38 comments/ 67958 views/ 3 favorites Kayla - It Ends By: CeeeEsss Thank you, Erik Thread for your editing skills and suggestions. This is the ending to a mystery and an obsession, of a man who is seduced and captured by an alluring woman. Kayla -- It Begins, was posted yesterday. * Sitting in my study, watching her walk out of the house, I think I finally understood jealousy. I wanted to follow the taxi, jerk my wife out of the back seat then take her home and lock her in the bedroom. Since the first day I met her, I believed Kayla was a stunningly beautiful woman. When she worked, she pulled her hair on top of her head and put some kind of cap on to keep her hair out of her eyes. When she let her hair down, it fell in waves and soft curls touching her shoulders and hanging several inches down her back. It was a golden color, not brown and not blonde, but a combination of those colors. That I knew of, she never did anything but get a good haircut, the color was natural. She was a few inches shorter than I was and kept her weight down to a slender shape that looked good in jeans, shorts, and a dress. Her breasts were full, but not overly large. Sometimes on a weekend, she would go braless. I enjoyed her teasing when she rubbed her soft breasts against my back or moved to stand beside me and pulled my arm into her cleavage. When I had her naked in our bed, I could touch and taste her breasts and imagine nothing in the world ever felt softer or fit my hand better. I'd never decided if I was a leg man or a boob man, as so many men seemed to prefer one or the other. I just liked to look at my wife. I loved her long slender legs when she walked across a room and especially when they wrapped around me. When she walked out of the house, she was dressed to impress. The dark red dress was form fitting with a low scooped neck showing the rounded tops of her breasts. It wasn't a blatant show of flesh, but a suggestive show of something hidden, which only a special person might be allowed to view. Her skirt was barely above her knees, but I'd seen her sit down in the dress. It slowly inched up her legs until anyone who looked could see half of her thigh. A man would imagine what was hidden from his view. I was heartsick knowing she was taking all that I loved and enjoyed looking at and intended to give it to another man. Instead of me taking that dress off her, he would remove it. Instead of my hands running through those glossy curls and waves, he would have his hands full of that hair. Rather than my hands on her breasts with her hardening nipple brushed by my tongue, he would hold them and squeeze them and he might bruise her, hurt her. I was a crazy man with my thoughts. I was a breath away from insanity. I was but a moment removed from extreme violence. Yet, as suddenly as those thoughts entered my mind, I knew I did not care. I knew I had been the fool, reckless and careless with my inexperience and susceptibility to a ruthless woman. The thoughts racing through my mind gave me a cold chill. My only recourse was escape. I had yet to determine how to achieve that, but I would do so. I had no choice. My life was at stake. For a few minutes, I sat and thought about a typical day. How much of my day did I give to thoughts of what I could do for my wife? How much of my day did I give thoughts to what I wanted for my own life? I did not like my answers. I considered the costs, financial and emotional, of what I had allowed to happen and how much my life had changed in a few short years. I seldom called or spoke to either of my parents, although both of them had expressed some concern that Kayla was creating a wedge between them and us. Lifelong friends, both married and single, had ceased to be part of my life. They were not included in the circle of acquaintances Kayla wanted to cultivate. I might be a passive person who did not use aggression to obtain what I wanted. Yet I did not see myself as a weak man. I used other methods to achieve my goals. I now had a goal that affected my life, literally my life, if I was correctly interpreting some of what I heard Kayla say during her phone call. Her commanding voice saying, "They have to look like accidents and not at the same time either" was like a broken phonograph record playing over and over inside my head. I did not know who the other person was, but it sounded like Kayla was speaking about the wife of the man she was talking to, Brent. * * * Almost without thought, I answered the telephone, "Hello." "I screwed up, Wendell. I royally screwed up. I'm sorry," Hollis was making sounds and I was barely listening. "Hollis?" "Yeah, man. Don't get mad at me. I can fix it, but you need to come sign a new deed." "What are you talking about?" "Oh hell, my secretary made a mistake, just a typographical error. She typed the legal description as Lot 21 and it should have been Lot 12. I didn't catch the mistake. The recording clerk was entering it in the computer and caught the error. That deed isn't official, yet." I think I was hyperventilating, "You mean it's not recorded and that means Kayla doesn't have ownership?" "Yeah, man. I'm sorry." "Hollis, you may have just saved my life. I need to come see you. Do you have time now, it's ... it's sort of important. I think you use a term like 'time is of essence'." "You're serious?" "You just don't know." "Well, come on then. I was gonna ... never mind, I'll just wait until you get here." * * * There was a lot I did not know about legal matters, but I did know I trusted Hollis. He might be a lawyer with a small office and a small practice, but he had taken care of me from my first need for an attorney, through the negotiations with publishers and movie studios. He listened to me rant about Patrice's suspicions regarding her husband, B.J. I tried to tell him the exact words I'd heard Kayla use in her telephone conversation with Brent. I did not know if they were the same man, but had enough reason to believe they were. Perhaps I was not rational. My emotions were bouncing all over the place. I may have been ranting, but I was frightened beyond belief not only for myself but for Patrice, too. I didn't excuse myself for my own lack of attention or failure to confront Kayla. I truly felt to have done so might have put Patrice and me in even greater danger. The only contact information I had for her was a telephone number. She was already in an