Ann Thooft didn’t shoot me, but only because she didn’t get the chance. Melanie’s advice, while sensible, wasn’t how we Watts did things. I couldn’t send a registered letter to a client. This was a face-to-face kind of thing. Dad always delivered the bad news himself. “If I’m man enough to take the job, I’m man enough to deliver the results in person.”
Easier said than done, but I had a plan. We got in the car and I called Holt. No, I didn’t wuss out and tell him before scampering back home. I told him I knew why Anton kidnapped me, but I wouldn’t tell anyone but the people who hired me, Kimberly, Kevin, Gregory or whoever in that group still wanted to know.
“You have proof?” Holt asked.
“I do.”
“Real proof? Like proof, proof?”
I glanced over at Chuck. He was scratching Pickpocket, who’d crammed himself between the steering wheel and Chuck’s chest. No help there. I wanted to say the right thing. I had to say the right thing and it wasn’t going to be easy. Nothing was easy just then. I was sitting for the first time since getting dragged across the Sentinel parking lot. The Motrin had helped with the swelling of my rear, but the pain was worse and I didn’t have a ton of patience.
Please don’t grill me right now.
“Yes,” I said. “Proof, proof.”
“Is it what we thought?”
I couldn’t remember what we thought or when we thought it. All that extra detail goes out the window when your butt’s burning. “How about I just give Kimberly the answer and you tell me?”
“I don’t know if she can handle it. Ann’s been going off and Kim’s crying constantly.”
That’s not changing anytime soon.
“I can only imagine, but Holt, they hired me to find out what happened. I did and I’m going to charge you for it. Do you want the answer or not? If not, I’m going to the hospital,” I said.
“Are you alright?” he said with real concern and it warmed my heart considerably.
“I’m fine, but my bodyguard and her brother are there after the whole shoe factory incident. I should probably check in.”
“Of course, I keep forgetting about that. I hope they’re alright.”
“They are,” I said. “So what about it? Do you want the answer tonight? I’ll do it as gently as I can.”
Holt thought it over and came to the conclusion I had hoped he would. “I have no right to keep the truth from her for another day. Where should we meet you? I don’t want you to come here. Ann will see the car.”
I told him to meet us at Crabapples and when we walked in the entire restaurant stopped talking. It was pretty full for a Sunday evening and I hadn’t anticipated that. I wish I could say it was our giant poodle and my hideous sweatpants that garnered the attention, but it was the case. Everybody knew. The change in the air told me that.
Carrie rushed over, wearing a sort of winter caftan with her hair slicked back into a chignon. It was a rainbow of colors but still very contained.
“Did you figure it out?” she asked breathlessly as she led us to a table tucked back by the bar.
“I did.”
“How bad is it?”
“That depends on what you consider to be the worst option,” I said.
Carrie was confident as always. “Was Anton Thooft a serial rapist, child molester, or murderer?”
“No.”
“Then it’s not so bad.”
“When you put it that way, I guess not,” I said.
Chuck was unmoved. “He was a kidnapper and Mercy would probably have gotten murdered by the person who blackmailed him into doing it.”
“So it was blackmail,” she said. “Kimberly will be relieved.”
I sat down gingerly and ordered a glass of red. I deserved it. Chuck got some horrid protein smoothie for his so-called gains. He looked the same to me, but he was certain he’d have to turn sideways to get through a door any day now, like that was a good thing, and the horrendous gas would be worth it. For the record, nothing was worth that smell. Nothing.
When Carrie came back, she gave Chuck his smoothie, chock full of soy protein powder, edamame, peanut butter, and broccoli. If you think that sounds terrible, I can only say it looked worse. Then she put something in front of me that most definitely was not the lovely Italian red that I desperately needed.
“What the?” I looked at the tall glass filled with orange liquid and had round black blobs at the bottom.
“You don’t need alcohol,” she said. “You need anti-inflammatories.”
Chuck nodded. “Turmeric. It’s good for you.”
Where’s Aaron when I need him?
“Do you hate me?” I asked. “I need wine or hot chocolate.”
Chuck banged my painkillers on the table and said, “You need these.”
I hissed at him, but I took one as it was my only option other than storming the bar and grabbing a bottle. I was so slow-moving I doubt I would’ve gotten more than a swig down.
Carrie pushed the gross orange concoction closer to me. “Try it. You’ll like it, I swear.”
I tried it. I did not like it, but I didn’t vomit and she took that as affirmation. “So did Anton know that you’d be killed when he gave you to whoever?”
Excellent question.
“No clue,” I said. “But he would’ve done it even if he had.”
She drew back. “You don’t really think so.”
We just looked at her and she plucked at her caftan. “What did the Thoofts say?”
I glanced over her shoulder. “We’re about to find out.”
Carrie looked horrified and said, “Here? You’re telling them here? Why not the station?”
“I wanted wine,” I said.
“Things really don’t work out for you.”
“They mostly do. I am alive.”
