Uncovering Secrets: The Third Novel in the Rosemont Series (12 page)

Chapter 30

Frank Haynes turned left out of the long, winding
driveway to Rosemont and headed his Mercedes sedan to David’s house.

“Sorry
it took so long,” David said.

“I
just need to check on something at one of my restaurants, that’s all,” Haynes
replied, aware that he was becoming increasingly testy as time went on.

David
nodded. “I really appreciate the ride home and the agility classes.”

Haynes
glanced at the boy. “The two of you have the knack for it. You remind me of me
and my dog when I was your age.”

“Did
you do agility?”

“No.
I didn’t know about it back then.”

David
sighed. “I just hope Dodger is okay. He was definitely not himself today.”

Haynes
reached across and patted his arm. “Keep an eye on him. If you’re still worried
in a couple of days, we’ll take him to Dr. Allen.”

Frank
Haynes pulled into David’s driveway. “Let me know how Dodger is doing, one way
or the other. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

David
nodded and Haynes backed out of the driveway and headed for Haynes Enterprises.
The allure of the folder hidden in his jacket was overpowering.

***

Frank Haynes sprinted up the steps to Haynes
Enterprises. He was glad it was a Saturday and he’d be alone. He wanted to
review the folder—the one he’d been fixated on since that day in the
attic—in private.

The
file was slim. On top was a genealogy of Paul Martin, obtained from an ancestry
website. It showed that Silas Martin—the town’s first millionaire and
owner of the sawmill that once operated on the Shawnee River—died in
1937. Everyone in town now knew the property as The Mill, the fine-dining
restaurant, inn, and spa that occupied the site. Silas left two sons, Hector
and Joseph. It was well-known local folklore that Joseph, an attorney by trade,
had moved away from his autocratic father to practice law in Cleveland, leaving
Hector to run the sawmill with his father. Silas had disinherited Joseph and
left his home, Rosemont, and his entire fortune to Hector. Hector was a
bachelor who lived to the impressive old age of one hundred six. His brother,
Joseph, predeceased him. According to the documents Haynes held, Hector left
his estate to “his living heirs,” which turned out to be Paul Martin. Nothing
new there.

Next
came a series of letters, paper-clipped together, from Paul to an attorney in
Chicago. Haynes removed the clip, arranged the letters in chronological order
and proceeded from the beginning. The attorney represented the estate of Hector
Martin. He’d contacted Paul after Hector’s death in 2000 to inform him of his
inheritance.
What a sweet moment that must have been for that bastard
Martin,
Haynes thought. The attorney continued that they were still
searching for other potential heirs and would be in touch when that search was
completed.

Paul
wrote back to ask what the search entailed. The attorney replied that the
public records of births and deaths could only be accessed in person at the
Vital Records Office and that he wouldn’t be able to make the trip to Westbury
until sometime during the latter part of the following month.

The
final letter in the sequence was from another lawyer in the firm, informing
Paul that the attorney who had been handling the estate had retired and moved
abroad. This attorney was now assigned to Hector’s estate. No other heirs had
been uncovered. He concluded by suggesting that Paul schedule a trip to Chicago
to sign papers and accept the transfer of assets from the estate.

The
final item in the file was a packet of bank statements and spreadsheets,
detailing bank accounts, lists of stocks and bonds, and deeds to real property.
Haynes almost missed the envelope stuck to the back of one of the bank
statements.

He
carefully removed it and drew out an old birth certificate that appeared to be
an original. Haynes pulled a large magnifying glass out of his desk drawer and
placed the document directly under the desk lamp. The certificate was dated
June 6, 1938. His mother’s birthday. It recorded the live birth of a
female—the name, “Baby Girl”—born in Mercy Hospital.

Haynes
gasped at what he read next. The mother was listed as Mary Rose Hawkins and the
father as Hector Martin. The marital status box was checked: unmarried. His
grandmother’s name was Mary Rose and her maiden name had been Hawkins. And
she’d worked at Rosemont as a parlor maid until she’d married his grandfather
only a few weeks after his mother was born. He’d always assumed it had been a
shotgun wedding.

Haynes
slammed back into his chair. Was his mother the illegitimate child of Hector
Martin?
Had she known?
He didn’t think so—she would have told him.
He swiveled his chair to look out the window. His mother had worked hard every
day of her life, most of the time holding down two jobs, to make up for the
profligate ways of his philandering father. A little bit of money might have
made things much easier for her. For both of them, for that matter.

He
turned his attention back to the papers on his desk. Was he Hector’s grandson
and the legitimate heir to his fortune? Was he—Frank Haynes—the
rightful owner of Rosemont?

Haynes
steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, contemplating his next move.
He needed to investigate his possible heirship, and he needed to do it as
discretely as possible. Haynes smiled his mirthless smile.
What a delicious
surprise to drop on the ever-charming Mayor Maggie Martin.
He could just
picture the look on her face when she learned she’d have to pack up and move
out of Rosemont. He’d be magnanimous, of course. Maybe even give her an entire
weekend to vacate. He chuckled to himself.

