Blame It on Texas (7 page)

CHAPTER SIX

Z
OE POINTED TO THE PICTURES
. “You don’t see the resemblance?”

His brow pinched tighter. He looked back at the pictures and then up again. “It’s two redheaded girls.”

“Or is it the same girl?” she asked. “Can’t you see it’s the same girl?”

He shook his head. “You seriously don’t think…” A piece of egg fell into his lap. “She was murdered. They recovered her body.”

“Look at the pictures,” she insisted, desperation rising in her throat and stinging her sinuses.

He put the photocopied article and her picture on the desk and studied them. Then he crossed his arms and stared at her. “What I see are two redheaded girls.”

She shook her head, wishing she’d never told him. A part of her knew people would think she was crazy. She grabbed hold of what he said and went on the defensive. “So you’re saying all redheads look alike? That’s insulting.”

“It’s not an insult. I happen to like redheads.”

Her throat tightened. When her vision got blurry,
she blinked a couple of times. Then somehow she found another stash of courage. “It’s me. They’re both me.”

He inhaled. “Okay, I admit the pictures look alike, but we all look like somebody. Just because you…” He stopped talking, and his expression took on the appearance of suspicion. “You saw this on that TV show that aired a couple months ago, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I saw the show, but—”

“Is that why you’re here? Why you came to Texas?”

“Yes, but—”

He rolled his eyes, as if he was thinking she was a total fruitcake. “You came all the way to Texas because you looked like a millionaire’s kidnapped grandchild? What? Did you not hear the part about her body being found?”

“I heard it, but—”

“But you still thought you might be able to sweet-talk the old man out of some money. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“No!” She jumped up from the chair. “I want the truth. I want answers. That’s what I want. Then I’m going back to Alabama.”

He stood there staring at her as if she was lacking both a brain and any morality. “Don’t you realize that all it takes is a simple DNA test to prove you aren’t the old man’s granddaughter? He’s not going to hand you money—”

“I know that. I’m not stupid.”

“What a shame,” he said.

She didn’t understand what he meant, but she continued. “Why would anyone take my word when there’s a simple test? All I want you to do is ask if he would be willing to do the test. I’ll figure out how to pay for it myself.”

He started to walk out but then turned around. “Do you realize how stupid I would look going to this man and telling him that I have a girl who thinks she might be his murdered grandchild? Never mind that the police are certain that they found the body.”

“They didn’t have DNA then,” she blurted out. “I’ve read the reports—they never said anything about checking dental records. The only evidence they had was the child’s size, her clothing, and a stuffed bear that belonged to… to Caroline. Those things could have been planted.”

He ran a palm over his face. “You really believe this?”

She nodded, hesitant to admit it verbally, but she’d already crossed the line of no return.

“Why? I mean, I see the pictures, but unless you’re really a whack job, you’ve got to have more reasons than the fact that you look like the dead girl.”

She wavered on telling him more; he already thought she was crazy. But then she reminded herself she didn’t care what he thought. He wasn’t important to her. She glanced down at the picture.

“The swing. I remember it. I’ve always had this vision of a tire swing and someone with long red hair pushing me on it. And the house. A big white house. Inside, there’s one room that has bookcases floor to ceiling; I remember that, too. And when I was young I called my mother, Mother Two. As if there was another mother somewhere. There are no pictures of me as an infant. None.”

“Were you adopted?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. My parents would never admit anything, but I didn’t look like either of them. And I asked, but my mother said I looked like my great-aunt, but she didn’t have a picture of my great-aunt. And then…”

“Then what?” he asked.

This was her trump card. If he didn’t see this as evidence of what she felt was true, she would never convince him. “And then when my mother died, I found my birth certificate.”

“And?”

“She never told me that I was born in Texas. I’ve always thought I was born in Alabama.”

“So you have a birth certificate?” he asked.

“Yes, but she never told me I was born in Texas.”

He shook his head and in a bad, “can’t believe this shit” kind of way. “Okay, so she didn’t tell you where you were born, but you have the birth certificate. So you should know you’re not Caroline Bradford.”