extremely rough emotional state and I feared she could do something dangerous. If she confronted her husband, he might harm her. Hollis didn't scoff, but he did question me, "You're sure of what you heard?" "Yes, it's been ringing in my head ever since I walked up the basement stairs." "And you feel threatened?" "I don't want to, but I can't help it. The tone of voice she used sounded like she was the wicked witch of the west, like she was rubbing her hands with glee." "Damn." "But I did get the idea she wasn't really the ring leader, if that's what you call someone who's in charge. I got the impression she was following instructions." "You mean like instructions from Jewel Adams?" I nodded, but shrugged my shoulders and admitted I had no way of knowing if Kayla was talking about only Jewel, or someone else, too. Hollis asked how well I knew Jewel. "I don't know her, or at least I barely know her. She was one of the contractors who made a bid to do the majority of the work on my townhouse. She wanted to do the whole job, not just a little part of it. I had talked to a few of the other owners to find out if they lived in one they themselves updated. I wanted to know who did the best work. Jewel called me over and over. She started agreeing to use some of the people I wanted, but she was adding a lot of cost onto their price." I was surprised when Hollis admitted, "The lady who sold you the townhouse said Jewel Adams called her several times to try to get her to sell the townhouse and carry the note." "You mean instead of a cash sale or a bank loan?" "Yes. You know general contractors file a mechanic's lien they can enforce if the homeowner doesn't pay when the work is completed. I've seen general contractors end up owning the home they were hired to repair." I was nodding remembering some of the conversations with Jewel and then the work Hollis did for me during the final phases of construction. About that same time, I was so involved with Kayla I wasn't paying proper attention to my finances, my writing, or my home. When I purchased the townhouse, I had already made some money on my first book, but it was basically an advance against future sales. That was about the same time the money really started rolling in from book sales. I was taking Kayla with me on book tours and the first discussions were underway about a movie deal. "I've really made a mess of my life, haven't I?" "Don't be too hard on yourself, Wendell. It's my job to keep you out of trouble." "Okay, so get me out of trouble. But you must also do something about Patrice. Please, Hollis, I could never forgive myself if I didn't help her also." I was aware Hollis was trying to calm me down but something inside me kept jumping up into my throat, startling me into the realization my life was in danger. Hollis chuckled and then he started laughing, not at me, but about the situation. When he could finally talk, he looked at me seriously, "You need to leave town." "Leave town? Are you insane?" I couldn't keep my voice down to a normal tone. I was frightened. "I'm fighting for my life and you want me to leave?" "No, I'm not insane, but you do need to leave. It's time for professionals to handle this. You can't do it. You'll just make matters worse. You cannot confront Kayla or anyone else." "Hollis, I know I'm a pudgy, round-faced, wimp, but I've got to do something." I was almost screaming again, I just couldn't let go of my fear. "They're going to kill me." Hollis was trying very hard to calm me down, "I know you're frightened. But it won't do any good or provide any protection unless you have evidence. That's what the professionals can obtain, evidence that will put them away for a very long time." "What kind of evidence can you get? They haven't done anything yet." I was shaking while thoughts of automobile accidents and thugs attacking me raced through my head. Hollis held out his hand, "Give me your house keys." "Why?" Hollis spoke quietly, "We need proof of her infidelity for the divorce." "Damn the divorce, Hollis. They're planning murder." "Easy, Wendell, take it easy. They haven't done anything yet. So all we can do is prove they're planning something, like a conspiracy. First, we need to take care of you personally. That means getting you to some place where you are safe. Then we tackle your divorce from Kayla. After that, we will deal with Brent and Jewel." ""O-o-o-kaaaay." I was listening, but he wasn't talking fast enough to suit me. As Hollis outlined what he planned, I was trying to take deep breaths to calm down. Using a company he had previously hired for evidence collecting, he would obtain proof of the affair then he would work on the conspiracy. He was insistent that I be temporarily out of the way, giving the conspirators freedom to make their plans. "Alright then, you do that. But I'm not leaving town. I know what you're talking about is what I pay you for and I'd be stupid not to take legal advice, but I'm not leaving town." I glared at Hollis as he began talking, "I'm going to write an authorization for me to handle all of your business, personal, and financial affairs. You need to sign it then go home, put your computer in your car, pack a suitcase, and go somewhere." I was clenching my jaws so tight they hurt. I had a half-million dollar home and about half that amount in home furnishings. With my uncle's estate and the advance on book two, I had more than a million dollars in various bank and investment accounts. The partial payment on the option for the movie was invested separately. My tee shirt shop was worth at least one hundred thousand dollars and I couldn't think about the money I'd invested in my wife's business. I was NOT going to leave everything in the hands of my lawyer and skip town. That is exactly what I felt like. I was not going to disappear and have nothing. Almost out of my chair with alarm at what Hollis was asking me to do, I began to settle back down when he said if I would prefer, the document could name my father as my attorney-in-fact. Hollis was chattering about attorney-in-this and attorney-at-that as he was printing forms for me to sign and copies for me to keep. I felt rushed and slightly intimidated that I didn't have time to read everything, but he was telling me I needed to get out of town. I growled at him, "Where?" "Does Kayla know about your uncle's cabin?" "Oh." I suddenly stopped signing the paper in front