Hostage to Fortune

by J A Whiting

  “Did John say his parents were fighting?” Claire asked.

  “John said his father and mother were yelling at each other.”

  Claire swallowed hard. “Did John say how his father hurt his mom?”

  “He said there was a loud noise. He said a chair tipped over. Then his mother fell down.”

  Lady and Bear growled low and deep.

  “A loud noise? Like what? Did John see a gun? Was there a knife or some other weapon?”

  “John doesn’t know what happened. I guess he didn’t see a weapon because he didn’t mention one.”

  “Where was John when this happened? Where were Jackson and Cheryl?”

  “John said they were all in the kitchen,” Ian told his girlfriend.

  “Was blood found?”

  “No blood. There were signs of a struggle, but Jackson Wilby reported that he and Cheryl had a rip-roaring argument. Some dishes were thrown, a chair was tipped over, some flowers on the table were toppled.”

  Claire sat quietly for a minute before looking at Ian. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What part of it?” Ian’s face showed concern.

  “I don’t believe there was only an argument between Jackson and Cheryl. Are there pictures of the room?”

  Ian shuffled around in the folder, found what he was looking for, and placed three photos of the Wilby’s kitchen on the dining table. “Here they are. There might be more photographs in storage.”

  Claire leaned down to get a careful look at the details of the photographs, and when she sat up, her eyes flashed and her face looked pale. “These pictures fill me with dread. Something terrible happened in that kitchen. It wasn’t only an argument that took place,” she said firmly.

  “You think Jackson killed Cheryl?” Ian asked.

  “I don’t know if it was Jackson who hurt Cheryl … but someone did, and I don’t think she’s alive.” Claire rubbed at her temple.

  Ian said, “The assumption was that Cheryl lost her life, but the idea of her running away can’t be ruled out as a possibility … that is, until a body is found or someone confesses.”

  “Are you going to talk with John Wilby?” Claire questioned.

  “I am. I have an appointment to see him the day after tomorrow. Would you mind sitting in on the interview?”

  “I can do that. What else will you do to look into this case?”

  “We’ll go through these files to start with. We’ll speak with whoever is still around who knew Cheryl and Jackson. First, we’ll interview Jackson and John.”

  “Robby told me that Jackson still owns the family house where the fight took place,” Claire said. “Is he right? Is the house still standing?”

  “I don’t know. We can find out.” Ian looked over at Claire. “Why? Do you want go there?”

  Claire let out a long breath. “I sure don’t want to go there, but if the house is still standing, I think it might be a good idea to go have a look at it. Maybe ask John to go with you?”

  “Will you come along if we go to see the house?”

  “I think I should.”

  Bear let out a woof.

  “What an awful mess,” Claire said softly. “A family ripped apart. A mother probably dead. The daughter dead from a car accident. A little boy lost his parents and moved in with an aunt. Jackson Wilby basically lost everything … well, everything that’s worth having.” Claire used her index finger to push one of the pictures away from her. “Wilby remarried. I remember meeting his wife at the charity events. Did he have other children?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “If Wilby is the one who killed Cheryl, he’s gotten away with her murder for twenty-five years,” Claire said. “That’s a long time to have to hide what you’ve done.” She shook her head. “What on earth could make someone kill the young woman? What could make someone kill his wife … and right in front of his son?”

  Ian’s expression was sad. “Want to take the dogs for a walk? Let’s put this paperwork away and talk about other things.”

  Hearing the word walk, Bear and Lady came out from under the table and trotted eagerly to the front door, wiggling with anticipation.

  Walking hand in hand under the glow of the streetlamps, each one holding a leash, Ian said, “I’m glad these dogs are in my life. They make me happy.”

  Claire raised an eyebrow. “What about me?”

  Ian squeezed her hand and smiled. “Yeah, you’re not so bad either.”

