Chapter Twelve: New Year's Resolution
As Mark continued surfing, he found that the Morganstern brothers were highly popular subjects for photos, and with good reason. All three were handsome, photogenic young men, and except when on the playing field, they were seldom seen without the company of a bevy of attractive young women. He frowned when he realized two of the three young men always seemed to be smoking, but never all three. On a list of the members of their graduating classes, Mark found they were also stellar students, with Bert and Fred both graduating magna cum laude and tying for valedictorian in the business program. Al took equal honors in the fine arts program.
Mark left the sports and academic sections of the site and went to the extracurricular and social life section where another familiar face kept appearing. Alexis Cheadle, president of the Edgar Allen Poe society and homecoming queen for the class of 1976, was also captain of the cheerleading squad. She was often seen in the company of one or more of the Morganstern brothers. One picture from the Spring Formal showed her with her girlfriends. She was the image of youth and beauty in a rich blue satiny dress with a tight bodice and a long, full skirt falling from an empire waist, and she was laughing heartily at something with one hand resting on her abdomen. In the next image, she was dancing with a young man with his arm in a sling. His back was to the camera, but the white straps and elbow of the sling showed up vividly against his tuxedo jacket. Another picture showed both Fred and Bert trying to cut in on her partner. The caption suggested that it was all in good fun, but the expressions on their faces told a much different story. There was something else amiss, too, but Mark couldn't figure out what.
As he continued surfing the Class of '76 page, he began reminiscing about his own college days. He'd dated a few very attractive young women, but never felt serious about anyone until he'd completed his medical training. A young cop he knew named Harry Trumbull had introduced him his girlfriend, a lovely young woman named Catherine Meehan. Almost against their will, Mark and Catherine had fallen in love. They never meant to hurt Harry, but he had been hurt anyway. Mark and Catherine had gone on to get married and raise two children, and for years afterward, Mark and Harry's relationship had been cool at best. As he made his way back to the picture from the Spring Formal, the pieces suddenly clicked, and, with a grin on his face, he called Amanda. He had to check on a few things just to be sure.
OOO
"Wow!" Jesse said bouncing excitedly in his chair. "So you really know what happened now? After five years you've finally figured it out." It was the New Year's Eve, and he was due to start on the early shift that coming Monday, which was fine with him. He loved his mom, but he could only stand so much mothering, and seven days was about his limit.
"I'm pretty sure I have," Mark replied, "but I need to talk to Bert and Alexis again. Amanda, did you check your autopsy notes for me?"
"Yes, I did, and you were right about the condition of Fred's lungs," she said apologetically. "I'm sorry, Mark, I should have spotted that five years ago."
"You didn't know to look for it five years ago, Sweetie. None of us did."
"I should have," Amanda said. "Alexis told me Bert had quit smoking months before the . . . incident." She still couldn't bring herself to call it a murder, she had been so used to thinking of it as a tragic, freak accident, "But I never thought to ask about Fred."
"Well, at any rate, his killers will be brought to justice tonight," Mark reminded her.
"Why? What was wrong with Fred's lungs?" Jesse asked.
"Nothing, really," Amanda said, "just a moderate degree of anthracotic pigmentation."
"For a man in his late forties living in LA, what's so unusual about that?"
"Nothing in particular, but Fred didn't live in LA all his life," Amanda reminded him.
"I still don't see . . . "
"You will," Mark promised, interrupting him before he could finish his question, "but now, I'm not so sure Fred is the one who died that night." Mark stood up and walked through to the den before Jesse could ask another question. He enjoyed leading his curious protégé through the facts and letting him draw his own conclusions, not just because he felt Jesse learned more that way, but also because it served to confirm Mark's own suspicions. The young man still didn't realize himself how clever he was and had no idea how often Mark relied on his insights to help him think matters through.
"Steve, do you have the search warrant?" Mark asked as his son, Jesse, and Amanda gathered round him at the computer desk.
Steve nodded and pulled out the piece of paper. "Three uniforms are going to be here within the hour with a sledge hammer and crowbar."
Mark smiled. "Good, they'll need them. I hope they brought coveralls, too, it's going to be messy work."
"What is?" Jesse queried.
"Dismantling the fireplace," Mark said, as if it should have been obvious to everyone. Steve, Jesse, and Amanda exchanged puzzled looks and shrugs, but refrained from asking anything more. They knew it was impossible to get Mark to disclose his secrets when he got like this. He liked prodding them to solve the mystery too much to just let them skip to the end.
"I don't understand why you waited so long though," Jesse finally said, letting the comment about the fireplace go for now. "I mean if you figured it out after dinner last week, why didn't you move then?"