of me, thinking that Hollis wasn't as bad as I'd been thinking. After a moment, I said, "I don't think so. I never mention it. I seldom think about it. You take care of everything with that property management company that rents the house to weekend fishermen." "I'll call them and tell them to cancel all reservations and offer a bonus as an apology." Hollis was looking through some files, "What about the tee shirt shop?" "I can call the lady I hired for part time work to see if she's ready for full time." He pointed to a telephone on a small table across the room. "Do that now and give her my name if she needs to call someone for questions or answers." Now he was talking about things I could do. "What about my folks?" "I'll call them as soon as we come up with a cover story." The ache in my jaw was a little less, "Okay," but I didn't want Hollis to forget. "But you make damn sure they don't get away with this. I'm going to be sitting in that damn log cabin and I'll wish I was here punching holes in someone." It was a bluff, I wasn't a physical person, but I wanted to do something besides run away and hide. "Just take it easy, Wendell. Don't forget, we have your reputation to be concerned about, too." "To hell with my reputation, this is my life. I can live in obscurity. I don't give a shit if I never sell another book. I don't care if I'm branded a wimp and the whole world knows a man-eating woman took over my life. Maybe it will save another sucker from the same fate. You just make damn sure they don't get away with it." The cover story Hollis and I concocted for my disappearance was research for my book. I'd made a short trip for book two but it wasn't much more than to get a visual feel of where my characters lived. This was going to be a more extensive trip, visiting many different places where I was unsure of adequate cell phone reception. I was taking the trip now because I had help at the tee shirt shop and I wasn't sure how long it would last. It was hokey as hell, but it just might work. With shaking hands, I called Kayla's cell phone. When she answered, I heard her shush someone. It's unmistakable when you put your hand over the phone and talk to someone else thinking your caller won't hear. I told her I'd planned to talk to her that evening, but she'd left before I could do so. I said I was leaving town for a few days to do a little research and I'd leave her a note on the kitchen table. I also promised to call her when I could, otherwise she could call Hollis if she needed to contact me. During the two minute phone call, the only words she really said to me were, "Okay, Wendell", "Yes, Wendell" and "Bye, Wendell." I gave Hollis a key to the front door of my townhouse and my cell phone, which he would keep charged and monitor my incoming calls. I promised I would call no one to inform them of my true plans. I left his office with a thin folder of documents, feeling like I had given away my whole life and everything I owned. As instructed, I purchased a throwaway cell phone with the most minutes I could get. I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to do, but I turned around, went back into the store, and purchased a second phone. By midnight, I'd talked to Hollis four or five times until I was far enough away from town that I could finally take a deep breath. I was beginning to think about my revenge. I wasn't going to interfere with Hollis while he collected evidence for the divorce, but I wasn't going to just lie down and take my lumps, either. I still had a key to the back door of my home. I didn't have any plans, but I was keeping my options open. I also had the key to the separate entry to the housekeeper's quarters. On the outside of the house, it was behind a rose arbor. Inside the small apartment, a sliding panel that looked like the wall beside the closet covered the door. That I knew of, Kayla never went into the small apartment. There was no reason for her to do so. Both rooms were windowless and dark. * * * I had trouble finding the cabin. I hadn't driven there in almost ten years. The small town I remembered was now a little larger. I took a couple of wrong turns and as it was not yet dawn, I couldn't see well enough to find the road I wanted. After a big breakfast in a small diner, surrounded by some of the community's other early risers, it was finally daylight. The cashier told me exactly which road to take. I suppose she was accustomed to feeding the men who used the cabin for their fishing trips. By that time, the small grocery store was just opening for the day. I could stock up with enough food for a few days and pretend I was on vacation. Maybe by that time Hollis would have the divorce documents ready to discuss. I wasn't sure what else he had planned, but I needed some distance from the storm and the time to get my emotions in check. Most of all, I needed to begin using my head to think for myself instead of just going with the flow. I unpacked and put my groceries away then sat down to think. I'd barely let go of the file folder of papers I carried out of Hollis's office. After looking through the papers, I wandered around the house and out to the back deck where I sat some more. I finally called Hollis and told him I was settled in the log house. I begged him to keep me informed, threatening to do something rash if I didn't know what was happening. It took most of the day to think about my next telephone calls. I had no ideas. I was afraid to trust anyone. I just knew I needed some help. The customers Kayla was pursuing as clients for her business and her circle of personal friends were the same people B.J. was targeting for his fashion tours. Any other plans they had for those individuals did not concern me, but someone needed to know about it. Luckily, the cabin had a telephone line, which I was not going to use for making calls, but I would have internet, even if it was only dial-up. That would slow down my messages, but I wasn't going to be sending many emails anyway. I wasn't expecting much more than a few back and forth exchanges with my editor. Hollis had assured me that he needed a few days to get everything in place for the surveillance of my home. After that, it might take as long as two weeks to collect the proof he felt would be adequate grounds for the divorce. I didn't like the feeling I wasn't doing anything, but I also had to keep busy. The amount of