Bad Dad

By Alice Shane

The adage that 'the rich are different from you and me' is crystallized in BAD DAD, a psychological crime novel that explores the dark side of wealth and privilege.

Lester Fuller, as BAD DAD, is heir to a Wyoming natural gas fortune who hires his ranch foreman to murder his daughter-in-law. Mary Lou has provoked Fuller's scorn by luring son Danny away from an upper class existence, transforming him into a Southern redneck who sweats at a menial job to support her and their son. She is also having an affair, Fuller's private investigator reveals, producing photographic evidence that pushes BAD DAD over the edge.

Fuller's privileged life is compromised, his mental state contaminated by his orchestration of Mary Lou's murder. Not only does he fear that his wife and son are suspicious, but the dead woman's mother, Rose, unleashes a nightmare scenario: she taunts Fuller by insinuating he's behind Mary Lou's disappearance, then confides her suspicions to a detective who is too intimidated by Fuller's wealth and influence to do anything about it. This reprieve, however, does not spare Fuller his struggle with the aftermath of this crime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456622800

Book preview

appreciated.

PROLOGUE

Mary Lou Fuller disappeared one humid summer morning after her husband, Danny, left for work. She had brown-bagged his lunch and sent him off with a hasty kiss. That was the last time he saw her.

Despite a police investigation over a two-month period, there were still no leads as to where she might have gone or who might have abducted or murdered her. Mary Lou had evaporated into thin air.

Danny Fuller knew something though. It was about Lester, his father.

The knowing came to Danny as a crystallization arising out of observations of Dad. His demeanor. The way he spoke. His voice. More hushed than usual, his words, carefully chosen – changes that seemed to have occurred recently, within the past few months, around the time that Mary Lou vanished. It was all so gradual. Nothing startling. Danny barely noticed at first. But he couldn’t help but wonder if this diminution of Dad’s easygoing charm, so typical of someone who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, could be linked to Mary Lou’s disappearance.

***

Lester tried not to think about the murder. Nor did he and his foreman, Mike Sanger, ever discuss it once arrangements were made and carried out.

Occasionally, the image of Mary Lou’s body falling through the clouds from the Learjet would invade Lester’s thoughts, despite his efforts to shut them out of his consciousness. Yet, he didn’t experience much in the way of guilt or remorse – emotional fallout that had been minimized by hiring Mike to do the dirty work.

Obsessed with these random thoughts, Lester studied his face in the mirror while shaving. At 57, he was still youthful looking, although the strain of orchestrating the crime was beginning to show. Lines around his eyes had deepened. The corners of his mouth turned down in perpetual sadness. Or was it his imagination?

He was haunted by fears of being found out, even though he knew these concerns were irrational. Mike would never blab about murdering Mary Lou or being paid $50,000 for the job. It wasn’t even remotely possible. Who in his right mind would admit to being a hired killer? True, you can never predict what people will do, but Mike was someone he could trust with his life.

Still, the secretiveness of this dirty business had gotten to Lester. Who would understand his rationale for getting rid of Mary Lou who had been unfaithful, who had dragged his only son down from a privileged existence into the muck and mire of working class poverty?

He was doomed. He would go to his grave without ever revealing what happened to Mary Lou.

CHAPTER 1

Lester’s wife, Margo, intuitively knew from the South Carolina area code and the Southern accent who the caller was. It was the wife of Lester’s estranged son, Danny.

Is this the Fuller residence? the woman queried in a slow, lazy drawl.

A Bible Belt redneck, Margo thought with distaste. Who is this? Her voice was brittle, edgy. She wasn’t going to give this stranger any reason to believe she was welcome.

I’m Mary Lou Fuller – does that ring a bell? the woman announced in sassy tones, the drawl ominous, threatening, as if challenging Margo. I dare you, I double dare you, a singsong mantra reminiscent of a childhood chant.

Mary Lou Fuller? I don’t recognize the name. Are you sure you have the right telephone number? Margo probed, intending to distance herself from this woman.

I’m married to Danny Fuller. I’m trying to reach his father, Lester Fuller. Does he live there? I found this number among his ex-wife’s papers. She died last January from diabetic shock. Did you know that?" the girl asked, the dare in her voice rising to a crescendo, or so it seemed to Margo who already dreaded what this call would portend.

She wasn’t obligated to tell this person anything, Margo decided, concealing her surprise that Lester’s ex was dead. Finally. Lester always said he wanted to pee on the bitch’s grave, although she knew he was too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.

Why don’t you give me your telephone number and I’ll talk to my husband about this, Margo suggested, scribbling the number on a small notepad, abruptly ending the conversation by saying that one of them would get back to her.

