Betrayal (22 page)
Authors: Fern Michaels
Driving down Highway 41 brought back memories of the short time she'd spent in the city. If she could turn back the clock, Alex would be alive. In a way, she blamed herself for Alex's death, believing that if she'd insisted on speaking to Don long ago about Sara's mental status, he might've taken her to get the help she'd needed. She should have confronted Sara about the destruction in her studio. Most of all, she wished she'd paid closer attention to the premonitions she'd had when they'd agreed that James was the best possible attorney for Alex.
The directions she printed out from MapQuest were right on the money. She made two right turns, then a left. The Century 21 office was located in a newly built strip mall. Pastel colors, pink and lavender. Kate thought it looked like something at Disney World, but this was Florida. Everything was flashy, designed to entice.
She checked herself in the mirror one last time. Taking a calming breath, Kate got out of the car and walked directly to the office. A set of chimes resting against the door emitted a soft tinkling sound when she entered. She found herself in a reception area decorated in pale white furniture with lots of plants and dozens of the latest fashion magazines, which were stacked on small white tables throughout the area. A small television set held center place, with a group of comfortable chairs placed in a semicircle off to the side.
A young girl hurried to the reception desk, a half-moon area that led to what appeared to be several small offices behind her. She was tall and thin, with perfect features. Nothing too big or too little. Long brown hair and dark eyes. Very pretty. Kate had secretly hoped she would find Sara in her mother's office, whining, “My mommy said this, or my mommy said that,” but she wasn't that lucky.
“May I help you?” the young woman inquired.
Here goes.
“Yes, thanks. I am new to the area. I have a couple of months left on my rental lease. I thought it was time to look for a house.”
Here goes.
“Yes, thanks. I am new to the area. I have a couple of months left on my rental lease. I thought it was time to look for a house.”
“Well, that's what we do. We find homes for people.” She took a clipboard with several sheets of paper attached and gave it to her. “This is a questionnaire we ask all of our prospective clients to fill out. Helps us to find just the right home for you and your family. It narrows down the list of possible properties.”
“Of course.” Kate took the clipboard and sat down in the television area. Her back was to the wall to the left as you entered. That allowed her to view the front door and still be able to glance at the reception area.
Kate decided it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible. She was single. Divorced. Worked in medical billing. Price range. She didn't want to go too high, but then the lower-priced properties were probably listed with the junior sales staff. She'd go for the moderate-priced. The high two hundreds. She thought her chances of Debbie taking her as a client were slim. She didn't want that anyway. She wanted to see her and get past her. Then, if she made enough visits to the office, possibly she would learn more about the owner and her family. She returned the clipboard to the receptionist.
“If you'll have a seat, I'll look this over, and we'll be right with you. Would you like coffee or a Danish while you wait? We have a kitchen for our clients to use.” She smiled at Kate.
“That would be great. I didn't bother with breakfast. Thanks.”
The girl walked around to the side of the reception desk and opened the door. Kate couldn't believe her luck. There fifteen minutes and already she was inside the inner sanctum.
The receptionist led her to a small kitchen at the end of a long hallway. She could see inside each office as she passed, provided the doors were open. “You can help yourself. There's juice in the fridge.” The girl left the room.
Kate grabbed a muffin and poured herself a cup of coffee. She took a few bites, deciding she was hungry after all. She peered down the hallway, left then right. Nothing. Before the girl came back, Kate hurried out of the kitchen and down the hall. If she was caught, she'd say she was searching for the ladies' room. Slowly, she stopped to peer inside the open doors of the offices. Nothing looked lavish enough for Debbie. She'd have the best digs in the place, that much Kate knew. Still favored white furniture, from the looks of the waiting area. Kate would hate to pay her maintenance on such frivolous furniture. It must cost a small fortune to keep it clean, and Kate figured Debbie would have to replace it every few months at that.
