Laramie's Fortune

By Sally Decker

Every family has secrets

Ruby Delaney had just inherited Laramies Fortune, an oceanfront cape, and she invited her children to stay with her during the summer. Her four grown children reluctantly agree to come back to the house that harbored so many haunting memories. As the Delaney family slowly turns back to each other, they find out that Laramie, their grandfather didnt have an accident when he died. They soon discover his secrets, where his fortune was buried and the truth that was hidden for years. Though danger lurks in the shadows on the islandwaiting.


Because every family has secrets

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 12, 2007
• ISBN: 9781469122595

Sally Decker

Sally Decker likes traveling, camping, day hiking, the outdoors and spending time with animals, especially her cat, Tom. She started writing at a young age from an inspiration, her twin sister. She also likes to read crime and murder/mystery novels. She lives in the Natural state of Arkansas with her family.

Book preview

Prologue

1992

As my weary eyes fluttered open for the remainder of the late afternoon, they quickly adjust to the dim light of the table lamp. The only sounds were the constant ticking of the large, and as it seems at times, ancient Grandfather clock.

The faint snoring of my companion, as well as my friend of several years grew louder with every escalating breath. Ellie had been a widow for as long as I could remember and moved into my Pittsburgh home soon after William died.

My attention was torn away from my long deceased husband and I was drawn to the rain drizzled window, my hand pressed against the cool glass when the front door creaked open.

Ruby, are you alright? I saw you looking out the window from the taxi. You seemed distraught for some reason, he said with genuine concern.

I turned my head toward his low, worried voice and found Ellie’s second born son, for she had three, standing before me. Raising my chin higher and dropping my hand from the window, I answered defiantly, Of course I’m alright, Peter. Why shouldn’t I be?

He shrugged his broad shoulders carelessly without a response. The man that was still so much like a boy lingered wearily up the creaky, wooden stairs.

Has my son come home, yet? Ellie asked when the slamming of the door jumped her awake.

Nodding my head slightly, I smiled when she took to her bed after she looked in on her son as she did every night. I pulled my favorite blanket securely about my shoulders and tightened my fingers around the porcelain teacup. It had become cold once again and I found myself standing in the narrow kitchen doorway, waiting for something to happen, then again nothing ever happens. All there was were the ticking of the clock and the faint, sporadic humming of the refrigerator William had gotten in the late sixties.

My hand involuntarily reached out before me and touched the wrinkled pictures of my four children when they were younger, sitting on the paint chipped steps. My eldest was fourteen, Cassidy was nine and my only son was a clingy five year old. My youngest was only a baby of one year old, sitting on the unsteady lap of my son. They were all so close until a few years ago when they each had a fall out, especially my youngest children. Abigail and Cassidy became too busy with their careers during these past years to pay attention to anything.

Still holding the teacup in my unsteady hand, I climbed up the dark, narrow steps and down the hall, feeling the wall until I felt a cold doorknob. I turned on the bright, luminous light that was above me, gazing at the empty bed and looked at the framed picture of William, who kept his face grim. I set the porcelain cup on the nightstand and tumbled into bed with a heavy sigh. My arm reached over toward my husband’s side of the bed, but my fingers felt for emptiness that made my body tremble.

After tossing and turning with no rest, I pulled my weary body up from the warm covers and roamed down the hall toward William’s untouched study. I reluctantly sat behind his desk, grasping the feel of it before taking a cold pen from his collection that also seemed untouched for years without being used. After crumpling many pieces of paper on the floor, the words start tumbling from my mind and onto the scented stationary. I placed the silver pen down on the smooth surface of the desk, looking around the room one last time, and closed the heavy, double doors.

The headache that overtook my senses made me lean against the wall until the pain subsided. Crawling back into the large bed, I lye awake in the dark with my arms spread across the empty bed and finally closed my eyes, a smile forming upon my lips.

The day came when I moved out of the familiar town house without any regrets. The realtor, Brenda, was a young woman with a husband, but no kids and spent all her time selling houses. She held a clipboard close to her chest and sighed sadly, Well, that’s it, I guess. There were no words to console her with or myself for that matter, so I simply smiled and turned my wondering eyes toward the new buyers.