Mark sighed. "Because I didn't want to ruin another Christmas for Alisha, and because I thought you might like to be here in case she needs a shoulder to cry on again."
Jesse frowned and nodded. "So, what finally gave it away for you?"
"A picture," Mark said as he booted up the computer and brought up He'd put the picture in question into his favorites, and in just a moment, they were all looking at the 1976 Spring Formal. It was the picture of Alexis laughing with her friends. Mark waited patiently to see if the others noticed what he saw. If they didn't, and it was all just a figment of his imagination, he was going to look pretty silly when they went next door and tore the fireplace apart.
"Wow, is that Alexis?" Steve asked.
"Alexis Cheadle, yes," Mark said, "with some of her girlfriends. It was her senior year."
"Hey, she was pretty hot," Jesse said. "I mean, for back then, y'know," he blushed when he got questioning looks from all three of his friends.
"You're right, Jess, there's no denying she was a lovely girl, but what's wrong with this picture?"
Jesse shrugged. "None of them have partners?" he suggested.
Mark smiled, "Actually, they do, but this is just the girls together."
They studied the image a few more minutes and finally, Steve said, "I don't see anything wrong, Dad."
Amanda peered closely at the image for a moment and then looked at Mark in shock. "She's not?"
Mark shrugged.
"She can't be!" Amanda insisted.
"The alumni page says she and Bert got married right after graduation and had a daughter that November," Mark told her.
"But Dad, that's only . . . " Steve counted on his fingers to be sure. "That's only six months."
"Hey!" Jesse said in surprise, "She is a little pudgy, look!"
As everyone duly examined Alexis' pudgy abdomen, Steve asked, "So what does the condition of Fred's lungs have to do with her being three months pregnant when she graduated college? And what do either of those have to do with how Fred --or I guess you think it was Bert now-- what does any of this have to do with how the victim died?"
"On the surface, absolutely nothing," Mark said, "if it weren't for the picture Jesse told us about at dinner, I probably never would have put it all together."
"You mean the one with the older brother cut out?"
"Yeah, that's the one."
Steve rubbed his head as if it was starting to ache and said, "I'm still not getting it, Dad."
Mark smiled. "Two women went into an office and applied for the same position," he said, launching off on a tangent that left his three companions rolling their eyes in confusion and frustration. "They looked just alike, had the same last name, and were born on the same day, at the same time, in the same hospital, to the same mother with the same doctor attending. When they turned in their applications, the receptionist in personnel glanced over them, looked at the women and said, 'You must be twins.' The women answered no, and they were telling the truth. How is this possible?"
"I've heard this before, haven't I?" Steve asked.
"Yep. It took you about ten minutes to figure it out," Mark told him. "Your sister needed about two days, but she was seven years younger and hadn't really reached the necessary level of reasoning ability yet."
Steve suddenly grinned broadly. "You can't be serious!" he said.
Mark nodded. "Took you less than a minute this time."
"Hey, look at this," Jesse said. He had come to the picture of Bert and Fred confronting Alexis' dance partner. "Bert and Fred look pretty mad, don't they?"
"But how can we tell which one is which?"
"Well . . . "
"Wait, I know!" Steve interrupted. "Fred's lungs and the disowned brother with the bandaged arm. He must have a scar or other distinguishing mark."
"A scar," Mark confirmed, "from surgery on an injured elbow."
"Ok, now I am lost," Amanda said, "I know Bert and Fred were twins, but Mark, I don't understand your story about the twins applying for a job."
"They weren't twins," Mark said with a grin.
"But they had to be! They looked so much alike," Amanda insisted. "And what's so important about the brother they disowned? As far as we know, he wasn't even in the state at the time, let alone the vicinity of the murder."
Just then, the doorbell rang, and before anyone could ask any more questions, Steve said, "That will be Pixley, Huntingdon, and Wade. Jesse, Amanda, just follow along. This is gonna be good."
OOO
"Guys I'm not so sure I like this," Jesse said. "Alisha is a sweet girl, and I don't want to just storm into her house."
"We're not storming in, Jess," Steve told him. "We're going to ring the bell and wait for someone to answer."
"I still don't like it," Jesse complained. "I mean, five years ago, her uncle died on Christmas Eve, and now, we're going there to dredge up old memories and tear up her house looking for evidence. Somehow, it just seems really mean."
"I know, Jesse," Mark said, "but it has to be done if we are ever going to catch the killer, and it should be done before Bert and Alexis leave." As they arrived at the door, Mark said, "Now, please, Jesse, I know you're not happy about our doing this, but we deliberately waited until you could be here to support Alisha. We're all fond of her, and we know this is going to be hard on her. Will you look after her while Steve and I question her parents and the officers search the fireplace?"