Frank
Haynes carefully gathered the papers on his desk and replaced them in the
folder. He retrieved the key to his wall safe from under his desk, removed the
painting that concealed it and opened the safe. The F.H./Rosemont folder would
join the only other item in the safe—the jump drive with evidence
incriminating Wheeler and Delgado. One day, he might need this evidence.

He
pulled his jacket from the back of his chair, set the alarm, and locked the
door to Haynes Enterprises. He’d contact the prominent New York City estate
firm of Hirim & Wilkens first thing Monday morning.

Haynes
frequently detoured to drive by Rosemont on his way home, and he followed the
familiar practice this afternoon, slipping into the clearing along the berm of
the road that ran below the back of the property. He’d spied on Maggie on
previous occasions—watching figures moving in front of the windows, and
always with a longing that was palpable. Whether it was for the house itself or
the life being lived in it, he didn’t know.

Tonight,
however, was different. The house against the late afternoon sky stood dark and
quiet and beautiful. Haynes turned off the engine and sat, staring at the home
without seeing. What would his life have been like if he’d been raised there?
If life had afforded his long-suffering mother a little comfort and security?
Maybe she wouldn’t have worked herself into an early grave. Maybe she would
have been there to buffer the effects of his abusive father. Maybe she even
would have divorced the bastard, and they could have lived a peaceful life in
this glorious home.

Frank
Haynes pounded his fist on his dashboard. “Damn all of you,” he yelled, the
words reverberating in the silent car. He rested his forehead against the
steering wheel and tears coursed down his cheeks.

Chapter 31

Frank Haynes waved to David Wheeler when he arrived at
the dog park late one Saturday afternoon. Despite his best efforts to work with
Sally in the past three weeks, he and his border collie remained in the
remedial group.
At the bottom of the remedial group,
he reminded himself
wryly. Dodger loped along contentedly with David.

David
handed Frank Haynes a Ziploc bag full of tiny pieces of cut-up hot dogs. “I’ve
got training treats,” Haynes said, pulling a bag of expensive tidbits from his
jacket pocket.

“She’ll
like these better. Trust me,” David replied.

Haynes
looked at David.
He’s in his element,
he thought. The shy boy—the
one who mumbled, head down, contemplating his shoes—was nowhere to be
found when he was talking about dogs.
I can relate to that.

“Put
a piece of hot dog in your hand and tell her to sit.”

“Sit,”
Haynes commanded. Sally stood and wagged her tail. Dodger sat and Haynes gave
him a treat.

“Okay.
Give me your hand,” David said. Frank stretched out his palm and David placed
another piece of hot dog in it. “This time, when you tell her to sit, move this
hand over her head and along her back. She’ll try to follow the treat, and
she’ll sit automatically.”

Haynes
followed David’s direction and, after squirming to try to follow his hand,
Sally sat. “Good girl,” Haynes praised as he gave her the piece of hot dog.
Dodger thumped his tail from his seated position, and David laughed. Haynes
reached over and gave him another treat.

“I
think Dodger’s milking the system. I’m going to run him on the course while you
two work on this. Repeat until you’re out of hot dogs,” he said, signaling
Dodger to follow him. “Holler when you’re done, and we’ll work on stay.”

Haynes
and Sally proceeded as instructed while Dodger flew around the agility course
in perfect alignment with his master’s commands. Things didn’t go as smoothly
when Haynes and Sally were on their own, but they were making progress in the
right direction. Haynes was reaching into the bag for the last piece of hot dog
when he heard David call to him from the agility course.

Haynes
turned to see David running toward him. “Something’s really wrong with Dodger,”
he said. “Can you come see?”

Haynes
followed David on the run.

Something
was, indeed, very wrong with Dodger. He lay motionless on the track on his
right side, his one good eye moving wildly about. His breathing was short and
shallow. Haynes bent on one knee, and Dodger turned his eye to him, keeping his
head flat on the ground.

“That’s
a good boy,” Haynes said softly. He touched Dodger’s back and the dog yipped.
“What happened?”

“He
was weaving through those stakes,” David said, gesturing in the direction of
the track. “Going really fast, keeping close to them. It looked like he clipped
one with his shoulder on his way out.”

Haynes
nodded. “His left leg’s hanging here at an awkward angle. I’ll bet he’s torn
something or dislocated it.”

“Will
he be all right?” David couldn’t conceal the fear in his voice. “Can they fix
it? They won’t have to put him down, will they?” His voice quivered.

“No.
Of course not. Don’t even think that. We’ll get him to Dr. Allen.”

“But
he’s not moving. Is he paralyzed?”

“He’s
lying still because he’s in pain. He’s not paralyzed.” And as if he could
understand them, Dodger wagged his tail.

David
stared at Dodger. “What do you think it’ll cost?”

“Don’t
worry about that. I’m sure I can work something out with Dr. Allen.”

“I’ll
pay it, but it might take some time.”

Haynes
nodded. “I’m sure you will.” He looked at his watch. “Let’s get him to Westbury
Animal Hospital before they close for the day. I’ve got a sturdy blanket in my
car. We’ll make a stretcher and lay him in the back.”