“Why would they lie about where I was born? And that’s not all. There are a lot of little things that never added up about my childhood. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my parents, but they’ve lied to me about so many things from my childhood. And if they lied about that, then what else did they lie about?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but this… This can’t be true. I… It’s absurd, Zoe.”

“Absurd maybe, but possible. The absurd is the essential concept and the first truth.”

He cocked his head. “Albert Camus.”

“I know who said it. My point is that he’s right. I could be right.”

Tyler shook his head. “But you have a birth certificate. That should prove you—”

“And you’ve never heard of forged documents? Please, you’re a PI.”

He just stared.

“Admit it,” Zoe said. “There is a possibility that I’m right. And now someone is telling me to leave.”

His eyes tightened with what appeared to be genuine concern. “Who’s telling you to leave?”

“I don’t know. Someone called me, and his exact words were, ‘Leave. Get the hell away before it’s too late.’ ”

“Too late for what?”

“I asked the same question,” she said.

“And…?”

“He hung up.”

“Okay, so who else have you told this story to?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. “No one.”

He rolled his eyes again. “No one?”

“Not a soul.”

The look was back in his eyes. As if he was worried she’d honestly lost her mind. “That doesn’t make sense. If no one knows what you’re doing here, how and why would they warn you to leave?”

“I don’t know. I guess it could have been a wrong number.”

“So this person only called once?”

Okay, now he really didn’t believe her. “I got one hang-up and then that call.”

“From the same number?”

“Don’t know. My phone listed both as an unknown caller.”

He raked a hand through his hair, and a couple more pieces of scrambled eggs rained down.

“You’re not going to help me, are you?” she asked.

He closed his eyes for a second. “Do you have your birth certificate?”

“Yes. I was going to go to the library later and…” She saw from his expression he really didn’t care what she’d been going to do. She pulled her birth certificate from her purse and handed it to him.

He studied it. “I’ll check and see if this is the real thing. But that’s all. I’m not going to Mr. Bradford. I can’t.”

He started out, but she blurted out, “How much?”

Looking back, he asked, “How much what?”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

He hesitated, and when his gaze met hers, she saw that flash of something in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen for a long time. Old-fashioned male interest.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’ll only take a phone call.”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

He tapped the birth certificate against his jean-covered thigh. “I think the idea of you being Caroline Bradford is crazy. I haven’t made my mind up about you.” He looked at his watch. “I need to be somewhere.” He pulled out his smartphone. “Give me your cell number. I’ll call when and if I find something. Probably tomorrow or Tuesday.”

She called out her number. He typed it into his phone.

“Stay away from the Bradfords’ place. They could have you arrested next time.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Zoe watched him leave, and even though she knew he wasn’t promising anything, she felt more hopeful than she ever had.

Rick Clark arrived at the Bradford security gate five minutes late for his ten o’clock shift. He wouldn’t have been late if Western Union had lived up to the tagline:
“Send money in minutes.” It had taken almost an hour to get the money wired to New Orleans. He could have hopped on a plane and given it to her in person almost as fast. Not that he was eager to see Candy.

Seeing Ricky was another matter.

Rick’s gut knotted. He wasn’t going for father of the year; truth was, he didn’t know how to be a father, considering his own had died before he started school, but it had been three months since he’d seen the boy, and two before that. Not that he hadn’t tried to see Ricky. He had. Would his own son even remember him at this point?

And if he did remember him, would he even want to see Rick again? He’d tried everything—gifts, candy. How, Rick wondered, did a father convince a kid to love him when the kid’s mom seemed determined to keep them apart?

Was Ricky reading yet? Probably not. He’d probably never seen his mom pick up a book the way that Ellen Wise did. Maybe for his son’s next birthday he’d send a few books. Would Candy read them to him? The answer rolling around his head made the anger swelling in his chest grow a little bigger.

