FAMILY FALLACIES (The Kate Huntington mystery series #3) (23 page)

“Have you given any
more thought to your lawsuit?” Kate asked.

Audrey sighed. “I hate
to let the old man off the hook, especially considering all the money we’ve
spent on my therapy. But I’m thinking I’ll drop it for now. I don’t need to be
stressed out while I’m pregnant. And Rob said there’s no statute of limitations
on sexual abuse, so I can file again later if I want to.”

Suppressing a sigh of
relief, Kate said, “I think that’s a wise decision.”

“I’m a little worried
about that grandparents’ visitation issue, though. What if my old man tries to
force me to let him see Alicia?”

“Usually those cases
are filed by in-laws when one of the parents dies,” Kate said. “Or in a divorce
situation where the noncustodial parent drops out of the picture, but his or
her parents still want access to their grandchild. Rob checked the Maryland
case law. There’s only been one case so far in this state where a grown child
refused to let her own biological parents see her children. Rob said it was a
long drawn-out battle but the ruling eventually was that the daughter was
within her parental rights to decide who her child would be exposed to. With
that precedent established, Rob doesn’t think your father would have a prayer.”

As the session wound
down, Kate reminded Audrey that she would be on vacation the following week but
would be available for emergencies.

“I don’t think I’ll be
having any of those any time soon,” the young woman replied, with a smile. “And
hopefully never again.”

~~~~~~~~

T
he center closed at
noon on Christmas Eve. After the last of the clients had left, Kate gave
Pauline her usual Christmas offering, a Whitman sampler of chocolates. Then she
knocked on Sally’s half opened door and peeked in. Sally was working on a grant
proposal.

“Come on in, Kate.”

“I know we don’t
usually exchange gifts but you’ve been so supportive these last few months that
I just had to get you this.” Kate pulled a two-pound box of chocolate-covered
cherries from behind her back. “A little bird whose name starts with a P told
me these were your favorites.”

Sally broke out one of
her rare smiles as she took the box. “Thanks, Kate! I’ll have to pace myself
with these. Just let myself have a few a day.”

They wished each other
a Merry Christmas and Kate left.

Sally struggled with
the grant proposal until her eyes were starting to cross. She sat back in her
desk chair and sighed. She hated Christmas. She had no family and only a few
friends, none of them close enough that it would occur to them to include her
in their Christmas festivities. She would be spending this evening and tomorrow
alone in her townhouse. Well, not completely alone. She did have a cat.

Girl, you need to
get a life
, she thought. Especially since the Trauma Recovery Center, that
had been her life for over two decades, was now at risk. They had stopped the
picketers, but some harm had still been done. Several of the clients had been
afraid to come in for their sessions, not willing to run the gauntlet, even
with the bodyguards holding the picketers back. Sally couldn’t blame the
clients. The anger emanating from the picketers was too reminiscent of the very
abuse they were trying to recover from.

The press had been
mostly sympathetic with the center, but not completely. The sliding-scale fees
that the clients paid covered only a small portion of salaries and overhead.
The small agency depended heavily on grants. If those who dispensed the grants
decided there was something inappropriate going on and even some of that money
dried up, the center, with its already squeaky budget, might very well go
under.

Well, at least she had
chocolate-covered cherries to console her. That had been very sweet of Kate to
think of that, and to take the time to ask Pauline what she might like. She
really did have a great bunch of people working for her. The other three
counselors were gems as well.

Okay, you’re gettin’
sappy, girl. Time to go home to the cat.

But first...
Sally tore the cellophane off the outside of the box, lifted the lid and
inhaled the luscious fragrance. She selected one and popped it into her mouth
as she stood up and gathered her things to head out.

She let the rich
chocolate slowly melt in her mouth as she crossed the outer office, turning out
lights and making sure the file cabinets were all locked. Just as she neared
the outer door, she finally bit down and the pocket of sweet cherry juice
exploded in her mouth. She rolled her eyes in pleasure.

Looking down as she
reached for the door handle, Sally nearly choked on the half-chewed cherry and
chocolate. Gagging, she stepped back away from the door.

After pulling a tissue
from the box on Pauline’s desk to wipe off the gooey mess she had coughed into
her hand, she reached for her wallet to extract the detective’s business card.

She did not touch the
envelope, addressed to SALLY, that was lying on the floor.

O
nce he had taken
several pictures of the envelope where it lay on the floor, Detective Randolph
put on latex gloves and lifted it by one corner. Using the letter opener Sally
handed him, he slit it open and pinched the edge of the folded paper inside to
slide it out.

Then he dropped the
envelope into an evidence bag. Handling the note as little as possible, even
with gloves on, he unfolded it and slid it into another evidence bag. He sealed
the bag and only then did he read the words.

He turned it around so
that Mrs. Huntington’s boss could read it.

I TOLD YOU TO FIRE HER.
NOW IT’S TOO LATE. IT’S YOUR FAULT.

Sally stared at the
note for a long moment. “What do you think it means, Detective?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t
really fit with the false memory fanatic theory. No mention of families. And
why would it be too late?”

“It almost sounds like
the sender is giving up. Because the damage, as they see it, has already been
done,” Sally said, but her voice did not sound hopeful.

“Maybe. Or they’re
about to act on the threats. I need to alert Mrs. Huntington and her fiancé.”

Sally shook her head,
her lips set in a grim line. “It’s going to ruin their Christmas.”

