Evidence Not Seen (Love Is Book 9) Read online

  LOVE IS SERIES #9

  “…love keeps no record of wrongs …” 1 Corinthians: 13:5

  EVIDENCE NOT SEEN

  Carlene Havel

  Copyright 2016 Carlene Havel

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Cover Art by Joan Alley

  Edited by Susan M. Baganz

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the permission of Prism Book Group. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Published by Prism Book Group

  ISBN: 1-943104-49-2

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943104-49-9

  First Edition, 2016

  Published in the United States of America

  Contact info: [email protected]

  http://www.prismbookgroup.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  LOVE IS SERIES #9

  EVIDENCE NOT SEEN

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  December, 1979

  “This is the last of the Christmas decorations,” Jeffrey Galloway announced as he stacked boxes on the floor of his mother’s living room. “Let me fold up the attic stairs and put your car in the garage. Then I’ll put the tree together.”

  “Thank you.” Rosemary opened a carton and began to unpack strings of lights. She turned each tangled strand over several times before setting it aside. Biting her lip, she shook her head and sighed. “Imagine. Next year, your father will be here to trim the tree with us. I believe nineteen eighty is going to be a great year for the Galloway family.” Her hands caressed the lights as she gathered them into a jumbled pile. “They could have released him years ago. But he never got a break. They wouldn’t even let him go a few weeks early, to be home in time for Christmas this year.”

  Jeff put an arm around his mother and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “It won’t be much longer now.”

  “Every year I’ve prayed for compassion from the parole board, but it’s never happened.” Rosemary stared out the front window of her living room. “But, on January twenty-fifth his sentence is up, every last day of it finished. Over with at last.”

  “Perhaps Aunt Ruby will quit campaigning for you to divorce him.” Keys rattled as Jeff took them from a wall hook.

  “Yes,” Rosemary answered. “Everyone who said Keith was never coming home can go chew on a sour pickle. Your Aunt Ruby included.”

  “Do you ever think maybe she’s on to something?”

  “Of course not!” Rosemary’s eyes swung to her son’s face. “How could you say such a thing?”

  Jeff rubbed the back of his neck. “That was an attempt at humor, Mom. Apparently ineffective. Truth is, I hardly know my father.”

  “That’s not his fault. I hope you realize that.”

  Jeff nodded. “I’m not placing blame, simply stating a fact. He’s been gone a long time.”

  “That’s for sure,” Rosemary said. “They parole thugs and murderers and put them back on the streets, but they’ve made Keith serve his entire sentence.” She sighed. “Maybe I should have moved closer to the prison farm when you were a child, where we could have visited him more often. If you knew him better, you would understand what a good man he is. I thought about doing that so many times.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “There was no guarantee they wouldn’t transfer him somewhere else. Besides, this is his home.” Rosemary glanced around her, left and right. “Your grandfather built this house. Keith grew up here.” She folded her hands and looked away once more. “He dreams of coming home, living here again. After all he’s lost, I couldn’t bring myself to take that away from him, too. And on top of everything else,” she added after a brief silence, “I can’t stand for anyone to say we were run out of town. Keith Galloway is the finest man I’ve ever known, and I won’t have the local gossips whisper he’s afraid to face them.” Rosemary rested a hand on her forehead. “Would you like something to eat?”

  “No, thanks,” Jeff answered, shaking his head. “I’m required to put in an appearance at Mr. Wilcox’s annual holiday reception this evening. It’s a command performance, you know.”

  “I think it’s nice Mr. Wilcox gives a party every Christmas.” Rosemary began to remove newspaper balls from a cardboard box, gently placing each wad on the dining table.

  Hurrying through the chilly garage, Jeff folded the spring-loaded attic steps into the ceiling. We have to talk about this situation, he thought as he pulled his mother’s auto into its customary space. Mom has sidestepped any in-depth discussion of Dad’s crime my whole life.

  Coming in the side door, he rubbed his hands together. “It’s getting cold.” He hung up his jacket and returned his mother’s keys.

  Rosemary continued to unwrap an assortment of Christmas decorations. “Of course it’s cold. It’s December.”

  Within a few minutes, Jeff had the four-foot aluminum tree assembled. He stood back to admire his work, but the view was unsatisfactory. “Mom, why don’t I get you a new tree? This one sags to one side no matter what I do. It must be as old as I am.”

  “It looks fine to me,” Rosemary replied, without so much as a glance toward the Christmas tree. She held up a tiny teddy bear. “Here, you can put the Charlie decoration on first.”

  “Good old Charlie.” Jeff smiled, turning the faded ornament over several times. He fastened the metal hook to a branch near the top. “I may as well start straightening out the lights.”

  Rosemary stuffed the used newsprint into a plastic bag. “Good idea. Are you picking up Stephanie for the reception, or is she meeting you there?”

  “I’m going by myself. Steph is still in Washington.”