"Yeah," Jesse nodded, and then he added shyly, "and no offense, Mark, but for Alisha's sake, if you think Bert or Alexis is Fred's killer, I hope you're wrong."
"I wish I were, Jesse," Mark said, "but I don't think so."
"There's only one way to find out," Steve said, and he rang the bell.
"Steve?" Alisha said curiously as she opened the door, and then, "Mark? Jesse? And . . . I'm sorry, Miranda, is it?"
"Amanda," she corrected the young woman.
"Uh, yeah, sorry. Amanda." Looking back at Steve she asked, "What are you guys doing here, and why have you brought the police?"
Steve handed her the search warrant and said, "Alisha, I really hate to do this, but this is a warrant to search this house for evidence relating to the murder of Alfred Morganstern. Among other things, it covers knocking down the back wall of the fireplace to see what is behind it."
"Murder?" Alisha said in disbelief, "Steve, Uncle Fred fell off the roof and got tangled in the Christmas lights. I didn't see it, but Dr. Sloan, you told me so yourself."
"I know I did, Honey," Mark said soothingly, "because that's how it appeared at the time, but there always seemed something wrong with that theory, and now I think I can prove who did it and how and why."
"Alisha, can we come in?" Steve asked gently but insistently.
"I . . . I don't know," she said, then called over her shoulder, "Daddy, can you come here?"
With a jerk of his head, Steve indicated that Jesse should try to clear the way for them.
"Look, Alisha," the young doctor said as he moved forward and put his arm around her, "the warrant is good. You can't keep them out." He gently guided her into the house and smiled at Bert, "Hi, Mr. Morganstern."
Bert looked at him blankly for a minute, which surprised Jesse. He didn't know Alisha's dad all that well, but they had met a few times, and the man should have recognized him. Still, if he had suffered a nervous breakdown, he might not remember much of anything associated with his twin brother's death.
As Alisha introduced them again, Mark and company entered the house and went through to the living groom. In the background, Jesse was aware of Alexis' shrill voice. "Mark, what is the meaning of this?"
"My son is here to arrest a murderer," Mark said, and then turned to look at Bert who was just entering the room, followed by Jesse and Alisha, "or maybe two."
Alisha looked up at Bert and queried anxiously, "Daddy?"
"It's ok, Alisha," he said, going over to the coffee table and picking up a pack of cigarettes and shaking one out. He lit up, took a deep drag, and blew out a cloud of smoke. Turning to Mark, he added stonily, "I have heard of nosy neighbors, Dr. Sloan, but this is a little extreme. You want to know what's behind our fireplace? I'll tell you! A wall."
Alisha begged, "Steve, please don't do this! Please just leave us alone. Uncle Fred killed himself. I thought you decided that five years ago."
"Alisha," Steve said, not unkindly, "your uncle's death was listed as a probable suicide so that your mother and father could dispose of the body and settle his estate, but there were a lot of inconsistencies. The case was never officially closed. Now, some new facts have come to light, and my dad thinks, and I agree, that your Uncle Fred was murdered."
"NO!" Alisha shouted and stamped her foot. "Who are you accusing, and why? Is it one of us? What motive could we have?"
"Alisha, I don't think you want . . . "
"I knew about my mom's affair with Uncle Fred," she told him, and Steve couldn't hide his surprise.
"Alisha, get a hold of yourself!" Alexis snapped.
"No, Mom! You made a mess of our lives once, and it almost destroyed Daddy. I won't to let it happen again." Turning to her father, sobbing as she spoke, she said, "Daddy, I'm sorry, I found out weeks before you did, but I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know if I should tell you. Then you . . . caught them, I knew you did because you were so mad and mean for a while. Remember? It was in August, before I went back to school."
"Alisha, are you sure it was August?" Mark asked.
She nodded. "I'm sure of it because my tuition was due and he'd forgotten to pay it. When I asked about it, he blew up at me, scribbled out a check, and told me I should never ask him for money again and that if I needed any more I should get a job. I was so upset I cried for days."
Mark nodded thoughtfully, but didn't say anything.
Alisha looked at Steve with big soulful eyes and said, "I don't understand, why are you doing this now?"
Before Steve could answer, Jesse took charge of the distraught young woman. "Alisha, let's go into the kitchen and let me fix you something to drink," he said. "You know Steve and Mark, and you know they wouldn't do this if they didn't think they were right. If they're wrong, and I really hope they are, well, then, someone will just have to fix your fireplace, and no harm done."
