Legacy of Lies

He turned into the driveway that took him toward the circular drive in front of a three-story brick structure that rambled across half an acre of brown-patched lawn. The grass was faintly shaggy and the trees old and balding. The Ellings hadn’t employed a yardman in years. He stopped the vehicle near the set of broad stone steps that led to the front doors.

Pressing the doorbell button brought no sound or response from inside, so Rich gave the door sharp raps. Soon a panel swung ajar, and a statuesque woman with a pale, cold face stared out at him. The pulled shape of her gray-blue eyes betrayed one too many face-lifts. He wasn’t much of a judge of clothing, but he was pretty certain her silky-looking blouse and form-fitting pants cost more than Daddy would be happy to pay—as soon as he saw the credit-card bill. As far as Rich knew, Simon’s fiftysomething daughter hadn’t worked a day in her life, but she always dressed as if she lived around the corner from a New York boutique.

“Hi, Melody. Is your father in?”

Her artificially plump lips thinned. “What’s Mason done now?”

“This isn’t about your son.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s not?”

He didn’t blame Melody for being surprised. “I need to talk to Simon regarding a matter that’s just come up.”

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow? The old man’s locked himself in his study again.” One side of her mouth twisted into a sneer, a typical expression of this thrice-divorced former beauty queen.

“This isn’t a social call. It’s urgent.”

Melody shrugged one shoulder and motioned him inside. “Take your chances, then.”

He stepped into an enormous foyer with a vaulted ceiling. The westering sun poured a river of light through the stained glass in the fan window above the doors and sprinkled rainbow colors over a scuffed tile floor. A large Terry Redlin painting hung over an entry table along the wall, but it was a print. If they’d once owned the original, it had been sold long ago. Rich followed Melody’s designer-clad form up a hallway, where another pair of double doors confronted him.

“Just give a knock and see what happens.” Melody snickered and walked away.

Rich tapped with his knuckles. “Simon. It’s Chief Hendricks. I need to talk to you.”

Seconds later, a lock rattled and the door flung wide. A tall, sharp-faced man in his late seventies glared out at him. He cradled a brandy snifter a quarter full of dark liquid in one hand. “What’s that worthless grandson of mine done now?”

Rich stifled a sigh. “Whatever he’s up to, we’ll catch him, but this visit isn’t about him. The remains of an infant have been found buried in a shallow grave.”

“Where?” The snifter froze halfway to Simon’s mouth.

“In town.”

“A recent burial?”

“Old.”

Simon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Come in.”

The study sprawled in faded elegance. Spacious dimensions, a long wet bar and a coffered ceiling clamored privilege and power, but thin spots on the carpet and the worn chairs angled toward the cold fireplace betrayed tight times. Simon led the way to a massive mahogany desk and plopped into a leather chair behind it, motioning for his guest to sit in the chair on the other side. Rich remained standing, the better to observe the man at the desk. Simon’s free hand gripped the arm of his chair is if he thought it might suddenly buck like a bronco.

“Details,” the senior Elling barked.

“Not many yet. The body was buried beneath Janet Keller’s rose garden.” That much would be common knowledge in less than a day around this small town. He withheld the information that the bones had been wrapped in yard goods from Jan’s Sewing Room.

Simon sat up stiff. “You don’t suppose Jan or Frank had anything to do with the kidnapping?”

“It’s too soon to suppose anything. We don’t even know for sure whose remains those bones are. Do you have any reason to think either of the Kellers might have taken your child? Bad blood of any kind? Raw business dealings?”

Simon croaked a laugh. “Those two do-gooders? Frank and I cordially disliked each other. No run-ins, just a different way of seeing the world. One reason we never did business together, and I kept our money at the other bank.”

“All right.” Rich opened his notebook. “I need to ask you a few questions to help identify the remains.”

“Go ahead.” The words held a note of caution.

The man sounded reluctant. Why? Shouldn’t a bereaved father be eager to identify the remains of his only son?

Nicole guided her car aimlessly through the streets of Ellington, gradually drifting toward the western edge of town. She couldn’t stay in the house with her stubbornly silent grandmother one more moment. And a step outside meant viewing yellow crime-scene tape flapping in the breeze. That lovely rose garden had masked a clandestine burial site all these years. Did Grandpa Frank know? How could he? How could he not? Maybe the patch of ground had been precious to him because of what lay beneath, not what was planted on top.