work I was able to do amazed me. I had huge holes in my story because I didn't have access to some of my research material. Online research was a total waste of time, but I was getting words on virtual paper. I finally started leaving the gaps with a footnote on the research I needed to do. I was so involved I wasn't even dividing the story into chapters I was just writing, going back to check what I had written earlier and then continuing with the story. Kayla - It Ends I called Hollis about every other day. Once or twice, he mentioned messages Kayla had left on my cell phone. I finally asked him not to give me all the messages. I was trying to keep her out of my thoughts as much as possible. I had not called her except when I knew she would be busy and unable to talk for very long, usually when I knew she would be at lunch, in a loud restaurant. When Hollis started making noises about me coming back to town for an interview with a private detective, I told him I wasn't prepared to do that. I was paying him to take care of the problems. If he couldn't do what needed to be done, I'd hire my own detective to get the proof I needed. I was still angry but was dealing with my frustration. I don't think Hollis was surprised. He told me it was time to get a new telephone. I did that when I went for groceries. I enjoyed fishing and eating the 'keepers'. I wrote another section of my book. I took long walks in the fresh air and worked on my book. I went to the small town and walked up and down the main street until I found the library. They had high speed internet and the young librarian gave me a library card. I was allowed to check out a few books they didn't usually permit out of the building. I filled in some gaps in my book, with the material from the library. I was working almost like I had done in college. When I returned the books to the library, an older woman at the front desk asked me if I was related to the former owner of The Gannaway Fishing Lodge. It was the first time I'd heard that was the name used for my uncle's house. She said she had known my Uncle Alvin. They had often spent a pleasant evening with a bottle of wine discussing the books they enjoyed. I continued to call Hollis, berating him for the time he was taking, yet knowing I was over anxious. He informed me that Linda Bledsoe ordered a manual for the cash register and sales were increasing. She wanted to purchase the tee shirt shop. I told Hollis that my dad could sell it on any terms Linda wanted to offer. He also passed along a message from my parents that I should call them for the names and addresses of a few relatives I could visit while I was on my trip. About once a week, I received a brown envelope, hand-addressed to Wendell Gannaway in care of The Gannaway Fishing Lodge. Inside I would find correspondence that I was accustomed to receiving at my home, including bank statements or statements from the companies that managed my investments. There were bills marked paid. I had no idea how he managed to have my mail rerouted to my parent's home. At that point, I figured my assets were intact but Hollis was not telling me what I wanted to know about the divorce. The brown envelopes also contained notes from Hollis, reminding me of something I needed to tend to or some one I needed to call. I adhered to his caution about the calls I made and the information I gave regarding where I was hibernating. I may have looked a little like a bear, I was growing a beard. I was also learning to wear a hat, heavy work shirts and bib overalls. I hoped I looked enough like a lumberjack to fool anyone who might know me. I also parked my car in my uncle's garage and purchased an old pickup to drive on the few occasions when I needed transportation. * * * Finally, Hollis told me he had more than enough evidence of the affair between my wife, Kayla, and Brent. Hollis was finally admitting something I'd known for many weeks. Brent was, in fact, the husband of Patrice Appling Harriman. He had prepared the petition for divorce for immediate filing. I would receive my copy by overnight mail. I felt like I had been released from a prison. However, the first hint of the ensuing nightmare was during that same call to Hollis when he informed me that Kayla had left a cryptic message on my cell phone. "Call me, Wendell. Your mother is going to be so pleased. She's finally getting her wish." I ended the call to Hollis as quickly as I could without alerting him that I was startled. Nor did I ask him for legal advice. I could have been digging my own grave, but I didn't imagine things could get much worse. Ever since I'd arrived at the log house, I'd been thinking I should not have withheld the gossip Linda Bledsoe had told me about Jewel Adams. There were so many tales about former owners of the townhouses on Craftsman Row, that it was difficult to know if a story was real or an urban legend. Yet, if what Linda's husband had told her was true, I suddenly knew how the former owner of my townhome felt when he'd learned he had fathered a child. My situation, however, was many times worse than that of Herman K. Driscoll. I was actually married to the woman who intended to perpetrate a fraud, if not a murder. I did not know if I would ever make it back to The Gannaway Fishing Lodge. I made a backup copy of everything on my computer and put it in a safe place. I loaded the computer and my bag in my battered old pickup and drove from dawn until almost noon before I used my other cell phone for the next calls. "Mr. Appling, this is Wendell Gannaway. Is there a time when it would be convenient for me to meet with you?" "Are you asking about a day later in the week?" "Today, sir, if that's possible?" "Tell me when and where." "First, sir, is she safe?" "Yes, yes, her friend has assured me she is doing quite well, thank you. Now, tell me where I can meet you." I told Patrice's father I had a small chore to do first then he and I discussed where and what time we would meet. I thought I knew what he looked like, from seeing him going in and out of the building near the tee shirt shop, but I made sure he gave me a description of his vehicle, so I would know for certain. Much as it did when I drove along some of the rough roads around the fishing lodge, my pickup rumbled and rattled down the pothole filled lane behind my townhome. I parked behind a neighbor's home, knowing they seldom used