***

John Allen had a full schedule that afternoon, but told
his assistant that he’d be happy to work Dodger in between patients.

“I
won’t ever turn away Frank Haynes, Juan. He’s done more good for animals than
anyone I know. I’ll always make time for him.”

“That’s
what I thought,” Juan replied. “They’re in Exam Room 3. Dodger is really
uncomfortable.”

John
Allen opened the door to Exam Room 3 and was no more than a foot inside the
door when he’d made a tentative diagnosis. He bent down and carefully
approached the suffering animal. Dodger thumped his tail in greeting in spite
of his obvious misery. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“We
think he hurt his shoulder weaving through the stakes on the agility track.”

John
Allen nodded.

“Can
you fix him?” David asked anxiously.

“Let
me take some x-rays,” he replied calmly. “We can wheel this table right back to
our machine. That’s a good boy, Dodger,” he praised. “We’ll be back.”

The
exam confirmed John’s worst fears. Dodger had a messy shoulder dislocation,
complicated by ligament tears and a hairline fracture. Dodger needed to be seen
by a canine orthopedic surgeon. A specialist could perform the new surgical
techniques that would be best. The nearest one was in Chicago and was extremely
expensive. John sighed. He felt sorry for this boy, still grieving the death of
his father. He’d treat Dodger for free, but knew that the specialist would not.

John
returned to the room where David and Frank Haynes waited. “Dodger’s suffered a
very serious injury to his shoulder. I can treat his pain—we’ve already
given him a shot, and he’s happily asleep—and we can immobilize the
shoulder until it heals, but he needs orthopedic surgery to really repair the
damage.”

“So
do the surgery,” Haynes said.

“I
don’t have the necessary equipment here, Frank,” John replied. “You’d have to
take him to a specialist in Chicago.”

“Then
that’s what we’ll do. Can you refer someone?”

“I
can’t afford that,” David said quietly.

“I’m
going to pay for it, David. You don’t have to worry about that.” John clapped
Haynes on the back and squeezed his shoulder. David beamed. Frank Haynes turned
aside. “Can you set it up for us, John?”

“Yes,
but you’ll need to get him there tomorrow. And I’m guessing you’ll have to
leave Dodger there for a few days. The surgery will probably cost four or five
thousand dollars.”

Frank
Haynes waved his hand in dismissal. “Just let me know when and where. We’ll
have to leave very early tomorrow morning,” he said to David. “Can you miss
school? Your mother will have to approve.”

“She
will,” he said, turning grateful eyes to Haynes.

“Good,”
John said. “This is the best thing for him. And I’ll talk to the
surgeon—I should be able to handle all of the follow-up care. I’ll keep
him sedated here tonight.” He turned to Haynes. “You can pick him up as early
as you want tomorrow. I’ll help you get him loaded into your car. If you can
drive him in a van or an SUV, that would be best. We’ll lay him down in the
back.”

“I’ll
rent one,” Haynes replied.

“Can
I see him before we go?” David asked and his voice cracked.

“Sure,”
John said. “Juan can take you back.” He summoned Juan on the intercom.

“That’s
a really kind thing you’re doing for that boy, Frank,” John said after David
and Juan departed from the exam room.

Haynes
flushed. “Thanks for seeing us without an appointment. I’ll let you know how it
goes in Chicago.”

***

While John Allen was busy that afternoon at Westbury
Animal Hospital, Maggie Martin found a thirty-minute break in her schedule to
attend to a personal errand of her own. She was buzzed in to Burman Jewelers
clutching a full-page ad she’d torn out of a magazine. The ad was for a classic
Rolex watch that John had admired one Sunday afternoon when she’d been snuggled
next to him, reading her magazine, while he watched a football game on
television.

Harriet
greeted her warmly. “Are you here to visit your ring? It’s not quite ready
yet.”

Maggie
laughed. “I hadn’t even thought of visiting it. Does anyone do that?”

“You
bet they do. Would you like to see it?”

Maggie
shook her head. “No. Not until John’s with me and it’s time to put it on.”

“It’ll
only be a few more days,” Harriet assured her. “What have you got there?”

Maggie
held out the Rolex advertisement. “John admired this watch, and I’d like to
give it to him. As a surprise for him when I get the ring.”

“This
is stunning. And we carry Rolex.”

“Do
you have it?”

Harriet
shook her head. “No. But we can order it. I’ll have our distributor overnight
it to us.” She looked at Maggie over the top of her glasses. “This costs almost
as much as your diamond. You know that, don’t you?”

Maggie
beamed. “That’s the plan. I’m a modern woman, after all.”

Harriet
laughed. “I sure hope you’re starting a trend. We’d double our revenue.”

“When
you get the watch, will you wrap it for me?”

“Of
course. I’ll put the two of you in that private viewing room in back when you
come in to get your ring. I’ll have it sitting on the bottom shelf of the case
that sits right inside the door. It’ll be all set.”

“Perfect,”
Maggie said, handing Harriet her credit card. “And don’t breathe a word about
this. I want it to be a surprise.”

“No
worries there,” Harriet replied. “Jewelers keep more secrets than you can
imagine.”