Copyright

© 2015 Lynn Donovan

Cover Design Copyright © 2015 by Marcy Rachel Designs

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

This story is dedicated to Diane. Your amazing life inspired me while putting this story together and I appreciate our multi-decades (I won’t reveal how many) of friendship.

Appreciation

Appreciation

Thank you to everybody in my life who has contributed in one way or another to the writing of this book. My husband, my children, my children-in-law, and my grandchildren. You all are my unconditional fans. My BETA readers and grammar guru who make me look gooder than I am. [Bad grammar intended.] My fellow author friends who chat with me daily to exchange ideas, encourage, maintain sanity, and keep me from being a total recluse/hermit.

Mostly I thank God for the talent he has given me. I hope to hear you say, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” when I cross the Jordan and run into your arms—Many, many years from now. :).

Prologue

Kidnapping was a tricky business and everything had to be just right. This empty restricted-parking space behind the building was perfect for Edward C. Montgomery as he illegally parked the rented cargo van. The space’s proximity to the service entrance was perfect for the quick getaway he needed. What good fortune it was empty.

Montgomery guffawed at the restriction sign, “Employee-of-the-Month Parking Only.” Guess Mr. Employee-of-the-Month had gone home early. This Monday afternoon, right after the Thanksgiving Holiday, was a busy day for the businesses here in downtown Pueblo. Carlile, Rivers, and Tyler Law Firm shouldn’t be any different, and it made his plan all the more plausible. No one would notice a broken down old janitor.

He squeezed his over-indulged gut out from under the steering wheel and breathlessly ambled to the back of the cargo area. A rolled up sleeping bag and two water jugs were shoved against the back doors. He lifted a red jumpsuit from on top and slipped it over his black linen dress pants. Pulling it to his waist, he wriggled out of his suit coat and draped it over the passenger headrest. He considered his silk-blend shirt and decided to remove it as well. The cufflinks alone would give away his disguise. Gently folding the shirt as if he were packing it for a suitcase, he looked around. This van was filthy. At last he laid the shirt in the passenger’s seat. Hopefully the stains were old and wouldn’t ruin the shirt. He shrugged. The more important issue here was getting what he wanted. He could always buy a new shirt.

The jumpsuit was cumbersome, but finally he had pulled it up onto his shoulders and was able to ease the long zipper closed at his neck. Sweat dotted his forehead as he rotated his arms in an attempt to stretch the fabric and give himself some room. A black ski cap pulled down close to his brow completed his guise. No one would be able to describe his features for a sketch artist, should any witness notice his activities. He patted two pockets, everything was in place. Turning his head this way and that, he examined what little he could see of himself in the driver’s rearview mirror. “Not bad, Montgomery. Not bad.”

Oh, wait! He pushed his leather capped Oxfords off with his toes, and sat on the sleeping bag to slip on the Velcro sports shoes he’d picked up at the super center. He tossed the plastic sack and shoe box toward the driver’s seat. The jumpsuit would cover his expensive socks, so they wouldn’t give anything away. Now he was ready.

He exited the rear of the van, dragged a canvas utility cart out, and lifted a pawn-shop vacuum cleaner, placing it in the cart along with a hideous over-sized bath towel from his pool shed. It was tattered and worn, but ideal for what he needed.

His guise was perfect.

As he shoved the cart around the van, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the van’s right mirror. His posture was too erect for a broken down janitor. He slumped as much as possible and, while letting his left foot drag a little, continued pushing the cart up to the door labeled “Service Entrance Only.”

Scanning the hall, he found a break room, storage, and a hall that appeared to lead to a fancy-schmancy staircase and that useless receptionist. Nope, don’t want to go out there. This first floor wouldn’t be where he’d find his prize.

Slipping into the service elevator, he pushed the button for the second floor. The elevator had to be original from when this historic building was first built. It felt like it was being cranked by hand. Finally, the doors creaked open, and he peeked out. Ah, this floor had offices.

He added a little limp as he leaned over his cart and shoved it down the hall. Glancing at each room, he searched for the name, Clifford Valdez.

At last, he found it and shoved the cart into the door, banging it on the door frame as he adjusted his ski cap closer to his brow. “Oh sorry, man, I was to’d ta clean up a mess in dis office. I didn’t know ya was in yere.”

“What mess?” Valdez’s eyes swept the office.

Sure it looked ready for a photo shoot, but Montgomery hoped this would get him in and close enough to the kid. He shrugged, but kept his eyes diverted to the ground. “Man, I dunno. The boss to’d me ta come fix it, so yere I am.”

“Oh, all right. But please be quick about it.”

The little snip. If he knew who he was talking to, he’d—but he couldn’t know. Montgomery had to be careful. Play the part. How hard could it be to run a stupid vacuum cleaner? He watched the maids do it all the time. More accurately, he enjoyed watching the sway of their hips in their crisp little uniforms. Oh the fantasies he’d had in his large office at home. He cleared his throat and tugged at the ski cap. “Yes sir.”

A slight smile curled on the sides of his mouth as he pulled the ratty pink and grey vacuum from the cart and searched for a place to plug it in. The dang thing was loud and difficult to balance, but he shoved it back and forth like he’d seen the girls do and faked a good effort to clean the floor. The loud rumble from the motor was perfect. No one would hear Valdez should he struggle or cry out.

Montgomery glared at Valdez from the corner of his eye. He couldn’t go straight to the kid. He had to take his time, and, somehow, he needed to get that door shut. Working his way around, he banged into the door, and as he had hoped, it bounced closed. Now, all he had to do was get close enough to the kid.

His disguise worked beautifully. The kid wasn’t paying any attention to him. His head was down, and he was reading some legal document. This was going to be easier than Montgomery had expected. The Taser’s pistol grip fit nicely in his hand as he reached into his pocket and shoved the vacuum cleaner closer to Valdez.

Swiftly, he pulled it from the oversized pocket, aimed it toward Valdez’s chest, and squeezed the trigger. The boy convulsed and gagged. Montgomery pressed his tongue between his teeth as he smiled. This weapon was more effective than he had imagined. Transferring the Taser to his left hand, he grabbed the hypodermic needle out of his back pocket, pulled the cover off with his teeth, and slammed it into Valdez’s neck.

