“Please tell me about her.”
And Loretta Mae did. Each story revealed a kind, smart, funny, attractive young woman, the mother Ellie had long prayed for. And best of all, a mother who wanted her!
“Thank you, Loretta Mae.”
“You’re welcome, chile.”
“If you remember anything else, please call me.” She gave Loretta Mae her phone number.
“Sho’ will.”
They thanked Loretta Mae again, stepped outside and headed toward Quinn’s TrailBlazer. Even the light drizzle couldn’t wipe the smiles from their faces.
“What now?” Ellie asked.
“Now we go visit the soon-to-be-shell-shocked Fletcher Falcone, Executor and Attorney at Law, and suggest he seriously amend the Radford will. Fast.”
“They’re laughin’ and smilin’ as they’re walking out of the House of Grace,” Huntoon Harris said on his phone as he watched Ellie Stuart and Quinn Parker hurry toward the TrailBlazer.
The boss cursed a blue streak.
Huntoon knew when to stay quiet.
“Here’s what you do …”
TWENTY SIX
As Quinn and Ellie drove away from the House of Grace, she tried to picture the wonderful mother Loretta Mae had just described.
If only I could have known her, talked with her, done things together, learned about our family. What did she look like? Will Irene, the housekeeper at The Pines, have a photo?
“You excited?” Quinn asked.
“Does a wild ursus defaecare in forestis?”
“You bet wild bears shit in forests. So do I in a pinch.”
She laughed as Quinn passed an orange Allied Van Lines truck.
“Where’s your head?” he asked.
“In spin cycle. Finally, I may know who my birth mother was.”
“And most probably, your birth father.”
“If Irene is right. Did you learn much about Mr. Radford?”
“Only that he was a successful, well-respected and generous man.”
“That’s good to know.”
“And oh yeah, one other thing.”
“What?”
“He was fabulously wealthy. Ellie, you realize you may be the heiress to his massive fortune.”
“If I’m his daughter.”
“You gotta be.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The facts, ma’am.”
“What facts?”
“First, Irene the housekeeper swears Jacqueline Moreau and Leland Radford only had eyes for each other and were very much in love.”
“Right.”
“Second, Irene said Jacqueline was one month pregnant when she left The Pines.”
“Right.”
“Third, Loretta Mae swears Jacqueline was very pregnant with you at the House of Grace.”
“Right.”
“Fourth, both Irene Whitten and Loretta Mae said Jacqueline gave birth to a baby named Alex nine months after leaving The Pines.”
“Right.”
“Fifth, both Irene and Loretta Mae said that sadly, Jacqueline died in a car crash a few months after giving birth to Alex.”
Ellie nodded and felt a wave of sadness hit her again.
“Sixth, Loretta Mae says Jacqueline’s baby, Alex, was a girl.”
“Right.”
“Seventh, you’re a girl!”
“Thanks for noticing.”
“Eighth, Jacqueline’s baby girl Alex was delivered to the Stuarts in Harlan by a woman named Drucilla Dunhill.”
“Right.”
“And ninth, and most compelling, Loretta Mae says the baby Alex had a birthmark on her left butt – ”
“ – leave my butt out of this!”
“Your butt’s too big to leave out!”
She tried to elbow him, but missed.
“Putting my butt aside for the moment, there’s one other strong possibility,” she said.
“What?”
“My mother had another … lover.”
Quinn shook his head. “Not according to Irene. She insists Jacqueline and Leland were completely in love. Your mother brought him out of his depression that lasted many years after his wife died.”
She nodded. “Please tell me everything Irene said about him and his family.”
Quinn told her.
When he finished, Ellie shook her head and said, “Wow – Mr. Radford’s half-sister, Zelda, sounds like an angel.”
“Think Lucifer.
Ellie nodded and looked at Quinn. She was suddenly overwhelmed for all he’d done for her. His consideration in driving her to Harlan and the House of Grace, his legal advice, his discovery of Jacqueline Moreau – and then his connecting the dots from Jacqueline back to her. It was a miracle. Far more than she could ever have hoped for. She was indebted to him forever!
She was also, unfortunately, finding herself attracted to him. Which was an absurd, no-win game, since he and stunningly beautiful, obscenely rich, debutante-to-be, Jennifer DuBois, were a serious couple. Jennifer turned men’s heads like a red Lamborghini. Ellie turned heads like a rusty Farmall tractor.
“Thank you, Quinn, for everything.”
“Hey, we got very lucky, Ellie. But now, I’ve got to tell Leland Radford’s attorney, Fletcher Falcone. The man will go ape-shit when he learns about you.”
“You have his number?”
Quinn fished Falcone’s business card from his pocket and handed it to her. She dialed and Quinn punched the speaker button.
“Mr. Falcone’s office. Ramada speaking.”
“Hi, Ramada. This is Quinn Parker.”
“Oh, hi, Quinn. Where you at?”
“Heading to your office.”
“You wanna have drinks and go square-dancing later?”
Ellie watched Quinn’s face turn pink.
“Well, I’m real busy today, Ramada. Sorry. Is Mr. Falcone there?”
