A Family Man At Last Read online

  “That’s the way I understood it. Certainly not an equal share. I think it was ten percent. My dad told me there’s a document somewhere that confirms this agreement. I don’t have it, so it must be among the judge’s papers.”

  She remembered her father telling her about the agreement. “The judge,” Juan had said. “He is a good man. He will take care of us.” But that was more than five years ago, and now there was no one left to take care of the Cortez family but Monica herself.

  Monica stared out at the water. She didn’t want to see Edward’s face when she told him the whole story. After all, years had passed since Juan was supposed to get a share of the marina. Monica had worked her way up in the sheriff’s department and was providing for her family. The judge’s promise no longer mattered. Had William Smith made other promises that he hadn’t kept? If so, maybe not everyone on Sweet Pine Key liked him unconditionally.

  “But your father died before claiming his share?” Edward asked.

  “That’s one possibility,” she said. “Look, Edward, I’m just bringing this up because it shows that there may be folks around here that held a grudge against your father. Not that my father did, but the judge never made good on his promise for whatever reason.”

  “And you think there may have been other broken promises?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I get what you’re saying, Detective...”

  She looked at him then. “Call me Monica, please. In case you might have wondered, I haven’t been a detective all that long. I’m just used to being called Monica.”

  “Okay, Monica. You’re suggesting that my dad reneged on the deal he made with Juan?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. The only people who do know can’t tell us. Obviously my father didn’t kill your father. But maybe there’s someone else on Sweet Pine Key who had reason to. It’s worth checking out. If you believe your father was murdered, I think you should give some thought to the validity of that.”

  “Okay. I’ve never considered that my father might have had an enemy here, but I will do as you suggest.”

  She gave him a look of sympathy. “You called for a homicide investigator, Edward. This is what you get—someone who is trained to look under all the rocks.”

  Monica stood. “I guess that’s it for now. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll have pictures of the gouges in the wood. In the meantime, go to your appointment at the chapel. Try to get some rest.” She smiled at him.

  “I look that bad?”

  She recalled her earlier assessment of him—tall, fair, nice-looking. “No, you don’t look bad. But you’ve had a shock. If your father had a doctor in this area, you might want to consider a sleeping-pill prescription.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “I don’t mind being awake. I like to remember, especially when memories are all I have left.”

  She nodded. She remembered her father every day and always would. She walked to her car and got in. In her rearview mirror she saw the big old house, and the lone figure on the porch staring at the water. In her job, she based her conclusions on facts, but she couldn’t help having a strong emotional reaction to Edward Smith.

  * * *

  LATE SUNDAY AFTERNOON, Edward went to Fisherman’s Chapel on Little Fawn Key, a few miles from Sweet Pine. The funeral director met him at the door. “Ah, Edward, I am so sorry for your loss,” the man said. “I am Raul Gonzalez.”

  Edward figured it was Gonzalez’s business to know the grieving people he served, even if he’d never met them. Raul’s handshake was warm and solid, respectably demonstrating the profession he served. He wore trousers as black as his slicked-back hair and a muted floral shirt, which was his only concession to the Keys lifestyle.

  “Is my father’s body here?” Edward asked.

  “Yes. He is in the restoration room. I think we can make him look very good. Very good indeed.”

  Edward’s first thought was that unless his father was smiling and offering him a cold drink, there was no chance he would find him looking well.

  “Did the coroner give you any details on my dad’s passing?” Edward asked.

  “Some. The time of death was determined to be around midnight Friday night. There was water in his lungs, too.”

  Edward had gone to bed shortly before midnight. While he’d been settling in, his father was outside facing his murderer. The thought made him shiver. “Were there any unexplained marks on his body?” Edward asked.

  “None that I know of,” Gonzalez said. “I understand why you’re asking. I’ve heard that you are questioning the officers’ conclusions. You’ve called in our homicide investigator, Monica Cortez.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Monica is such a sweet girl. I’m certain she sympathizes with your loss. If anyone will work hard to uncover the truth, Monica will.”

  “She seems very nice,” Edward said, though he was still grappling with Monica’s sweetness being appropriate for her job. “I am a bit concerned about her lack of experience.”

  “I don’t think it will matter so much in this case. The judge, rest his soul, slipped and fell into the water. A terrible shame.”

  Those words were like a fresh stab to Edward’s heart. Another person who assumed his father was a clumsy man whose drinking made him do stupid things.

  “Shall we go into my office and discuss your plans?” Gonzalez suggested. “I’m thinking the funeral can be scheduled for Tuesday evening. That gives you enough time to invite out-of-town guests, family and so forth.”

  “Tuesday will be fine,” Edward said, though there was no one he would notify. The judge had no family and neither did Edward. They were two loners who’d met due to circumstances of fate and ended up the centers of each other’s worlds. “I’m thinking we can just spread the word around town that the service will be Tuesday,” he said. “My father must have known everyone around here, and some will want to pay their respects.”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Gonzalez said. “Speaking of Monica, I’m sure her family will come. Monica’s father—I planned his funeral five years ago—was a close friend of the judge. Her mother, Rosa, knew him also. Little Emilio is too young to have met the judge.”