On her right, the town graveyard slid past. The baby’s remains should have been buried there in dignity. Maybe now the little body would find a proper resting place. But what name would be chiseled on the headstone?

Ahead loomed the fortresslike Elling home. Many folks thought the place grand. Nicole begged to differ. The brick structure resembled a prison more than a home. Even as a child, when her family visited Grandma and Grandpa, and she ran free with the town children, she’d sensed the place wasn’t built to welcome folks. It seemed fashioned to hide whatever went on within those thick walls.

The sun dipping toward the horizon picked a glint of red from the top of a black-and-white SUV parked in front of the massive entrance doors at the end of the long driveway. What brought the police chief straight from the bones found at the Keller property to the imposing Elling mansion?

Rich Hendrick’s tall, solid frame and bold features appeared in her mind’s eye. His green-gold gaze had peered into her soul, seen everything and revealed nothing. Or that’s the impression the cop look gave. Nicole knew better, but she’d felt exposed all the same. What if he discerned something that would prove one or both of her grandparents a baby killer? A tiny squeak escaped her tight throat. That was nonsense. Somebody other than Frank or Jan Keller had buried that child. Surely, Rich could see that. Anyone who knew her grandparents would laugh the notion to scorn. Wouldn’t they?

While she’d knelt next to him near the grave wrappings, his clean scent and gentle tone had touched an empty, aching place in Nicole’s heart. And the silver at the temples of his close-cut sandy hair had begged to be touched. He hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring.

She swallowed. Hard. Idiot! What was the matter with her?

Nicole turned the car onto a road at right angles to the Elling property and puffed out a long breath. Glen had been gone only six months. Wasn’t it too soon to feel attraction for someone else? Besides, she’d vowed never again to get involved with a cop…or any man with a high-risk occupation. Nicole shook herself and squeezed the steering wheel. The shock of her discovery must have made her a little loony.

A thick planting of trees screened the side of the Elling mansion from view. Nicole turned onto a narrow, paved county road that skirted the rear of the large property. The tree line thinned here, and she glimpsed patches of flower-garden colors contrasted against the weathered red brick of the building. A weed-edged approach beckoned between a gap in the trees. Nicole wheeled her small car into the dirt track and stopped, facing the Elling home.

Crossing her arms over the steering wheel, Nicole leaned her chin on one forearm and squinted toward the garden that looked as if it had been left to grow wild. Weed-green poked up amidst the white heads of Shasta daisies and orange tiger lilies. Ivy groped along the face of the building, tendrils drooping over windowpanes like shaggy lashes above dark, brooding eyes. With its location next to the graveyard and unkempt appearance, no wonder the town kids made up stories about this place.

What had she been told one moonlit night when she hung out in a neighboring kid’s tree house? They sat in a tight circle, five of them, foreheads nearly touching, warm breath mingling, as ghost stories whispered from lip to lip. “There’s a boogeyman in the Ellings’ basement,” lisped one sharp, eager face. “He steals babies and eats them!”

A remembered shiver passed down Nicole’s spine. So deliciously frightening then, so silly now. Or maybe not. Her pulse stalled as images of an infant’s remains flashed through her mind. Only the child hadn’t been found here. Yet the police chief shot straight to the boogeyman’s lair. Was there some nugget of truth in the small-town legend?

Her gaze swept the property. In the midst of the garden, a slumped figure caught her eye, and she stared. A person, yes, but limp and still on a bench. The head hung low, face covered by what looked like a dark shroud. The figure’s shoulders drooped, arms flopped to the sides, as if some life-size rag doll had been flung onto the bench.

Swallowing a sour taste, Nicole eased out of her car and shut the door. The sound drew no movement from the hunched form on the bench. Was the person all right? Did they need help? Nicole’s legs carried her without conscious command toward the garden. Breath labored in and out of tight lungs. She prayed she wasn’t about to discover another dead body.

Rich held his expression deadpan. “Do you recall what your boy was wearing when he disappeared?”

A blank stare answered him. “Can’t say that I do.” Simon pursed his lips.

Rich nodded and made a notation. Of course, a guy not remembering what someone was wearing didn’t strike him as too surprising.

“How about if any object went missing with him?” Rich held his pen poised.