  “Oh?” She placed a red glass ball on the tree. “I thought you told me she was coming home the day after Thanksgiving.”

  “She changed her mind. She has a job interview lined up next week.”

  “In Washington, DC?” Rosemary stood with a gold snowflake suspended from her hand. “Is she planning to move there?”

  “She won’t have a choice if she gets the job.” Jeff kept his eyes on the knotted string of multi-colored lights. “Why don’t you throw these lights away and I’ll buy some new ones? It’s going to take forever to figure out which one of the bulbs is burned out.”

  “The lights will be all right. You’re not planning to move to Washington, too, are you?” The gold snowflake still dangled from Rosemary’s hand.

  “No, I’m staying put.” Settling on the floor, Jeff plugged in the string of lights. When nothing happened, he unplugged them and replaced a bulb.

  Rosemary hung the snowflake on the
tree and sank to the sofa. “Is this going to be a long distance romance?”

  With a sigh, Jeff repeated the bulb replacement process with no success. “No, our romance—if you can call it that—has run its course. Stephanie has political aspirations. If she doesn’t get this job, she’ll line up another one.” Deciding the best way to avoid questions he didn’t want to answer was to change the subject, Jeff asked, “Are you concerned about living here with Dad?”

  “What do you mean? We’ve been married for almost thirty-five years.”

  Finally, the lights sprang to life. “Aha!” Jeff crowed. He stood and laced the string of glistening bulbs through the skinny metal branches of the Christmas tree. “Mom, you and Dad have hardly seen each other for most of my life.”

  Rosemary shrugged and unwrapped another snowflake. “You live in town now, and I don’t see you every day like I did when you were growing up. You’re still my son. You even remembered I decorate the Saturday before Christmas.”

  “Different situation,” Jeff said, with a glance at his watch. “Keith Galloway isn’t the same man you married at twenty-two years old.”

  “Everything will be fine. We must believe that.”

  Chapter Two

  Jeff hurried home, mentally checking the long list of things he had to do before Monday morning. He was determined not to begrudge the time he’d spent driving back and forth to his mother’s house across town, nor the hours it took to get her Christmas decorations unpacked and displayed. He never wanted to disappoint her, not after all she’d done for him. More than he could say for his jailbird father.

  After a quick shower, Jeff dressed for the office party as he would for work, in a neatly-tailored dark suit, starched white shirt with French cuffs, an expensive silk tie, and shoes polished to a military shine. He brushed his neatly-trimmed black hair into place, and checked his reflection in the mirror. Image was important at the conservative law firm of Wilcox-Meyer. Jeff frowned, aware of the questions co-workers would ask when he showed up this evening without a date. Why didn’t Stephanie let him know she was staying over in the District of Columbia a little sooner? Wouldn’t have mattered. There was no one else he could invite to go with him on such short notice. Working eighty hours a week didn’t leave much time to meet people.

  Jeff was pleased to find a parking place only two blocks from the Wilcox mansion. The cold air stung his face as he strode briskly by stately old brick homes. The moment he reached toward the chime, the front door swung open. A burly man Jeff recognized as Mr. Wilcox’s chauffeur greeted him. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Boswell.” No one’s going to crash this party. “Nippy weather tonight.”

  “Indeed.” Moving aside to allow Jeff to step into the massive foyer, Boswell gave a slight nod to his right.

  Jeff couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked into a party without Stephanie. Smiling, nodding greetings to strangers, he made his way to the bar. “I’d like a ginger ale, please.” He scanned the room, hoping to spot someone he knew.

  The round-faced bartender acknowledged the request with a grunt, efficiently scooping ice and pouring the drink. He passed the fizzing ginger ale and a napkin to Jeff with lifted eyebrows. Taking a sip of his drink, Jeff threaded his way through the crowd to join a small knot of acquaintances congregated in a far corner.

  “Ah, Barrister Galloway, my friend.” William Bentsen clapped Jeff on the shoulder. “So glad you decided to join us. And where is the lovely Stephanie?”

  “Steph is out of town.” Jeff forced a smile. “This is quite a gathering.”

  His comment was met with murmurs of agreement, averted eyes, and tight grins. During an awkward silence, Jeff shifted his glance from one face to another.

  The quiet was interrupted by William Bentsen grabbing Jeff’s drink and taking a gulp. “Yuck! What is this swill you’re drinking, Jeffrey, my man? It tastes like soda pop. That stuff will rot your gut, don’t you know that? Try some Scotch on the rocks.”

  William put his arm around Jeff’s shoulder. “You know, old man Wilcox is footing the bill for everything tonight. The only logical course is to eat, drink, and be merry.”

  Slipping out of William’s grip, Jeffrey took his co-worker by the arm. “Let’s see if we can get a little fresh air. Maybe you’d like a cigarette?”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “No, but you do. Come on. Let’s find the patio.”

  “Okay,” William agreed, with a silly grin.