What was the real purpose of this call? Her heart raced, her mouth suddenly felt dry. She didn’t for a moment believe it was entirely about Gloria Fuller’s death. They must be after money. His son’s reappearance in Lester’s life could conceivably jeopardize her rights under their prenuptial agreement. In less than a year, their prenup would mature. Half of Lester’s wealth would accrue to her – unless something dreadful happened.

The very thought of friction developing between herself and Lester unleashed a wave of anxiety. She wondered if there was any Valium around the house. Lester’s doctor had prescribed it for occasional use when he was stressed out. God only knew she needed something to calm down! But, no. She didn’t like the idea of suppressing her feelings with drugs. She would go for a long jog. Or pump iron in the exercise room next to the library.

Margo studied her image in the ornately framed gilt-edged antique mirror that hung above the liquor cabinet, next to the tufted leather sofa where she sat in the library. She was visibly upset, pale. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was disheveled and looked stringy. It needed a combing.

It was 5:15 pm. Lester would be home in an hour or so. How would she find the words to break this news to him? Mary Lou Fuller’s call. The death of his ex-wife. The prospect of his estranged son reappearing in his life?

All of this was more than she could handle. And Lester. How was he going to react?

Margo toyed with the idea of not telling him about the call but thought better of it. Sooner or later, he would have to know.

CHAPTER 2

Lester Fuller was the sole heir and CEO of Fuller Energy, a natural gas exploration company with drilling rigs thrusting skyward over the landscapes of Pinedale and Dubois,Wyoming.

The enterprise was launched by his wildcatter grandfather, Jacob Fuller, at the turn of the 20th Century, when the industry was in its infancy.

His father, Charles Fuller, an engineer, entrepreneur, visionary, linked up to federally-funded pipelines in the 1970’s, enabling Fuller Energy to transport natural gas throughout the entire Midwest – a hookup that catapulted the company into a leading independent energy producer and supplier.

No less ambitious than his father and grandfather, Lester exhibited the same bold shrewdness that characterized their aggressive entrepreneurialism. Under his aegis, Fuller Energy expanded into a $3 billion entity via a tie-in to the Rocky Mountain Express pipeline, permitting the company to pump gas from its own wells directly into Ohio, Pennsylvania and Canada.

Natural gas wasn’t the only source of Lester’s considerable fortune, he revealed to Margo soon after they met. He had inherited 40,000 acres of prime farmland – lush rolling hills and valleys in New Jersey and Pennsylvania, which he sold to a real estate syndicate for $150 million. Lester had negotiated the deal himself, without a broker who would have pocketed a hefty 6%. Instead, he was able to reinvest the money he saved by cutting out the middle man. It was a transaction he was inordinately proud of, orchestrated shortly before their marriage

A financial journalist, Margo was impressed with Lester’s business acumen from day one – his deep knowledge of the stock market, his understanding of Wall Street psychology – savvy that drove him to vigorously monitor the activities of his accountants and portfolio managers whom he didn’t trust.

Every so often, you’ve got to remind them who’s money it is, who’s boss, he told her in one of those rare moments early in their relationship when he felt comfortable disclosing details about his finances.

Since their marriage four years earlier, they lived in Heron Cove, New Jersey, an exclusive enclave of sprawling mansions facing the ocean. Theirs was a 14-room, 8,000 square foot custom-built Mediterranean style home in full view of the water, with sliding glass doors leading onto the beach from every downstairs room – the living room, dining room, library, den, workout room, kitchen. Margo loved feeling the sand under her feet when she walked onto the beach directly from the house. Indoors, she could view the entire panorama via massive floor-to-ceiling windows and doors.

But Lester had regrets about buying the house. First and foremost, he was a businessman who hated being out-negotiated.

They saw me coming, those sharks, Lester complained bitterly to Margo. He had shelled out $7 million for the property which, in his estimation, wasn’t worth more than $5 million, if that. It was the convenience of having a residence near the water, accessible to Wall Street by water taxi from Red Hook that had been so seductive.

The purchase, an impulsive one, was made during a period when investment bankers and corporate moguls operating out of the New York financial district were eager to settle in New Jersey, away from the threat of another 9/11 terrorist attack, their demands for waterfront homes driving prices up to astronomical levels.

Margo religiously read the Wall Street Journal’s real estate section during the early years of their marriage, deriving enormous satisfaction from watching the value of their home spiral upward. These days, of course, she had no idea what it was worth. Money was tighter. The prospect of another 9/11 had dimmed in the collective consciousness. It was entirely possible it’s value had plummeted. Not that she cared. She loved this house. But it was time to contact an appraiser, find out what the house was currently worth.