their garage and walked into my own back yard as if I was a workman intent on completing the job I'd been hired to perform, hoping my altered appearance worked. I took a deep breath when I slipped behind the rose arbor and pushed my key into the lock of the housekeeper's apartment. I cringed when I slid the wooden paneling aside thinking if I ever lived in my home again, I'd lubricate the mechanism. After driving around the block two times, I had been certain Kayla wasn't home. Yet, I was nervous with fear that was pumping adrenalin through my body. There was no time to waste. I did not want to be caught inside my own home. The box of paperwork for the tee shirt shop was right where I'd left it almost two months earlier. I didn't realize how much material was in the cedar chest. While carrying the first few bundles of old newspapers up the basement stairs I heard the telephone ring and Kayla's voice saying, "Hello." Looking up to see the basement door was open mere inches from the kitchen wall phone, I could not breathe. Then I heard the rest of the new message she had recorded on the telephone answering machine that replaced my voice with her own. I managed to get that bundle into the housekeeper's apartment and went back for another load. I had to make three trips to my truck. I desperately wanted to go into my study, but resisted the temptation. I was driving out of the lane just a little over an hour later. * * * There were very few cars parked at the rear of the parking lot around the largest shopping mall. I had only been waiting a few minutes when Darryl Appling parked several rows away. As he left his vehicle, walking toward the entrance doors, my pickup stopped beside him. "Mr. Appling, I'm Wendell Gannaway." He looked at me for a moment and then smiled when I lifted my hat. He was shaking his head as he walked to the other side of the truck and opened the door. "I never would have recognized you." "Thank you, I'm not sure I would go unnoticed by those who know me well, but I'm glad only a few people would recognize me." I no longer felt like I was wearing a Halloween costume. My plaid shirt and bib overalls were comfortable and allowed me to blend in with the residents near the fishing lodge. I was counting on people in a larger city giving less attention to someone who appeared out of style. Although I resisted, Mr. Appling assured me we should go to his home where his wife had prepared a meal for us. Other than instructions on how to find his house, we were rather silent, saving what we needed to discuss until we arrived at his home. When I stopped behind his garage door and flashed my headlights, the garage door opened for me to drive inside. Insisting I call him Darryl, Patrice's father introduced me to his wife, Beatrice. If I had seen her standing beside Patrice, I'd have known they were mother and daughter. She asked about my preference of a beer, wine, or a non-alcoholic drink with my dinner and then she disappeared. "I'm sorry I've been unable to keep you informed of what's happened since my call last month." Darryl nodded, "I understand. I accepted your explanation that you would call me when it was safe for Patrice to come home. She is pretty special to us." "Is your son suspicious?" "Perhaps a little, but Patrice's friend arranged to take photos of Patrice in a hospital bed with her leg in traction." Darryl shrugged his shoulders, "That should keep his mind off her coming home for a little longer. He's also busy arranging a tour that will coincide with spring fashion week in London, Paris, and Milan. It's kept him from going to visit her." "I'm sorry I had to ask you to wait for Patrice to file for her divorce. I felt if I could prove he was committing some kind of fraud, it would fully restore your agency to you." "And you now believe you have the proof Patrice can use for her divorce?" "Yes, sir, my attorney has assured me he has all I'll need, which I assume will also give Patrice what she needs. I expect my petition for divorce will be filed within the week. However, there is now a much more critical matter that I fear will delay my actual divorce. I'm just not sure it's safe for Patrice to come home yet." Our conversation continued until we finished our meal. I asked about his father, but he simply shook his head without giving any real details about the older man's health. Darryl let his wife know we were leaving. I would return him to his car, but I still had a very long night ahead of me. * * * By the time I had the bundles of newspapers, my computer and new combination printer/scanner settled into a new hideaway, I knew nothing would stop the avalanche I planned to start. It took me all of that night and part of the next day to copy and scan the old newspaper articles that I compiled into a presentation I might make to the most sophisticated board of directors I could imagine. I prepared email messages to tease and tempt every news agency I could find. Large city newspapers and small towns would receive information that would send their newsrooms into overdrive. If Hollis knew what I was doing, he would have had me locked away in a padded room. * * * Hollis walked out into the reception area of his office and looked around for a moment then turned to walk back through the door. I had to call his name before he turned around to look at me. "Wendell? Is that you, Wendell?" I stood and walked toward him, offering my hand. "Do you think I could fool Kayla, too?" He shook my hand, but kept looking at me, "From a distance, very likely; up close, I'm not certain." "I hope I don't have to test your theory." Settled in our chairs on opposite sides of his desk, Hollis was still giving me strange looks when I asked, "Tell me what you know about the conspiracy or whatever that word was you used." "Not a whole lot, I'm afraid. There have been a few meetings between Jewel and Kayla, but they appear to be business related. Jewel has three new custom homes she's signed contracts to build." I cringed when I asked the next question, "And Brent is still making his visits to my wife?" "Yes." Hollis didn't offer any additional information on that particular subject, for which I was grateful. "Is she seeing any other men?" "Not that I've been told about. Although I didn't feel it was necessary to watch her full time." "I see. What are we going to do about the "alleged" discussion about accidents Jewel was supposed