The woman with a slight bump was pretty with red locks that flowed down her back and dark green eyes that sparkled. Her heart shaped face was pale and flawless, much like my own children. Her husband was tall, blond and painfully silent. His sky blue eyes would only rise from the ground if his young wife spoke to him.

Michael, this house is perfect for us to be a family. You know how it was since—

Rebecca, that’s enough. We don’t need to discuss our problems in front of strangers, he scolded in a whisper.

The woman named Rebecca glanced at me, as I rudely gaped at her. She brought the boy into the house, whispering a faint hello to the movers and rested a hand protectively on her slightly bulging middle.

I wandered toward Michael, watching him unpack the boxes from the station wagon until he spoke abruptly, May I help you with something?

Sorry. Oh no, nothing, I answered softly. When is she due? Your wife?

He finally lifted his head and said, In the Spring. It’s getting pretty dark. Would you like to stay tonight, even though it’s quite empty? He waited patiently and unhurriedly for my response, his eyes were always calm and cool.

I looked back at the porch where Rebecca stood with her arms wrapped about herself. She waved a hand toward us and called with concern, It’s getting cold out here! Come inside the house and get warmed up.

The movers were just leaving the muddy, half circle driveway, whipping down the road. Brenda had left hours ago to meet up with her husband at home.

Rebecca was so much like my Cassidy, silent when need be and ferocious when she had to be. But her features were more delicate and childlike than any of my children. Her gentle, yet thin voice broke into my rambling thoughts, making my eyes turn to her pale face.

What? Did you say something? I asked, feeling the warmth of the fireplace against my face.

Where are you planning to go after you leave here? You do have somewhere to stay, don’t you? she questioned sweetly.

A smile etched my lips as the thought of the cape near the ocean entered my mind. The salty air from the water reached my nostrils as I remembered my father in law’s house fondly. I looked at her with focused eyes now and replied breathlessly, Oh, it is magnificent where I’m going. There is water as far as the eye could see, and a house is nestled on the middle of an island. It’s perfect, really perfect.

It sounds like it is, she said quietly, almost wistfully. Doesn’t it sound perfect, Michael?

Sure does, the quiet, shy man answered back. He smiled at her then, like she could do no wrong, lifted himself to his feet and gave her a quick but loving peck on the mouth before stomping up the stairs.

Rebecca sighed with a weary smile that showed a dimple in each of her cheeks, pulling herself up from the chair with a groan and breathed, I suppose I should go on up, too. He will start wondering where I am sooner or later. Goodnight… She waited expectantly at the living room door until I blurted quickly, Ruby. My name is Ruby Delaney.

Well, goodnight, Ruby Delaney. She smiled again and climbed the old, creaky steps with some effort, much slower than her husband had and closed the door of the bedroom they chose.

Late in the night, I was awakened by a loud thump down the hall from my room. As I pushed the door open ajar, the light from Michael and Rebecca’s room was streaming under the door. It swung open and two men tripped down the dark stairs, nearly collapsing on each other on their way out. I tiptoed down the hall with my hands balled into tight fists and entered the bedroom William and I used to share.

Michael held Rebecca’s limp body in his arms as he unconsciously rocked back and forth. His usually pale cheeks were scarlet red with tears streaming down his face and onto her gray, ghostly white one.

What happened… ? What happened to her, Michael? Did you see what the imposters looked like? I asked gently, leaning against the freshly painted wall.

He looked up from his pale, rag doll limp wife with a tearful gaze and stammered, I—I don’t know what happened. One minute she was sleeping soundly, then another minute a gun went off and Rebecca was dead. Tell me, how could anyone be so cruel to murder such a beautiful person? Hearing a noise in the hall, we both turned toward the door where the boy was standing with wide, haunted eyes and a heaving chest. His terrified gaze rested on his mother’s emotionless face.

The house was closed down from then on and remained abandoned, or so that is what I heard. The boy couldn’t get past his mother’s death and was institutionalized many times, but nothing could help him.

Michael packed up the station wagon once again when I soundlessly approached him.

Ready to see your son before you leave, Michael? I questioned abruptly, watching the silent man avoid eye contact.

He dropped the last ferociously taped box in the back of the long station wagon. He shook his head only once, still not looking up and plowed his hands through his golden hair.

I can’t, not yet, Michael whispered painfully.