~~~~~~~~

W
hen Randolph called Mrs.
Huntington’s house, Canfield answered. The detective told him about the new
note.

“Shit!” Skip swore. “So
much for a peaceful holiday... Hey, is there any way we can hold off telling my
fiancée about this until after tomorrow? Let her enjoy Christmas Day at least.”

“I understand the
sentiment,” Randolph said. “But I need to talk to both of you, to see if this
new note gives you any more of a hint as to who this is.”

“Actually I do have an
idea about that,” Skip said.

“I’m on my way.”

“Uh, Detective, can you
call my cell phone when you get here and I’ll come out to your car. Kate’s out
doing some last minute shopping right now. If she comes home, I don’t want her
walking right into the middle of our discussion.”

Randolph paused. “I’m
not promising that I won’t need to talk to her.”

“I know. I, uh, have a
good reason for wanting to talk to you alone first.”

Skip gave the detective
his cell phone number, then disconnected and called Rose. He was glad he’d
pushed Kate to ask Rose to go with her. Rose had agreed, partly because she’d
put off her own Christmas shopping until the last minute.

“Don’t let on that it’s
me,” Skip said when Rose answered. He told her about the note. “I don’t want to
tell Kate yet. But I wanted you to be on guard.”

When Rose didn’t say
anything, he said, “It’s our first Christmas, and the baby’s. Kate’s been so
excited about it. I want her to be able to enjoy tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Rose really
couldn’t say much else since Kate was standing right next to her, digging
through a pile of sweaters, looking for one she thought Maria would like.

“Who was that?” Kate
asked when Rose disconnected.

“Just
mi madre
,
reminding me what time to show up for dinner tomorrow,” Rose said. She hoped
her partner knew what he was doing. There would be hell to pay if Kate found
out they were keeping things from her.

~~~~~~~~

S
kip sat in Detective
Randolph’s unmarked Crown Victoria, across the street and half a block down
from the house.

He had been thinking
about his approach while waiting for the detective to arrive. He hoped Randolph
would agree to his plan. “Detective, I’m between a rock and a hard place here.
The wording of this new note fits with someone I think may have sent the notes,
she or her husband, and one of them may have kidnapped Amy. The wife was a
client of mine. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you exactly why I suspect her,
because of confidentiality issues.”

Randolph looked at him,
one bushy eyebrow at a sharp angle. “You’re concerned about client
confidentiality, son, when your future step-daughter’s at risk?”

Skip grimaced. “Well,
see that’s the rock, Detective. If this woman is the one who’s threatening
Edie, then I’ll do whatever has to be done to stop her. But the hard place is
that there’s some... overlap between my case and one of my fiancée’s
psychotherapy cases. And she takes client confidentiality very seriously. So if
she knew I was talking to you about this, Edie might not end up being my
step-daughter ’cause there might not be a wedding.

“So here’s what I
propose. I’ve got an idea for how to get this lady’s fingerprints and a sample
of her handwriting. If we can link either to the notes, then I think Kate will
be saying to hell with confidentiality. But in the meantime, I gotta ask you to
take my word for it that this lady’s a viable suspect.”

Randolph was silent for
a moment, then he said, “What’s your idea, son?”

Skip tried not to
visibly wince. He liked this guy, and Randolph probably was old enough to be
his father, but after the police interrogation last week, Skip wasn’t sure he’d
ever be okay with being called “son” again.

“You go to this lady’s
house, pretending you’re from the PI licensing board, checking up on the
quality of my work because my license is up for renewal. Have some kind of
bogus checklist that you go over with her. Then ask her to sign it and also
print out her name, in block letters so it’s real legible. Hand her your pen.
Hopefully you’ll get prints on that and the paper.”

Randolph nodded.
“Should work, but it won’t be admissible in court.”

“No, sir, but it’ll
tell us if it’s her. Then I can tell you why I suspect her and you can bring
her in and officially fingerprint her and get a new handwriting sample.”

“And if we don’t get a
match, what about the husband?”

“I actually have a copy
of his handwriting. Photocopy of a hotel register page.” Skip handed the
detective the copy he had kept for his file.

“Uh, there’s something
else... I don’t want it to throw you off if this woman brings it up. Kate was
involved in a lawsuit and the lawyer on the other side got himself killed.
Homicide was checking out people involved in all his current cases, I guess,
’cause they talked to us. This lady–Tammy Wingate is her name–she was part of
my alibi for time of death so the homicide detectives have been to see her
recently.”

Randolph had gotten out
his notepad to write down the woman’s name. “Can’t go to see the lady ’til
Monday. It’d look pretty strange to be coming around with a routine survey on a
holiday weekend.”

Skip nodded. “I won’t
let Kate or the baby out of my sight until I hear back from you. I really
appreciate your being willing to handle it this way, sir. I know it’s a bit
unorthodox.”

“Well, son, as long as
it isn’t unethical, I’m a believer in doing whatever works.” This time Randolph
did notice Skip wince. “The homicide detectives you talked to wouldn’t happen
to have been Bradley and Jones by any chance?”

“Yup.”

Randolph grinned.
“Their good cop-bad cop routine’s a bit transparent, isn’t it?”

“Yup.” Skip grinned
back at the detective.

Feeling a tad disloyal
to his brother and sister in blue, Randolph said, “Don’t let that fool you.
They’re good at their jobs.”

Skip nodded. He’d known
a few cops like Bradley and Jones when he was a trooper. Not brilliant
investigators necessarily, but tenacious enough that they closed their fair
share of cases.

The two men shook hands
and Skip got out of the car. Before pulling away, Randolph lowered his window.
“Try to have a good Christmas, son.”

Skip didn’t wince this
time. “Thanks. Merry Christmas, sir.”