At the opposite end of the hallway Kate hit pay dirt. An office the size of her apartment's living room. White furniture, glass-top desk. No plants, not a thing to create a comfortable atmosphere. Cold and sterile came to mind. Knowing this might be her only chance, Kate slipped inside the office and closed the door. She didn't know what she would say if she were caught; she sure as heck couldn't say she was looking for the ladies' room. She'd worry about it when and if. A tall glass shelf held plaques of different sizes and shapes. Apparently Debbie'd won quite a few honors in her career. One hundred million dollars in sales. Not bad, Kate thought. Voted best real estate office by the Better Business Bureau. She scanned the rest of the shelves, looking for a family picture, but found nothing. Behind the desk there was a door that Kate figured led to a private bathroom. She hurried inside. There on the side of the vanity. A small frame. Both girls. Kate picked it up. Before she chickened out, she stuck the frame in her pocket. She hurried back to the kitchen. Later she would peruse the photo. She sat down and took a sip of the disgusting coffee.
“Ma'am?”
“Yes?” Kate asked.
“I think we've got something for you to look at later this afternoon. Would that be possible?”
“I would love to. Yes, thank you. This is great.”
“We aim to please.”
“I guess you do. How many agents do you have?” Kate asked as she followed the girl back to the front.
“I think we have around thirty, but that figure can change daily.”
“Why is that?”
She looked behind her. “I shouldn't say this, you being a new client and all.”
“I'm good at keeping secrets,” Kate encouraged.
“The owner. We call her Ms. Winter White. She does love the color. Anyway, she's not always the easiest person to work for. Very moody.”
Office gossip. Kate couldn't be more pleased.
“I know what you mean. I used to work for a woman who was the same way. Every day when I came to work I thought it was going to be my last. She was a real tiger.”
“Yeah? Well, Mrs. Winter can be a real B-I-T-C-H.” She spelled out the word to Kate.
“How so, if you don't mind my asking?”
“Like I said, she's very moody. If her daughter is here, you might as well kiss a pleasant day good-bye. They fight like cats and dogs. None of us can stand the little witch. She's just like her mother.”
“So she has a daughter?” Kate hoped the girl's loose lips would reveal which daughter she was referring to.
“Actually, she has two. I think the older one moved away years ago. Some of the girls that worked with Mrs. Winter said the older girl didn't get along with her parents. I think someone said they haven't spoken since the girl graduated from high school. But you know how office talk is. Who knows? But you're not here to listen to this silliness. I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't have told you all that.”
Kate held up her hand. “Hey, not to worry. Sometimes you need a good gab about the boss. I've had my share.”
“Well, I hope you'll still consider us as your Realtor.”
“Of course I will. Now, what about those houses you want me to look at?”
“I'll get the agent. Hang on a minute.”
Kate sat down in the waiting area. She couldn't believe her good fortune. An office gossip. Maybe she'd make friends with her, invite her to lunch. A few minutes later, Kate was escorted to a junior agent's office just as she figured. They made arrangements to view a three-bedroom condo later that afternoon. Kate thanked the agent, Randi, and left the office.
Inside her car, she took the small framed picture out. It was Sara and Emily, but it'd been taken a long time ago. If what the receptionist told her was correct, then this picture had to have been taken before Emily graduated. She looked at Sara. She was at least fifty pounds heavier than she'd been as a preteen. She wore as much makeup as her mother. Her brown hair was frizzy just like Debbie's.
Debbie Junior
, Kate thought. Emily, on the other hand, looked nothing like her mother or father. She was still tall and thin. Her long blond hair reached her waist. She was a beautiful young woman. Kate's heart lurched at the sight of her. She put the photo inside her purse. She had no intention of returning it.
Debbie Junior
, Kate thought. Emily, on the other hand, looked nothing like her mother or father. She was still tall and thin. Her long blond hair reached her waist. She was a beautiful young woman. Kate's heart lurched at the sight of her. She put the photo inside her purse. She had no intention of returning it.
Kate had some time to kill before seeing the condo. She drove around the town familiarizing herself with the area. It had grown by leaps and bounds since she was there last. Shopping centers at every intersection. Gated communities. Movie theaters. The roads had been four-lane. Progress. The medians were lined with palm trees and multicolored annuals. Very pretty.