Jesse didn't say what would happen if Steve and Mark were right. He knew Alisha didn't want to contemplate that. Also, until now, he hadn't realized that she had known about her mother's affair before her father did, and he figured that might change things a little. He knew she was much closer to her dad than she was to her mom, and he figured that made her a suspect now, just as much as Bert, and he wanted to speak with her before Steve and Mark did. A part of him felt like he was betraying his friends, but he knew, if she did confide in him that she did it, he would do everything in his power to help her.
As Jesse left with the distraught young woman, Steve turned to Pixley and Huntingdon, "So, what are you waiting for, gentlemen? You know what to do. Wade, you know what you're looking for, right?" The young woman nodded her head and went up the stairs.
Fortunately, the fireplace was not burning, so they wouldn't have to linger there until it cooled off. As Wade left to search the other rooms, Huntingdon and Pixley donned their coveralls and stepped into the opening and began to clear out the debris from the last fire. As they worked, Alexis said, "I must tell you, Lieutenant, if you insist on proceeding with this unwarranted search, I will sue the department, and I will sue you and your senile, busybody father for everything you've got."
Steve returned her glare with an icy smile of his own. "This search is warranted, Alexis," he said, and, pleased with his pun, he showed her the piece of paper in question. "And even if we find nothing, which I doubt will be the case, we are still covered. The evidence led us here. The Fourth Amendment protects you against 'unreasonable searches and seizures,' not mistaken searches, and it requires only 'probable cause,' not absolute certainty. If we're wrong, I'll personally pay for repairs, but you'll have no suit with me in court."
OOO
"Jesse, I don't under stand why they are doing this," Alisha said as she slouched in her chair. "I always thought Steve and Mark were really good guys. Why are they doing this?"
"I will explain what I can for you, Alisha," Jesse said, setting a cup of tea before her, "after you drink this."
She nodded and said, "And what are they looking for behind the fireplace?"
"I don't know." Jesse sat down opposite her with a glass of milk in his hand. "Mark didn't tell us."
"Mark?" She snorted. "I thought Steve was the cop!"
"Yeah, he is," Jesse said, "but you know Mark consults for the LAPD."
Alisha nodded, and then she just sat there, staring into her tea for several minutes. All of a sudden, her expression crumpled, and she began to sob. As Jesse moved round the table and took her in his arms, she begged him, "Please, Jesse, tell me my daddy didn't do this!"
Not wanting to make a liar of himself, Jesse just held her and kept silent.
OOO
"You know, you left us a lot of clues," Mark said as they waited to see what Huntingdon and Pixley would discover. "It was only a matter of time before it all came together."
"I don't see how," Alexis said, "we didn't do anything wrong."
"I would expect you to say that, Alexis," Mark said. "I have to say, you are amazingly cool under pressure." She was indeed calm. Not a hair out of place, no sheen of perspiration. Mark had to wonder if her pulse was racing or if she was really was as confident as she appeared.
"Bert on the other hand is giving himself away with every breath he takes."
"What?" Bert gasped from a cloud of smoke. "What are you talking about? What do you mean 'with every breath?'"
Mark smiled in his congenial way, and explained. "When Fred died, I came in to look after you. I offered Alexis a sedative and she accepted it. You refused, so . . . " Interrupted by the sharp metallic sound of a hammer striking a chisel, Mark paused a moment and looked over toward the fireplace where Pixley and Huntingdon were beginning their assault on the bricks.
Raising his voice, he continued. "So, against my better judgment, I suggested you have a cigarette to calm you down. You refused that, too, telling me you had quit just a few days before."
"Yeah, what about it?" Bert asked suspiciously as he lit a fresh Pall Mall from the butt of the old one.
Mark was watching the nervous man closely, and he could see Bert flinch slightly with every blow of the hammer against the chisel. He sat quietly and let the noise pervade the room for a minute or two.
"Well, you're smoking now, and from that wheeze I hear when you exhale, I suspect you have been doing so for a long time, even though you swore you wouldn't disappoint your daughter."
Blowing out a cloud of blue smoke, Bert said, "My brother had just died at my house, while he was helping me. I was close enough to have saved him . . . " Bert choked up for a minute, and Mark felt for the man despite what he had done because he could tell the grief was real. "He called out to me, but I didn't help him because . . . "
"Bert!" Alexis snapped, "Don't let him do this to you. You'd have helped him if you'd known he was in trouble, but it's like you told me before, he only yelled once, and you were busy with the Santa. Oh, for goodness sake!" Alexis wailed, squeezing her temples and glaring toward where Huntingdon and Pixley were chipping away at the mortar between the bricks. "Steve, can't they just bash the wall in?"
"I'm sorry, Alexis," Steve replied with mock sincerity. "They have to work carefully to preserve the evidence."
"I told you, before, there is no evidence!"