~~~~~~~~

E
ven though it was
freezing cold, Skip sat out on the porch for a few minutes, to make a phone
call that he didn’t want even Maria to overhear.

“Franklin,” Rob yelled
over loud Christmas music in the background.

“Are you at a party?”
Skip asked.

“No, but I hope you’re
calling with some legal emergency that will take several hours to resolve. Get
me out of this madhouse! My womenfolk take Christmas way too seriously.”

Skip chuckled. He could
hear Samantha in the background, singing along with the Christmas carol, loudly
and slightly off key. “Only a small emergency, I’m afraid. It’ll just take a
few minutes.”

“Hold on, let me go
into my study and close the door...” After a moment, the background noises were
gone. “There that’s better. What’s up?”

Skip succinctly filled
Rob in on the note and his conversation with Randolph. “I don’t want to tell
Kate about this, at least not yet. But I wanted to ask you about the
confidentiality issues should Randolph get a match and either of the Wingates
is the note sender.”

Rob paused, then
decided to come back to the not-telling-Kate part. “If Randolph’s got a
concrete reason to believe they’ve committed a serious crime, and kidnapping a
minor is about as serious as it gets, then he can go to a judge and ask for a
subpoena for Kate’s records. If she’s subpoenaed, then it’s not breach of
confidentiality.”

“You sure the judge
would give him the subpoena?”

“Most likely,
especially if Kate didn’t fight it. Skip, are you sure you want to keep this
from her? She’ll be royally pissed when she finds out. Have you seen her when
she’s royally pissed?”

“Once, briefly. Mostly,
I’ve managed to only annoy and irritate her occasionally. But I can imagine
what full-blown royally pissed looks like. Does she hold a grudge?”

“Not forever. She’ll
just make you miserable for awhile.”

“Rob, she’s gonna be
pissed anyway, when she finds out I even hinted to Randolph that Tammy Wingate
might also be her client. If Randolph gets a match and one of them’s our perp,
then Kate will forgive me. If she’s not, then no harm done. Tammy will never
know that the guy with the PI survey was really a police detective and
hopefully Kate will never find out that I told Randolph about her.”

“I hear ya, Skip, and I
understand your motivation. But you’re in dangerous territory, my friend.”

“What else can I do,
Rob? What would you do? I love that baby. She’s
my
child now. Maybe the
only child I’ll ever have. I can’t...” Skip paused, then continued in a choked
voice. “I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to her. And I can’t
begin to imagine what it would do to Kate if something did.”

Rob swallowed hard
himself. “You’re right. The stakes are high. I’ll do what I can to help calm
her down if it blows up in your face.”

“Thanks, man.”

Rob disconnected, then
sat back in his desk chair for a few minutes to think. Skip’s plan was actually
a good one, except for the part about keeping secrets from Kate. But then
again...

Apparently she had told
him about the infertility issues at least, but yesterday at lunch Kate had
admitted that she still hadn’t found an opportunity to tell Skip about her
million-dollar brokerage account. She had a plan, she had said, for telling him
on Christmas.

Hell! What’s with
these two with their secrets and their plans!
Then he laughed silently at
himself. It was a sign of how long he had been married that he had lost touch
with the dance of a new relationship.

“But I know what ammo
I’m going to use with you, Kate Huntington,” he muttered to himself. “If you
give your man too much grief about keeping secrets.”

Later, when the frenzy
of cookie-baking, present-wrapping and tree-trimming was over and they were
getting ready for bed, he told Liz about the conversation with Skip. The
younger man might be willing to risk his woman’s wrath by keeping secrets, but
Rob had been married for a quarter of a century. He knew better.

“I love Kate dearly,”
Liz said, shaking her head. “But sometimes I think we should get combat pay for
being her friend.”

Rob laughed out loud,
then gathered his wife into a hug. “I love you, Lizzie,” he whispered in her
ear. “Merry Christmas!”