Crimes of the Heart (27 page)

With a deep, steadying breath, she returned to the written message.

My dearest Jewel,

Go to the address on the business card. Tell them you are Jane Doe and use the key I’ve attached here. All your questions will be answered. Please, forgive me.

Your loving Mother

More bewildered than ever, Jewel stared unseeingly at the missive. “What in the world is she talking about?” Turning over the business card, her heart stilled. “A bank? Good Lord, mother, what’s this all about?”

***

Walking into the oldest bank in Hartford sent chills down Jewel’s spine. The majestic gray marble flooring, high ceiling interior, and oak furnishings only added to her surreal impressions of the day. She blinked, half wondering how she’d driven here with her befuddled mind searching for any clues or answers to this riddle.

With more courage than she’d had to rely on in years, she walked to the imposing oak counter. In a few short moments, the plump, friendly blonde teller led her to the huge steel vault. “Would you like to look at your safety deposit box in one of our viewing rooms, Miss Doe?”

Even through the roar in her ears, Jewel detected the woman’s slight Southern accent. “Yes, please,” she barely managed past stiff, cold lips.

Doing as directed, Jewel inserted her key beside the slot the bank employee used for hers. “This is a heavy one,” the blonde commented as she hauled the bulky metal box from its resting place and carried it out of the vault. In an adjoining closet-like room, she placed it on the low shelf in front of a chair. “Just let me know when you’re ready to return it.”

When she closed the door, Jewel felt suffocated in the tiny cubicle. But it mattered little compared to the sudden uncontrollable quivers racking her body as she gazed in horror at the shiny container.

All she had to do was slide the key in the top lock, turn, and then lift the lid. No problem, right? “Wrong,” she whispered hoarsely, knowing whatever had lain in there for all these years would surely change her mind about her childhood, about the happy memories she’d created. She didn’t want to know anything different from what she’d recalled. She’d rather keep the fantasy alive, for herself and her children.

But another thought reared inside her head. How could she push Devon to return to that time to settle his misconceptions when she herself refused to? It wasn’t fair to him or her.

With an unsteady hand, she found the back of the chair, digging her fingers into the lush hunter green fabric. With a tug, she pulled it out, and then sank down onto the soft cushion. Now, so much closer to the steel box, her intimidation grew.

Her first try at finding the keyhole failed when her hand shook too much. On the second try, using two hands, she succeeded. Twisting, the click announced the release. Carefully, she opened the time capsule.

The musty scent assailed her instantly. Then a faint trace of her mother’s rose perfume could be detected, bringing the smarting sting of tears to the backs of her eyes.

Another business-sized envelope, with her name sprawled across it, beckoned to her. A large manila one, much larger and bulkier, rested beneath it.

Gingerly, Jewel extracted the first, and then opened it. This one was five long sheets filled with her mother’s lovely handwriting. Her heart dropped as she finished page one. And it dove even lower after each subsequent page had been read, and then set aside.

Tears blurred her eyes, and clearly while penning this message, her mother had also shed her share; the ink ran in several places and the paper crinkled as if it had gotten wet.

Putting aside the last of the letter, Jewel sniffed and tried to combat the sudden wave of nausea as she stared at the package cradled in metal for over twenty years. Tentatively, she picked it up, then, with an anger she’d never known before, she tore it open. Money, in tiny bundles, spilled out.

Jewel shoved it away, along with the safety deposit box. The sobs came then, shaking her body. Resting her head on her crossed arms, Jewel cried, sensing that as she did, she knew what it was like to feel her heart shatter into tiny little pieces, never to be whole again.

And all the while a question repeated itself in her mind:
How am I ever going to be able to tell Devon?

Devon shuffled through the stack of old ledger books on his desk. As many times as he’d been over it the last few weeks, something elusive rested just beyond his grasp. For the life of him he couldn’t put his finger on it in order to solve the nagging puzzle to clear his father’s name.

Slamming the top one shut with a thud, he spied the cat lounging lazily near his open laptop, his long tail thumping sporadically.

