If You Should Read This, Mother

By Vivian Rhodes

Megan Daniels was only three years old the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, but flashes of that day begin to trigger other disturbing memories that have lain dormant within her. At first they are merely snippets, but, as they begin to appear more frequently Megan has difficulty separating what is real from what is imagined. In her attempt to learn more, she sets out to find her biological mother, but keeps hitting brick walls. No adoption papers exist, and all she has to go on is her possible birthday: November 22. In the small town of Meredith, California, Megan’s search takes on a dire, domino effect—one woman has already been murdered as a result of her inquiries. As she digs for the truth, Megan eventually unravels a sinister plot that began decades earlier, but in doing so she places her own life in jeopardy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Black Opal Books
• Release date: Jun 17, 2017
• ISBN: 9781626946941

Book preview

Megan Daniels was only three years old the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated, but flashes of that day begin to trigger other disturbing memories that have lain dormant within her. At first they are merely snippets, but, as they begin to appear more frequently Megan has difficulty separating what is real from what is imagined. In her attempt to learn more, she sets out to find her biological mother, but keeps hitting brick walls. No adoption papers exist, and all she has to go on is her possible birthday: November 22. In the small town of Meredith, California, Megan’s search takes on a dire, domino effect—one woman has already been murdered as a result of her inquiries. As she digs for the truth, Megan eventually unravels a sinister plot that began decades earlier, but in doing so she places her own life in jeopardy.

CRITICAL PRAISE FOR VIVIAN RHODES

For: If You Should Read This Mother

"If You Should Read This, Mother is a compelling tale of dark secrets that someone will kill to keep from being exposed and a brave young woman determined to discover the truth, no matter what the cost. The story will catch and hold your interest from the first page to the last." ~ Regan Murphy, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

A suspenseful and compelling tale that every woman should read. ~ Pepper O’Neal, author of the award-winning Black Ops Chronicles series

The story is well written, fast-paced, and intriguing--a mystery/thriller to keep you turning pages and biting your nails from beginning to end. ~ Taylor Jones, The Review Team of Taylor Jones & Regan Murphy

For: Groomed for Murder

"GROOMED FOR MURDER is reminiscent of those wisecracking husband and wife series of the forties, but is considerably spicier." ~ Publishers Weekly

For Her Lifetime Television thriller:

Stolen from the Womb

...sterling production. ~ NY Post

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank Faith C. for her excellent job in editing, Allison Webb for capturing my vision in her cover art design, and Carolyn Keene, whose Nancy Drew books inspired me to write mysteries in the first place.

If You Should Read This, Mother...

VIVIAN RHODES

A Black Opal Books Publication

Copyright © 2017 by Vivian Rhodes

Cover Design by Allison Webb

All cover art copyright © 2017

All Rights Reserved

EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626946-94-1

EXCERPT

He never thought that killing someone would have been so easy.

Of course, there had been times he wasn’t certain he’d be able to carry it off.

First, he had to convince her to meet him in a remote spot. That was an accomplishment in itself, but he’d done it. Then he had to put her at ease. He had to make her feel as though he really cared about what she had to say.

And then, when he was sure, really sure that she didn’t suspect a thing, he took aim and fired. It was so deserted; he knew no one would hear the noise.

The first bullet grazed her head, and before she had a chance to scream, he shot again. This bullet caught her in the throat as she turned to run, causing a frenzy of blood to come pouring forth. The third, and final bullet, lodged in her skull, killing her instantly as it did.

Now to get rid of the body. He was determined to leave no trace of it.

DEDICATION

To Rick, Allie, and Adam

Prologue

November 22, 1963:

Mandy lay on her mother’s bed, watching television and drinking warm milk from a bottle. Well-intentioned friends were always reminding Mandy’s mother that a child of three should no longer be drinking from a bottle.

Fortunately for Mandy, her mother would always smile, accept the advice good naturedly, then continue to indulge one of her daughter’s last remaining vestiges of infancy.

Black and white images flickered across the television screen. The same images had been appearing for the last forty minutes.

A nice looking man and a pretty lady getting off of a plane. The lady was carrying flowers. Soon they were in a big black car. The man was smiling and waving to all of the people. There were so many people.

Suddenly, everyone disappeared in a blur. The pretty lady. The smiling man. All of the people. In their places was a man with a mustache. He was saying words that Mandy didn’t understand, but she could see that he was sad. His eyes looked as though he’d been crying, just as her mother’s had looked a short while ago.

Mandy tossed a cascade of red curls and turned away from the images, which were starting to bore her by this time.