  “Emilio? That must be the boy Monica spoke of.”

  “Yes. She is raising her brother’s child. Miguel didn’t come to Sweet Pine often. I don’t think Monica has seen much of him. Juan’s death was hard on him, so soon after that other loss.”

  “What loss is that?” Edward asked.

  “Miguel’s sweetheart died in childbirth. Many believed he never recovered afterward. And then his papa. He couldn’t care for the child the boy’s mother left with him, so he brought the infant to Monica.” The director smiled. “Such a good boy, Emilio. Smart and well-behaved.

  “Everyone in Sweet Pine admires the Cortez family. Juan was one of the first refugees who came to America during the Mariel boatlift. Juan Cortez was a good man through and through.”

  Edward and Gonzalez sat in the well-appointed office equipped with comfortable chairs and numerous boxes of tissues, and planned the last time anyone would see William Smith. Whatever Gonzalez suggested was fine with Edward. He just wanted to remember his father as the vital, giving man he’d been—the man who’d changed Edward’s life.

  The time was nearly 6:30 p.m. when Edward got back to the house. The hours loomed ahead of him—long and lonely. He didn’t know what he would do to pass the time. He’d just pulled into the drive when an automobile with rental plates came in behind him. A man and a woman got out. Surely they’d seen the sad message draped on the gate and weren’t here to make boat-rental arrangements.

  They didn’t look like typical renters. The man was dressed in nice jeans and a polo shirt. He was tall, muscular and oddly familiar-looking. The woman was pretty and of medium height, with blond hair. She wore a light
blue dress, which fluttered around her legs in the Gulf breeze.

  Edward waited on the porch as they approached the house. “If you’ve come to rent a boat, I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

  The woman stared at him as if taking in every aspect of his appearance. Maybe she thought, as Monica had, that he looked tired and strung-out. Well, he was.

  “Not here for a boat,” the man said. He extended his hand. “My name is Jeremy Crockett.”

  The name instantly rang a bell as it would with almost anyone who called themselves a sports fan. No wonder the man looked familiar. “The Jeremy Crockett?” Edward asked. “The receiver for the Carolina Wildcats?”

  “Ex-receiver now,” the man said. “But yeah, that’s me. Are you Edward Smith?”

  “I am. I can’t imagine why you’re here, but today is not a good time—”

  “We saw your sign,” Crockett said. “Did someone close to you pass away?”

  “My father,” Edward replied. “Two days ago.”

  The woman kept staring. Edward thought she might cry, though why she would shed a tear for someone she’d probably never known was baffling.

  Crockett took the woman’s elbow gently. “This is Brooke Montgomery, a friend of mine. We traveled from South Carolina today. She wanted to meet you.”

  The woman greeted him, but her hand shook. She swallowed. “Oh, Edward,” she said.

  Edward narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about?”

  “It’s really you,” she said.

  “We’ve established that fact.” Edward frowned.

  “I’m so sorry about your father.” Brooke’s voice sounded hoarse as if her words were caught in her throat. If Edward hadn’t considered her a complete stranger, he might have believed she really cared.

  “Thanks, but why are you sorry?” This was another puzzling development in an already chaotic two days. A beautiful woman and her football-player boyfriend suddenly standing in his driveway. What was going on?

  The woman sniffed. “I’m sorry because you’re hurting. And also because I’m happy to see you that my tears are mixed up with so many emotions right now.”

  “You’re going to have to give me more than that, Miss Montgomery,” Edward said.

  “How old are you, Edward?” she asked.

  “Thirty-five. Why?”

  She nodded. “Forgive me,” she said. “I just can’t believe...”

  They all stood at the base of the porch, the woman looking as if she might explode with a cauldron of feelings, the man watching her intently, while Edward was caught in the middle, shaking his head.

  “Edward, I was born thirty-two years ago, three years after you. I never knew you, but I have wanted to for so long. I’ve searched for you.” She scrubbed a finger under her eye. “Edward, I’m your sister.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  HIS SISTER? WHO was this woman trying to kid? Edward was caught between wanting to laugh with bitterness at the absurdity of her claim and wanting to tell her and her celebrity friend to get off his property. And on the very weekend he’d lost the only family he’d ever had.

  He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Look, lady, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I already told you, I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “This isn’t a game,” Brooke said. “I have every reason to believe that you’re my brother. Do you remember our mother? Her name is Marlene.”

  He could answer that question honestly and with disgust. “I don’t remember anything about her. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead, but she’s dead to me, period. I don’t have any memories of my life before I was three.”

  “I thought that might be so,” Brooke said. “I know quite a bit about you, actually. Our mother lives in Myrtle Beach now, close to Shadow Woods, where we lived when she gave birth to all of us.”

  “All of us?” Edward was dumbfounded. But he couldn’t deny that he’d been born in South Carolina. That was one of the few facts he’d held on to for so many years. “There are more than just you and me?”