to arrange?" Hollis threw his hands in the air and exclaimed, "All we have is some conversation you heard Kayla having on her cell phone and you couldn't hear everything she said. Wendell, I'm not sure you have any kind of evidence to support an investigation." "Then, I guess all I have is proof for the divorce, huh?" "It looks like that's all there is, Wendell." "Okay," I was depressed. I started to stand but Hollis stopped me. This visit to Hollis's office was a great deal different from my previous visit. Instead of allowing my emotions to override my reason, I was calmer, using my brain to plan my words. "The petition for divorce was filed this morning, and Kayla was served. She must have hired a lawyer ten minutes later. Kayla's pregnant." I took in a huge breath of air, feeling like I was a vacuum that had suddenly been released. "It's not my baby." "You're certain?" "I'm absolutely positive it's not my child and she knows it too. What does that do to the divorce?" "Even if you decide to fight her, a judge will not hear anything until the paternity of the baby can be determined." "Even if she admits the child is not mine?" "Divorce is the dissolution of a contract, in which the support of a child of the marriage is determined. Paternity is a separate legal matter." "Hollis, how much longer is this going to take? Can I get her out of my house? Can I keep her from having guests? Can I choke her off financially, starve her out, make her leave?" Hollis and I spent some time discussion my options and I left his office, knowing for certain I was literally alone in a sea of sharks. That afternoon, the small flash drive on my key chain swung from the ignition as I made a leisurely drive to the local library. I had to wait for another library patron to finish her time on the one of the computers, but when I sat down, I was smiling. I recalled my last visit to another, much smaller library. The older woman who had enjoyed her visits with my uncle had directed me to a room at the rear that I had not seen on my previous trips. A small plaque above the door showed the room was the Alvin Gannaway Reading Room. Inside were some comfortable chairs with four people seated around a low table. They were discussing a mystery they were reading. It was fascinating to listen to their discussion. I knew nothing about the book but they invited me to join them. Part of their discussion was the way the book was written and how easy the author made his book read and how he was able to get his message across, weaving in the details that captured their interest. Everything they said would help me when I wrote my mystery, the mystery I was now actually living. All it required was reducing everything to a sensible understandable timeline. As fresh and fascinating as the information was, I knew copies of the book would fly off the shelves. It took less than an hour to send my messages. When I was finished, I walked around the library while I calmed down. There were two copies of my book on the shelf with a space beside them where it looked like another two were missing. Although I had finished it and left it with my editor, I wondered if my second book would ever join them. I dared not think about the third or fourth ever making it to print. If I was lucky, I might get to write my mystery. * * * I spent the remainder of the day and the next one resting and recuperating from my trip and the long hours I had worked on my presentation. I was eating a room service breakfast on the third morning when I was stunned to see my photograph on the television. The 'just revealed' breaking national news was about a conspiracy to murder the well known author Wendell Gannaway and another unnamed individual. Included was information that I was also the victim of an alleged fraud perpetrated by my wife and several other individuals. There were photos of Kayla Rogers Gannaway, Jewel Adams, and a man named Brent Harriman. The national news was still sketchy but investigative reporters were in several locations interviewing people and researching facts. As Linda Bledsoe had told me, Jewel Adams had worked as a housekeeper for Herman K. Driscoll. However, news reports showed it was not her first position as a housekeeper. She had been employed in the same profession in another city and claimed she was seduced by the homeowner. When she threatened to sue, the homeowner gave her enough money that she was able to return to live with her parents until her child was born. The financial settlement was large enough to purchase a modest home for her parents and her son to live in while she went to another town, where she was not known, so she could perpetrate the same swindle. Herman K. Driscoll was her second victim. However, he wasn't as easy as the first had been. It took Jewel a longer time to get any money out of him and he made her angry. She returned to her parent's home for several months and left her daughter there, but then she went back intending to make Herman's life miserable. For about ten years they had an on-again, off-again affair. She would move in and live with him for a while, they would have some kind of fight and she would move out, or he would throw her clothes out into the street. When Jewel lived with Herman, she helped him with his home construction business, then he would fire her and she'd build a few houses on her own. Herman and Jewel would make up and she'd go back to working for him, they'd bust up and she'd build a few more houses on her own. She finally quit going back to him and concentrated on doing what she knew how to do best, building large, high quality homes. She took business away from Herman. It made him mad and finally Jewel could laugh. The television news reports showed reporters from several news organizations were on the scene near my home. It looked like the whole park had been taken over by vehicles with the logos of every news organization imaginable. For the whole day, I sat, ate my meals, and slept in front of the television. I finally got tired of listening to the same reports over and over. They were nothing more than a rehash of what was said earlier in the day. * * * The clerk at my favorite small news and magazine store didn't recognize me, but he sold me a copy of every different newspaper he carried. I put them in my pickup and walked across the parking lot to see Linda Bledsoe at the tee shirt shop. She hadn't