She was drowsy. Ready for her nap. What was keeping Mommy anyway? She had already given Mandy her milk and turned on the television when the doorbell rang. Kissing her on the forehead, she’d told her that Mommy would be right back.

That was a while ago. At least it seemed like a while ago. Mandy yawned.

What about her birthday cake? Mommy had promised her that after her nap she’d get to blow out the candles on a big cake with chocolate frosting. Mandy loved chocolate frosting.

As she pulled the soft pale green comforter up around her small body, she reached out for Waffles, her stuffed bunny. She held him close. It was a treat being allowed to nap in the big bed like this.

Her huge green eyes absorbed every feature of the room. The pink somewhat-tattered wallpaper bordered by bouquets of turquoise and rose. The pair of hurricane lamps which sat on her mother’s scratched cherry wood vanity.

Frequently, Mandy and her mother would watch as rays of sunshine reflected through the lamps’ hanging prisms, splashing a flood of brilliant color onto the ceiling.

They’re rainbows, Mandy, her mother would say. Our very special rainbows.

Had she been able to articulate her feelings, Mandy probably would have described these moments with her mother as being amongst her happiest.

On her mother’s nightstand, next to the clock, was a tarnished silver frame that held a photo of her mother and father standing in front of a car.

Mandy stared at the photo as she did every day, memorizing each minute detail of her father’s face. Her mother often said she looked a lot like her father. Hearing that always made Mandy feel good.

The man in the photograph was very handsome, though the photo didn’t do justice to his eyes, which were the same shade of jade green as his daughter’s. Mandy thought that her mother was equally as beautiful. In fact, her daughter thought her to be every bit as beautiful as the lady on television, the one holding the flowers.

In the photo, her mother’s hair had been long and flowing and she was smiling, a warm wonderful smile.

Mommy hasn’t smiled like that in a long time, Mandy thought as she drifted off to sleep.

Soon she was dreaming. She dreamed she was in a huge theater. It was a bigger theater than the one to which her mother had taken her to see Alice in Wonderland.

In her dream, it was Mandy who was on stage and she was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. She wore a red cape and her shiny Mary Jane shoes. In her hands, she carried a basket of fruit.

Looking down into the audience, Mandy could see many, many faces, most of which were unfamiliar to her. She could, however, recognize her mother, who was smiling that terrifically dazzling smile right at her. In her hands was an enormous birthday cake topped with chocolate frosting.

Mandy looked around the theater and saw that the pretty lady from the television was there holding her flowers. The man sat beside the lady, waving at all the people from the big black car.

Then, her mother stopped smiling. She looked terrified. How could it be? she shouted. How could this be happening? Was she shouting at her up on the stage? Had Mandy said something or done something to make Mommy angry with her?

She looked behind her. The wolf was approaching! Only it looked more like a beast than a wolf! Help me, Mommy.

Mommy was shouting for her to run. Mandy wanted to run but, as much as she tried, she couldn’t move. The beast came closer and closer. Its fangs looked sharp and threatening.

It seemed as if it were going to gobble her up, yet all it did was lick her. No matter how much she cried, she couldn’t get him to stop licking her.

Suddenly, her daddy was there. Only it wasn’t really her daddy. It was the hunter. The hunter picked up a big gun. The kind of gun cowboys used. He aimed it directly at the beast and fired. The noise was loud. Like an explosion.

Then came the scream. It was her mother--or was it the lady holding the flowers?

Oh my God! No! Jack!

An instinct of self-preservation woke Mandy from her nightmare, and, when she finally fell back to sleep a short while later, the frightening visions had been replaced with more tranquil likenesses of mermaids and fairy princesses. She slept for a very long time.

It was the sound of a siren that jolted her out of her sleep once and for all. The siren sounded as though it was very close.

Mandy climbed off the bed and walled over to the window. Peeking through the heavy brocade curtains, she was startled by the intensity of the red cherry top spinning on the hood of the ambulance that was parked directly in front of the house. It was the only color on an otherwise snow-blanketed street.

What was the ambulance doing here anyway? Was somebody sick?

Three vehicles were parked behind the ambulance. One, the girl recognized to be a police car and another looked familiar but was almost completely covered in snow. The third was a blue van with writing on it, but Mandy couldn’t read.

She turned sharply when she heard someone calling her name. In the doorway stood a tall woman whose yellow hair stuck out from beneath a hat with purple feathers. Her nose was red, probably because it was so cold outside.

Having never seen the woman before, Mandy wondered what she was doing in her room and how she knew her name.

The woman spoke very softly so as not to scare the child, and when Mandy asked to see her mother, she explained that it wouldn’t be possible. It was then that Mandy began to cry. The woman stooped down and dried her eyes with an embroidered hanky.