CHAPTER 3

Marrying Lester was a transformational experience for Margo. He had plucked her out of a $65,000 a year job as a financial reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer to becoming his wife only five months after they met at an investment conference she was covering for the newspaper’s Sunday financial supplement.

Barely able to afford a studio apartment in a high-rise on Rittenhouse Square back then, it never failed to amaze Margo that this fabulously wealthy man who was living in an historic 16-room townhouse on Delancey Place would become so enamored of her, introducing her to a lifestyle that far surpassed her wildest dreams. They lived in this Delancey Place residence only briefly after their marriage, until Lester sold it to a Saudi businessman for $10-million.

Too many bad memories from my life with Gloria, he told Margo, wanting her to understand why he put the home on the market so soon after their marriage. It was a decision she welcomed. She wasn’t keen on living in a house that had been decorated and lived in by his former wife.

***

No longer subjected to the crushing deadlines of a full-time newspaper job, Margo now luxuriated in her new role of being the pampered wife of a wealthy man, with time to write a novel. It was something she always wanted to do. She attended creative writing classes at NYU, commuting to New York once a week. She also wrote for publications she now had more time to read – Vogue, Travel & Leisure, Harper’s Bazaar. Her articles focused on food, art, fashion – subject matter she had explored as a lifestyle reporter before transitioning to financial writing.

There’s so much to enjoy, Margo reflected, her anxiety lifting as memories of Lester’s amorous pursuit of her flooded her consciousness. The expensive gifts, the fabulous dinners at Philadelphia’s poshest restaurants, their trip on Lester’s yacht to the Caribbean where they snorkeled and lazily soaked up the sun, the weekend flights on his Learjet to Lester’s log cabin in the sky near Jackson Hole for skiing.

In addition to their rustic log home in Jackson, their Heron Cove waterfront residence, their 62-ft. Oyster sailing yacht moored in Annapolis near the Naval Academy, there was Lester’s 2000 acre game preserve abutting Yellowstone Park where he hunted for antelope, elk and moose. Margo accompanied him on these hunts, becoming a competent marksman in her own right, despite a skittishness about killing animals.

They’re so adorable, she told Lester when he urged her to take aim and shoot. I can’t bear to kill them, especially the babies!

He would laugh, try to convince her that hunting animals was environmentally sound. It’s ok. If you don’t kill some of them off, they overpopulate and have a tough time finding enough food to eat, he told her, an explanation that did not change Margo’s feelings about slaughtering defenseless small animals.

During ski season, they relaxed in the Jackson Hole retreat where they entertained Lester’s business acquaintances in the gas and oil industries. The location was only a short flight on the Learjet to the company’s headquarters in Pinedale, an area known for its gas and oil wells and population of hard-living rig operators notorious for their abuse of cheap wine and methamphetamine.

True, she didn’t own any of this yet, but once their prenup kicked in, half of Lester’s assets would be hers. Funny. She had no idea what that would be. Several hundred million, maybe. An unimaginable sum – cash, investments, real estate, shares in Fuller Energy. The very thought of this windfall evoked the most uncomfortable emotions – smugness and grandiosity on the one-hand, unexplainable fear and uncertainty that it might disappear if she wasn’t cautious, watchful.

A lot could happen in that time, Margo thought. The telephone call from Mary Lou Fuller had made her feel vulnerable, insecure, as if almost anything could happen to shatter her carefully orchestrated future.

She would have see to it that Lester’s son and daughter-in-law couldn’t get their grubby, greedy little hands on his assets. She had no idea what she would have to do to protect her interests, other than to take any and all precautions necessary to safeguard what was rightfully hers.

CHAPTER 4

Danny and Mary Lou lived a subsistence existence in a trailer park on the edge of Bedford, South Carolina, a reality that surpassed Lester’s understanding, according to Margo’s way of thinking. Certainly, she had heard him complain about it ad nauseam.

On one level, she couldn’t blame Lester for his failure to fully understand Danny’s rejection of the privileged existence he was born into. On the other hand, she couldn’t help but feel their estrangement was Lester’s fault for being so unforgiving.

Dirt poor, working as a lineman for Southern Power & Light, Danny eked out a living climbing power poles and dodging live wires. There was a son, Charlie, born before their marriage, just prior to his graduation from Bridgefield Academy – an exclusive prep school with a tuition to match – a $30,000 a year price tag that prepared students for the Naval Academy, West Point, the Ivy League. Several years later, he eloped with Mary Lou, a girl from the housing projects of Bedford.

What a life, Margo thought. Danny would be a commissioned officer by now – a major, or maybe a captain. But having knocked the girl up, he would not have been accepted by these elite military institutions with policies against enrolling students with children. The illegitimate kid and marrying out of his class, infuriated Lester, culminating in the rupture between them.