"She's right," Bert said adamantly, as if the whole exchange between Steve and Alexis had never interrupted his conversation, "I didn't know he was in trouble, and I was busy changing the bulbs in that damned Santa!"
"Bert, if that's all there was to this case, I'd probably believe you," Mark said generously, "but I have been reviewing Steve's files, and the fact is, between the two of you, you have told so many stories about the cigarettes alone that I doubt you can keep them straight."
Mark turned to Alexis but he kept talking to Bert. "That night you said you had quit smoking just a few days ago as a Christmas present to your daughter. And you told me the cigarettes on the table weren't your brand. I thought that was strange, and I had Steve collect them as evidence. You're smoking the same brand now."
"They- they were here, I needed one later, after you left. Once I finished them, I just kept buying the same brand."
"Bert," Mark said in his 'don't take me for a fool' tone, still looking at Alexis and smiling as her furious, narrow-eyed gaze lasered into him. "I've never smoked myself, but I have noticed that to most smokers, cigarettes are like beer. You develop a preference for a certain brand. Oh, others will do in a pinch, but if you have the choice, you always go back to the same kind. Why didn't you go back to your own brand once the ones on the coffee table were gone?"
"I-I don't know. Does it really matter?"
"Oh, by itself, it's nothing, but there's so much more to consider."
"Like-like what?" Bert had begun to perspire, and as Mark continued to watch her, Alexis shifted uneasily in her seat.
"Well, there's some question as to when you quit smoking, for example." Mark could see that Bert knew it was all over, he was just desperately hoping that Alexis could save him. The real challenge now was to get Alexis to implicate herself.
"You claimed it was only a few days prior to Fred's death," Amanda jumped in, "but Alexis told me it was back in August and you only said you had done it for Alisha because it was an easy way to make her happy. Your house manager, Ginny, confirmed it."
"Why would he lie to me, Amanda?" Alisha asked.
"H-how long have you b-been here?" Bert stammered to his daughter.
"Long enough to wonder what's really going on here," she replied. "Daddy, why do they think you lied to me?"
Bert couldn't meet his daughter's gaze, so Alexis stepped into the breach. "For Pete's sake, Alisha," she chided her daughter, "can't you see that they want to frame your father? What lies did Jesse tell you to make you doubt us? Of all the ungrateful . . . I know you never liked me all that much, but I should think you would at least come to your father's defense."
"I have never known Jesse to lie to me," Alisha said, "and he's never hurt me either, Mother. You, on the other hand, have never seemed to hold much regard for my feelings." Alisha began to weep again, and she as she turned to Jesse, she said, "If you were me, who would you trust?"
"Oh, please Alisha, stop the histrionics!" Alexis shouted, throwing her hands in the air. "August or December, what does that have to do with anything?" she asked shrilly as she kept darting furious glances at Pixley and Huntingdon each time the hammer struck the chisel or another brick was placed on the hearth with a thump.
"Oh, like the brand of cigarettes, it's meaningless on its own, but in context with a few other facts, it tells quite a story," Mark said
"Wh-what other facts?" Bert stammered.
"Well . . ." Mark got up and crossed the room. "Excuse me, Alexis," he said politely as he reached past her and picked up the photo on the occasional table off to the side behind her. "Take this picture for instance. It's of you and Fred in your college days, right?"
"Yeah, what about it?" Bert was smoking like a train now, taking deep drags and puffing them out one after another in rapid succession.
"Well, someone has obviously been cut out of it," Mark said congenially, and Bert paled. "Again, nothing on its own, but I saw this picture on the internet a few days ago, and I know who was in it with you."
"We don't speak that name in this house," Alexis said.
"I know," Mark said. "Initially because Bert hated him, and now, maybe because it could cause some confusion, it might slip out in front of someone." Alexis blanched and Mark beamed.
Alisha looked up from where she was crying on Jesse's shoulder and asked between sniffles, "What do you mean, confusion, Dr. Sloan? What might slip out?"
"Alisha," Mark said kindly, "your dad and your Uncle Fred weren't twins, they were two of a set of identical triplets. I think your uncle killed your dad that night, Alisha, and I think this man," he nodded toward Bert, "is really your Uncle Al who was lying in wait for Fred."
"But why? Why would he do such a thing?"
"Because your mother has always been in love with Al, Alisha. Because she had his baby."
The room went into stunned silence for a moment. Then Alisha, realizing the implications of Mark's statement gasped, "Ohhh," swayed on her feet, and fainted back into Jesse's arms.
Alexis snorted indignantly. "Of all the harebrained, convoluted . . . "
Ignoring her, Mark turned and said, "Prove me wrong, Al. Roll up your sleeves and show me there is no scar."