“An eye for an eye,” Montgomery said through clinched teeth.

Valdez’s puppy-dog eyes pleaded with Montgomery but did him no good. This kid was the solution to his problems, his leverage with that Twyla Rivers and that stinking Judge.

The serum was good. Valdez went limp almost immediately, slumping forward against Montgomery’s forearm. Montgomery leaned in close to the kid and whispered, “And a son for a son.”

The kid’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out like nothing flat. Montgomery stood to his full height and rubbed his hands together like he was rubbing a stick between his palms. Excellent. Now to get him hid.

Chapter One

Twenty-three years earlier…

PHYLLIS MOORE couldn’t bear to watch. She stared at the incidental patterns in the drop-tile ceiling instead, trying to perceive bunnies and dragons as if they were cloud formations. Despite her best efforts, they all looked like eight-week-old embryos. The nurse had the monitor turned, mostly for the doctor’s viewing, but Phyllis could still see five black and white, out-of-focus, ghost-like images. The doctor injected saline into the embryos’ heart sacks to efficiently eliminate those three extras who overburdened her uterus.

A Reduction, he had called the procedure. It was routine, he claimed. He had performed it hundreds of times. The embryos were merely clusters of cells, he reassured. They would be eliminated before they could be considered viable fetuses. He was simply doing what nature should have done on its own, but for some strange, unknowable reason, it didn’t.

A Reduction. It felt much more sinister than the benign word implied. Phyllis squeezed her eyes closed and fought the urge to scream. If only she could shove the sheet covering her body into her mouth and bite down like a bullet.

The five in-vitro embryos had been labeled by letters, A, B, C, D, and E. It was supposed to help de-humanize their existence. Instead, it caused Phyllis’s mind to label them with alphabetically ordered names: Abbie, Breanne, Caiden, Deidre, and Eli. Why and how she presumed genders was beyond her understanding. She knew giving them names before they were eliminated wasn’t helping her heartache, but she couldn’t help herself. After waiting five years to have a baby, would it be so bad to have five at once?

When the needle pierced her abdomen, she anticipated great pain.

“A slight pressure,” the doctor warned her. She squeezed her eyes tight against it, but she felt nothing, at least not on her belly. The anguish in her heart was another matter altogether. The harsh ceiling lights bore down on her as did remorse and fear. Was she doing the right thing? Were they infringing on God’s territory? How could the doctor know which three to reduce? What if he eliminated the wrong ones and “nature” took care of the other two? Her mind reeled in anguish.

Bob hovered close to the table and held her hand as if she could fall off. She reminded him from time to time not to squeeze so hard. Did he have the same concerns? She had prayed with him about this, but peace had not settled in her heart. Had it settled in his? A slight tremble in his grip and his occasional heavy sigh suggested otherwise.

Even Pastor Vince James had prayed with them months ago. A prayer team had been called to pray over the anticipated blessed event: conception. A miracle was expected. A miracle had occurred. The embryos took. She was pregnant. Too pregnant.

The doctor spoke in quiet tones to his nurse. The gentle exchange, meant for their ears only. It gave the procedure a feeling of secrecy. Life wasn’t taken in the open, with loud jubilant voices. Quietly, secretively, three lives were being extinguished, like dousing a flame, without fanfare or adulation.

The paper covering Phyllis’s inadequate pillow amplified the splash as tears trailed down her temples. What they did was not illegal, not by man’s law. But, what did God think about it? Did He hang His head and cry for the loss, like Phyllis wanted to do? Were they simply clusters of cells to Him? Had He already assigned a soul to them? This was harder than she had ever imagined it would be.

Bob tenderly wiped her tears with his thumb. He bent to kiss the moist trail. She loved him so much, especially in tender moments like this.

The doctor’s long, drawn-out lecture about the risks returned to her mind. It’s not natural to have so many at once. It wasn’t healthy, for the mother or the babies. Human beings weren’t supposed to have litters. This was the right thing to do. The safest. Sometimes man-made pregnancies had to be manipulated to imitate natural pregnancies. The procedure routinely introduced five viable embryos into the uterus in order to beat the odds, because very seldom, in fact hardly ever, did all five embryos remain viable once they were removed from the Petri dish. Mother Nature usually took care of herself.

Sure, all this information made perfectly good sense, but why did she feel so much grief over the whole thing? Why could she not shake the feeling this was all horribly wrong? And if this hardly ever happened, how was it that he had performed hundreds of these reductions?

Phyllis jerked when the nurse stepped into her peripheral. The ceiling lights illuminated a halo through the nurse’s dark, swept-back braids. The jewel-green scrubs complimented her dark skin tone. “We’re all done. Would you like to see your twins?”

Twins!

Her anguish halted for the moment. Of course she wanted to see them.

The nurse turned the screen around and squeezed some more goo on Phyllis’s chocolate brown tummy.

“This may be a little cold,” the nurse warned.

Phyllis couldn’t feel a thing. The local anesthetic still numbed her skin. The nurse moved a round pointer over her abdomen while black and white blobs wavered on the screen. “There.” The nurse pointed at the screen. Phyllis stared at two white blinking lights surrounded by what looked like gummy bears. That was her twins?

“Which two?” Phyllis raised tear filled eyes to the nurse.

“Hmm?”

“A, B, C? Which two are they?”

“Oh, now honey, that’s not important.” She chewed on her bottom lip and concentrated on the screen.

“Well, it’s important to me.” Phyllis stood her ground, though she hated the tremble in her voice. She had to know.

“I believe it was B and C.” The nurse wipes the goo off Phyllis’s tummy.

Breanna and Caiden. A sense of relief filled her gut, like when you find out there are survivors from a tragic accident. “Can you tell the genders?”

The nurse laughed as she pushed back the equipment cart holding the monitor and supplies. “No, it’s way too soon for that.”

She helped Phyllis sit up and instructed her to get dressed. She could go home, but had to take it easy for the next few days. The nurse handed her an appointment card for this same time, same day, next month.