“He’s over at the airport donating some new radar equipment. He donates stuff to airports. He’ll be back here in ten minutes.”
“Is he a pilot?”
“No. But many years ago, his wife and twin nine-year-old daughters died when his airplane crashed in a storm down near Paducah.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Yeah. And Mr. Falcone, well, he kinda blamed hisself. So ever since, he’s donated radar and stuff to other small airports around the state.”
“Good for him. Do you have his cell number, Ramada? It’s quite important.”
“Sure.” She gave it to him.
He dialed and it rang.
“Falcone.”
“Quinn Parker.”
“Hey, Quinn, what’s up?”
“You sitting down.”
“I better be! I’m driving. Almost back at the office. Why?”
“Because I think I’m looking at the long-lost child of Leland Radford and his housekeeper, Jacqueline Moreau.”
Long pause. “Good Lord, you already found his son, Alex?”
“Not exactly.”
“What?”
“I found his daughter, Alex!”
A long pause, followed by a coughing fit.
“Hang on – are you saying Alex is a … girl?”
“Very much so.”
“Jesus Christ and Mary on the handlebars!”
“Her mother was Jacqueline Moreau. She had Radford’s baby girl and named her Alex.”
“How in hell did you discover this?”
“At the House of Grace in Barbourville.”
“The house of what …?” Falcone coughed again.
“I’ll explain everything later.”
“Where are you now?”
“Almost to your office.”
“Good. Who’d you tell so far?”
“Only you.”
“Bring her right to my office. We need to establish DNA proof of her relationship to Radford immediately. I’ll line up the DNA test.”
“We’re on the way.”
They hun
g up.
“Falcone has lots of work to get done fast,” Quinn said.
“Like what?”
“Like adding a few codicils.”
“What?”
“Modifications to the will, supplements. Lots of paperwork I imagine.”
“But only if I’m Mr. Radford’s daughter.”
Minutes later, in the side mirror, Ellie saw a large black Navigator racing up behind them. Quinn was changing radio stations as he drove up a steep hill.
Ellie watched the Navigator start to pass – then swing directly in front of them, forcing them off the road.
“Quinn!”
Quinn slammed on the brakes, skidded to a hard stop on the shoulder of the road.
“Asshole!”
Ellie started to get out – but froze. She was staring down into a rocky ravine several hundred feet deep.
TWENTY SEVEN
BAGHDAD
Nafeesa Hakim adjusted her black veil as she strolled down Al-Nidhal Street in Baghdad’s Green Zone. The cool night breezes from the Tigris River had swept away the vestiges of the hot steamy day and surrounded her with the sweet scent of roses.
The breeze also ruffled her long, silky black chador, revealing the short red dress beneath. Once inside the La Sheik Bar, she would take the veil and chador off. La Sheik, a saloon operated by Bech-Tech Construction out of Houston, was actually two double-length Windsor trailers welded together.
She caught a trace of her Chanel No 5 and hoped the nice young American contract worker she met in La Sheik last night would too. He obviously wanted the kind of companionship she could provide, and he could afford based on his Rolex.
Nafeesa couldn’t believe how the war had brought her to this life. At least it brought Saddam to his well-deserved grave.
She thought back to the good days, back when her family had been middle-class, back when she won a scholarship to the American University of Iraq, back when her life was so full of hope …
Back to the night all hope died – when bombs killed her father and brothers, injured her mother, destroyed her family’s business and the bank that held their family savings.
Overnight she had to support her mother, two sisters-in-law and their toddlers. She worked in three stores until they closed. Then a wealthy young Iraqi promised her a job and asked her to a dinner-interview. After dinner, he raped her and left her devastated. He also left her a thousand US dollars. Feeling ashamed and shattered, she grabbed the money and ran home. Weeks later, with no hope of jobs, she realized her body was the only way to feed her family. She became a licensed pleasure girl for some of Baghdad’s elite young men and some U.S. military personnel.
Now, as she reached La Sheik, the door opened and out walked an old friend, Bob Darnell, ex-US Army, now a military advisor helping fight ISIS. She hadn’t seen Bob in months. He’d introduced her to First Lieutenant Rick Radford – a man she’d cared deeply for until a roadside explosion took his life.
Bob Darnell saw her and smiled. “Hey, Nafeesa, how’s it going?”
“Good, Bob. Where you been?”
“Top secret …”
She smiled at his stock answer. Nor did she want him to answer. Many Baghdad prostitutes sold information to Al Qaeda or to American and Mahdi soldiers. She refused to reveal information that might result in anyone’s death.
“Actually, I went back to Najafi Street last week,” he said.
Her stomach stiffened at Najafi. “Why go back? Najafi must be as painful for you as it was for me.”
“Yes, but … well … some of Rick still lies in that field.”
She nodded, her mind flashing back to when the enormous roadside IEDs blew Rick Radford and his two fellow soldiers over a seventy-yard area.
“I placed a plaque there in his honor,” Bob said.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “By the way, Rick’s father passed away a few weeks ago.”