  3

  John Wilby looked uncomfortable sitting in the beat-up wooden chair in the police department’s small conference room. Twenty-eight years old with brown hair and brown eyes, John was slim, but had muscular shoulders and arms from years of home building and renovation work. His facial muscles looked tight and tense and he held his hands clasped together in his lap.

  When Claire accompanied Ian into the interview room, John seemed to relax a little when he saw her.

  Introductions were made and Ian explained that Claire was a crime consultant to the police on an as-needed basis.

  Claire used a gentle tone of voice when she said, “I know it’s been a long time since you lost your mother and sister, but I’m very sorry for what happened to your family.”

  A look of surprise passed over John’s face and in an instant, it was replaced by an expression of gratitude.

  “That’s very nice of you to say. I appreciate it. In some ways, that day is burned into my brain like it was yesterday, and in other ways, it seems like that day is a figment of my imagination and it never really occurred.”

  Claire nodded. “I think the mind does things to protect us from certain experiences.”

  “We heard your lawsuit against your father had a successful outcome,” Ian said.

  John’s face clouded. “I don’t call him my father. When I have to refer to him, I call him Jackson. The man who used to be my father is long gone. Maybe he never existed. Either way, the man is a monster.” John paused. “As far as the lawsuit, Jackson will appeal the decision as expected. I’ll never see a penny of it, but that’s not why I pursued the suit. I wanted negative publicity to shine on him and bring the case back into the public eye.”

  “Why now?” Claire asked.

  “It’s been on my mind for a very long time. I’m only a couple of years younger than my mother was when she disappeared. As I get older, it’s been weighing on me. It eats at me … what happened to her? Why wasn’t someone brought to justice? Maybe with DNA testing, something new will be found. Maybe there will be an answer to what happened to my mom.”

  Ian said, “Can you tell us what you remember about the day?”

  John breathed deeply. “I was only three. I have nightmares about that day. Now I’m not sure if what I recall actually took place or if it’s what I remember mixed up with my nightmares and what I’ve heard from other people.”

  Ian asked, “Do you think you have impressions you’ve retained from the day? What you heard? How you felt? Little bits and pieces stuck in your memory?”

  With a faraway expression, John looked across the room at nothing, and it took him so long to speak that Ian was going to ask him another question.

  “I remember Jackson and my mother’s loud voices. It scared me. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I didn’t understand what they were saying. It was the tone and the attitude that frightened me. I didn’t know at the time how to describe what I heard, but later, remembering back on the incident, I’d say Jackson’s voice was menacing and threatening and my mother’s tone was angry, fed-up, defensive.”

  “Where were you and your parents when the argument was going on?” Ian asked.

  “We were all in the kitchen,” John said. “I was sitting at the table on one of those booster seat things eating my dinner. There was an alcove at one side of the room where the dining table was. My parents were in the other part of the kitchen. I remember feeling sick to my stomach while they were fighting.”

  “Did you see anything physical between t
hem?” Ian asked. “Did they strike each other?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t recall seeing them hit each other. I do remember loud noises. I looked over to the kitchen and saw my mother on the floor. I called to her. I was frantic.”

  “Did she respond to you?” Ian questioned.

  “She didn’t move.” John’s voice was soft. “I can still see her on the floor.”

  “Did you see any blood?” Ian asked in a low voice.

  “I don’t think there was any blood. I don’t remember seeing any blood.”

  “Where was your father when your mother was on the floor?”

  “He picked me up. He told me to be quiet. He carried me into the living room and sat me on the sofa. He told me to stay there until he said I could get up.”

  “Did you stay there?”

  “I cried. I had my stuffed animals in my arms. I fell asleep on the couch. My Aunt Cara woke me up.”

  Ian made eye contact with Claire. “I didn’t see that in the case notes, but I haven’t read them all yet. Your aunt came to the house?”

  John nodded.

  “Was it the same night?”

  “Yeah, it was. Aunt Cara told me Jackson called her and asked if she’d come to the house to get me.”