  Having no idea of the Wilcox mansion’s floor plan, Jeff opened a door and led William into a spacious kitchen. A formally dressed waiter glanced in their direction, and then continued loading a tray with hors d’oeuvres. Across the room Mr. Wilcox’s driver, Boswell, was listening to—oh, no!—the boss’s granddaughter Gretchen.

  “Wrong move,” Jeff whispered to William. “Let’s go back the other way.”

  “Say what?” William bellowed, causing both Gretchen and the chauffeur to turn toward him. Gretchen was Josiah Wilcox’s only grandchild. In accordance with tradition, she joined the firm immediately following graduation from law school. Jeff had never seen her take unfair advantage of her family ties, although persistent office gossip claimed she often did. She could have been any age between twenty and forty, with frizzy brown hair and no makeup. A severe under bite gave her face the contours of a bulldog, not out of keeping with her personality.

  Gretchen approached the spot where Jeff and William stood. “What do you have to say for yourself?” she demanded, her glare fixed on William.

  “Hello, Gretchen baby. How’s tricks?”

  Boswell stepped between William’s outstretched hand and Miss Wilcox.

  “Take him home, Boswell,” Gretchen said.

  Taking William’s arm, Boswell guided the staggering attorney through a door opposite where he and Jeff entered the kitchen.

  Over his shoulder, the smiling William mumbled, “Don’t be mad at me, Gretch. Did I say something wrong?”

  “You’re drunk,” Gretchen replied. She turned to Jeff, and her tone softened. “May I trouble you and Stephanie to take a friend of mine home?”

  It never hurts to do a favor for the boss’s granddaughter. “No trouble, but it’s just me. Stephanie’s out of town.”

  “Oh.” She pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “I appreciate the help. And Jeff, I’d be very grateful if we keep this little incident among ourselves.” She raised her voice. “Mel, your ride is here.”

  Jeff nabbed a cube of cheese, wondering if Mel was another intoxicated guest. No one he could recall by that name at Wilcox-Meyer. Must be a client. So like the Wilcox family to provide free liquor and then be offended when someone drank too much.

  The door to a small bathroom swung open. A petite blonde emerged, wiping her blouse with a towel. “That was fast. I figured it would take at least twenty more minutes for a cab to get here.”

  “I didn’t call a taxi,” Gretchen said. “Let me introduce you to Jeff. He offered to take you home. Jeff this is Melanie, Melanie Clark.”

  “Offered?” Melanie laughed, then put a hand to her forehead. “My exceptional powers of perception have revealed Jeff made his generous offer at the behest of someone in this room whose last name happens to be Wilcox. Oh, and that this knight in shining armor quite coincidentally works for your grandfather’s law firm.” She dropped her hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Jeff. I appreciate your gallantry, but as soon as I find a telephone I’ll call a cab and be on my way.”

  “Come on, Mel,” Gretchen pleaded, “You can’t take a taxi out to the sticks after dark. Please, won’t you do this for me if not for yourself?”

  “I suppose I owe you a favor after you fixed me up with such a delightful blind date.” Melanie scrubbed at the pink stain spreading from her collar to her waist. “My new blouse is ruined for sure.”

  Irritated that the pretty blonde seemed to think taking a drive with him was an unpleasant prospect, Jeff said, “I’m not
a bad guy. And I drive a really nice car.”

  “Furthermore, Jeff never drinks at Pop’s parties,” Gretchen added.

  “Oh, all right,” Melanie agreed. “Let me get my jacket and purse.”

  Gretchen gestured toward a sideboard. “I have them here. I assumed you wouldn’t want to walk through the crowd with cocktail sauce all over you.” She turned to Jeff. “What does your coat look like? I’ll ask someone to get it.”

  “I didn’t wear one.” Jeff drew his keys from a pocket. “I take it we’re leaving now, and going out the back door?”

  Chapter Three

  “What’s your connection to the Wilcoxes?” Jeff asked, as he followed Melanie’s directions south toward the center of town.

  “I’m friends with Gretchen.”

  He tried to guess her age. Twenty-five or so? “Are you an attorney?”

  Melanie laughed. “Good grief, no. I’m a social worker.”

  “Social worker, huh? Dedicating yourself to saving the world with truth, justice, and positive reinforcement?”

  “Lucky for you, I tolerate sarcasm. Go south on the interstate at the next exit.” Melanie turned toward him. “I have no doubt you’re a lawyer.”

  Jeff sensed her studying him as he changed lanes. “Why so certain?”

  “I’ve spent enough time at the courthouse to spot you legal beagles. Are you kin to Gretchen?” Melanie asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Star athlete?”

  He stole a glance at her. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mr. Wilcox hires his relatives and people with useful connections. You’re too young to be a retired politician. Maybe your father is a banker, old money?”

  “No,” Jeff replied. “For your information, Wilcox-Meyer occasionally hires a guy solely because he graduated at the top of his class in law school.”