She vowed to follow the nurse’s instructions to the letter. This pregnancy was something she had struggled to have for too long. At long last, she was going to have a baby! No, two babies. Her heart and her mind floated in joyful bliss. The procedure already fading in her memory, all she thought about now were her twins.

Keisha Breanne and Robert Caiden. Hmm. What if they were both girls or boys? She’d have to work on that. She should pick two girl names and two boy names. Then when she knew their genders she could narrow the names to the appropriate two. Please, Lord, let at least one be a girl. She’d wanted to name a daughter Keisha since she had been ten years old.

Her best friend in fourth grade was named Keisha. The little girl’s father had been in the Air Force. They moved before the school year was over. But Phyllis remembered the lovely girl. She wanted her daughter to bear the same name and to be just as smart and beautiful.

As she bent to pull on her jeans, a stitch in her lower abdomen caused her to freeze with fear. Was she losing the two embryos? What if they had reduced the wrong ones? This was her worst fear! The doctor couldn’t possibly know what Mother Nature had in mind…or God.

“I’ll get the nurse.” Bob ran from the room.

Phyllis stayed bent over, holding the examination table, and waiting for someone to tell her what to do.

The nurse wasn’t alarmed by Phyllis’s pain. She reassured her and Bob this was normal and the reason she needed to take it easy. “Go home,” the nurse instructed her with a smile. “Rest for the next few days. Everything will be fine.”

But everything wasn’t fine. Something was wrong. Phyllis knew it in her heart. The month-long wait was excruciating, but at last it was time to see the doctor again. He assured her everything was progressing nicely. Two strong heart beats, no problems. But at the next month’s visit, only one heart beat could be heard. Another ultrasound was ordered, and this time, only one fetus showed up on the black and white monitor. Only one had survived. Phyllis no longer cared what gender this baby was. She just prayed this one would survive.

Chapter Two

One week before Thanksgiving, twenty-three years later…

“WE COULD go to Florida—there’s Disney World, or Land. I never can remember which it is.” Keisha Moore smiled her most persuasive smile.

Brilliant! And mother will cry into her turkey and dressing for days. Abbie’s voice resonated in Keisha’s mind.

Clifford Valdez’s perfectly gelled hair didn’t move at all as he nodded. “Yeah? And who’s going to tell your mother we won’t be there for Thanksgiving?” He took a purposeful bite into his patty melt sandwich and immediately wiped after the dripping juices.

Keisha slumped down in the red vinyl booth and rolled her eyes. Big Poppa’s diner was half full, which was unusual for a Friday. She missed eating with Rose and Zeke. That thought gave her an idea for another excuse. “I hate to leave Rose and Zeke all alone.”

Deidre made a sound as if she had Tsked her tongue. Don’t blame this on Rose. You’re the one shunning Mom.

“If you really feel that bad, invite them.” Clifford dipped a french fry with exactness into the catsup so that only the tip was covered.

Keisha stared at her boyfriend as he placed the fry in his mouth and chewed.

He’s right. Eli agreed, always the righteous crusader.

Keisha shook her head. She hated it when Clifford was right…and she was wrong—almost as much as she hated them pointing it out. “No…it’s their first Thanksgiving with Daniel, I’m sure they’ll want to celebrate in their home.”

“One never knows until one asks.” He pushed the last bite into his mouth and pulled another napkin to clean his lips and then his hands. He precisely twisted the paper napkins between each finger, as if the sandwich had covered his entire hand with grease. Surely, it wasn’t that bad, but Clifford was a bit of a clean freak. She couldn’t help but smile as she stared at his growing pile of wadded up napkins.

You have to go to Mom’s, you know that. Abbie spoke more quickly than usual. But inviting the Claytons would at least give you a buffer. She’ll fuss over Daniel, which will take her focus off you.

Yeah, what’s better than a five-year-old to shield you from mom’s constant hovering? Really, it’s the perfect solution. Caiden, the reasonable voice, always knew the right words to say.

Clifford covered her hand with his. The contrast between their skins didn’t warrant the tag of Coffee and Cream, the nicknames Rose’s father had given to Rose and Keisha. Perhaps it was more Chocolate and Latte. “Look, we can go through Pueblo, swing by the rest home early that morning, and visit with Aunt Twyla, then head to Denver. Maybe we can bring her with us. She’ll be our excuse to leave early. Or we can leave after the football game, if you want. Your mom wouldn’t let me spend the night at their house anyway, and if I’m your ride...”

Abbie shouted, Oh no! Mom’d blow a gasket if she thought you and Clifford were—

“Stop!” Keisha stiffened. “I mean, stop trying to convince me. You’re right, Cliff. We have to go. I’ll call Rose and see if they want to join us. Rose and I can make some pumpkin muffins for Mom and take a half dozen to Twyla.”

“That’s my girl.” Clifford pulled her into a one-armed hug and scooted out of the booth. He greeted Suzie, the blonde, pony-tailed, fifty-something waitress, at the cash register and paid their bill. Suzie had worked at Big Poppa’s for as long as anybody could remember.

Keisha lingered at the table. “Can I please have a conversation with my boyfriend without you bombarding me with your opinions?”

Whatever! Deidre replied. The others were silent.

Clifford turned from the payout counter. “What?”

“Nothing, I was just thinking out loud.” Keisha scooted out of the booth and hurried to join him. “I’ll call Rose from the car.”

And the rest of you, leave me alone. For once.

Silence.

****

“You sure?” Keisha couldn’t believe Rose had agreed to go. She watched Rose pour cranberry and orange zest batter with exact precision into each cup of an eighteen muffin pan. Her dark brunette, shoulder length hair was swept up in a sloppy bun and covered with a lime-green and yellow bandana. Her light blue eyes focused on her work. These five pans were filled and would soon go in the oven. Next on the agenda were pumpkin and spice and pecan pastries. Those three items sold like candy in Rose’s Bakery this time of year.

Rose wiped the spatula across the lip of the mixing bowl and looked up at Keisha. “Are you kidding, we’d love to.”

“But, this is you two’s first Thanksgiving with Daniel—”

“Don’t be silly. I made Thanksgiving dinner last year for Zeke…and Twyla, and Clifford, and Pastor V, and I ended up in the hospital with a migraine.”