  “Was Jackson at home when she came for you?”

  “He wasn’t. He told Cara that he and my mother had a fight and she drove off. He wanted to go look for her.”

  “Was your sister in the kitchen when the fight was going on?”

  John shook his head. “I don’t remember where she was.”

  Claire asked, “You and your sister moved in with your aunt Cara?”

  “She raised us. My sister died in a car crash when she was sixteen.”

  “I heard that. I’m very sorry. What about your father? Why didn’t you and your sister stay with him?” Claire watched the man’s face.

  “My grandmother and my aunt petitioned the court for custody since there were unanswered questions about Jackson’s part in the disappearance of my mother.”

  “Were you happy living with your aunt?” Claire asked.

  John made eye contact with Claire, and a corner of his mouth went up. “No one ever asks me that. Cara has always been good to me. She was always good to Kim, too. Cara is kind and gentle and loving. But I had a hole in my heart that nothing could fill. I think she’s always understood that. She loves me, and I love her. She’s done everything for me and I’m forever grateful.”

  “Did you see your father much?” Ian asked the young man.

  “Not very much ... and never alone. He always sent some cash for my birthday and at Christmas. He gave Cara money to pay for my college. I hadn’t seen Jackson for years, until the recent court appearances. We don’t speak to one another. He didn’t even look at me during the trial.”

  “Was there anyone else in the house on the evening of your mother’s disappearance?” Ian asked.

  John rubbed his forehead. “I can’t say yes or no to that. I don’t remember anyone else being there, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t someone else in the house.”

  Ian asked gently, “Do you think your mother could still be alive?”

  John sat straighter as something passed over his face. “When Aunt Cara came to get us that night … I don’t know how to describe it … but I felt like the connection between me and my mother was broken, it was missing, it was gone. I felt adrift, all alone. I wouldn’t have been able to express those feelings when I was little, but over the years as I got older, whenever I recalled that night, I was finally able to verbalize my emotions. My mother was gone, not just physically missing … it felt to me that her spirit was no longer on the earth. Every part of her had gone away. I know it’s strange to say, but that’s what I felt. I knew I’d never see my mother again.”

  Claire swallowed hard before saying, “Since you filed the civil suit against Jackson Wilby, you must think he was negligent in your mother’s death. Can you share your thoughts about that with us?”

  “There’s no proof Jackson killed my mother, but he didn’t notify the police that she was missing. My Aunt Cara did that. Jackson called my aunt more than two hours after the fight. That was plenty of time for him to clean up and clear up the kitchen. It was plenty of time for him to dispose of a weapon. It was plenty of time for him to hide the body. Some people say maybe Jackson didn’t call the police because he was waiting for my mother to come back. I don’t think that’s the case. I just don’t buy it.”

  “Some of the photos taken of the kitchen by police show an overturned chair, a vase of flowers tipped over,” Claire pointed out. “Jackson didn’t clean up those things.”

  John’s tone had an edge to it. “Maybe he was too busy cleaning up the more important things.”

  Claire’s heart ached for the young man’s family tragedy and she wanted to change the subject. “I heard you studied at Columbia.”

  John’s facial expression softened. “I got my bachelor’s degree in business. I always wanted my own company. I was always interested in building homes and commercial buildings. I enjoy renovating houses. I like to take something sad and broken and bring it back to life.”

  Claire knew the young man’s desire to make something whole and beautiful again had a deeper meaning to it than being able to simply renovate a structure.

  John smiled for the first time during the meeting. “Aunt Cara knew I didn’t think I needed to go to college if I was going to build houses for my profession. She put her foot down and told me I had to go to college and get my degree no matter what I wanted to do with my life. If I wanted to build houses, I would have to do it with a business diploma under my belt. She was right, of course.” John looked thoughtful. “It never ceases to amaze me what that woman has done for me.”

