find this brother out of morbid curiosity and the other part, I have to admit, wanted to meet my family.

  Out of nowhere an old Southern saying came to mind. It goes:

  Family ties are precious threads; no matter where we roam, they draw us close to those we love, and pull our hearts back home.

  My family, as I had known it to exist for the last thirty-five years, was just an illusion. Growing up, it had always been me, Mom and Dad. But now I knew somewhere out there was another child—my brother. I felt almost as confused as I did the day I found out about Randy. It’s quite something when your world crumbles and you find out you’ve been lied to your whole life by your own parents, although I doubted if Mom knew. Mom could be secretive when she was protecting her family. We had always been very close and I couldn’t imagine her hiding such a big piece of information from me. Plus, she seemed genuinely in the dark about Randy’s past with Annie when I had spoken to her the night before. To tell her or not to tell her?

  But Randy had known. Or at least, he had known Annie was pregnant. Why would he never tell me I had a brother somewhere out there in the world? I tried to think of any rational reasons, but came up with none. The only thing I could possibly think of was that perhaps Annie told him she had an abortion, or gave the child up for adoption. I could see then why he may not be as forthcoming with such depressing and personal information.

  Regardless of why I had never been told about this love child, I made up my mind right then and there that I was going to do everything in my power to locate my brother. Randy’s case would have to wait. He had sat in prison for twenty years, he could sit a few more weeks. I now had a gaping hole in my heart that I hadn’t even known was there until today. I had a brother. And I had missed over thirty years with him. But I would find him. And he would accept me and he would be happy to see me. We’d hold each other and all the missing years would fade away. We could start over fresh. A new family. The family I never had.

  Feeling inspired, the rest of the drive home I thought of ways I could possibly locate my brother. I didn’t even have a name. The only information I had was his birth mother’s name and possible birth location. There must be a way. I just had to think.

  ***

  When I got home, Harper was sitting Indian-style on the couch in pajamas, eating a bowl of Cherry Garcia ice cream and watching television. It was almost six o’clock and my stomach reminded me with a low growl I had not finished my burger at the diner in Richmond. I heated it up in the microwave, kicked my shoes off, and joined Harper on the couch.

  I let out a deep sigh.

  “That bad, huh?” Harper said between bites of Ben & Jerry’s.

  “Yep.”

  “Well, prop your feet up and take a break. Take your mind off things for a few minutes. Want some ice cream?” She tilted the container in my direction.

>   “No, thanks.” Instead, I took a big bite of my nuked burger.

  The local news came on right at six o’clock. I rarely watched the news since Ryan’s death and the events of that summer. Too much devastation and negativity. Dealing with the worst society has to offer on a daily basis, it’s just too much for me. But the news story at the top of the hour caught my attention. The announcer stated that the body of a fifty-eight-year-old woman had been found in a ditch along I-75, just past the Richmond exit. My first thought was of Randy. All of his victims had been found the same way. I turned up the volume using the remote.

  “A spokesman for the Richmond Police Department informs LEX 18 News that fifty-six-year-old Joanna Baker was found just a little after four p.m. today in this ditch along the interstate.”

  When they flashed a picture of Joanna Baker, my stomach dropped like I had just crested the highest slope of the wildest roller coaster. There, taking up most of my television screen was Jo, the bartender from Willie’s, who had shown me her yearbook and helped me identify Annie Larson.

  “Oh, my God, Harper…” I said as I slowly stood up, too nervous to sit still a second longer. “That’s the bartender I was with earlier today!”

  “You have got to be shitting me.” She set down her ice cream and stood next to me. Both of us started blankly at the screen.

  “Authorities declined to comment on Ms. Baker’s cause of death, saying only that the manner of death was likely to be ruled homicide. Ms. Baker’s body will be transported to Frankfort for an autopsy. Stay tuned to News Channel 18 for more information.”

  “I’ve got to call the police,” I said as I paced the living room, my phone at the ready.

  “Why?” Harper asked.

  “Because I was with her today. Don’t you think they’d want to know that? I mean, what if it has something to do with Randy’s case? It can’t be a coincidence that only hours after I meet with Jo, she winds up murdered and dumped along the interstate, the same way the other victims were.”

  “You’re right. You should call them.”

  “Look up the number for the Richmond Police Department,” I instructed.

  “On it.” Harper pulled open the laptop and typed quickly until the phone number appeared on the page. She read me the number and I dialed it immediately.

  When a nasally, somewhat annoyed voice asked me if I needed police or ambulance, I told her my name, that I was a private investigator, and asked to speak with the detective in charge of the Joanna Baker murder case.

  “Hold, please,” said the disembodied voice. After an agonizingly long wait, there was a click on the line and a man’s smooth baritone voice answered.

  “This is Detective Sebastian Webster. How may I help you?”

  “Hi, my name is Libby Carter. I’m a private investigator and I’d like to speak with you about the Joanna Baker case.”

  “Um, that case just broke less than two hours ago. What is a private investigator doing looking into it so quickly? Who hired you?”

  “No, I’m not looking into it that way. I…I think I may have some information that may be helpful to you.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I was with Jo…Joanna…this morning. We were discussing one of my cases. I just find it a little odd that only hours after talking to me about a murder case, she winds up the victim of a murder herself. It’s a little strange, don’t you think?”