A wasted life – a superb private school education and a family background with Mayflower roots meant nothing to my son, thanks to that conniving girl who believed she would get her grubby little hands on my money, was Lester’s frequent lament.

He threw his future away for a fuck, a blow job. He didn’t have to marry that girl, Lester vented angrily to Margo, barely able to conceal his anguish. I gave him everything and he gets the little whore pregnant. Well, I hope he’s happy being her meal ticket! he sputtered, his face reddening, alarming Margo who feared he might have a heart attack. Lester was 57 years old, still youthful, but mature enough to develop a cardiac condition.

His anger was justified, Margo reasoned. Yet, she couldn’t wholeheartedly endorse Lester’s point of view. True, he did make sure Danny had the right prep school education. He also sent Danny to exclusive summer camps that provided tennis, golf, soccer and polo lessons, equestrian training – any and all of the advantages accruing to a boy raised in an upper class lifestyle. But she could see that these benefits did not protect Danny from the clutches of that girl, or shield him from his ‘fall from grace’ as Lester sometimes described it.

If I had known he was shacking up with that girl, I would have pulled him out of Bridgefield and sent him to public school. Of all the girls he could have latched onto – girls from good, fine families – he had to wind up with a welfare slut! Lester would say to Margo, not once but many times.

OK, OK, so he didn’t do what you wanted him to do. But that doesn’t mean you should let it embitter you, Margo said in an effort to calm him, give him another perspective. I understand, darling. I do understand. But sometimes things don’t go our way.

Maybe you’re right. My only son, my only child has hurt and disappointed me. But I shouldn’t allow myself to be consumed by his failures, Lester acknowledged solemnly, looking sheepish, realizing all this venting was upsetting to Margo who, with the best of intentions, tried to avoid fanning the flames of his pent-up rage.

CHAPTER 5

Margo wondered if she should tell Lester about the telephone call from Danny’s wife. If she didn’t, it would be tantamount to lying and she hated the idea of engaging in deception. Yet, a white lie – withholding the information – would better serve her interests, give her time to figure out how to deal with this new development. There was no payoff in being a good girl, she concluded. Sometimes you’ve got to protect yourself, even if it means omitting the truth.

Of course, Lester would want to know about Gloria’s death, she thought guiltily. He needed to know. All that hatred and conflict would be put to rest, She suddenly felt riddled with doubt, conflicted over what course of action she should take.

Gloria had hounded him for years, always demanding money in excess of what the courts had generously allocated for alimony and the support of their son. When she launched a suit seeking 50% ownership of Fuller Energy, she alleged their divorce was moot, merely a separation agreement. But Lester had hired an impressive team of lawyers from Cadwallader, Duane & McDowell, one of Philadelphia’s most prestigious law firms, and prevailed. Finally, Gloria faded away, financially depleted, unable to pursue other legal avenues. All became quiet in the war between the Fullers.

And now she was dead, Margo thought, feeling relieved. What a stroke of luck! They were free of her! They could go about their lives unfettered, without Gloria hovering in the background, about to strike at any moment with new demands for money.

Maybe Lester will finally have some peace, Margo hoped – unless the kids conjure up an unpleasant scenario requiring Lester’s full attention.

She wondered if his outrage over Danny’s descent into blue collar life would ever subside. Would he allow Sonny Boy to re-enter his life? Their lives? It was all so depressing! She was unprepared to welcome these intruders – these rednecks, with their Southern twangs, their poverty, their nine-year-old brat. They would surely find Lester fair game from a financial perspective. She could easily lose her place as Number One, with Danny, et al, rendering her less significant, raising legal questions about his right of inheritance, threatening her entitlement to Lester’s wealth, maybe even invalidating their prenuptial agreement. The prospect of being usurped frightened and depressed Margo.

She would not tell Lester about the call just yet, she decided. She would wait. For what she didn’t know. So what if he didn’t know right away about Gloria’s demise. What did it matter? The woman was dead. She couldn’t hurt Lester anymore.

Margo resolved not to give the call another thought, at least for the time being. It would only drive her crazy. For the moment, she would wipe it from her consciousness, not think about it until she was ready to take further action.

CHAPTER 6

Lester’s face was expressionless when she finally told him about the call from Mary Lou. Under the pressure of harboring a secret that had become a burden, Margo managed to summon the courage to mention it a week later.

Without a word, without inquiring why she delayed telling him about it, he rose from his brown leather chair in the library and stormed upstairs to their bedroom, slamming the door shut.

What was he thinking, she wondered? Was he