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-in-law 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.