Mandy heard a siren again, but this time it sounded as though it were leaving. She was about to go to the window, but the woman held her back, telling her it would be better this way. Mandy didn’t know what she meant by that, but she obeyed.

As the woman helped her put on her jacket and galoshes, she explained that Mandy was to come with her and that she would be taken somewhere where people loved little children and took good care of them.

Not knowing what else to do, Mandy placed her hand in the woman’s. For a minute, the woman stared at the television, which was repeating the same images that had been on all afternoon. She sighed heavily, sniffed, then turned it off.

The yellow-haired woman and Mandy had almost left the room when Mandy remembered her beloved bunny, Waffles. She ran back and grabbed the stuffed animal while the woman waited patiently.

As they walked through the small stretch of corridor past the kitchen, Mandy saw that her birthday cake had fallen from the table and onto the floor. Chocolate frosting had splattered everywhere.

Pink and white balloons were tied to one of the kitchen chairs. They’d been splattered too, not with frosting, but with something else. Something dark and red. Something sticky.

Maybe it was raspberry filling. Mandy loved raspberry filling.

Suddenly, she saw something gold glittering on the floor. It seemed to be words strung together. If only Mandy were able to read them. She stooped to pick up the shiny thing but was discouraged from doing so by the yellow-haired woman.

Careful of where they stepped, Mandy and the woman walked out of the house.

It was so cold that Mandy could blow smoke out of her mouth. She did this several times, temporarily blocking out what was happening to her.

By the time the woman helped Mandy into the blue van with words written on it, the police car and ambulance were gone.

Her mother was nowhere to be seen.

Mandy noticed that a drop or two of the raspberry filling had trickled upon the newly fallen snow.

Though she was curious as to how that had happened, Mandy didn’t feel comfortable enough with the woman to ask her.

As they drove away, the little girl with the red hair and jade green eyes sadly looked out the van’s rear window and watched as her house grew smaller in the distance.

Somehow, Mandy knew that she would never see the pink-and turquoise-flowered wallpaper again.

Then, for some strange reason, her thoughts turned to the lady. The lady she had seen on television and in her dream. The one holding the bouquet of flowers.

Had that lady been crying?

Mandy had no way of knowing that she and the woman in her dream shared something in common. For both of them, the day had been one of profound tragedy.

A Camelot lost.

Chapter 1

October 16, 2003:

Reaching for the morning paper, Megan Daniels turned to the personal ads just as she had every day for the past two weeks. She read her message as it had been faithfully printed, word for word:

If you should read this, Mother, I’m looking for you. Was adopted at age three and a half, in 1964. Auburn hair. Green eyes. Crescent-shaped scar on left knee. Desperately seeking information. Contact: Megan at P.O. Box 462.

Megan sighed. It was beyond her how she could hope to locate anyone based on the paltry information she had to offer. Nevertheless, she was determined to run the ad.

She had not always had this burning desire to find her biological mother, or if she had, it had been buried deep inside of her.

As far back as she could remember, she was Megan Feathers, daughter of Dorothy and Sam Feathers. Growing up in Reading, Pennsylvania, Megan was often teased about her Native American-sounding last name.

Despite her fair complexion, it wasn’t uncommon for her to be referred to as The Indian Princess or Pocahontas. Not to mention, plain old Duck Feathers. Megan had always shrugged off the teasing, After all, the name Feathers was kind of unique and Megan liked that. Besides, she was proud that Dorothy and Sam Feathers were her parents. Nonetheless, there were times she’d look at Dorothy and Sam and wonder why they were a good deal older than the parents of most of her friends. Nor did she resemble either one of them, not even remotely.

Dorothy, who stood at five foot nine inches, was broad-shouldered and thick around the waist, whereas Megan was small boned and petite. Sam’s deeply tanned skin and charcoal-colored hair were in direct contrast with Megan’s own fair skin and cinnamon-streaked curls. In addition, Dorothy and Sam both had brown eyes while Megan’s were almost turquoise.

Dorothy’s answers would always vary whenever Megan questioned her about these inconsistencies. Sometimes, she’d tell Megan that she looked like a maiden aunt of hers. Other times, she was said to bear a resemblance to a great uncle of Sam’s. Of course, there were never any photographs of these distant relations.

On October eighth the year of Megan’s seventh birthday, or at least the day she’d been led to believe was her birthday, she learned that she’d been adopted.

We’re not really related! she was spitefully informed by her cousin, Caroline. You were left on Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Sam’s doorstep!

Later that evening, Dorothy sat Megan down and admitted that she was, indeed, adopted, though she hadn’t been left on anyone’s doorstep. Dorothy told her daughter that they had gotten her through a very reputable adoption agency.