Before she realized where she was headed, Kate found herself on one of the lesser-traveled roads. She knew what she was doing. She was looking for Coleman Fitzpatrick's office. He was still located in the same building. Low-key, nothing extravagant, but she remembered the elegant decor inside. He'd told her Suzanne had decorated it personally. Lots of antiques and comfortable sofas and chairs.
Tempted to stop and say hello, Kate floored the accelerator. She couldn't see Coleman. He would want to know what she was doing in Naples. And there was no way on earth she was going to tell an attorney her plans.
Unless she wanted to go to jail. And she didn't. At least not yet.
Chapter 25
S
unlight streamed between the wooden slats on the plantation shutters. Don moaned and rolled over. He'd closed them last night. The bitch must've opened them that morning before leaving for the office. He didn't remember how much he'd drunk the previous night at the club. One of the waiters brought him home. He didn't know which one, hell, he didn't care. He'd lost his license three years ago. It'd be another two before he could have it reissued. Four DUIs. Driving under the influence.
unlight streamed between the wooden slats on the plantation shutters. Don moaned and rolled over. He'd closed them last night. The bitch must've opened them that morning before leaving for the office. He didn't remember how much he'd drunk the previous night at the club. One of the waiters brought him home. He didn't know which one, hell, he didn't care. He'd lost his license three years ago. It'd be another two before he could have it reissued. Four DUIs. Driving under the influence.
He forced himself into an upright position, dragging the bedsheets with him. He had on the same clothes he'd worn yesterday. He smelled like alcohol and sweat.
He needed a shower, but wasn't sure if he could make it. His head thrummed with pain; his throat was dry and soured. He managed to stand up. One foot in front of the other. Left. Right. Left. Right. Ten more. One. Two. Three. Four. He knew exactly how many steps to the shower. He'd counted them once. At least he could still count, he thought. He turned the shower on. Ten showerheads. He stepped inside, letting the hot water pummel against him. He leaned against the cool marble for ten minutes before he felt stable enough to grab the bar of soap. He lathered up and shampooed what was left of his hair. He found a razor and a can of shaving cream placed on one of the built-in shelves in the shower. Nothing too good for the Winter family, was there? He made a half-ass attempt to shave without slitting his throat. That was something because the way his hands shook, he was surprised he hadn't sliced his jugular years ago.
He'd taken a dump on life six years ago. First, he'd lost his job at the engineering firm after they filed bankruptcy. He tried to start a firm of his own. With his ass mortgaged from here to hell and back, he hadn't been able to get the business loans he'd needed. He'd gone to every bank in town. Then to Miami. Fort Lauderdale. No one wanted to lend him a nickel, much less the two million he was asking for. He'd hoped for something from the civil suit they'd filed against the Rockets. That had remained tied up in the court for four years before he'd finally accepted the fact that even in death Alex had bested him. The son of a bitch. Before he was even arrested, he'd made sure his fortune was untouchable. Don had hired numerous attorneys in hope of finding something that would allow Alex's fortune to spill into his open hands. There was no way. He'd finally given up. Debbie had even hired and paid for a few attorneys herself. Even she, the invincible Mrs. Winter, hadn't been able to break through the chains Alex had placed on his fortune.
He stepped out of the shower, pulled a thick white bath sheet from a white wicker basket, and wrapped it around his middle. He'd gone to pot, he thought as he viewed himself in the mirror. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the inside of a gym. His skin looked flabby, like the old men at the club.
Too much sun, too much drink.
Screw it,
he thought as he turned away from his reflection.
Screw it,
he thought as he turned away from his reflection.
In the kitchen, Don poured the leftover coffee into a mug and drank it even though it was only at room temperature.
Now, what should he do today? Like he had a choice. He'd call a taxi to drive him to the club. He'd hang out at the bar for most of the afternoon. From there he'd make an attempt to act like he had something to come home to, then he'd drink until he passed out. Sometimes he didn't even bother coming home. They knew he was a drunk at the club. If he got rowdy, they'd have one of the waiters drive him home. He rarely got rowdy anymore. It wasn't worth the effort.
