TWENTY

      

       Jarvis dragged the folders toward him, straightened them, re-straightened them. Pushed them away.

“He was right, you need to talk about it,” Angie said.

“What’s there to say? Carson Dodge isn’t really my father.” Angie put both hands atop his. His fingers closed around hers in a death-grip. “He’s not my father. He’s a lying, cheating son of a bitch who cares—cared—only for himself.”

“That’s not true. Yes, he was badly misguided. But he cared. I know he did.”

Jarvis’s leap from the chair tipped it over with a crash. “Why! Just tell me, why me?”

She stood up. “Let’s go in the living room and sit down.”

Jarvis spun away from her touch. “I don’t want to sit down. I want to know what the fuck’s going on!”

“Come sit and I’ll tell you.” Jarvis allowed her to lead him to the sofa. She sat beside him, but half-turned to face him. The folder Wilson had brought lay in her lap. “You were wrong when you said he only cared for himself. This whole thing was set up because of his daughter.”

“Daughter?”

She nodded. “He came to Alton Bay intending to steal the iris and give it to his daughter.”

“Daughter.”

“Trynne.”

From her folder, Angie took a folded sheet of paper, the photocopy of a birth certificate. The name on the certificate was Trynne Bergitte Dekker. Parents: Claus Albert Dekker and Kaatje Ambian Dekker.

“Carson Dodge, AKA Claus Dekker first came to Alton Bay last summer. I think he tracked Trynne here pretty much the same way John did.”

“Carson’s wife, Trynne’s mother, died about two years ago. Six months later he learned he had cancer. At that point I think he decided to mend some bridges.”

“I don’t get what that’s got to do with me.”

“He found you through this.” Angie pulled a clipping of newspaper from the folder; the color home page of the web site he visited three times a week—for grief counseling.

Jarvis was silent. Finally he said, “Counseling?”

“You told me he went to counseling. Remember you joked that it ran in the family.”

He nodded.

“I contacted the guy who runs the—”

“Greg.”

“Right. He wouldn’t divulge any confidences but after I named a few names, we made a connection. Was there a Mack in your group?”

After some thought, Jarvis said, “I get it now—Rap McSodie. Mack.”

“Right. Did you have any contact with him outside the boundaries of the group?”

His shook his head no, then stopped and nodded slowly. “We were the only two guys in the group. We were assigned as support buddies. Like in AA? Sometimes we emailed each other off-group. We got kinda friendly; you know, talked about movies, books, fishing trips, families.”

“That he used as stories about your childhood.”

Jarvis dropped his head in his hands. “I started getting suspicious of him. The other day at your house, he remembered a story that happened—at least I was sure it happened—after he left us. I thought about it all night long, but figured my child’s brain probably misremembered the time element.”

“Did you ever mention Trynne to him?”

“No, why would I?” He peered up at her, that perplexed vee etched between his eyes. “Wait…wait. Wait. He mentioned her!” Jarvis thought a moment, the vee deepened further. “I can’t remember the context. Doesn’t matter, I guess. Somehow I let him know I knew her. That’s when he decided I was so fucking gullible I’d be a great target for his con game.”

“No.” Angie leaned against him. “You aren’t gullible.” She laughed. “That’s the last word I’d use to describe you.”

“Right. You’d begin with jealous and suspicious.”

“Intelligent, logical, caring… Sexy.”

Finally the vee loosened and a crumpled grin appeared. “So, what happened? Did he tell Trynne who he was and together they set the cameras?”

“No, I’m convinced she knew nothing of his arrival in town. I think John triggered events from his end. I think the cameras were totally unrelated.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m not, but hopefully when Wilson and I confront her with the news, we’ll find out the rest.”

“Why not just leave the money to her in his will?”

“To Bud, money was nothing compared to the pursuit of that flower. Remember his dedication is what got John involved in breeding in the first place.”

“Okay so, he planned to give the flower to his daughter. My question is, where is it now?”

“I think the key from his briefcase is the final clue. Wilson did some checking and it fits a safety deposit box at the bank downtown.” Angie wrapped a hug around him. He leaned against her. “The good news in all this is, you’ll be reinstated.”

He pulled away. “I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve decided to turn in my badge permanently.”

If he’d struck her she wouldn’t have been as surprised. Though questions peppered her brain, waiting for his explanation seemed the most prudent action.

“If I can be this blind…to be taken in by someone like him…I can’t be much of a detective. A detective needs to be alert for con artists. He needs to be on the prowl. He can’t be standing there with open arms, begging the guy to fuck him. Every day on the news you hear about people being scammed by someone on the Internet.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“The simple fact is, it’s not supposed to happen to someone in my position.”

The sound of Wilson’s return stopped the discussion. He entered the living room unbuttoning his coat. “I’ve been thinking. What if, instead of visiting Ms. McCoy, we invite her to the bank, to help us open the box? If she’s got anything to hide about the relationship to Dodge, it might come out there.”