Al didn't comply, but he didn't rebel, either. He just sat there defeated.
"Lieutenant, we've got something," Pixley said excitedly. He shined his light inside the hole he and Huntingdon had made. "It's a body, sir."
Before they could pull out another brick, Officer Wade came tramping down the steps, "I found some letters, sir," she said. "Mrs. Morganstern planned it all out, but Dr. Sloan was wrong about one thing."
Everybody looked at Wade in surprise then, and she smiled, "Bert didn't find out about the affair by accident. The intention was to provoke him to murder Fred so he would go to jail and Al could step in, pretending a desire to heal their broken relationship. Then Al was supposed to take over the business, move into the house and so forth."
"But Bert really did forgive them, didn't he?" Mark said, "And that ruined the plan."
"He . . . he made me do it!" Alexis screeched. "He was going to tell Alisha who her father really was, and I couldn't let him. I couldn't let him hurt my baby girl!"
Al launched himself out of his chair toward Alexis. "Shut up, you . . . "
Realizing the large, angry ex-football player could snap the woman in two, Steve stopped him cold with a punch to the gut. Then he wrestled him to the floor and cuffed him. "Albert . . . "
"Alan, Son."
"Oh, right. Thanks, Dad. Alan Morganstern, you are under arrest for the murder of Albert . . . "
"Alfred." Mark supplied helpfully.
"Yeah, I mean Alfred Morganstern."
"I want to make a deal," Al gasped as he got his wind back. "I'll confess and testify against Alexis for life in prison instead of the death penalty."
"Yeah? Well, let me read you your rights and get you booked before you start doing that," Steve said. "Pixley and Huntingdon, take Mrs. Morganstern into custody. Wade, call the CSU to finish excavating the body."
As the officers moved to execute Steve's orders, Alisha began to come around again. "Jesse?" she called out plaintively. "Jesse, what's going on?"
"Shh," Jesse soothed her as she began to get teary again, "I'll explain everything as soon as I understand it. Right now, though, I want to get you somewhere that you can lay down, preferably away from all the police activity."
"Here, Jess," Mark said, handing his young friend the keys to the beach house. "Take her to my place and look after her. She's probably in a mild state of shock."
OOO
"Mmmmm." Jesse followed the aroma of coffee to the kitchen. It had taken a while to settle Alisha last night, and eventually, she had decided to stay at Mark's beach house because she couldn't go back to her own home "after what happened there." With Amanda's help, he had gone back over to the Morganstern's house and collected a change of clothes and some other things Alisha would need when she awoke. Then, he had sat there for hours watching her sleep. It was late before he satisfied himself that she was resting comfortably, so he gratefully accepted Mark's offer of the other guest room for the night.
"Hey," he said croakily as he entered the kitchen and shuffled over to the coffee pot. He grinned gratefully as Mark handed him a steaming mug of the rich brew and moved over toward the table.
"Did you sleep all right?" Mark asked.
"Oh, yeah," Jesse said, and then he looked sheepish. "I had intended to look in on Alisha a couple of times, but I never woke up."
Mark shook his head. "Don't feel bad. Neither did she. I checked on her three times, and I don't think she ever stirred. Rest is the best thing for her right now. She's going to hear some painful truths in the coming days and a good night's sleep will help her deal with them."
Jesse nodded and took another long swallow of coffee.
After a short silence, Mark said, "She's going to need lots of support, too. She's going to need you."
"Oh, I don't know, Mark," Jesse said. "I had my chance with her, and I never recognized it. She was gone almost before I knew I wanted her to stay."
"So, now you have a second chance. Jess, even if she isn't interested in you that way, she needs a friend."
Jesse nodded again. "Yeah, and I'll be there, but I don't want to pressure her, you know. I think she needs time right now to deal with what has happened to her family."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Mark agreed.
"So, did Bert . . . uh, Al . . . whoever he is . . . did he get his deal?" Jesse asked.
"Oh, yeah, he spilled everything, and it matched perfectly with what was in the letters," Mark told him. "The plan was to provoke Bert to kill Fred in a rage of passion so that he could go to jail and Al could come mend fences and support his brother's wife while her husband was in prison, but that didn't happen. Alexis and Al never bargained on Bert's regrets about severing his relationship with Al. So, Alexis convinced Fred to kill Bert on Christmas Eve and then to impersonate Bert so that he could continue his relationship with Alexis and he wouldn't have to pay back the money he'd stolen from the business. Finally, Al came in and killed Fred, strangled him with another string of lights if you can believe it, probably while Alexis and Alisha were still sedated."
"But how did Alisha never notice he wasn't her father?"