A wonderful smile came over her face and she hugged me. “That’s the best way to think. I’m sorry I said otherwise.” Then she hastily got out of the way as Holt, Gregory, and Stephanie came through the door and walked over, all three dragging their feet.
“What can I get you?” Carrie asked.
The men ordered beers and Stephanie asked for a Long Island Iced Tea before sitting down to stare at us silently.
“I’m surprised to see you,” I said to Stephanie.
“I was at the house telling Kimberly what happened with Kevin and I thought I’d tag along,” she said.
“Still changing the locks?”
“Already done.” Stephanie wasn’t red-eyed. She was resolute and Gregory looked like he was just a little bit scared of his sister-in-law.
“Where’s Kimberly and Kevin?” I asked.
Holt took a sip of beer before he said that Kevin tried to punch him when he asked him to come and Kimberly had elected to stay home with her boys. She sensed something very bad and would rather have it from her husband. I couldn’t blame her. If someone had bad news like that for me, I’d rather have it from Chuck than some stranger.
“You haven’t told her anything?” Chuck asked.
“No,” said Holt, nodding at the other two. “They all know that I know, but I was waiting for proof.”
“Proof of what?” Gregory gripped his beer, his life preserver, and what color he had drained away.
I put a fat folder on the table. I wasn’t nearly so organized as Melanie. One folder would do.
“An unknown suspect blackmailed your brother into kidnapping me,” I said.
Gregory blew out a breath and loosened his grip. “He wasn’t going to…do things to you?”
“No, I don’t believe he was. Not personally.”
Gregory ran a hand through his long mullet and took a deep drink. “That idiot. Like we cared that he was gay.”
“You knew?” gasped Stephanie.
“I knew,” said Holt. “You both knew?”
What a family!
“Pretty much everyone knew,” I said.
“That’s not true,” said Gregory. “Anton said I was the only one he could talk to.”
“That’s what he told me,” said Stephanie.
“And me,” said Holt, whose face turned into a deep frown. “So if everyone knew...”
“My parents don’t know,” said Gregory. “There’s no way.”
I bet they did.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “That’s not the blackmail.”
“I’ve always known there was something truly weird going on,” Stephanie said. “What is it?”
I laid out the evidence, taking them through it, step by step. Holt knew the basics and was resolute, but Stephanie was shocked. She began blathering on about Ann and her honesty. Gregory, on the other hand, was silent. He drained his first beer and then a second.
“You knew,” I said.
“Not exactly,” he said.
“Was it how Kimberly was just there when you got home from Kansas?” Chuck asked. “That would’ve tipped me off.”
Gregory shook his head and a thin lock of blond hair fell in his eyes. He brushed it away angrily. “No, I was only eleven. I didn’t care about anything but the farm. It’s all I ever wanted to do. I wasn’t good at school like everyone else, but I was good at that.”
“Then what?” Stephanie asked. “Did somebody say something?”
They had. Kids at school. Other parents. Friends. Gregory might not have been a rock star student, but he tucked away every little comment about how Kimberly was so different than the rest of the family from her coloring to her singing. She didn’t fit and, although no one ever said she was adopted, he felt it down deep next to his heart.
“I love her,” he said quickly. “I just never felt like she was part of me like Kevin and Anton. It was like something was missing.”
Something was.
I tucked away the evidence but left the last bit hidden in the folder. I had to work myself up to it. I really could’ve used that wine. Gregory had accepted what his mother had done rather stoically so far. Holt and Stephanie, too, seemed surprisingly at ease once they got over the initial shock.
“You’re taking this very well,” I said.
“People do that, don’t they?” Stephanie asked. “Those other adoptees, their parents never told them they were adopted either, right? They should’ve told Kimberly, but it’s not the worst thing in the world.”
Chuck looked at me, his blue eyes glinting with understanding he communicated to me. They didn’t get it, even though I said that Ann was pregnant, somehow that had gone over their heads. I’d expected questions. Did my dad know? Where’s that baby? Something like that, but they took the path that was most easy to travel.
“I’ll tell Kimberly tonight,” said Holt. “And maybe she’ll want to talk to Ann and Anthony about it tomorrow. Gregory, can you tell Kevin?”
“I will.” Gregory looked at me, a little dazed. “Do we write you a check or what?”
“I’m not done,” I said.
He took a deep breath and said, “Obviously, I can’t speak for Kimberly and Kevin, but I think I’m done. It’s out now and I don’t really care about the rest.”
Chuck leaned forward. “Trust me, you do.”
Gregory stood up. “I get that you’d care about who got my brother to do this thing to you, but I can’t deal with that right now.”
“There’s more to it,” I said.
“The deal was that you find out why,” said Holt.
Stephanie started to rise, but I put a hand on her arm. “I’ve finished what you’ve hired me for, if you don’t care about who caused it, that’s your prerogative. But—”
“But what?” Gregory asked. For the first time, he sounded angry. It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw fear in his face.
“I have to tell you the rest,” I said. “It’s information you paid for. You deserve to hear the whole story.”