“Good idea,” Jarvis said, rising to his feet. “The connection between he and Sondergaard and Bloom is still a little vague. Why did he kill Sondergaard anyway?”

“I haven’t worked that out yet,” Wilson said. “All we know for sure is he sneaked away from Angie’s mother, got a cab to Manchester, took the same flight as you to Philly and returned later that night.”

“He must’ve collapsed in the yard on the way back to the house,” Angie said.

“Why don’t you call Trynne and tell her about the key. See if she’ll meet you at the bank.”

“You mean without mentioning you guys?”

“Not unless she asks.”

Wilson handed her a phone. She dialed and waited, hoping Blake didn’t answer. “Hi, it’s Angie. How are you?”

“Like a wrung out dishrag.”

“Hey, I found a key in Bud Dodge’s things. I’m going to the bank to try and open his box. If you aren’t too busy, can you come keep me company?”

“Busy?” she laughed sharply. “Can’t keep my mind on anything. I’ll be right there.”

Angie handed Wilson his phone. “She’s on the way.”

“Okay,” Jarvis said. “Wilson and I will go in the bank and see if we can get the ball rolling. You meet Trynne in the parking lot then bring her in.”

“Do you want me to tell her about Bud?”

Wilson and Jarvis looked at each other. They nodded. “That might be a good idea,” Wilson said. “She’s beyond trusting anything we’d say.”

Jarvis headed for the bathroom. Angie watched till the door closed. There was a certain gratification to having set the solution’s wheels in motion, yet unease was a monster growing inside her. No good could come of this. Families would be affected. Relationships would suffer. All in the pursuit of a stupid red flower.

Wilson sat in a chair across the room. “How’d he take it?” he asked quietly.

“Not good. Thanks for leaving us alone.”

“He’s having a devil of a time holding things inside.”

* * * *

 

Two minutes after Jarvis and Wilson disappeared inside the bank, Trynne’s little blue car turned into the parking lot, Angie got in the passenger side.

“Aren’t we going in?” she asked.

“In a minute. I have to tell you something first.” Angie took a breath. Words jumbled on her tongue and wouldn’t come out. She took another breath. “I guess the only way to do this is to just say it. Bud Dodge is your father. Your birth father. From Oregon.”

Trynne’s fingers clenched higher on the steering wheel. Her pale blue eyes, so much like Carson’s stared out the window as she absorbed the news. “It can’t be.”

“He came here last summer—after your mother died. He wanted to fix things with you.”

“Angie, I know you’d never lie to me on purpose, but I truly think you’re mistaken.”

“It’s true. I’ll show you proof later. Right now, Wilson and Jarvis are waiting in the bank. We’re going to open a safe deposit box we hope has all the proof inside.”

“It doesn’t make sense. He never contacted me. I swear he never called.” When she spoke again, her voice was tinged with tears. “He said he never wanted to see me again. I believed him. Why didn’t he call?”

“There’s one more thing.”

Trynne’s laugh cut the air and made Angie wince. “One more thing. What? Are you going to tell me he’s the one who killed John?”

When Angie hadn’t replied after a few seconds, Trynne’s head shot around. “No. No no no. He wouldn’t do that. He loved John. Maybe even more than he loved me.”

“I don’t know what happened between them. He’s also the one who stole Rhapsody.”

Trynne’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Then her hands released the thick wheel and she turned and said softly. “That I can believe. The pursuit of that iris was his life’s work. Sometimes I think the only reason I got into genetics was to be with him, work by his side. He was a genius. I don’t know why he gave up breeding. He wasn’t the type to ever give up anything.”

“What if we go inside and see what’s in that box?”

“Why did you need me here?”

“Jarvis thinks that since you’re his daughter, the bank will allow you access to the box.”

“I’m really pissed at Jarvis.”

“Would it do any good to tell you he’s sorry for the way things happened?”

“Angie, he accused me of killing John.” Trynne reached into the back and took hold of her purse straps. “Accused me of killing the man I loved.” She jerked open the car door and got out.

Within minutes, the parties had signed into the vault and the bank manager had placed the box on a table in the center of the room. He and Trynne twisted the pair of keys—one belonging to the bank and the one from Bud’s briefcase—and opened the lid. He said, “It’s all yours,” and left.

A neat mass of paper lay inside the box; topmost was the original of Trynne’s birth certificate. She picked it up as though it were made of fine crystal. The room was silent as a tomb while she read the written truth. Soberly, though with tears glistening in her eyes, she placed the paper on the table. Next, she removed three envelopes. In large block letters, were the names Angie Deacon, Colby Jarvis and Trynne Dekker.

They waited while Angie opened hers. The one-page letter was handwritten in a shaky script she recognized as Bud’s.