"That was a big problem for them," Mark said, "but they solved it rather ingeniously. In the days immediately after the murder, Al laid low and Alexis spread the story that he was so overwrought with grief that he couldn't face anyone."
"I remember that!" Jesse said, and then lowered his voice to avoid waking the whole house. "I never saw him at the wake."
"Right," Mark said. "Then Alisha went back to school in early January. Now, I don't know if redecorating the house was part of the plan, but they used it as an excuse to stage some serious arguments leading up to the nervous breakdown which coincided with the end of Alisha's school term so she didn't get a chance to see him before she moved to Baltimore. . . "
"And the breakdown was a fake," Jesse realized.
"Right, but it explained for Alisha why her father seemed so changed when she saw him again back East."
"Wow. They really went over the top on this thing, didn't they?" Jesse said, amazed.
"They sure did," Mark agreed, "and they probably would have gotten away with it if none of them had smoked."
"But how did you know which one of them was which?" Jesse inquired. "And how did you ever guess that one of the bodies was walled up behind the fireplace?"
Mark grinned. "Remember I asked about the condition of Fred's lungs?"
"You mean Bert's…the first body."
"Right."
"Yeah, I remember. Amanda said there was moderate anthracotic pigmentation, and I said that wasn't too unusual for a man living in LA . . . " Jesse began grinning as realization dawned. "But as Amanda pointed out, he hadn't lived in LA all his life, so it was really inconsistent for a man his age . . . especially a nonsmoker . . . "
"But?" Mark coaxed.
"But it would be consistent with a heavy smoked who had recently quit . . . like Bert."
"Exactly," Mark confirmed.
Jesse beamed proudly for a minute, then he frowned in confusion. "But that doesn't explain how you knew where to find Bert . . . I mean Fred . . . the second body."
"Baltimore," Mark said.
Jesse's frown deepened. "Baltimore? I don't get it."
"Bert, Fred, Al, and Alexis all went to Colonial University together," Mark explained. "The guys played for the university football team, the Ravens. Alexis was the president of the Edgar Allen Poe Society."
Jesse threw up his hands and said, "It's still not clicking, Mark."
Mark didn't reply. Instead, he got up and went into the living room for a moment. Coming back to the kitchen, he handed Jesse a book called Classic American Short Fiction. "You're looking for a story called 'The Cask of Amontillado.' When I read about the Poe Society, I remembered the bricks at the wake. Steve had mentioned that Alexis had begun redecorating with the insurance money, but the bricks were there long before the insurance would have paid a claim. Then when I thought about the problems Alisha was having with that fireplace, I knew what had happened."
Mark began to fix breakfast while Jesse read. He whisked together some eggs, milk, and vanilla, set out the butter and syrup, and started cooking some sausage. By the time Steve got up and Amanda arrived, he would be ready to dip the bread in the egg batter for French toast.
"Wow, that's a creepy story," Jesse said a few minutes later as he nibbled tiny bites from the edge of the sausage patty Mark had given him to tide him over until Steve and Amanda arrived. Neither of them expected Alisha to wake up any time soon, but Jesse planned to be there when she did, and he knew Mark would be happy to cook for her if she was hungry.
"It's a weird one all right," Mark agreed, "but the more I get to know about her, the more I think it is right up Alexis' alley."
"My mother isn't a very nice person, is she?"
Stunned, Mark and Jesse both turned to the door to face Alisha.
"Could I . . . Do you think I could have a cup of coffee?"
As Jesse flew to her side and helped her to a seat, Mark poured the young woman a cup of coffee and set the cream and sugar in front of her. Jesse pulled his chair close beside hers and waited to see if she wanted to talk. After fixing her coffee and stirring it for a while, Alisha looked at Mark and asked, "How did you know Al and my mother . . . Is there a test . . . Was he really my . . . "
Tears flooded her eyes and finally she blurted. "I want a paternity test! I want to know which one of them was my dad!"
For an agonized minute, Mark and Jesse just looked at each other. Then Jesse placed his hand over Alisha's. "That probably won't work, Honey," he told her. "Paternity tests aren't always helpful when two brothers are likely candidates for the father. With twins, if they are identical, well, there is some research being done at Boston University, but the science might never progress to the point where we can determine paternity."
"Alisha," Mark said, "I made an educated guess based on some of your folk's old college pictures I saw on the internet. Al confirmed it. Now, I could be wrong and Al could be lying . . . "
"But in all likelihood, that . . . jerk is my dad, huh?"
Mark shrugged helplessly. He couldn't change the facts.
Jesse slid his chair over so he and Alisha were sitting with their hips touching. Then he wrapped one arm around her. Knowing he was only intruding now, Mark moved back to the stove and began fixing French toast for the two young people.