“What do you say you and I take a break? Lunch sounds good.” He glanced at his watch and raised his brows at the passage of time. “Man, Sean will be home in an hour and a half.” He scooped up the pesky feline, scratching behind his ear, saying, “Come on, Cat, let’s go find some tuna for you and whatever for me.”

His footsteps echoed in the obviously empty house. “I wonder where Jewel’s at.” He chuckled as the answer struck him. “Ah, probably buying buckets of paint and yards of fabric for mom’s room.”

The shiny kitchen greeted him. Uneasiness shivered through him as he glanced at the pristine room. Not a pan or utensil was out of place. Without Jewel or Sean in the house everything seemed too neat and orderly, unlived in.

Shaking off the disquieting sense of being utterly alone in the world, he set to work on the tuna fish. But once the cat was busy gobbling it down, Devon’s appetite vanished. “It’s no fun eating by yourself. Although, Cat, you don’t seem to be having that much of a problem, now are you? Pretty soon we’re gonna have to call you Chubbs.”

The gray feline protested with two sharp meows, and then resumed his feast.

Grinning, he jammed his hands in his pockets and walked to the row of windows. The sight of grazing Arabians in the fenced in area brought delight to his core. “This is how it’s supposed to be. Jewel, Sean, and me in this house, and the horses on this property.”

Suddenly, a long ago buried dream surfaced of the very thing he’d just spoken of. Back then he hadn’t quite pictured his son, but he had envisioned the beautiful babies he and Jewel would make together. A wave of wonder rolled over him; he’d gotten everything he’d wanted.
Happiness, love, and a family.

“What more can I ask for?” he wondered aloud. The suspicion that he’d left something out plagued him. Then, he recalled. “My father. How could I forget that?”

In the distance, he spotted Cyrus walking his prized horse. With the pending arrival of the last ten horses from Texas, Devon figured he’d better clue in Cyrus soon. Deciding now would be as good a time as any and he’d had enough of his own company, he fled the house.

“Yo, Cyrus, wait up,” he called out once he was in earshot of his friend.

The older man waved, and then turned back to the horse, releasing him to graze with the others. “He’s a beaut, son. I always said you had the eye for fine horse flesh, just like your dad.”

Pride spread through him at the comparison. “So he was the brains behind the breeding and training business, huh?” he asked, now standing only a few feet away from the stocky man.

Cyrus gazed at the animals, seemingly lost in thought or time, Devon couldn’t be sure. He half wondered if he should let the subject drop. But here was his chance to hear all he could from someone who had worked with both men. “Did Wainwright do more than push a pencil?”

Coming out of his stupor, Cyrus swiveled so now he faced Devon. “I don’t like to talk about it.” He made to leave.

“Why? Because you know more than you’ve let on?” He thought the most he’d get was a glare. Instead, Cyrus whipped around and all the color drained from his face. Devon’s middle clenched. “What is it? What have you been keeping to yourself all this time?” An anxious note crept into his voice.

“I-I.” His jaw worked, opening and closing, but only that one stuttered word escaped. As he swept a big, beefy hand down his face, he seemed to gain control. “I swear I didn’t realize it until much later. I couldn’t even be sure about it until old man Wainwright sent for me the last time.”

A tight band cinched around Devon’s chest, squeezing. Barely able to breathe, he choked out, “Tell me, damn it!”

“He couldn’t read nor write.”

“Who? Wainwright?”

The shake of his head, followed by his answer, “Your dad,” shocked Devon to his soul.

In that instant, disbelief and denial warred within, images of yesteryear rushed back. Not once had he ever seen his father pick up a paper or sit with him to read a book or help with his homework. At his many requests, his mother would step in and offer, claiming his father was much too tired to even see the words.

“She knew,” he mumbled, the focus crystal clear now. She’d protected the man she loved against humiliation. Bringing his attention back to his friend, he asked, “But how the hell could he have run a successful business for years, then hooked up with Jewel’s father? I even remember seeing his handwriting in the ledger books, his signature on documents.”

Shrugging, Cyrus said, “Maybe he had help of some kind with the paperwork. I don’t rightly know. But what I can tell you is Wainwright had no idea. You should have seen the look on his face when I brought it up that last visit after I had figured it out myself.”