changed the bell that rang when I opened the door and most of the interior looked familiar. There were photos of local high school cheerleaders wearing some of the new style tee shirts that filled a new rack. "Good Lord, Wendell, have you gone native?" I had not fooled her with my beard or the different type of clothing I was wearing. "Hi Linda, things look good." "Thank you and thanks for your dad's help too. How's the book's progressing?" "Pretty good. Is your husband at work?" "Not today, he's in the back room." "Really? I'm ready." When Bailey walked out of the rear storage room, I offered my hand, "Detective Bledsoe." "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Wendell. You've changed my wife from a homemaker into an entrepreneur. She's taken over every day I get away from my office. So, I hear you're ready?" "Yes, sir." I took the computer hard drive out of my pocket and handed it to him. Kayla - It Ends "That's from the computer inside your basement?" "Yeah, I put another hard drive in its place yesterday after Kayla left. I imagine it's the first time she's actually used the back door of the house. Reporters are camped out in front of the house like a bunch of vultures. I'd sure like to listen to what's on there." "I'm not sure I can arrange that. I might be able to do something about some transcripts, if we need confirmation of facts." "I'll take what I can get. Can you tell me who they are?" The first part of what Bailey told me wasn't much different from what I expected to hear. I knew very little about Brent. Some of the television reporters had some details correct and others would never figure it out. Brent Jamison Harriman was the oldest child of Jewel Adams, from her first housekeeper--pregnancy swindle. Jewel was never married to the child's father, but used his name when Brent was born and it was shown on his birth certificate. Brent's first job after high school was with a travel agency in the town where he grew up. He was a good looking young man and learned to please women. Kayla Marie Rogers was the second child of Jewel Adams. She was the daughter of Herman C. Driscoll. Jewel used the name Rogers when she returned to live with her parents, claiming she was a widow. Kayla was a wild teenager whom her grandparents never managed to control. She was too pretty and easily got her way. Despite a few minor problems with law enforcement, she was able to avoid a criminal record. Bailey and I were lucky no customers were coming into the tee shirt shop. As the lunch hour approached two young women, who looked like they might be secretaries in one of the nearby office buildings, walked in to ooh and aah over some newly arrived merchandise. Bailey Bledsoe and I took our conversation out to the front porch of the building. "Okay, I understand Jewel is her mother, but why did Kayla come here. The few times I was around the two of them together, they acted like strangers." "Yeah," Bailey agreed. "They never were together when Kayla was growing up. As you know, Jewel isn't a gregarious person." "That's an understatement," I said. "She seems to enjoy making people dislike her." "Oh, you don't know the half of it." Bailey wasn't very complimentary about Jewel, her treatment of her children, or her parents. She never went to see her children, nor did she send any money to help with the children's care. Bailey chuckled but it wasn't a happy sound. "According to the old police chief in her home town, Kayla wasn't really wild. She just never learned any discipline. I don't know if he was sweet on her, or was only trying to keep her out of trouble." "Would his name be Ben or Benny?" "Oh," Bailey asked, "Do you know him?" "No, but Kayla had a habit of muttering under her breath, 'Ben wouldn't like that,' or 'Ben would insist I fix that.' It was her way of chastising herself when she did something she was displeased with, or couldn't get something straight. I always thought it was the man who taught her what she knew about hanging wallpaper." "I see," Bailey nodded. "I guess he may have been her teacher, for things like that, too. He kept a few of the minor troublemakers busy in the summer, helping older people around their homes. He did it, like community service work, instead of sending them through the juvenile legal system." "Ah, this Ben, you said he might have been sweet on Kayla?" "Maybe, but he says she has a mean streak. No matter what you do for her, she's still going to stab you in the back the first chance she gets. She shows no remorse, doesn't ask for forgiveness, and cannot be trusted." "I was learning that, particularly about financial matters." Upon the death of the older couple, Jewel arranged for her daughter to move and gave her a few jobs, setting her up in a small easily-managed business of hanging wallpaper. However, Jewel was able to control the young girl, probably from fear or intimidation, but she also saw that Kayla stayed busy, which kept her out of trouble. About two years after Jewel had settled Kayla into a business of her own, Brent needed rescuing. An outraged husband threatened to sue his wife for divorce, claiming adultery along with a lawsuit against Brent for alienation of affection. Jewel brought him to town and reunited him with his half-sister, Kayla. Bailey put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Son, you're lucky to be alive. Do you know that?" "Yeah, sort of, I guess. I thought I was going to expose a plot against me, but it didn't turn out like I expected." Bailey dropped him arm and looked at me, "It's probably one of those things, like 'Only mad fools and Englishmen going out in the noonday sun.' Sort of, 'It takes one to know one.' The rest of us stand around and shake our heads in confusion." "Can you ... if you know ... can you tell me, so I can understand?" "I'll tell you some of it. The rest is up to the courts." If Jewel was aware of the incestuous relationship between her son and her daughter, she was not going to admit it. Instead, she pushed Brent to marry the daughter of his employer, telling him there was money there for the taking. Jewel knew Patrice's grandfather, Sherwood Appling. He and Herman K. Driscoll had been the very best of friends. When Herman K. Driscoll died, Jewel tried to purchase the townhouse where she had lived off and on for almost a dozen years. Although a bank would lend to her for the construction of someone's home, she