"Alisha, can I tell you something without hurting your feelings?"
She nodded. "I know you wouldn't intentionally say anything to hurt me."
"It doesn't matter which of them was your father," he said.
"Oh, of course not," she said with sarcastic anger. "They're identical, and that makes them interchangeable."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," Jesse tried to appease her.
"Yeah, try telling that to my mom."
"Will you listen to me?" Jesse asked, "Or do you still need to rail at someone about everything that has happened? I'll understand if that's what you need to do, but what I have to say is important. I want to make sure you're in the right frame of mind to get it."
She sniffed, still very sad. "I . . . I'll listen."
Nodding, Jesse said, "Good," and he gave her a little encouraging squeeze. "What I'm trying to say is, DNA doesn't make someone your dad, Alisha. My dad was never there for me when I was growing up. I know now that there were reasons, but when you're a kid, you don't want reasons. You want your dad."
She nodded slightly, and Jesse continued. "Which one of those guys loved you? Which one painted your bedroom in pinks and yellows when you were a little girl? Which one went to your soccer games and band recitals?"
"Bert," she whispered.
"Then he's your dad," Jesse said. "I love my father, Alisha, but the truth is, Mark has been more of a dad to me than Dane Travis ever was."
Mark felt the warmth and affection spread through him, and he glanced up to see Jesse looking at him with love in his eyes. The two exchanged a smile, and then Jesse looked back at Aisha.
"It's ok to still love your mom, too, you know," Jesse said.
Alisha sniffled deeply at the mention of her mother. "She betrayed me. She betrayed Daddy and Uncle Fred, too."
"I know, but she's your mom," Jesse said. "She raised you, and whatever she did wrong in her life, she got you right. It's ok to love her, and it's ok to not know how you feel about her, too."
Alisha threaded her fingers through her hair and nodded. "Thanks, Jesse. I, um, I think I need a shower now."
As she ran back the hallway, Mark approached the table with two plates of French toast. Jesse looked up at him, and they held each other's gaze for a fraction longer than usual. Then Mark nodded, and said, "Well, I guess you should eat hers, too, so it doesn't get cold." Grinning, Jesse happily transferred one portion to the other plate and drenched them both with butter and syrup.
OOO
"I can't believe what my mother got them all to do," Alisha said as she and Jesse walked away from the graves. Fred's headstone had been moved off Bert's grave, and erected over the grave right beside it. Fred was now resting beside his brother, and Bert had a new grave marker with his own name on it. Mark, Amanda, and Steve, the only others to attend the brief interment service, had already left.
"I can't believe how she lied to me all my life." She laughed derisively and said, "You must think I'm really stupid to have believed her story about Al being out of the country and Daddy having a nervous breakdown."
Jesse smiled, glad that she had begun thinking of Bert as her father again. Alisha had loved her dad so much that, when the truth had first come out, Jesse had been afraid losing that connection would destroy her.
"You had no reason not to believe her," Jesse said. "Did you read the copies of her letters that Steve gave you?"
Alisha nodded. "It's pretty much exactly like Mark said. She was neglected as a child, deprived, probably abused. She got lucky and went to college on scholarship, fell in love with an artist, who would always be broke, and married the businessman for financial security. I kind of understand why she was always so obsessed with having the perfect successful family, but I'll never understand how she could have done what she did to my dad and my uncles, Jesse. Of course, I've been lucky. I have always had everything I ever wanted."
"What do you plan to do with the house?"
"Sell it," Alisha said, "though it probably won't bring a very good price because of what all has happened there."
"Oh, I don't know," Jesse said, "with the right real estate agent, you could do all right. You just need to market it to the right people. Someone like Marilyn Manson, Tim Burton, or Stephen King might appreciate it."
"I don't think I want to profit from my messed up family's bizarre tragedy, Jesse," Alisha said.
"No, I suppose not. So, once you sell the house, what are your plans? Are you staying in LA or going back to Baltimore to see your mom's family?"
"I'll stick around here, I think," she said.
"Really?" Jesse couldn't hide his delight.
"Yeah. I never knew my mom's family until I went to Baltimore, and well, now, I'm not sure I want to know them," she said. "I figure family is a lot like what you said about fathers. Your family is the people who care about you. Blood ties don't matter much if someone loves you."
Alisha took his hand in hers then, stopped walking, turned to face him, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. From the look in her eyes, he could tell she counted him as a part of her family now. It would be a while before she was ready for anything more than friendship, but on the spot, he made a New Year's resolution not to squander this second chance.
Alisha turned then, and began walking slowly toward the cars again, but she did not let go of his hand.
The End
OOO
For the story Mark gave Jesse to read, go