“Yeah, but there were extenuating conditions that caused those migraines, not the cooking.” Keisha’s gut tightened. She had feared for her former housemate’s life last year. It was bad enough for Rose to suffer with severe migraines after her father died, but it turned out his spirit was reaching out from the grave to ask for her help. The migraines were simply a consequence of his supernatural communication. His brother, Russell, had murdered him and tried to embezzle her inheritance.

Keisha had never been so afraid.

“We’d love to go to your mom’s,” Rose continued. “Besides, we can drop by and visit Inez on our way to Denver. In fact, call your mom and ask if we could invite her. It would be great for Daniel. He considers your mom as his grandmother, too. He’d love being with both of them for the holiday. And it’d be good for Inez. She’s all alone now. I worry about her so much. It’s hard to imagine how difficult these holidays are for her. I feel guilty sometimes, you know, ’cause I got Daniel back, and she lost her daughter and son-in-law. Besides, holidays are way more fun with a large family. That is, if Momma Phyllis won’t mind.”

“Are you kidding? She loves large gatherings. You are the honorary daughter, and Zeke is the honorary son-in-law.”

Yeah, because all she got was you, Abbie snipped.

“Sometimes I wish they’d had more kids so I’d not be the only one,” Keisha murmured as she glanced out the plate glass window. Delicate snowflakes floated like white down, covering the streetlamp decorations and parked cars. The cold seeped into Keisha’s heart.

Rose set down her large bowl. “Keisha, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tears filled Keisha’s eyes but she bit the insides of her cheek trying to suck the tears back down.

Cry baby! Deidre chided.

“I am not!” Keisha spun around. “Uh, I am not ruining your holiday, then, by asking you three to come to Denver?”

Rose tilted her head to one side and stared at her best friend. “No, you’re actually helping me out. I don’t want to cook a big meal like that for just the three of us. And, may I remind you, Keisha Breanne, your mother loves you very much. The reason you don’t like being around her is because she smothers you. And why does she smother you? Huh? Because you’re her only child and she treasures you. Remember? That’s what you’ve always told me. That’s why you dread the holidays. Right?”

Caiden spoke softly, Keisha, Rose is right. You’re all mom has. That’s why she hovers over you. Try not to be so hard on her.

Keisha stared at the floor. “I know.”

She knew as well as Rose did, her mother loved her and smothered out of love. It was just, now that she was twenty-two years old, it was irritating.

Irritating? Abbie broke in. Do you think Rose’d be irritated if her mother was still alive? You need to be grateful, not irritated.

I know! Keisha marched to the kitchen. “Okay, thanks.” She hugged Rose and squatted down by the mixing bowl shelf. “I’ll call Mom as soon as we get these muffins made.”

“Great and don’t forget to ask about Inez.”

Keisha nodded and pulled out another mixing bowl.

****

Mrs. Rider waited patiently as Keisha rang up her order and handed her a box of assorted holiday muffins. They exchanged pleasantries and Mrs. Rider walked toward the door.

Did you notice that gaudy broach? Deidre whispered.

Hush! Keisha hissed.

The brass bell on the door jingled before Mrs. Rider could open it. Keisha glanced toward the door, preparing a welcoming smile to greet the entering customer.

Clifford! Her smile grew wider. He held the door open for Mrs. Rider to exit. Snowflakes salted his shoulders as he stepped over the threshold.

“Heeey,” she cooed.

Good grief, you’re pathetic. Abbie whined.

“Heeey.” Clifford unwound his llama-wool scarf, a themed Christmas present he had bought for Keisha, Zeke, Rose, and himself last year, and shook snow off his shin-length camel-hair coat. “So, do we have Thanksgiving all worked out?”

“Yes, Rose and family are going. They are stopping in the Springs to pick up Inez and will meet us at Mom’s by eleven.”

“Wow, that’ll be a big group. Have you talked to your mom?”

“No, I thought we’d just surprise her.” Keisha’s eyes sparkled as an ornery grin curled up on her full lips.

Why do you lie to him like that? Deidre softly complained.

“What?” Clifford stepped back. “Oh, good one, Miss Moore.”

A raised eyebrow and a tilted head accepted his sideways compliment. She glanced at the clock. Five till seven, way past closing time. She stepped behind the display case and began pulling trays and sliding the leftover muffins into storage bags. She’d take a few home and leave these bags in the freezer. This time of year, the frozen muffins could be donated to a Feed-the-Hungry organization. But she’d have at least one for breakfast. “You want one of these bags to take home…?” She lifted her head to see Clifford staring at her. A nervous smile parted her lips. “What?”

“Nothing.” Clifford blushed. “Sure, I’ll take one, just one muffin though.”

She removed one and rebagged it, then tossed the bag to him. He fumbled the sack, but eventually it settled in his hands. He looked cold.

“You want some hot tea?” she asked.

“Sure, when we get to your house.”

What’s he up to? Deidre said.

Stop being so judgmental. They had plans, remember, a quiet dinner and a movie at home, Caiden reprimanded.

Keisha stared at Clifford a moment. Perhaps he didn’t want to keep her at the bakery any longer than necessary. How thoughtful. He was always so thoughtful.

Big deal! Abbie whined.

Leave her alone. Caiden’s words silenced Abbie.

Keisha lifted her eyebrows and finished wiping out the display case. Emptying the cash register, she counted the money and shoved the stack of bills toward Cliff. “Verify for me.” He counted, twice, and told her the total.

“That’s what I got.” She took the money and put it in a locking money bag, then placed the bag in the safe in the back of the dry-goods closet. A weird sensation bound her heart as she took the small room in. Rose’s Uncle had caused so much anger and frustration when he had stored boxes from his dealership in this same closet. Keisha had never liked the man. There was just something creepy about him. Even her voices had spoken against him, but they seldom had anything good to say about anybody. Abbie and Deidre criticized everything. Still, he had been so audacious, thinking he was above the law. With time and Rose’s perseverance, he found out otherwise.

Now that awful man sat in prison, for the rest of his life. No chance for parole. Between the murder charges and drug trafficking, he’d never know freedom again. Just as well. Keisha shivered. The fact that he had murdered his own brother, just confirmed her instincts were right all along. She chuckled and backed out of the storage space.