  “Hmm…well, I’d certainly like to speak with you, but I’m afraid I’ve got my work cut out for me tonight with paperwork. Can we meet tomorrow? Say around nine a.m.?”

  “Can we make it ten?”

  “Ten it is, then. Can you meet me here at the station?”

  “Sure. I’ll see you then.”

  “Thank you for contacting me…Libby, was it?”

  “Yes.”

  I disconnected the line and laid my phone on the coffee table.

  “Either that is one crazy coincidence,” Harper said. “Or…”

  “What?”

  “Or someone was watching you…or Jo…or both. Either way, it’s totally creepy.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I told Harper. “But why would someone be following me? Or Jo, for that matter?”

  “Well, you are working on your father’s case. You said yourself that if he was innocent, it meant someone else killed all those women. Well, maybe he really is innocent. What if the real killer found out what you’re up to and they’re following you?”

  I hadn’t thought of that, either. Randy certainly couldn’t have killed Jo. He was far away, locked up at Big Sandy Federal Penitentiary. But there was no way this was a coincidence. So who had killed Jo? It would stand to reason that whoever killed her might well be the one who really killed those nine women.

  I was in over my head now. At least as far as Jo’s murder. Time to let the cops in on what I’d learned.

  Chapter 12

  I hadn’t been inside a police station since Ryan’s murder case played out earlier that summer. I wasn’t really looking forward to the prospect this time around, either. The cops had not been very nice to me last time, but then again, I was the prime suspect in my husband’s murder. I wondered how Detective Webster of the Richmond PD was going to treat me. Would he be grateful for the helpful information? Or would he be offended with my presence, as many police officers are when it comes to private investigators? I was about to find out.

  I gave my name at the reception desk and told the young, dark-skinned lady sitting at the computer I had an appointment with Detective Webster. She smiled at me pleasantly and paged the detective, holding up her pointer finger.

  “He’ll be right with you,” she said nicely. “You can have a seat over there while you wait.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “But thank you.”

  Not even a minute passed by before a man wearing khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt appeared around the corner with his hand extended in front of him.

  “You must be Libby,” he said with a genuine smile.

  I couldn’t help but notice how incredibly good-looking he was. From the dark brown military-style haircut, to the root beer eyes, right down to the tiny dimples that formed on both cheeks when he smiled and flashed his perfectly aligned, very white teeth. I was smitten. And when I’m smitten, I become a bumbling idiot, and typically embarrass myself.

  “Hi…uh…I’m…yep! That’s me!” I said stupidly as I allowed his firm grip to envelop my hand.

  “Nice to meet you. Follow me to my office,” he said, gesturing toward the hallway.

  I nodded, unsure what to say, if anything, and followed along behind him with my legal pad held close to my chest. I had brought my notes, just in case.

  When we arrived at his office, he motioned for me to sit in a padded blue chair opposite his desk. He sat down in a large black leather swivel chair, pulled himself forward, and crossed his arms on top of his desk. I noticed the muscles in his arms bulging slightly when he did this.

  “Now, you said you have some information for me?”

  I quickly shifted my eyes from his nice, tan arms to his lovely, symmetrical face. When I registered what he had said, I was shocked that this detective was being so cordial to me. My experience with police officers in the past had not been so pleasant. I reminded myself not all cops are assholes, despite what I had recently been through.

  “Yes, like I said, I met with Jo—I’m sorry—Joanna Baker, yesterday morning. I’m working on a case and she said she had information that might help me, so I met her at Willie’s.”

  “How exactly did you know Ms. Baker?”

  “Actually, believe it or not, I only met her less than forty-eight hours ago. I stopped at Willie’s after a long day. You know, to unwind a little. She was the bartender that night. We talked about my case and when she realized she knew my client in high school, she volunteered to show me her yearbook the following day…yesterday morning.”

  “Who is your client, if you can tell me?”

>   I debated answering him for a split second, but reasoned if anyone needed to know the truth, it was law enforcement, so I told him the whole story. I told him who I was and that I was working on Randy’s case as a favor to him. I even told him how my investigation had taken a sharp left turn when I discovered I had a half-brother, even though that was probably completely irrelevant.

  He leaned back in his chair and dropped his hands to his sides. “Wow. That’s quite a story. Let me get this straight…your father is Randall Terrance McLanahan…the I-75 Strangler?”

  “One and the same.”

  He shook his index finger at me a couple of times. “That’s why I recognize you. You’re that Libby Carter. You’re that woman who finished off your husband’s killer this summer. I knew I knew you from somewhere.”

  What he didn’t bring up, and for this I was grateful, was the fact that I was known to most law enforcement officers in the area mostly because I’d been charged with, and prosecuted for, Ryan’s murder. Normally, I hated being recognized solely as “that woman,” but for some reason, coming from Detective Webster, I wasn’t offended. He seemed genuinely intrigued instead of morbidly curious.

  “Yep. That’s me,” I said with a quick nod of my head.

  “And he’s now saying he’s innocent? Do you believe him?”

  Again, I was thankful to him. This time for not lingering on my identity and the scandal that surrounded it. I was really beginning to like this detective.

  “I don’t know, to be honest. I have learned some things in my investigation which give me pause, but nothing concrete. I’ve got a long way to go. And now I’ve been sidetracked by the issue of my newly-discovered brother. I’ve decided I’m going to try to find him first and then I’ll continue with my father’s case. I doubt the two issues have anything in common, but something in my gut tells me this is what I have to do.”