A thread of an idea formed as the impression of the often seen feminine writing in the earlier books rushed back to him. That, coupled with the nagging sensation that had persisted each and every time he’d pored through the records, he suddenly had his answer. There had only been one woman who had the expertise, access, and motive to steal from the company.

She had to have coached his unwitting father on how to prepare the ledgers since he had been forced to take over the job from her, his signature on the paperwork damning him for all eternity.

Bogus companies. The money had been funneled into bogus companies. And, God help me, I know who did it. The mastermind of it all
. 

The thought of exacting his revenge against this woman left a bitter taste in his mouth and a rock-like weight in his chest.

He’d never rob a man worth his salt of his self-respect and dignity. But he’d tried so long to do that to Wainwright and now realized how wrong he’d been, at least in this case. In the end, he’d have to decide whether to ruin a once good woman’s reputation in order to rebuild his dad’s, knowing that the mark would trickle down to tarnish her family beyond repair.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Devon knew that this time righting the wrongs of the past compared little to doing the right thing. Now, he realized, loving someone meant sacrificing your own vengeance.

***

Hours later, having fed a worried Sean and sent him off to bed, Devon called every friend of Jewel’s he knew. Not one had seen her today. His concern had grown ten-fold to near panic. He paced his office, dragging a hand through his hair. Every now and then his gaze would land on the packet of Valentine cards resting on his desk. To feel closer to her, he’d pulled out the neat bundle he’d carried with him for so long, only to end up berating himself for not giving them to her sooner. He prayed he had another chance.

The shrill ring of the phone had his heart leaping to his throat. He lunged for it, the cat jumping from his path as he snatched it up. “Marshall here.”

“Devon, this is Bree, I’ve got Nick and some of his police buddies on the lookout for her car. If it broke down somewhere they’ll find it.” She paused and he clamped his eyes shut. “Ah…I hate to bring this up, but we’re going to need a current photo of her to get copies made, then pass around.” Her voice cracked and his chest contracted.

Her hidden meaning didn’t go unnoticed: Just in case there’s been foul play. “Sure thing,” he choked out. A minute later, after the details had been worked out, Devon hung up.

“Dad, was that her?”

At the sound of Sean’s shaky question, Devon turned around and shook his head sadly. “Sorry, that was your Aunt Bree, offering her help.”

The crestfallen look that swept across his son’s face nearly killed him. He held out his hand, saying, “Come here, son.”

Sean raced to him, flinging himself in Devon’s arms. The small body shook with a mixture of fear and tears, dampness seeping into his shirt. “She’s all right, isn’t she? I mean nothing bad happened to her, right?”

With everything he had in him, Devon wished he could lie to protect his child. But he knew how much worse it would be in the end if he did. Hadn’t his mother tried to buffer the blow of his father’s death and it had backfired? Whispering hoarsely, he managed the best he could, “I don’t know. I keep praying she’s fine.” His voice gained strength. “Just remember your mom is one tough lady. She’s got more courage than I’ve ever seen in anyone. And boy, is she smart.”

Pulling away, Sean scrubbed the moisture from his face. He chuckled. It came out raw and strangled. “Man, is she.”

“Hey, listen, Bree, Sydney, and Tessa, too, are coming over to stay with you while I go out and try to find her.” He held up a hand when he noticed Sean getting ready to protest. “Wait, I know what you’re going to say. But I can’t let you come along. I need you here so when your mom shows up she’ll have you to welcome her home, understand?”

He nodded. “Okay, but can I stay up until she does?”

Relenting, he said, “Yeah, sure.”

The piercing ring of the phone startled Devon. In one swift motion, he plucked it up, feeling Sean’s small hand on his arm, grabbing tightly. “Marshall,” he barked out.

“Devon, its Gil. What’s this I hear about Jewel? I just got in and played back your message. She was fine when I saw her first thing this morning.”

“This morning?”

“Dad, is that her?” Sean begged.

Shaking his head to his son, he witnessed the dejection creep into his Sean’s expression and it seemed as if a mule kicked Devon in the gut.