She relayed this information in a crisp, concise way, as was her manner. It wasn’t that the woman was unkind or unfeeling, only that she had great difficulty expressing her emotions.

Sam took Megan’s hand and pulled her over onto his lap. Unlike his wife, he had no difficulty conveying the enormous love and affection he felt for Megan.

What happened to my real parents, Daddy? Megan asked, bewildered.

A look passed between Dorothy and Sam. It was brief, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Megan.

Sweetheart, your real parents died when you were three. Dorothy and me, we’re the realist parents you could ever hope to want or need, Sam assured Megan, choking back tears.

That night, Megan heard her parents quarreling, which was a rare occurrence. Their voices were muffled, but Megan had the distinct impression that somehow she was the cause of whatever it was they were arguing about.

Her father’s voice was heavy with emotion, her mother’s calm and certain, as though her mind were made up and nothing her father could say would change it.

***

That Christmas, Sam brought Megan along to pick out the largest tree she could find, in hopes of making the holiday season extra special.

Sam winked as he tied it to the hood of his beige Oldsmobile. Sure it’s big enough for you, sweetheart?

It’s probably the biggest tree in the world! Megan exclaimed. This is going to be our best Christmas ever!

Sam and Megan sang along with a radio station playing a continuous medley of Christmas carols.

Snow’s starting to come down pretty hard, isn’t it, sweetie?

The snowflakes look like cotton balls, Daddy. Big ones.

As they approached the intersection, Sam neither heard the siren nor did he see the flashing lights of the ambulance.

"It came upon a midnight clear--Daddy!"

As the ambulance careened into them, the last thing Megan recalled before the blackness was her father throwing himself over her body. Sam was killed on impact and the Christmas tree lay in the street, its branches scattered everywhere.

Miraculously, Megan walked away from the accident with barely a scratch, aside from the emotional scars that were to remain with her for life.

***

Megan’s adoption remained a taboo subject between her and her mother. Dorothy didn’t mention it after that first evening because she felt Megan knew all she needed to know. Megan never raised the issue again.

She was an excellent student, careful to be of minimum concern to her mother in adolescence. Megan was afraid to rebel, not wishing to strain their relationship further. There was something else. Though Dorothy was only in her late fifties, she had begun to show signs of forgetfulness.

Misplaced keys. A scalding pot left unattended. Dorothy brushed these instances aside, but they concerned Megan somewhat.

When it was time to consider college, Megan was elated but surprised at Dorothy’s casual suggestion over breakfast one morning that she apply to The University of Southern California. With Megan’s grades and SAT scores, she would have little difficulty getting accepted.

USC is a private university. Won’t that be too expensive? Megan asked.

Sam had been a successful businessman, but in the few years before his death, he’d had some financial setbacks. This was one reason Dorothy had returned to being an elementary school teacher after Sam died.

Provisions have been made for your education, Megan, Dorothy explained.

Why California? I mean, we’d be so far from each other, Mother, Megan said, placing her hand on Dorothy’s shoulder.

Dorothy reached for the coffee pot, thereby releasing herself from Megan’s touch. It was a subtle gesture but one that would always remain with Megan. Well then, we’d have to write often, wouldn’t we? Dorothy said. After all, USC. is an excellent university, don’t you agree?

Yes, it is, Megan said flatly.

Fine. Then it’s settled. You’ll apply after breakfast.

Megan knew she should be thrilled at the prospect of such a wonderful opportunity, but her mother’s apparent indifference to the distance it would place between them hurt her terribly.

With little appetite for breakfast, she excused herself and left the room, never having noticed the tears in Dorothy’s eyes.

***

It was in Megan’s senior year at USC that she met Keith Daniels, a pre-med student with whom she found the love and intimacy she’d been lacking since Sam’s death.

While Keith understood Megan’s longing for children, the reality was that after he completed medical school, he had several more years of internship and residency ahead of him, neither of which paid a substantial amount of money.

They agreed to wait ten years before starting a family. Megan resigned herself to the situation and accepted a secretarial position with a prestigious law firm. Bills, rent, and student loans turned ten years into fifteen. Megan refused to wait any longer and Keith agreed. It was time to start the family they always dreamed about.

Just as Sam’s death and learning about her adoption had been milestones in her life, so was this pregnancy. For Megan, this baby was to be her first known blood relative and she wanted to savor every moment of its childhood without distraction.

Megan’s delivery went as smoothly as did her entire pregnancy. In the next few hours after her daughter’s birth, Megan would look down with wonder at her beautiful daughter and marvel at her perfect little features.