“Chinese?” Clifford reached for the light switch as he followed Keisha toward the back door.

“Yes, please. Beef and broccoli for me.” She’d take him around the block to the front of the store and his car.

Do you ever get anything different? Abbie chided.

Keisha locked the bakery door. Clifford hopped in her passenger seat, and she drove around to his car. “You go get it. I’ll go home and set up the movie and make some hot Jasmine tea.”

Mmm, that sounds nice. Caiden echoed Keisha’s thoughts.

“Done.” Clifford kissed her cheek and hurried to his dark blue Audi.

Chapter Three

Edward C. Montgomery grumbled under his breath as he scribbled his name, the time, and E. J.’s full name: Edward C. Montgomery, Junior, on the paper attached to a pink see-through clipboard. Behind the solid glass window—was it bullet proof?—with a half-moon opening, a young woman pulled the clipboard to her side and read his entry. Without any expression, she placed the clipboard back in the opening. “Sir, I can’t read your name. Could you print it below?”

“The name is Edward. C. Montgomery. Senior!” He hated announcing who he was to this room full of low-life idiots, and he refused to re-write his name for such a low-pay imbecile. Where do they hire these halfwits? Probably pulled her from the welfare line for a day’s wage. No one needed to know why he was here. Let them think he was attending an important meeting. Yes, a board meeting, rather than a judicial visit with his son.

He shook his head and looked around the sterile room. Individual chairs were hooked to each other in four rows, two against the outer walls, and two back to back in the middle. A woman with blonde-turning-white hair sat in the middle of one row, her body squeezed between the dividing armrests. A large ToyRUs shopping bag occupied the seat next to her. Did it contain her sole possessions or a gift for the child she had come to visit? A lanky man sat behind the woman. By his chiseled, drawn face he had to be coming off a drinking binge.

There was a grass-green wooden bench near a plate glass window overlooking the asphalt parking lot. Its paint was chipped, exposing the previous red paint. A dirty grease monkey and a frail, tattooed girl perched on the decrepit bench. A baby carrier covered completely by a cheap fleece blanket sat on the floor at their feet. The assumed child within was apparently content despite the vigorous motion the woman applied to rocking the carrier. Their faces looked like they had fallen into a tackle box. Montgomery sniffed. Did they own bath soap? They had probably come straight from rehab. His nostrils flared at the stench of collective body odors.

Against the east wall hung a quilt composed of nine colorful blocks with contrasting colored handprints centering each. Beneath that pathetic attempt to add a cheerful touch of color sat the only decent-looking couple. The woman’s eyes fluttered to take quick glances at him. She rocked nervously in her seat with a three-inch binder clutched to her chest. The man held eye contact for a moment and then turned to whisper in the woman’s ear. She sighed as if the man had told her to relax, but nervousness remained in her posture.

They probably recognized Montgomery. His chin rose slightly as he looked away from their self-indulging glances. He was accustomed to that. His face had been published in the newspaper and on magazines. People always wanted advice from successful, wealthy individuals such as himself. He lifted an eyebrow and pulled at his eighteen carat gold cufflinks.

A child-size table with four wooden chairs, like E. J. had in kindergarten, sat empty on the other side of the window from the greasy couple. Did these morons honestly expect a grown adult to sit here? His suit cost more than this pathetic collection of furniture. A shiver of disdain shimmied down his spine. He’d stand and wait.

Twenty insufferable minutes later, the heavy metal door clicked and opened. A man stuck his head out, spotted Montgomery, and opened his mouth, half in an acknowledgment of “ah ha” and half in a smile. E. J. lingered behind the man. He reached around to nudge E. J. into the waiting room, and then pushed out his hand to shake Montgomery’s. “I’m Manuel, Manuel Barrera.”

Montgomery stared at the hand and then gave it a terse shake. Forgetting his façade of a board-member meeting, he quipped, “Our appointment was for one o’clock.”

“Yes sir, running a bit behind, I’m afraid. I’ll be observing your visit with Eddie.”

Eddie? “Time is money.” Montgomery glanced at his son and nodded. “E. J.”

“Hi, Papa,” E. J. mumbled, as his eyes dropped to the floor and then fluttered up to the clean-cut couple with the binder. A loose wave and a slight smile quickly dropped into a depressed posture as E. J. turned to follow Manuel Barrera. Did his son know that couple?

Manuel nodded to the couple also. “Mr. Wyman, Mrs. Wyman.”

Ah, they were the foster family E. J. was staying with. Montgomery took another look at them as the heavy door closed with a loud, locking click.

Manuel escorted Montgomery and son through a labyrinth of hallways, finally ending at an alcove with three doors. He opened the door to the left and gestured for Montgomery and E. J. to enter.

Montgomery placed his large hand on his son’s shoulder and guided him ahead into the little room. From his peripheral, he noticed the man entering the door next to theirs. An observation room, he surmised.

Their visitation room was painted a bright yellow. Two bean bag chairs, one blue, one red, were tossed in the corner. A long toy box overflowed with decrepit toys. A two-foot diameter, green and blue plastic ball sat next to a faux leather, overstuffed, three-cushioned couch. The odor of sour diapers lingered in the room. Montgomery considered standing, but glanced at the large mirror on the wall between this room and the next, and forced himself to ease down on the couch instead. “How are you, son?”

E. J. stood in the middle of the room, as if he didn’t know where to sit. “Fine, sir.”

Montgomery softened his gaze and held his arms out for his son. “Come here, E. J. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

E. J. moved as if he were in a full-body cast.

Montgomery took hold of his son’s elbow and pulled him closer so he could embrace the boy. His body felt rigid. “I think you’ve grown since summer.”

E. J. nodded. He jammed his hands in his pockets. Were tears pooling in his eyes? Montgomery tilted his head and observed his son. “What have you been studying in school?”

“Same stuff…” E. J. choked on the words.

“Same stuff your mom was teaching you?”

E. J. nodded. Now the tears trickled down his pale cheeks.

Montgomery glanced at the mirror. How would Manuel interpret his son’s behavior? “Well, good. Son, I know this is hard on you.”