“We heard it.” His voice went up and the restaurant stopped buzzing and turned our way.
“Please sit down,” hissed Stephanie. “This is bad enough without making a scene.”
Gregory dropped down into his seat and drained the last few drops of his beer onto his tongue. “Alright. Fine. What’s left? We already know why she did it.”
“Do we?” Stephanie asked.
“My mother wanted a girl,” said Gregory, rolling his eyes. “When she had Kevin she cried for days, but she got over it and then she adopted Kimberly. It’s fine. We’ll get through it.”
Stephanie crossed her arms. “She cried?”
“Well, she had two boys already and she wanted a daughter really bad,” said Gregory. “I remember Dad saying when she got…pregnant with Kimberly”—Gregory’s voice slowed to a crawl—“that she was the last one. Four was perfect.”
Stephanie grabbed my wrist painfully. Another bruise. Why not?
“You said…you said…”
“She was pregnant,” said Holt. “But you meant that she pretended to be pregnant.”
I patted Stephanie’s hand. “No. That’s not what I meant.”
Gregory turned around and yelled at the bar. “I need whiskey. Somebody! Whiskey!”
Carrie snatched a bottle off the top shelf and ran over to pour a generous glass. “On the house.” Then she ran off.
Stephanie clamped her hands over her mouth and said through her fingers, “Oh, my God. Her baby died.”
Gregory threw back the whiskey in a big gulp and asked, “Where’s the grave? Did they even get to grieve? Dad didn’t seem upset, but we hardly saw Mom. She stayed in Kimberly’s room for weeks. She must have been distraught and I didn’t even notice.”
“You were a kid,” said Stephanie. “She didn’t tell you. How could you know?”
I looked over at Holt, who’d said nothing. His half-empty beer sat on the table with his hands in fists on either side. I had a flash of him throwing it at me, but, when he met my eyes, I knew he wouldn’t. Holt had put it together and it was all he could do to contain himself.
“She didn’t lose the baby,” I said.
Gregory heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. So she faked it. That’s bad, but better.”
Chuck pulled my chair up close to his and Pickpocket got between me and Stephanie. My guys taking care of me.
“She had a baby, Gregory. It was a boy, so she exchanged it for Kimberly,” I said.
“That’s not true,” he said in a vicious whisper. He sounded like Anton and it sent a chill through me. “My mother wouldn’t do that.”
I took out Eloise’s evidence and showed them the buys and how Kimberly’s birth date was wrong.
“So there was another baby,” Gregory said. “So what? It doesn’t mean that it was my mother’s.”
I put the photo of Christopher Lutz in front of him. “This is the boy that was born on that day.”
“He’s the spitting image of you,” said Stephanie and she began to cry. “I knew something was weird, but I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“It can’t be,” said Gregory. “It can’t.”
To Holt’s great credit, he took Christopher’s picture and asked me, “Is he okay?”
That warmed me more than the wine would’ve. “I think so. He got loving parents and a couple of sisters, who are probably adopted, too. He lost a leg in a motorcycle accident a while back, but from Facebook it looks like he’s recovered enough to ski and water board.”
“Does he know about us?” Gregory asked in a low whisper.
“No, but this is all going to come out publicly and he will. His wife got in contact with the Children of Whiskey Ridge group, so I’m sure she’ll notice when the news hits.”
“He didn’t contact them?” Stephanie asked.
“No and he didn’t want to hear about her theory,” I said.
Gregory tucked the photo back in the folder and said, “I hope he doesn’t find out.”
“Why?” Holt burst out. “He’s your brother.”
“That’s why. I don’t want him to know that she gave him away like that. I want him to be happy.”
That hung in the air for a few minutes and then I eased myself out of my chair. I’d thought that at the end of my very first case, there would be shaking of hands, thank yous, or, at least, acknowledgement of a job done, if not well done, but it wasn’t like that at all. There were three stunned people sitting at that table probably wishing they’d never laid eyes on me. Thinking Anton was a psycho might have been preferable to the answers they asked for.
We didn’t say goodbye. They didn’t either. Chuck paid for our questionable drinks and we got out of the warm Crabapples and into the chilly evening.
“To the hospital then?” Chuck asked.
“Please just take me home,” I said.
He opened my car door and Pick jumped in. “Don’t we have to go to the hospital?”
“Are Aunt Miriam and Aunt Willasteen still there?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t deserve whatever those two have to say.”
Chuck helped me in and said, “You know what, you don’t. But I’m putting you straight to bed.” He waggled his brows at me.
“Have you gone insane?” I asked. “I had little bits of glass and metal pulled out of my butt today. It’s enormous.”
He grinned at me as sleazy as could be. “I know.”
“Unbelievable.”
“I like big butts and I cannot lie,” he sang.
“Oh, my God,” I said. “Close the door.”
“You other brother—”
I slammed the door, but that didn’t stop the singing. Chuck danced around the car, doing what might’ve been the typewriter and I dissolved into laughter. Just what I needed.