I drove to the hospital where I looked over at him sadly with a sigh and began quietly, Are you sure that—

Yes, Ruby, I’m sure. I’m sorry if I am being a little short with you, but I’m not ready. He remained in the car with the many boxes of his numerous possessions when I nearly flew through the hospital doors and down brightly lit corridors.

The small boy sat alone in a corner away from the other children, staring blankly out the window. He was concentrating on the heavens, as though searching for his mother through the dark clouds. The boy seemed oblivious to what I was saying to him, but I knew for a fact that he could hear my voice.

I knelt down beside his uncomfortable chair, held his tiny hand in mine, and replied quietly, Your father really wanted to be here with me to visit you, but he couldn’t come today. I hope you understand how he feels, little one.

Something in his empty expression changed, and he turned his head to look at me. He wrapped his thin arms around my neck as an embrace and stroked my dark hair. The boy did not say a word when he held onto me for dear life and finally released his grip with the help of the orderlies.

I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s never done that before. Until now he has been in a comatose state, informed a young nurse that supplied a shy smile.

Standing to my full height, I wrenched my fingers together and spoke smoothly, That is quite alright. He is the son of a friend and I only came to see how he was doing. Well, I should be going before I put everyone in a fuss. The nurse with plain brown hair smirked, though she was clearly offended. Goodbye, little one.

He sat erect in the wooden chair and continued to stare up at the dark, gray clouds that drifted slowly by. The boy didn’t pay attention to the nurse’s gentle voice calling his name or her desperate attempt for him to look at her.

Michael jumped out of the car when I returned to him and asked hurriedly, How is he? Did you see him? His breathing was raspy and uneven as he waited impatiently for the news. Michael pursed his lips into a thin line and rested his hands on his narrow hips.

I nodded sadly, gazing at the shabby, rusted car that was in need of a paint job and answered, I wish you would agree to visit him. He really needs his father right now.

I don’t know if that’s the best option, Ruby. Besides, they have the best doctors here. He looked back at the enormous hospital and cast his eyes downward to the asphalt. I don’t even have a place to bring him home to when he’s better, if he does get better. Do you think he wants to see a person like that? Michael’s guarded gray blue eyes revealed nothing as they swung toward me, then back to the old car.

My fingers touched his cold, pale face, which made him look back at me with surprise and escaped an uneven breath.

You can come and live with me, Michael, to the perfect cape that I told you about. You can send for your son when he is better. Alright? I suggested wistfully, carefully.

He silently nodded his head, saying nothing right then, lowering my hands from his gaunt tear-streaked face and smiled apologetically. He gaped at the large house with an open mouth and nearly dropped his belongings on the hard, rocky ground. It must have looked like a mansion to him, but to me it was simply a place where haunting memories dwell. The doors and windows were wide open to air it out from the musty smell all abandoned houses get when they are not tended to properly. It seemed to be looking at us, mocking us in a way only people do.

A memory from William’s last days invaded my thoughts and I went back. He had been pale and gaunt, lying on the bed with heavy lids. My husband pulled himself up against the pillows with an uncomfortable grunt and murmured breathlessly, Ruby. Ruby Mae, I have to tell you something. I have a daughter—

Of course you do, Will. We have three daughters named Abigail, Cassidy, and Natasha. Remember?

He shook his head vigorously and corrected with cold, weary eyes, No, I know about them. I have another daughter that I haven’t seen in a long time. He glared severely at me as if I was naïve and foolish.

Backing slowly away from the canopy bed that reeked of feces and vomit, I glared at him as though he had betrayed me and snapped angrily, From her, William? Don’t speak her name in my presence, for she does not exist to me. She never has existed in my mind. Your lover as well as you are dead to me from this moment on.

He scowled severely toward me, balling his hands into tight, large fists and spitefully screamed, Get out of this room, now! I don’t care what you say about me, but I don’t want to hear you say anything about her again! You are nothing compared to Erin Garner. Do you hear me, Ruby? Nothing!

That was the first time that I heard her name. It was sweet, yet bitter on my tongue. I folded my aching fingers around the slick doorknob tightly until they were sore and blindly hurried from the fowl smelling, messy room.

Shaking my head from the dark memory, I turned toward those large, curious eyes that seemed to gaze into my very soul and asked absently, What? Did you say something, Michael? I furrowed my brows, not knowing where I was moments before, but realized where I was now. Tearing my eyes from his youthful face and guarded eyes, I hesitantly turned them toward the large house.