He remembered the day his life had taken a turn for the worse.
Debbie and the girls had gone shopping as usual. He had been searching for a pack of matches, of all things. He'd taken to enjoying a pipe now and then, but only when the girls were out of the house. Even though Debbie smoked Kool cigarettes like they were going out of style, he couldn't find a damned match to save his life. He'd searched the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing. Then he remembered Debbie sometimes lit up in bed, of all places. He went to their bedroom in search of a light. What he discovered changed his life forever. How he wished he'd never started smoking a pipe.
He knew Debbie wrote in a diary, a journal, whatever the hell they called them nowadays. He wasn't the least bit interested in learning her innermost thoughts or deep dark secrets. Whatever she wrote about, he was sure it would be of no interest to him whatsoever. The search for matches had certainly changed that.
As he'd rummaged through the bedside table drawer, he found her journal lying open, her schoolgirl curlicues glaring up at him. It wasn't the handwriting that got his attention. It was the words.
I told Sara she had to do this. I promised I would make it worth her while for the rest of her life. She didn't seem to give a damn one way or another. She told me she knew about Emily, and that was all it took. Sara didn't like her sister anyway. Though I don't like the fact that my two girls hate each other, I have found a way to make it work for me. Don would kill me if he ever found this out. He won't. He's too busy trying to make a good impression on those worthless bastards he works for. Did I pick a loser or what? I should've gone after Alex when I had the chance. He'd offered to take care of me and the child, but he never mentioned marriage. I wanted all or nothing. I sure as hell wasn't going to be Alex Rocket's handy piece of ass. I thought there was hope for Don. See what I get for thinking?
The next entry overwhelmed him.
Yes! That son of a bitch was convicted! I told Sara she should consider acting. She would get an Oscar for her performance.
He'd never read any farther. In turmoil over what to do, he decided he'd speak with an attorney. They were bound by attorney-client privilege, so no matter what happened, he would have that security. A week before his scheduled appointment, Alex was killed in a prison brawl. Don had started drinking that very day and hadn't stopped.
That bitch and his evil spawn had lied about his best friend. They'd killed Alex as surely as the man who'd shoved the knife into his gut.
Daily he lived with the torment. Each day he contemplated taking his life, but then he thought how much satisfaction that would bring Debbie and decided against it.
He went back to bed with a half-full bottle of cheap vodka. Maybe he'd die in his sleep. Sometimes he prayed that he would just so he didn't have to face another day. He was finding it harder and harder to live with what Debbie had forced Sara to do. Sara didn't seem to care one way or another. All she thought about was men and food. Don knew she was a slut, and he didn't care. He kind of hoped she'd get some sort of sexually transmitted disease. Maybe that would slow her down. Debbie had allowed her to go on birth control when she was fifteen. God, he hadn't said a word. No, all he'd cared about was making money and a name for himself. At least Debbie was right about that.
The icing on the cake, the straw that broke the camel's back, whatever you wanted to call itâhe had always suspected Emily wasn't his child. But never in a million years had he thought his best friend had slept with his wife. Not good old Alex. He was too good to do something so . . . male.
Emily sure was a chip off Alex's old block. She loved animals. Hell, she was studying to be a veterinarian. Alex would be proud of her had he lived.
Don wondered if Alex had ever suspected that he knew of the affair between him and Debbie. If Alex had, he'd certainly never given it away.
Just goes to show you how much you think you know someone and, boom, they go and pull something you would never have dreamed of.
Just goes to show you how much you think you know someone and, boom, they go and pull something you would never have dreamed of.
Even though his best friend had screwed around with his wife, got her pregnant, then went on with his life, Alex hadn't deserved to die. Don had spent many hours wondering why Debbie put Sara up to such a charade. He had yet to figure it out. He'd tried looking through more of her journals and found nothing. He concluded that Debbie was jealous of Kate and her life with Alex. She did what she did out of pure spite, and nothing more.