“Dearest Angie,” she read out loud. “If you’re reading this you’ve figured things out. I had no doubt you wouldn’t rest till you did. Consider this my confession. I took Rhapsody in Scarlet—my name, by the way. The flower should have been Trynne’s, our family worked so hard on it, spent a fortune. When Trynne left, I was surprised when she didn’t take the research with her. Then Jan moved away. That’s when I lost the will to do it myself.

“It dawned on me to try and find the two of them and get them reunited. I told Kaatje my plan and she was very angry. Let sleeping dogs lie, she said. But, pigheaded me ignored her. Through the iris society, I learned Jan was living in New Hampshire under a new name. How convenient was it that he’d already found Trynne? Better still was that he still loved her. I thought all I had to do was get them together. Unfortunately, even after three years of John’s gentle manipulation, she remained loyal to Blake. An admirable trait, I suppose.

“In order for my plan to succeed, Jan had to produce the red. He had the knowledge and my research. All he needed was the means—money—which I arranged for him to have through Pedar Niels Sondergaard, a man I met years ago in Amsterdam. A man equally devoted to the red.” Angie stopped for a breath. Trynne was reading her own letter, sobbing openly. Jarvis’s inscrutable eyes flicked back and forth between she and Trynne.

“The next part is written in a different ink, by a shakier hand,” Angie said. “Tomorrow, Sondergaard is speaking at a conference in Philadelphia. I will go there and try to talk him into letting Trynne take over where Jan left off. Upon my death, she will be in possession of Rhapsody and all the research data.

“Angie, dear, you have my story. Under other circumstances, we might have become great friends. You are an admirable woman. When that policeman asks, marry him.

“Yours, Claus Dekker.”

She wiped at some tears, folded the letter, and put it back in the envelope.

Jarvis tore open his envelope and read, “Colby. Words cannot express the depth of my sadness for what I’ve done to you. I joined the grief group, at the end of my rope. I’d lost everyone in my life who ever meant anything to me. You were kind and understanding and also suffering the loss of a loved one. I felt a true kinship to you. I sensed you as a man with deep emotions, a man dedicated to righting wrongs. To family.” Jarvis gave a harsh snort. “When I learned you were an officer in the town where my Trynne lived, something inside me snapped, and I could not stop myself from carrying you along in my plan.

“Years ago, I did a horrible thing when I cast off my only…my precious child. Trynne accused me of being selfish and self-centered. And she was right. That is why now I cannot stop until righting what I’ve so thoroughly ruined.

“I feel my Kaatje watching down on me. Though she was adamant against my plan, my stubbornness persevered. I can only hope now that she sees I have finally reconnected our family.

“Colby, you are a man of tremendous vision and dedication to finishing a task. I know in the end you’ll understand my ultimate need to make things right with my daughter, and be able to forgive me. Again, I apologize for hurting you. Another day, another life and,” Jarvis’s voice grew raspy, “I would’ve been proud to call you my son.”

Angie groped in her pocket for a tissue, and found none. Jarvis pressed a handkerchief into her fingers then folded his arm around her shoulders. They waited for Trynne to read her letter out loud. But she resolutely clutched the pages against her chest. “May I leave now?”

“In a minute,” Jarvis said. “There’s one more thing in the box.”

Trynne gestured at Angie who reached inside and came out with a tri-fold stack of papers that she recognized a Claus Dekker’s last Will & Testament. She felt three pairs of eyes on her as she scanned the pages. The third page finally began listing bequests. “The estate is valued at just under $9 million. There are gifts to the Iris Society and other charities that amount to just under a million. He left something to the theater too. Two million dollars for ‘what he put us through.’ Trynne gets what’s left.”

“Maybe after I get out of jail.”

Wilson held the door for them to pass through, saying, “I bet we can get you a suspended sentence.”

Trynne ducked past him, tucking the letter back in the envelope. As they stepped out into the sunshine, she tilted her chin up and took hold of her emotions by sucking in a breath and pulling back her shoulders. Angie stepped up and hugged her. “All these years,” Trynne said. “All these years I thought he didn’t care about me.”

“What will you do now? Are you staying with Blake?”

“We had a long talk last night. I’m going to give up my work in genetics and go into partnership with him in the business. By the way, where is Rhapsody?”

“In a heated storage facility in Meredith.”

“What will happen to her now?”

“I don’t know about wills and legal things, but since Rhapsody’s three owners are all deceased, I assume she’s yours.”

Trynne walked toward her car. She stopped at the front bumper. “It would be a shame not to follow through with her, wouldn’t it?”

Angie smiled. “It sure would.” She kissed Trynne on the temple and waved till the car pulled out of the parking lot. Jarvis’s arms stretched around Angie from behind. He kissed her left ear. “Come on, let’s go talk to your mother.”

“She’s not going to take this well.”

“I think she’ll surprise you. She’s a strong lady. That’s where you get yours.” He eased her into his Jeep, reached across to fasten the seat belt and said softly, “And after that, we have some serious talking to do.”