The man’s forehead wound into a knot of wrinkles. “I seem to remember something about an item, but can’t recall what it was.” He polished off his drink then surged to his feet and stalked toward the wet bar. “Can I get you anything?”

“Sorry. I’m on duty.”

Simon snickered. “You wouldn’t drink with me anyway.”

Rich let silence speak for him.

Simon lifted a decanter and brown liquid glugged into the snifter. “We paid the ransom, and do you know what we got in return?” A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Bubkes!” Simon charged toward the desk, flesh a mottled red. “When a man sinks his whole world into an heir, he ought to get him back, don’t you think?”

Rich held himself motionless as Simon ground to a halt inches from his position. The man was almost as tall as Rich, but all bone and sinew, as if his almost eighty years of life had drained the juices from him.

“An heir to carry on the name may not mean much to most people.”

Rich’s skin tightened. Simon may as well have said peons instead of people. No wonder this whole family set his teeth on edge.

“But the Ellings must have a namesake!” Simon’s hiss blew a waft of booze-breath, and Rich took a step back.

The words sounded like a litany Simon rehearsed often in his head, probably passed down from male heir to male heir. Rich made a note on his pad. He hated to break it to the guy, but there weren’t any namesakes running around this mausoleum. Nicole Keller may have unearthed the last of the line in her grandparents’ backyard.

Who put the child there—and why—was Rich’s business to find out, and Simon’s reaction sounded…off. He didn’t hear fatherly grief in this man’s tone. More like an investor’s outrage at a swindle. He’d known Simon was a hard man, but this hard?

Nicole’s steps slowed as she neared the hunched figure who sat on a wooden bench beneath the shade of a maple tree. Nicole stopped on the weed-grown remnants of a stone path a few feet away and held her breath. The ample figure indicated that the person was female. She wore a vintage 1950s dress with a wide Peter Pan collar and a full, swing skirt. Nicole wouldn’t be surprised if there was a crinoline beneath it. Only one person in town dressed as if they’d never left the era of saddle shoes—Hannah Breyer, Fern Elling’s sister. And thank goodness, the woman’s chest moved up and down with even breaths. Hannah was asleep, not dead, and the shroud over her face was merely a dark scarf flopped forward in her sleep.

Nicole slowly exhaled. She’d leave Hannah to her nap. Pivoting, Nicole’s shoes scraped against the dirt coating the paving stones, and a breath stuttered behind her.

“What?… Oh, my. Who are you?”

Heart sinking, Nicole turned toward Hannah. The woman brushed her scarf out of her face and back on top of her gray curls. Faded-green eyes squinted up at the intruder.

“I’m sorry to disturb you.” Nicole lifted apologetic hands. “It’s Nicole Mattson. Er, you probably know me as Keller. I thought…” She hesitated. “You looked…” How did she tell the other woman she’d mistaken her for dead? “Oh, never mind. I was just passing by and stopped to check on you.”

“Keller? Really?” A debutante’s giggle left Hannah’s throat. “How kind of you. Not many folks around here check on this old gal. Have a seat.” She patted the bench beside her.

Nicole glanced toward her car, half hidden in the trees, and then back toward Hannah. The poor thing looked so hopeful for human companionship, Nicole didn’t have the heart to turn her down, even though her feet wanted to carry her back to her vehicle. She settled on the edge of the bench. A faint lilac scent drifted to her from the other woman.

“Tell me about yourself, Nicole Keller.” Hannah’s pudgy hand patted Nicole’s knee. “My, you’ve gotten grown up. Are you visiting your grandparents, like usual?”

Nicole stiffened and met Hannah’s open gaze. The older woman remembered her? To Nicole’s knowledge, they’d only met once, and that was by accident years ago. “I’m staying with Grandma Jan for a while. Grandpa Frank passed away ten years ago.”

Hannah’s face puckered like a child presented with a puzzle. “Mercy me, how could I forget something like that? Where is my head going to?”

Nicole smiled. “It’s all right. He went peacefully in his own bed.” Not like her father or her husband. She shook off the pinch of grief.

Sadness drooped Hannah’s lips. “He was a good man. A very good man.”

“I agree.” Nicole clasped her hands together in her lap. Frank Keller had nothing to do with the baby buried under his rose garden. Surely, everyone would know that.