But damn, he was a cop and he was tired of playing by the rules. Rules Candy didn’t follow and then manipulated for her own good. No, not even for her good. He didn’t have proof, but everything in his gut said Candy had fallen off the wagon again. If the court didn’t see his side this time, he’d start playing by his own damn rules. Somehow he’d get Ricky away from her. No friggin’ wonder fathers were kidnapping their own kids—the messed-up justice system automatically sided with mothers. As if having breasts made them better parents.

Parking his car, he sat there white-knuckling the steering wheel and trying to talk his blood pressure down. A knock hit the window, and he almost reached for his gun. When he saw it was Windsor, the head honcho of the guard, he frowned and got out.

“You’re late,” Windsor snapped.

“Seven minutes.” Rick bit back his attitude. In spite of what he’d told Tyler, he needed this gig. Between paying child support, the lawyer, and the emergency money Candy constantly needed, he could barely get by. “Sorry.”

Windsor nodded and started back to the office, obviously to clock out. Bradford, the owner of the estate, was older than dirt and still used the old punch card method of keeping track of employees’ hours. Remembering Tyler’s request to get the scoop on the mysterious redhead, Rick caught up with Windsor.

“Boring day?” Rick asked.

“No more than usual.” Windsor rubbed a hand over his old-man belly. He wasn’t much younger than the boss and bragged he’d been with Bradford from the very beginning. If anyone knew something about the redhead, this was the man.

“So that redhead gave up trying to seduce the old man?”

“What redhead?” Windsor kept walking.

“One of the guards mentioned a redhead.”

“Yeah. I’m sure she’s off chasing some other rich ol’ man by now.”

“Did you guys get a license plate and check her out?”

“Didn’t see much need in it.”

“Well, if she shows up again, get me a license number and I’ll run it.”

“I have a feeling she’s moved on,” Windsor said.

Rick’s phone rang, and he pulled it out and eyed the number. “I’ll be right up.”

He hung back. “Hey, Jeff.” Rick’s gut tightened, knowing his friend and lawyer working the custody case was going to fly off the handle with the news.

“Tell me this call is about inviting me out for a beer and not the case.”

Rick frowned. “I just wired Candy another two hundred.”

“I told you to stop that shit. You pay child support; you’re not her money bag.”

“She said they were out of groceries.”

“And you believed her.”

Rick gritted his teeth. “I don’t know, but I’m not gonna let my boy go hungry.”

“Jesus, Rick. You told me yourself you thought she’s drinking or using again. You’re supporting her habit.”

“Then get my son away from her, Jeff. Do it, or I’ll do it myself.”

“Sorry, I’m late,” Tyler said thirty minutes later when Dallas opened his father’s door.

“No problem. I appreciate you helping.” Tyler walked into the house that was filled with wall-to-wall boxes and people.

“Hi, Tyler.” Nikki ran up to him and gave him a hug.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Watch it,” Dallas said.

“You just better be glad she chose you to puke on,” Tyler said. The first time Dallas and Nikki met had been at a murder scene, and she’d gotten sick all over him. It
was a little something Tyler and Austin didn’t let Dallas forget.

“Is that egg in your hair?” Nikki asked.

Tyler ran another hand through his hair. “I thought I got it all out.”

“You got egged?” She grinned.

“Sort of.” He nodded when Ellen Wise, Nikki’s friend and their new receptionist, walked into the room.

“Hi, Tyler,” she said.

“I hope you don’t work too hard today, because I’ve got tons of filing for you to do tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry. I’m ready to get that office whipped into shape.” She smiled, and Tyler realized again how pretty she was—not that she compared to Zoe. But he’d bet she wasn’t crazy, either.

“You got more egg on your collar.” Nikki brushed it off.

“Yeah, I had an accident at the diner.”

“Nikki?” LeAnn, Dallas’s sister-in-law, popped into the room. “Did you want those lamps in the extra bedroom?” The women took off to deal with lamp business.

Tyler looked at Dallas. “I remembered where I knew the redhead from.”

Dallas’s eyes rounded. “Where?”

“Cookie’s Café. She’s a waitress.”

“Did you go over there yet?” Dallas asked.

“That’s why I’m late.”