A click at the door handle caused Montgomery to glance up as it swung open. Manuel’s face peered around the door. “Eddie, why don’t you pull a bean bag over and sit down.”

E. J. complied.

The door closed.

Montgomery ground his teeth. “Son, I hate it that it has to be like this. I promise you, I’m going to fix this.”

E. J. glanced up at him. Fear flashed in his eyes.

Montgomery pressed a reassuring smile and glanced ever so slightly at the mirror. He was glad the boy’s back was to the observation glass. Ol’ Manuel wouldn’t be able to read E. J.’s expressions. “Don’t you worry. A nine-year-old shouldn’t have to worry about such things as this. Your old man will fix this.” He lifted E. J.’s chin so their eyes met. “You believe me, don’t you?”

What little color had been in E. J.’s face drained to porcelain white. His eyes widened. “Yes, sir.”

****

Gloria Slattery angled her long polished nail, as if the shiny polish was still wet, in order to push the green, blinking button. “Carlile—” Her voice emanated from the speakers of every phone within ear-shot of her receptionist desk. She jumped and frantically pushed the demanding line button. “Carlile, Rivers, ’n’ Tyler Law Firm, please hold.”

Her lip quivered as she punched the red Hold button and angled to punch the second green flashing light. Soon, she had four lines blinking red, on hold, and returned to the first. “Sorry to keep you wait—”

The line buzzed in her ear piece. She sighed and pushed the next red flashing light. “Sorry to keep you waiting. How may I direct your call?”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I need to speak to Twyla Rivers.”

“I’m sorry. Ms. Rivers is not in the office. May I take a message?”

The man on the line sighed heavily. “When is she expected back?”

“I—”Gloria glanced across the rounded counter above her desk, scanning various post-it notes“—don’t have that information, sir. I’ll be happy to take a message for you.” Clifford had not given her a sticky note telling her anything more about Ms. Rivers than to simply take messages. Two other buttons blinked and another screamed to be answered. Clifford told her not to let a line ring more than two times. The phone calls must be busier now since she had taken over the receptionist job. There’s no way one person could keep up with this many calls.

Mr. Carlile approached the desk, his perpetual frown present as he peered over her upper counter. Her gaze fluttered up toward him, and she forced a smile. His eyebrows furrowed in response.

She spoke into her mouth piece, “Sir, I’ll have to take a message or put you on hold.”

“Name’s Edward C. Montgomery. Let Mizz Rivers know I have called.”

Something about his tone scared Gloria, but she lifted her chin and replied, “…and your num—” The sudden dial tone caused her to flinch. Blinking in an effort to regain her composure, she glanced up at Mr. Carlile. Did he think she had called to him over the speaker? His frown had morphed into a scowl. Tears stung her eyes as she lowered them to the call panel and pushed the next blinking line. “Carlile, Riv—”

The line was dead.

Tears spilled over her heavily mascaraed eyelashes. She glanced up to speak to Mr. Carlile, but he was ascending the staircase. She sighed and pushed the next button on hold.

Finally the board was cleared. Gloria slumped back in her chair. This was a job for two people. The exterior door opened, and Clifford approached her desk. She pulled a tissue and purposefully wiped under each eye, careful not to smear her immaculate makeup.

“How’s it going, Gloria?” Clifford offered a pleasant smile as he picked up the stack of blue message slips from Twyla Rivers pigeon hole.

“I don’t know how you did this job. You made it look so easy.”

Clifford shrugged. “It takes time. You’ll get the knack of it soon.”

“Yeah, I’m probably gonna get fired is what I’ll get soon, or sent back to Courier.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mr. Carlile came up here. Oh, after I announced his name over the speaker trying to answer a line, and I couldn’t help him for answering all these” —she puffed out her cheeks and blew air instead of the curse word edging to trickle out— “calls.”

Clifford chuckled. “I’ll go see what he needed.”

“Thank you. How’s school going?” Two lines trilled at once. She sniffed, swallowed hard, and smiled a gesture of “see!” The process began again of answering the lines and then putting them on hold.

Clifford mouthed, fine, and held up his hand in an okay sign. He then waved bye to her as he ascended the stairs.

****

“I’m not so sure about that receptionist, Valdez,” Mr. Carlile said as Clifford entered his office.

“She just needs time. Maybe you can rotate a secretary or two up there during peak hours until she gets the hang of it.”

“Not a bad idea.” Carlile leaned back in his huge leather tufted executive chair. His glare aimed directly at Clifford. “How’s Twyla?”

Clifford nodded and stared at the crown molding on the man’s oversized desk. “She’s all right, I suppose.”

Carlile pursed his lips. “She’s a tough old goat. It’s hard to imagine her as anything else.”

Clifford chuckled. “Yeah, she is…was. She has good days and bad. Some of the time she recognizes me, starts giving me orders, you know, for handling her cases. Other times, she’s not sure who I am. It’s heartbreaking, really, how fast this thing depleted her memory. Just six months ago she seemed sharp as a tiger’s claw.”

“Yeah, it is.” Carlile’s chiseled face softened. “I’m pleased with your promotion. Paralegal was a good move for you. I hope you won’t stop there.”

“No, I plan on getting a law degree, follow in Aunt Twyla’s footsteps. That was my goal from the beginning.”

“Good.” Carlile stood, a dismissive gesture. Clifford knew it well, but he needed to ask what he had wanted from Gloria. “Was there something you needed?”

Carlile tilted his head.

“When you went to Gloria’s desk, was there something you needed?”

“Oh. How did you tell her to handle Twyla’s calls?”

“I didn’t give her much detail, just told her to state Ms. Rivers will be out and to take a message.”

“So, who’s dealing with those messages?”

Clifford held up his fist full of blue slips and arched his brow.

“I should have known. Okay, Valdez, looks like you’ve got everything under control, as usual. I’d be lying if I said we don’t miss you up front, but, from what I hear, you’re equally proficient assisting Tyler’s team, so…”

“Thank you, sir. Speaking of Aunt Twyla’s messages, do you know an Edward C. Montgomery?”

Carlile looked up at the ceiling. “No, I can’t say that name rings a bell. You might ask Tyler.”