Gentle fingers brushed a sweep of hair from Nicole’s cheek. Hannah’s green eyes searched her features. “You look troubled, dear. Do you want to talk about it?”

Nicole shrugged, words crowding to her lips. She did want to talk, to rant, to pull her hair, maybe even scream. But none of those reactions would change anything. They wouldn’t bring her dad back, or her husband, or put that poor child’s bones back into the ground where they couldn’t cast a shadow over everything that still mattered in her life.

“I was just driving around thinking.”

Hannah bobbed her head, scarf tips wagging in rhythm under her full chin. “I do the same thing when I’ve got something on my mind.”

Nicole cast a glance toward the rear door of the house. A small canopy wrapped the portal in deep shadows. What was the police chief in there telling Simon Elling right now? How did the dead child connect with the Ellings? Hannah might know. She was going to find out about Nicole’s discovery sooner rather than later.

She dragged her tongue across dry lips. “The contractors dug up something in my grandparents’ backyard, and I found it.”

Hannah’s face lit. “A treasure?”

Nicole shook her head. She tucked her feet under the bench and gripped the seat with both hands.

“You can’t leave me in suspense!” The older woman grabbed Nicole’s arm. “You simply have to tell me now!”

“I know. But it’s…hard.” She swallowed. “I found a child’s bones.” She winced, more from the sound of those terrible words than from the grip that tightened around her arm. “Who would bury a baby in my grandparents’ backyard?”

Hannah let out a little squeak and released Nicole. Her eyes, mouth and nostrils all formed round O’s. She clasped Nicole in a python’s squeeze. “You found him! Baby Sammy’s been found at last!”

“Baby Sammy?” Nicole’s words came out muffled in Hannah’s lilac-scented bosom.

Hannah set her away. Tears streamed into every crevice of the older woman’s face. “The dearest little boy on the planet. Little Samuel Elling. He went missing over fifty years ago. I’d given up that he’d be found.” Her hands flapped like an excited bird. “We must tell Simon straight away.”

She leaped up, but Nicole grabbed her hand. “The police are here already.”

“Then we must hurry.” Hannah tugged Nicole to her feet. The woman was as strong as she was stout. “I need to see Simon’s reaction when he’s told his heir has been found. I wouldn’t miss that for the world.”

“Just a minute. I don’t understand.”

“You will soon enough.” Hannah hurried up the flag-stones toward the house. “Come along, dear.”

Nicole scurried to keep up. “I don’t know if I should. I mean, I’m not family.”

“Oh, pish. I’m family and I invited you. You’re entitled. After all, you found him.”

Joy pulsed from the woman as if Nicole had announced the child was about to be returned alive. Maybe Hannah’s muddled mind had misunderstood. But how could she?

When Nicole was a little girl, Grandma Jan had warned her about the people who lived in this house, and the warning had struck deep. Her grandmother wasn’t one to speak ill of others. Of course, everyone knew about Melody, the ice queen, and her prima-donna ways. But it wasn’t about her that Grandma had cautioned the most. It was Hannah. Grandma gave her orders to stay away from the woman in the funny clothes.

But Nicole hadn’t seen a thing to fear in the mixed-up woman—either now or the day she ran into her, literally. Twelve-year-old Nicole had been trotting along on a main street sidewalk eager to meet up with some friends, then boom! She came up short against a stout figure emerging from Darlene’s Beauty Shop. The scent of lilac enveloped her then as it had today, and she looked up into the dreaded woman’s face, steeled for a scolding. Only Hannah hadn’t said one harsh word. She’d asked who Nicole was and seemed pleased to meet the Kellers’ granddaughter. She’d smiled and dug in her purse then swished off up the street, leaving Nicole with a pair of wide eyes and a peppermint in her hand.

Ahead of Nicole, Hannah’s crinoline swished exactly the way it had twenty years ago, and the ’50s dancing slippers on her feet tapped the stones. She led the way up three steps, pulled open the door and motioned Nicole inside.

Nicole hesitated. She was about to enter the boogeyman’s lair. Not that a childhood ghost story had any hold on her now. Her fears had way more substance. What did her grandparents have to do with the missing heir of the town’s founding dynasty? Rich might not be happy to see her barging in, but anything she could find out about the investigation might help her discover the truth that would clear her family name.

Or not.

THREE

“I’d like to speak to Fern,” Rich said.