“Oh … I’m sorry.” She paused a moment. “Rick told me he and his father were close.”
“They were.”
“He said his dad lived in a place called Kentucky on a big … how you say, ranch with horses?”
“Yes. His father was quite wealthy.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.”
She’d assumed Rick had come from money when he kindly offered to support her and her family if she stopped working the bars. She’d agreed on the spot, and their life together had been wonderful … until his death.
“I know you and Rick were close.”
“We were very close,” she said, meaning every word.
“Too bad he didn’t marry you, Nafeesa. You might have inherited some money.”
Rick and she talked of marriage just weeks before his death. Suddenly, a crazy idea flashed in her mind. Should she try it? What did she have to lose?
“Rick didn’t tell you?” she asked.
“Tell me what?”
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.”
“What?”
“Our secret. Two weeks before he was killed, we were married!”
Bob Darnell’s mouth fell open.
“A small ceremony … here in Baghdad.”
Darnell stared back. “But Rick would have told me.”
“He couldn’t tell you, Bob!”
“Why not?”
“He hadn’t told his commander yet. But we married anyway. Spur of the moment. Kept it secret.”
“Well, I’ll be damned. Did you have witnesses?”
“Of course. Iraqi law requires two.”
“Who were they?”
She scrambled for names. “You knew them, I think. Private Bray, the HumVee driver, and Corporal Rectenwald. They were with us when we decided to marry. But as you know, they both died with Rick in the explosion.”
Nafeesa felt terrible lying about the two men.
“They were good soldiers. Who married you?”
Her mind searched for a name, then she remembered a recent obituary article in Stars and Stripes. “Father Perkins.”
“The tall priest from Camp Victory?”
“Yes. A very nice man.”
Darnell closed his eyes. “Aww shit!”
She knew why he was upset. “What’s wrong, Bob?”
“ISIS terrorists killed him while he was saying Mass two weeks ago.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I hate war, Bob. Thousands of good and innocent people are dead. And for what?”
“I agree. But, listen Nafeesa, did you get an official marriage certificate?”
“Of course. From the Iraqi Social Status Court,” she lied, wondering how she could get one. “I keep it to remind me of Rick and our brief time together.”
She’d never been so thankful as the day Rick offered to support her and her family. Within weeks, their relationship had grown strong. She’d cared deeply for him, probably even loved him. And he seemed to love her, despite her background. Everything was wonderful.
And then he was gone …
“Guard the certificate with your life.”
“Why?”
He paused. “You might be entitled to Rick’s inheritance.”
TWENTY EIGHT
After hanging up with Huntoon Harris, the man spun around in his three thousand dollar executive chair and watched the Ohio River flowing along nicely.
Things were not flowing along nicely for him. Ellie Stuart and Quinn Parker were causing problems, snooping around and uncovering information that had to remain buried.
If they didn’t stop soon, they’d be buried.
After all, he’d earned the financial success he’d built over the years. He’d dedicated too much of his life to growing Radford’s investments and achieving enormous wealth for the man. And in the process, for himself.
Like my four million dollar home in Indian Hills and membership in the exclusive Meadows Golf Club. A long way from the snake-infested shack on Florida’s Lake Kissimmee where he grew up.
His mind flashed back to those days, back to the worst day in his life. He was nine and could still see his father trying to dislodge their outboard motorboat blades from the mangrove roots in the swamp
… still see the blades jerk loose and slice into his arm and shoulder and spew blood into the water
… still see the six alligators attacking, ripping into his arm and legs, and his father managing somehow with his good arm to push him up into the boat where he cowered, weeping, and watching as the gators ripped and gnawed his father to death.
A police boat rescued him.
But unfortunately, Florida Family Services then placed him with more dangerous reptiles: abusive foster parents. They were so cruel and abusive, he ran away three times before finally escaping. All of which taught him life’s big lesson: do what you want, and take what your want.
Like his rightful chunk of the Radford probate revenue.
It was his. He’d earned it.
And he wasn’t about to relinquish any of it to others.
TWENTY NINE
“Why do I feel like Cinderella?” Ellie said as Quinn parked near a massive, turn-of-the-century home with white and blue gingerbread trim. The sign in front read Falcone & Partners.
“Because your DNA slipper is going to fit!”
“How do you know?”
“Because people been shooting at you and trying to drive you and me off the road?”
She nodded.
As they walked toward the entrance, she looked up at the home’s charming turrets, balconies, bay windows and lush gardens. She’d always dreamed of strolling through a beautiful Queen Anne style home like this, and now amazingly, maybe she could live in one if she was Mr. Radford’s daughter.
They stepped inside the lobby. The blonde receptionist smiled big at Quinn and batted her eyelashes so rapidly Ellie wondered if she had Tourette’s.
“Well, hey there, Quinn. How you doin’?”
“Just fine, Ramada …”
Ramada fiddled with an Elvis pendant hanging down between her large breasts. Elvis seemed to be singing “The Hills are Alive.”
“This is Ellie Stuart.”
Ramada stared at Ellie like she was trash stuck to Quinn’s shoe.
Kentucky Woman Page 9