“Sure, I’ll figure it out.” Clifford shuffled through his memory, but couldn’t recall ever taking a call from the man while he was receptionist. Speaking more to himself than Mr. Carlile, he muttered, “He doesn’t leave a number, which tells me Twyla knew him. I’ll go check her contacts.”

“I know you’ll figure it out.” Carlile winked and sat down, his attention back on the file lying open on his desk.

Clifford headed straight for his aunt’s office. He needed to figure out how to get back with this Montgomery.

Chapter Four

Keisha carried her laptop into the living room in hopes of finding a recipe website for something special to bring to Mom’s since she’d added four people to the guest list. The TV idly aired reruns of sitcoms while she ignored the chatter. With four nearly-constant voices in her head, she had become an expert at ignoring chatter.

What are you doing? Abbie’s expected sarcasm arrived without any delay.

“I want to make something special for Mom.”

For Mom? Why do you feel you need to bring a guilt offering?

“I don’t know.”

Mom loves Rose. Zeke is a bonus. And Daniel, good grief, you couldn’t make her any happier than to bring a kid into her house. Lord knows you’ve not given her any grandchildren. Inez, well, you know, Mom will be all right with Inez there, too.

Keisha looked up from the computer screen. “Why are you being…sort of nice?”

What! I’m always nice.

“No, you’re usually critical and sarcastic.”

Well, maybe, for once, I’m in agreement with you on this one. Besides, you’ll want your two best friends there, once—

Shut up! Caiden butted in.

“What?” Keisha fumbled to catch the tottering computer.

Nothing! Caiden sounded angry or nervous. Keisha couldn’t tell which.

Keisha picked up the TV remote and muted the sound. The sudden silence permeated the room. “What do you guys know that I don’t?”

Nothing. Abbie’s just spouting off. I think your idea of making something special is a nice gesture, and Mom will appreciate it very much. Don’t forget to bring those cranberry muffins, too. You know how Dad loves those. And have Rose make her right-side-up pineapple muffins. Ha! That’ll be awesome. Caiden talked faster than normal. What was he hiding?

“You’re changing the subject. What are you not telling me?”

Silence.

“Err. I hate it when you guys do that!”

Stone cold silence.

Keisha shook her head. It was bad enough she had four distinct voices to pester her all her life, now they were keeping things from her. Un-muting the TV, she looked at the recipe on her screen. Oh well. Until she figured out how to control them, she’d just continue to ignore them as best she could.

That thought was so preposterous, she couldn’t help but snicker, and then she thought of Rose who was always timid about trying new things. Unlike herself; new recipes intrigued her. She’d find something different from the usual muffins they made every autumn, a cake or something like that. What could go wrong, other than she’d burn it? Big deal. She’d just make another and lower the temp on the oven. There were plenty of ingredients at the shop. If it turned out good, she’d make some for the bakery customers, too. It was a Win-Win.

Rose. How she missed her. She was more like a sister than a housemate.

Deidre sighed. She was a lot of trouble.

“Hush!”

This house felt like home to Keisha, although it had been Rose’s childhood home. When Rose’s parents died, Rose received full possession, paid in full. But, after Rose’s Uncle Russell caught it on fire and spray painted graffiti all over the living room walls—

And broke your arm. Deidre butted in.

“I know…” Keisha repositioned herself on the couch. Rose and Keisha had moved out to Zeke Clayton’s enormous log home in the mountains, while he hired a contractor to repair the damages in Rose’s house in town. In June, when the house was ready to move back into, it was Keisha who moved. Rose and Zeke married that same month, and soon afterward they were granted adoption rights for little Daniel.

Keisha shook her head. Had that been only five months ago? She still couldn’t get over the blessed miracle of Rose finding Daniel. His adopted parents had died in a tragic weather-related accident on Christmas Eve. It was Twyla Rivers who connected the dots, realized he was Rose's child given up for adoption when she was sixteen, and helped Rose and Zeke adopt him.

Thank God Twyla had decided to become a Child Advocate for the Human Services in Colorado Springs. Or was it divine appointment? Otherwise, who knows what would have happened to little Daniel. His grandmother did the best she could, but it was only a matter of time before she had to find a more permanent home for the boy.

The tea kettle screamed, and Keisha set her laptop aside. Hot tea and a cheesy bacon muffin for dinner. Some meal. Rose would have chastised her for eating such a meager dinner.

Oh sure, you sit there reminiscing about Rose getting on to you for your horrible diet, but when I say something… Abbie lamented.

Keisha sighed. But it was what she wanted to eat. She chortled. It didn’t feel like Rose lived twenty miles away when the voices in her head chastised her for not eating a proper meal, just like Rose used to. Abbie and Deidre criticized everything. “Are you two ever happy?”

She giggled and returned to her internet search.

Pinterest had some beautifully prepared Thanksgiving sides. She narrowed her search to “something baked.” While she wasn’t as timid as Rose with trying new things, she did want to stay in the realm of baked goods, since she felt more confident with that.

Reasonable thinking. Mother will love it. Eli confirmed.

She typed “Pumpkin Roll” in the search box. Hundreds of tasty snapshots came up. All she had to do was click on the link to find the recipe. They all looked pretty similar. Apparently pumpkin rolls didn’t vary much. How complicated could it be?

You could make any one of those, Caiden assured her. Besides it’ll help you make peace with Mom. You need to do that—make peace.

“Why?”

Just trust me. You do.

She pinned three choices and compared the recipe’s ingredients. The one with pecans and cream cheese filling made her mouth water. The one with whipped cream seemed too sweet and too unstable. The whipped cream would not hold up to the long drive north. She sent the preferred recipe to her wireless printer and waited for the paper to be delivered into the output tray.

Chapter Five

Phyllis squealed as Keisha handed her the lovely pumpkin roll dusted with powdered sugar and covered with green plastic wrap. Rose had loaned her a beautiful Chrystal platter to display it nicely.

I told you she’d love it! Caiden gloated.

I believe I was the first to mention it was a good idea, Abbie corrected.

Eli made a sound, like clearing his throat. As long as Mom’s happy, does it matter?