“Sorry.” Simon tapped his snifter. “My wife is indisposed and has gone to bed.”

“You don’t think she’d want to be informed of this development as soon as possible?”

Simon took a sip. “Giving birth to our son nearly killed her. After we lost him, she never got over it. Half a century has passed. I won’t rob her of sleep over news that can wait until tomorrow. Old scars are going to rip open. I want to be the one to break it to her.”

Rich studied Simon under lowered brows. Fine-sounding concern for his wife. Only Simon wasn’t known for patience with his sickly spouse. The man resumed his seat at the desk and leaned back in his chair, chin lifted. He’d never looked so arrogant…or so closemouthed. Too bad Rich couldn’t have videotaped this proceeding for later review. Something stunk around here, but smell wouldn’t show up on camera, only in a cop’s nose.

“I was hoping she might know something to help with the identification.”

Simon shrugged. “Another day.”

Rich made a note in his book. “How about Hannah?”

Simon’s eyes widened. “What about her?”

“She lived here at the time of the kidnapping, she might remember something useful.”

The other man barked a laugh. “Are we talking about the same woman?”

Rich pressed his lips together. Yes, Hannah lived somewhere in the last century, but she wasn’t an idiot. “What could it hurt if I asked her?”

The study door burst open, and a plump figure in an old-fashioned dress swept inside, followed by a more hesitant slender woman in jeans. Rich’s eyes narrowed. Hannah he might have expected, but what was Nicole doing here? She cast him a sidelong glance, and then her gaze moved from Simon to Hannah and back again. Rich followed her look. She was a good observer. The patriarch’s face had darkened nearly to the color of his beverage, while Hannah appeared to be walking on air.

Simon rose, chest inflated. “I’ve warned you about barging into my study uninvited.”

The light on Hannah’s face dimmed. “I had to come because of the news. Dearest Nicole has found our Sammy.”

Rich stifled a sigh. Nicole had spilled the beans. But why was she here in the first place? His gaze rested on her.

She shifted from one foot to the other. “I was driving around…thinking. And I saw Hannah sitting in the garden. She looked—”

“Like I needed help.” Hannah finished for her with a bright chortle. “Wasn’t that sweet?” She scurried over to Simon’s desk. “Isn’t it wonderful about little Sammy?”

Simon scowled. “Wonderful that a baby’s bones have been found? We don’t know that it’s Samuel, and if it is, he’s no less lost to us than the day he disappeared.”

“But—”

“Contain yourself.” Simon’s words came out a growl, and Hannah winced then sent a pleading look toward Nicole.

Rich made a mental note. The older woman had formed an instant bond with Nicole. Was it because she found Samuel’s remains or because she showed Hannah compassion by stopping to check on her?

Nicole stepped forward, her gaze on Simon. “I know this is terrible news and does nothing to restore your loss, but I don’t fault Hannah for being excited about the possibility of closure for your family. Your wife will likely feel the same way.” Her gaze slanted toward Rich and then darted away.

Smooth words from the heart of a peacemaker, but she could as well have added aloud, “As long as that closure doesn’t implicate my grandparents.” Rich’s gut clenched. Circumstances placed Frank and Jan at the top of the suspect list. There wasn’t enough hard evidence to make an arrest—yet—but the community was going to have a field day with speculations.

Rich poised his pen over his notebook. “As long as you’re here, Hannah, let me ask you a few questions.”

Simon subsided into his chair with a wave that absolved him of any connection with the discussion he considered a waste of time. Nicole’s posture stiffened.

Rich would just as soon she wasn’t privy to any more information than she needed to be, especially when the investigation involved her grandparents. “You should head home, Nicole. I’m sure your grandmother could use the company.”

Color rose in her cheeks, and her dark eyes snapped. “My grandmother has shut herself in her bedroom and won’t talk to me, so I’m not sure what you think I should be doing for her.”

Dismay sent a pang to Rich’s heart. “I wasn’t criticizing. I meant—”

“I won’t say a word without her here.” Hannah wound her arm through Nicole’s and clung, jaw jutting.

Nicole’s mouth fell open. It seemed Hannah’s fixation on her was as much a surprise to Nicole as anybody else.

“Very well.” Rich nodded. “Hannah, do you remember what Samuel was wearing when he disappeared?”