He took a swig of vodka straight from the bottle. It had little effect on him. He finished it off, then went in search of another. One thing he could thank Debbie for: she kept him supplied with plenty of booze, took care of the household bills, and basically left him alone. He wasn't even sure why they were still married. The girls were grown, and he was sure that Sara couldn't have cared less if her parents were married, divorced, or dead. Emily had split after graduation and rarely called. Debbie probably liked having him around just so she would have someone to lord it over. She was that way.
The shrill ringing of the phone made him jump, spilling liquor all over the white sheets. Who cared? The phone continued to ring.
He leaned across the bed and grabbed the portable phone from the nightstand.
“Yeah?” he called into the phone. He'd lost whatever class he had long ago and knew it.
“I'm looking for Don Winter,” a male voice said.
“You are, huh? Well, who's looking, and I might see if I can find him.” Don laughed at his own sick humor.
“My name is Coleman Fitzpatrick.”
Isn't he the attorney who got Alex's conviction overturned right before Alex was killed?
“So what do you want with me?”
“Then I'm speaking to Mr. Winter?” the voice on the other end questioned.
“No, this is a recording. Of course it's Mr. Winter.”
“I see. I have caught you at a bad time, I take it,” Coleman said.
“Why do you think that?” Don asked. He was having fun screwing with the man.
“You sound . . . tired.”
“You mean drunk? Yeah, well, I am. I'm drunk all the time. I like it, too. So what do you think of that, Mr. Coleman?”
“I think that's a sad place to be, Mr. Winter. Now, if you would like to know why I'm calling.”
“Hey, that was my next question. So, what do you want?”
“I know you were a good friend of Alex Rocket's.”
Don felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. “So? The man's dead.”
“I'm aware of that. I'm trying to find his widow, Kate Rocket. I thought you or your wife might have . . . I thought you might know how I could locate her.” “Well, if that doesn't beat a rug to shreds. Why in the hell would you think me or my wife would know where Kate is? Her perverted husband molested my daughter. Do you think we cared what happened to her? Hell, no, we don't.” “Then I'm sorry to have bothered you. Thanks for your time,” Coleman said.
“Hey, wait a minute. Don't hang up. Haven't you called that dog house in North Carolina? Kate's probably there with a new man to look after her parents' puppies. Yeah, I bet that's exactly where she's at.” Don laughed into the phone.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Winter.”
Click.
Damn, he hung up. Wouldn't you know it, just when I had Alex on the brain, I hear from his old attorney. Will miracles never cease.
Still, he was curious, even though he was half-lit. He'd call Debbie at her office. She was nosy as hell. She might know what Coleman Fitzpatrick wanted.
He dialed her private number. If she was there, she would answer.
“Debbie Winter,” she said when she picked up the phone.
“It's me.”
“What, you're out of booze already?” she said.
“No, I'm not. I was going to tell you that a certain lawyer called, but if you're going to be a bitch, forget it.”
“What lawyer?” she urged.
He could hear the sudden tension in her voice. Maybe she was in some kind of trouble. He could only hope.
“Coleman Fitzpatrick.”
He heard her intake of breath.
“What did he want?”
“I don't know. He was looking for Kate.”
“After all these years, why would he be looking for Kate? Unless there's money he's been hiding. I bet that's it. Did he leave a number? I'll call him myself.”
Leave it to Debbie to figure money into whatever the man wanted. She could be right. Why else would he be looking for Kate if not to tell her Alex's fortune was hers? “I'll check Caller ID for his number. Hold on.” He looked at the clear plate on the handheld phone. “It's 550-9188.”
“I'll call you back,” Debbie said, then hung up on him.
Figures. The greedy bitch is at work already. But if she comes up with some extra cash, more power to her.
Don Winter was past wanting to open his own office. His brain was fried from drinking too much. Besides, he was beyond caring at this stage of the game.
Suddenly a thought occurred to him. An epiphany, you could say. He had a treasure chest of secrets he could use to blackmail his wife.
Why hadn't he thought of that before? Too much alcohol, he supposed. He'd back off for a while. See what she came up with on Fitzpatrick. If there was nothing to gain from him financially, maybe it was time he started making his wife pay for her sins.
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