could not obtain a loan to purchase a home for herself. In an interview, Kayla admitted Jewel told her about the job at the old Driscoll townhouse. Yet, Kayla believed she secured the job on her own merits. Instead of waiting for Sherwood Appling to die and Hollis to arrange for Kayla to have control of my assets, they tried to rush their plans because Kayla was pregnant. They planned to catch me in a compromising position with Brent's wife. In a rage, Brent would shoot me, accidently killing his wife at the same time. However, Patrice left town to be a bridesmaid in her friend's wedding; then broke her leg when she fell down the stairs during the reception. I went on a trip to research my book and after almost two months, it didn't look like I was in any hurry to come home. The police had my signed authorization to place recording devices, along with several cameras, in my home. The evidence they collected would be used in a trial on charges of conspiracy to murder and several different types of fraud. After everything exploded, Jewel stated she entered the townhouse through the housekeeper's apartment after she drove down the lane at the rear of Craftsman Row. Yesterday's long, contentious meeting involved discussions and loud arguments with Kayla and Brent in the formal dining room, one of the few rooms without a recording device. Bailey hoped the device in the kitchen had picked up the loud voices. According to Jewel, Kayla knew I was not the father because she and I only had sex one time after she returned from the weekend warehouse sale. That one time was the evening her period started. She inserted a tampon after we had sex that night because she did not want to stain the sheets on the bed. I knew it would be many months before any kind of trial to decide if there actually was a conspiracy. There had never been an actual attempt to kill Patrice or me. It was possible there might never be a trial for those charges, depending on the skill of the lawyers Jewel, Brent, and Kayla managed to hire. I just knew I would be divorced by then, or as soon as possible after the birth of Kayla's child and a paternity test. Long before then, Patrice would have also gained her freedom from Brent. I listened to everything Bailey could tell me, but I did not have a clue to figuring out why everything had gone so wrong. "Okay, I guess I'm ready to hear why Kayla is in intensive care, my lawyer's sitting in protective custody, and Brent's been arrested." "When the reporters started asking questions, Kayla thought Jewel and Brent would try to squeeze her out so she told Hollis to come by the house to protect her interests. She'd been playing both sides against the middle, meeting him when Brent was too busy to watch her. He really is an extremely jealous man." "Yes, that's what Patrice said." "Hollis walked in and kissed Kayla on the cheek. Brent was so proud of the gun he'd bought he had been carrying it regularly. He pulled the gun out, threatening Hollis, a scuffle resulted in the gun being discharged, and Kayla was hit. Jewel used the house phone to call 9-1-1. End of story." * * * I was still reeling from all the publicity caused by the disclosures I had made. Kayla was in intensive care, partly because it was easier to keep her from being disturbed. Jewel found enough money, or Kayla did so, to post bail for Brent. He was being watched and not likely to cause further trouble. Hollis was no longer my attorney and probably hadn't been for some time, I just didn't know it. The evidence I could use for a divorce wasn't much more than a few photos and some sloppy recordings that were much lower quality than the police equipment had obtained. The file folder with the corrected deed he tried to slip in with the documents he wanted me to sign was still in my suitcase. I had not decided if I was going to pursue some kind of action against him. Although I was having the book and movie contracts reviewed, I already knew he had done a good job. I had returned to the fishing lodge. It would probably be a couple of weeks before I would care to return to my home. I had not been to see Kayla and had no plans to do so. I was considering hiring someone to pack her things and get them out of the house before I went home. The police were still developing their case and questioning everyone involved in the shooting and the multiple incidences of fraud. "Wendell, are you alright?" "Hello Dad. Yes, I'm just fine. What a mess, huh?" "You're not going to let them get away with it, are you?" "I hope not." "Hope not?" My voice was getting louder and the ache in my jaw was back. "Hell, I want to file a lawsuit against my soon to be ex-wife or whatever she's called. I want every penny she took from me, including everything that went into that worthless store she opened. I want every dime she has, every nickel she could ever hope to get and the same thing from her half-brother." "Easy, Wendell, easy." "Not this time, sir. I want recovery from Jewel Adams, too. Yeah, I know, I'm a little wimp, and I can't be a macho man who gets his revenge with his fists, so I'll use the methods available to me. That's what I pay lawyers to do. Jewel Adams will never put another nail in a piece of wood, because I'll make sure she never gets the chance." "You're sure about this?" "Yes, I'm certain. Because of them, I've lived like a hermit for too damn long. My beard is long enough to comb and I am sick of feeling like I did something wrong." "You're right." "I know, but I want to be there the day those three walk into the courthouse. And I want that jury to know how near they got to actually killing Patrice and me. I will not let this get swept under some rug." "I hear you and I understand and perhaps I feel the same as you do. Now, the next subject, when are you coming home?" "I don't know. I kind of like it up here. The fishing's good and the eating is better." "Patrice wants to know where you are?" "Is it safe ... I mean, should I ... is it okay to tell her?" "I sort of cheated. I gave her a map. She's already there in town. She called a few minutes ago. I told her to stop at the grocery store for the steaks and anyone there could tell her how to get to The Gannaway Fishing Lodge." "Good-bye, Dad." "Hey Wendell, I need to tell you ..." "Good-bye, Dad." "Wait ...wait ..." "Dad, I have company coming and I need to shave. Don't call me. I'll call you. Good-bye." THE END