  4

  The chocolate shop was a whirlwind with Claire, Robby, Nicole and two other employees hurrying behind the counter and out to the tables with pastries and beverages as customers came and went all morning long.

  In her fifties with dark auburn-hair and dark brown eyes, Tessa Wilcox sat at a small table by the windows moving colorful rectangular cards around the tabletop and talking softly with a woman in her thirties. Tessa lived in nearby Cambridge, but worked in downtown Boston, and in her spare time, she gave readings and spoke with people about their lives, past, present, and future. The woman was a psychic and an intuit and had become close friends with Claire and Nicole. Tessa had helped Claire better understand her paranormal ability and counseled her about how to handle her skill.

  When the reading with the young woman ended, Tessa shuffled her cards, put them away, and made eye contact with Claire causing a shiver to run through her friend. When Claire had a free moment, she sat down at the table with the psychic.

  “Things are heating up around you,” Tessa said.

  Claire nodded. “There’s a cold case Ian’s looking into.”

  “Cheryl Wilby.” Tessa lifted her coffee cup.

  “How do you know?” Claire’s eyes searched the woman’s face.

  “John Wilby won his civil suit against his father. I put two and two together. I can feel things swirling on the air.”

  Claire held her breath for a few moments. Whenever Tessa said things like that, she knew the woman had a sense of what was ahead, and usually Claire was involved in whatever it was.

  “What sort of things are moving on the air?” One of Claire’s eyebrows had risen up her forehead and she could feel goosebumps forming on her arms.

  “Old troubles, a long ago mystery. Things will come to the surface. An ending might be written. Some people might be hurt.” Tessa lifted her eyes. “You will be involved.”

  Claire told her friend about Ian’s visit, that the Wilby case was being re-opened, and that Ian had requested her help.

  “Do you have any sensations about the case?” Tessa asked.

  “I think Cheryl is dead. I saw pictures of the kitchen where Cheryl and Jackson Wilby had a fight. There wasn’t
anything in the photos that hinted someone had died, but I felt it the minute I laid eyes on the pictures. I’d be very, very surprised if Cheryl ran away and has stayed hidden all these years.”

  “I agree with you. The woman is dead. There will be no happy ending to this story.”

  Claire forced a smile. “We’re full of good news, aren’t we?”

  With a chuckle, Tessa changed the subject and asked about the television interview.

  Claire reported how it went. “It was surprising how comfortable the three of us felt in the studio with the lights and the cameras and everyone bustling around.” Claire kidded, “Maybe working here in the shop has desensitized us to chaos and panic.”

  “This job has done a lot for you.” Tessa laughed. “What’s happening with the cooking show?”

  Claire, Nicole, and Robby had signed to do a cooking show for a Boston affiliate network that would be a combination of highlighting historic locations in the city, discussing recipes and foods popular from Colonial times through the present, and then demonstrating how to prepare pastries, breads, and desserts.

  “It’s still in the planning stages. We aren’t sure when the show will go into production or when the first show will air. The recipes we’re going to showcase are all set and finalized, the initial Boston locations have been chosen, and now we’re collecting information on which historical facts to feature. It’s a ton of work, but doing it with Nicole and Robby makes all the difference.”

  “I think this show is going to be a big hit,” Tessa told her friend.

  Claire tilted her head to the side. “Is that a feeling you have or a feeling?”

  With a smile, Tessa shook her head. “Not everything I think stems from something supernatural.”

  “No?” Claire teased. “If it was a paranormal feeling you were experiencing about our future success then I’d be more excited that it might actually happen.”

  “I’ll let you know if any paranormal thoughts pop up about the cooking show.” Tessa finished her coffee. “And now I need to get to work.” Gathering her briefcase and her purse, the woman gave Claire a look. “As always, be careful with this case. There are liars and unethical people involved, not to mention, a murderer. This person won’t hesitate to kill again. Be vigilant, Claire. Tell Ian to be careful, too.”