  “I am a twin,” Brooke said. “My sister is Camryn. She still lives in South Carolina. We were lucky. We were adopted as infants and grew up together. Our lives have been stable and happy.”

  “That’s nice for the two of you,” he said. “My life wasn’t such a picnic.”

  “Yes, I know. But you met the judge and turned your life around. I’m so thankful.”

  “How do you know what I’ve done with my life?” he asked. “I changed my name—numerous times. I’ve never met you, never even had a clue that you might exist.”

  “I told you,” Brooke said, “I’ve been searching for you for months, since I found our mother in Myrtle Beach and she let slip that Camryn and I had a big brother.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, I think I get it.” He couldn’t help his skepticism. “So, this sudden revelation is about our mother? What’s her motive for sending you to me, sis—” He paused. “If, indeed, you are my sister, which, frankly, I don’t believe for a minute.”

  The big wide receiver took a step toward Edward. “Hey, man, this is hard on everybody, okay? Why don’t you let her say what brought her all this distance? Maybe you’ll start to see things differently.”

  Brooke spoke calmly and softly. “Edward, I’ve learned you had a troubled past. Spent time in juvenile detention. Never adopted by a family and then you met the judge.

  “Every time I learned a new fact about you, I tucked it in my heart because I realized it was just another stepping stone to finding you. And finally, a miracle happened and the missing clue came to me. I learned that the judge who sentenced you to your last months in detention adopted you and later moved to the Keys.”

  Her voice choked on her next words. She looked up at Jeremy and said, “I had a special friend who believed in me and my determination to find you.” She returned her gaze to Edward. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “And now I’m here standing right next to you.”

  Darn. This woman was good, Edward thought. But why should he believe a word of what she was saying? Maybe she was an opportunist who’d heard about his father’s death and thought she might be able to scam a few bucks from his will. The Keys was filled with con artists who’d take a penny from a dead man’s eyes rather than find an honest day’s work.

  But how did that explain the presence of Jeremy Crockett, star wide receiver for a pro football team, a man easily identified? No doubt, Crockett lent an air of authenticity to this cockamamie claim.

  Suddenly Edward was just plain tired. He didn’t want to have to think anymore, decide anything else, cope with any other surprises. He wanted these two off his property so he could go over the events of the last couple of days. He had a lot to think about, and being someone’s brother just added another weight to what he already had on his shoulders.

  “Okay, Brooke, I’ll give you this much. Maybe I am your brother. Most probably I’m not. You have a few facts that support your story, but there are tests we can take to provide accurate proof—”

  “Fine. We’ll do a DNA test. Whatever you want,” she said. “I know I’m right. Maybe I didn’t know for sure until I arrived here today, but now there is not a doubt in my mind.”

  “Well, you might not have a doubt,” Edward said. “And are sure. But I need time to process all of this. I’ve had a lousy few days, haven’t slept, haven’t eaten. I’m hardly in a state of mind to consider everything this means.”

  “Let us take you to dinner,” she said. “We can talk then. Please, Edward...”

  Now she was just making him angry with her badgering. Couldn’t she tell he was at the end of his patience? He wanted to be left alone.

  Maybe she didn’t get the signals he was sending, but thankfully, Crockett did. He leaned close to her and said, “Let it go for tonight, Brooke. Edward needs to think things through.”


  She nodded slowly. “Of course, you’re right, Jeremy.” Looking at Edward, she said, “We’ll go. We’ve booked rooms in Key Largo. We’ll come back tomorrow. If there’s anything I can do to help you with arrangements for your father...”

  Crockett put his arm around her shoulders. “Brooke, honey, come on.”

  She dabbed a tissue at her eyes and let herself be led to the car. Thank goodness. Edward needed space. Of all the people he wouldn’t have wanted to order off his property, his sister was definitely one of them!

  * * *

  RETURNING HOME EVERY day to 120 Lantana Lane was like an adventure for Monica. She never knew quite what to expect, but she was certain the basic ingredients of family that she depended on would be there. Love, comfort and tradition. And she would feel miles away from the responsibilities of the sheriff’s office.

  Her rise to detective had been a long and difficult one, but she’d been willing to do it to earn the extra money for her family. She still had a lot to learn, but she knew the basics of forensics, crime-scene preservation, verbal investigations and detailed searches for clues. She was ready to apply all her knowledge to the case involving Judge Smith and help the grieving son with whom she’d felt an instant connection.

  But this Sunday night she longed for some peace and quiet. She’d thought all day about Judge Smith, how he’d died and if she could prove his death was anything other than an accident. And she’d thought of his adopted son, Edward, who had been lucky enough to spend almost two decades with a father who loved him. Only Edward didn’t feel lucky today. He was grieving, and Monica understood his loss.

  She sighed with exhaustion as she pulled up to her house. The small truck belonging to her Aunt Lucy was in the driveway. Maybe Lucy had come alone, but most likely her husband, Horatio, was with her. Emilio’s bicycle was on the front porch, and Monica was reminded that she needed to remove the training wheels and give him a lesson in balance and persistence. Delicious odors came from the open front door, but Monica wasn’t hungry.