Katie’s heart-shaped face mirrored Megan’s own. Reddish hair, brown eyes. She was dark complexioned. Much darker than Keith’s family. As for Megan’s own heritage, that was anyone’s guess. Still, Katie belonged to her!

For the next two and a half years, Megan found contentment in treks to the park, watching Sesame Street, and making five-course meals out of Play Dough.

When Katie turned four, Megan and Keith talked it over and agreed that another child would fulfill both theirs and Katie’s needs.

When Megan didn’t conceive after the first four or five months of trying, she wrote it off as beginner’s luck in having conceived so quickly with Katie.

After two years, she began to dread going to the bathroom only to discover that she had gotten her period once again. Her gynecologist explained that secondary infertility was not all that uncommon, particularly in women over the age of thirty-five. They discussed options such as in vitro fertilization or using a surrogate, but Megan just wasn’t prepared to go that route. At least, not yet. She would always remember Dr. Lasky’s next words.

It might be helpful if we had the gynecological history of your biological mother and any sisters you might have.

Biological mother. Sisters. These were words Megan had put out of her head long ago. Once she was told her parents were dead, she had no need to delve any further. Until now. Now there was the need for Katie to have a sibling. To not grow up in solitude as she had.

There was something beyond Megan’s desire to become pregnant again. Before this moment, it had never occurred to Megan that a mistake might have been made. There was the possibility that either or both of her biological parents might actually be alive.

At the very least, she might have other relatives. Grandparents, perhaps. As Dr. Lasky had suggested, she might even have a sister or brother somewhere in this world.

Something had come alive in Megan and, for the first time in her life, she had a need to know from where she had originated.

She immediately phoned Dorothy to ask her the name of the agency that had handled her adoption, but Dorothy was now in the advancing stages of Alzheimer’s Disease and of no help whatsoever. Megan’s few remaining adoptive relatives had apparently never been privy to any information concerning her adoption.

Megan wrote to adoption agencies in the Reading area without success. She registered with organizations that tried to unite adoptees with their birth parents. She contacted the Salvation Army and even hired a private detective at one point, both to no avail.

Without her adoption papers or at least the name of the adoption agency, the likelihood of Megan’s tracking down her biological parents was next to impossible.

In desperation, Megan had placed the personal ad in the paper a week ago.

Keith had scoffed at the idea. Honey, there must be a better way than a personal ad. What about the Internet? If I’m not mistaken, there must be a million sites where you can search for missing people.

Oh, believe me. I’ve posted messages. But don’t forget, Keith, not everyone has access to a computer. A lot of older people don’t even know how to use one.

Sipping her tea, she read the ad again. If you should read this, Mother...

What were the odds that she would, even allowing for the Los Angeles Times’ large circulation. It was possible--no, probable--that Megan’s biological mother lived miles away. Damn. She should have placed the ad in an eastern paper. Maybe next week she’d place the same ad in other papers with large circulations.

Maybe Keith was right. If she were truly serious about locating her mother, she had to think of a better way to reach people than an ad in a newspaper. The Internet was one way, but there had to be another.

In that moment, it came to her. A way in which she could reach thousands of people. Millions. Any one of whom might be her mother.

Chapter 2

Layla MacDonald stared into her cup of coffee. It was her second cup of the day and it was only seven-thirty a.m., but she needed the caffeine. Last night had been rough. Rougher than usual.

Though Layla knew it wouldn’t help her one-hundred-seventy-five-pound frame any, she reached for a glazed doughnut, broke it in two, and ate half. Comfort food. If there were anyone in need of comfort, it was surely Layla.

She glanced at her reflection in the toaster. Her left eye was swollen shut and there was a fresh cut across the bridge of her nose.

Layla thought of her father and what he would think of his precious child, his only daughter, if he could see her the way she looked this morning.

When she had run away and eloped with JJ thirty-two years ago, Layla had been considered a beauty within her circle of friends and family back in Ohio.

Her parents, Avrim and Zina Isaac, had emigrated from Lebanon and settled in Northwood, a small Lebanese-American community on the outskirts of Toledo.

It was there that they opened a shop specializing in Arab delicacies: assorted olives, cheeses, nuts, and spices.

As the shop prospered, Avrim and Zina realized their American dream, which was to create happy and secure lives for their children. Ben and Michael, Layla’s older brothers, fulfilled their parents’ expectations by becoming, respectively, a doctor and an accountant.

It was in Layla, who had been babied and pampered by the entire family, that the streak of rebellion lay. Whether it was wearing makeup against her parents’ wishes or staying out too late with friends, Layla regarded her rebellion as a means of breaking out of the protective cocoon her parents had created.

In the end, it didn’t matter what she did. After admonishing