Keisha rolled her eyes as she leaned into her dad’s open arms.

He hugged her firmly and whispered into her ear. “Stick close to the kitchen, will ya?”

What? Mom had never needed help in the kitchen in her life.

Deidre snapped, So? She does now. Is it too much for you to help her out?

“No, I just—”

Dad leaned back, tearing his eyes from hers, and scanned the driveway. In a more audible voice he said, “Where’re the Claytons?”

Clifford removed his coat and draped it over his arm with exactness. “They’re stopping in the Springs, to pick up Inez.”

“Who?” Phyllis stood with the pumpkin roll in her hands, as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. Keisha removed her coat and shoved it into Clifford’s waiting arms. He placed both coats precisely on the entry hall tree hook. Phyllis glanced at the kitchen and then back at Keisha.

“Here, let me help you, Mom.” She gestured for Clifford to go into the living room. “You remember, Inez Savage, Daniel’s grandmother. I told you she was coming.”

Her mother followed Keisha into the kitchen and stared at her without recognition of who she was talking about.

“Rose and Zeke promised her they would keep close ties after they adopted Daniel.” She glared at her father in the living room. What was going on with her mother? She knew all this.

Phyllis squeezed her eyes closed and nodded. “Oh, yes. I remember.” Leaning against the counter, she continued, “Well, the more the merrier. Tell me how you’re doing.”

Keisha glanced at her phone’s clock. Normally her mother wouldn’t be so casual. She’d be fussing over pots and pans, and selecting serving bowls. She would shoo Keisha out of the kitchen or give her something to cut up. Keisha usually sat at the bar and…just watched. She glanced over the bar dividing the kitchen from the living room at Clifford.

He gave a subtle shrug.

“Honey, why don’t you let Keisha help you?” Bob coaxed from the living room.

“Oh yes, please do. I seem to—” Phyllis grabbed Keisha’s arm with both hands. There was something almost feral in her eyes. Fresh green beans, sweet potatoes, a pan of cornbread sat on the counter, but nothing had been mixed together, let alone readied for baking.

“Wow, Mom. What’s—?”

She’s getting old, Keisha, Deidre said softly. Give her a break.

Tears seeped into fanning crinkles at the outer corners of Phyllis’ eyes. “No, I—I’m…I just haven’t gotten started. I guess we should make the stuffing first. You think? I’ll…um?”

“Okay…” Keisha tried to hide her confusion. “Well…I’ll start the onions and celery. You take care of the sweet potatoes.” Her mother had made Thanksgiving dinner every year for as long as Keisha could remember. She’d never forget how to do this? Something was wrong.

I told you… Caiden’s tone had a sing-song inflection to it, as if he was still holding something back.

He had said to make peace with Mom. He didn’t say anything about her being so…absent minded. What’s wrong with her? A sick sensation sunk into Keisha’s stomach. Deidre mentioned she was getting old. Was it simply that? But, she wasn’t that old!

She and Clifford had visited Twyla before heading north to Denver. Twyla obviously had problems with her memory. It matched all the symptoms of Alzheimer’s. Could Mom be heading that way, too? Twyla was more than eighty years old. Mom was only, what? Fifty-nine?

“Oh, Keisha, it’s so good to have you home.” Mom’s eyes filled with tears. “Are you eating all right? I worry about you all alone in that big house.”

Keisha glanced at her mom, forcing a pleasant smile. “Mom, my house isn’t all that bi—”

The doorbell rang. Keisha sighed. Thank God, Rose was here.

“Aunt Keisha!” Daniel slammed into her legs and wrapped his arms around her thighs. She held him tight.

Bob greeted the Claytons, speaking to Daniel first, “You’re getting so big!” He winked at Rose and turned back to Daniel. “What are you, now? Sixteen, seventeen?”

“No! Silly. I’m five. You remember. I had my birthday.” Daniel spun around to hug Phyllis. “G’ma Phyllis.”

“Oh, yeah, I do remember something about candles and balloons.” He winked at Zeke who beamed.

Inez stepped in behind Zeke, pulled off her scarf, unbuttoned her coat, and extended her hand to greet her hosts.

Rose sashayed up to Keisha and squeezed her tight. “Look at you! All cooking in the kitchen...”

“Yeah, how about that?” Keisha leaned in close to Rose and whispered, “Mom needs our help.”

Keisha felt it before she saw her mother staring at her with fresh tears in her eyes. “I know what to do. I just…hadn’t gotten started. That’s all.”

Way to go! Hurt her feelings, right off the bat! Abbie chastised.

Keisha turned to Rose with exaggerated wide eyes. What should she say?

Rose stepped over to Phyllis. “Thank you for inviting our family. Daniel has been begging to come see you two. And I’m thrilled you finally get to meet his other grandmother, Inez.” She smiled at Inez who maintained her usual graceful pose.

Rose introduced the two women. Inez stood a majestic six feet tall, a proud but kind woman. Her smoke-gray hair was pulled into a French roll on the back of her head. Phyllis, taller than average at five-foot-nine, had salt and pepper thick wiry hair, smoothed down into a shoulder length under-curl and bangs. Each greeted the other with a hug as if they were old friends.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Rose asked as she tucked her chin to hide the pleased smile creeping across her face. “I did this last year, all on my own, you know?”

Phyllis scanned the counter. “Well, I guess we need to do something with these.” She gestured toward a plastic sack of fresh green beans.

“Okay,” Rose took the sack and slid a discrete glance at Keisha. “You want them snapped or whole.”

Phyllis stared at Rose. “I—um.”

“I’ll snap ‘em and put them on to boil. You know, Zeke would be looking for your bacon grease right about now.” She flashed a whimsical wink at her husband. “Anything else?”

Keisha sighed. A brown prescription bottle next to the sink caught her attention. She slipped over to wash her hands and read the label. Aricept 10 mg, and Mom’s name was at the top of the label. Her eyebrows knitted. She’d Google it later.

“Here—”Inez pushed up the sleeves of her angora sweater. “I’ll take up dishwashing duty.” She began filling the sink with hot water and squirted liquid soap under the flow.

That was a preview of Secret Voices, Book #3. To read the rest purchase the book.

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