He chuckled quietly at my curiosity and naivety with his light blue eyes laughing and replied, Yes, I did. I asked if this house has a name. Every house does if you find the right one. His usually grim face broke out into a wide grin as he gazed down at me once again before swinging his gaze back to the enormous cape.

I smiled broadly up at Michael with his young, attractive nature and sudden playfulness, linking our arms together. I shifted my eyes back to home where I spent most of my adult life and proclaimed with an earnest laugh, Oh, it does have a wonderful name. I welcome you to Laramie’s Fortune.

Chapter one

1994

Abigail sighed heavily in exasperation as she gazed at the bright lights of Boston from the apartment balcony. With a single nod of her head, she watched the many people bustle to their destinations below. She then held the smooth handle of her water dipped paintbrush between her teeth and rubbed her bulging middle comfortingly.

The pale French doors opened quietly and closed with a click of the golden handle. Her boyfriend crept beside her, gazing at the blank canvas sadly. She had been struggling with new ideas for months; it was difficult to remember her last painting.

Nice painting, Honey. But I think it needs more texture… and color, he teased with a grin, handing her a pale envelope and waited for a response.

When she read her mother’s words for the second time, Abigail dropped the paintbrush on the wooden pallet and read aloud, I have tucked a plane ticket in the envelope if you do decide to come to the cape. Abigail hesitantly looked up at Garret who smiled in understanding.

That’s a guilt trip if I ever heard one, Garret mused, rubbing his large hands together.

She nodded slowly, placing the scented letter on the lamp table, and whispered, Yeah, I know. What am I going to do, Garret? The redheaded woman gazed at him with beseeching green eyes.

He lowered down in an enormous, cushioned beige chair across from her and suggested, Why don’t you go see her new house, Abby? She asked you, after all. It should be nice.

Of course, the house is nice. We’re talking about my mother! Abigail exclaimed breathlessly.

Garret held up a hand to stop her from saying any more and pushed the double doors open, which made Abigail’s teenage children tumble into the room.

Hello, Garret. I—I mean we… the youngest of the two squeaked, her voice faltering and dying in the end. She smiled sheepishly up at him.

He returned her smile and looked over at her older brother who supplied the same apologetic grin. He helped his sister up off the floor and wiped themselves of imaginary specks of dust.

Bertram. Larissa. I have told you many times that I don’t appreciate you two eaves dropping on our conversations, Abigail scolded, but instantly regretted her harsh tone.

Garret glanced back at her with a look of warning, then turned back to the children he helped raise and whispered, Go on, I’ll be up to see how you are in a minute.

They glanced at their mother one last time and shuffled up the steep steps, murmuring to each other.

I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me to snap at them. You know, I never was harsh with my children before, Abigail explained, suddenly becoming pale.

He lowered back down in the low chair slowly with a sigh and chastised gently, You are just sensitive right now. I think visiting your mother for a few weeks is a great idea.

Wiping her nose with the back of her shaky hand, she said thickly, They will hate me, I know it. My whole family does, even Simon.

No, they don’t, Honey. I’ve seen you with them and your younger brother. You’re only emotional because of the baby. His dark eyes bore into her green ones, as he reached a large, steady hand toward the woman sitting before him.

Abigail was more than nervous to see her mother after nine years of brief visits and short phone calls, after her father died. Her sister, Cassidy, was probably the angriest one at the funeral. She walked up to the open casket and yelled at the dead corpse, Come back! How could you do this to me, to us? William’s son, Simon, and his business partner pulled her back from the smooth casket and dragged her to a long pew.

He’s gone, Cass. Dad is dead, he whispered loudly near her ear, breathing raggedly.

She calmed down immediately after hearing the sound of his voice, her body falling limp against the empty, wooden pew. Simon left her to join his distraught mother who glanced back at Cassidy with concern.

Another child from Ruby and the youngest from the four silently shook her head and rolled her amber brown eyes. Natasha had married four years later and divorced since then.

Abigail blinked numbly and turned absently toward her boyfriend who was calling her name. She shoved the letter back into the envelope and closed the double doors, for she could not stand looking at the blank canvas much longer. Followed by Garret, she climbed the stairs and opened her son’s bedroom door that supplied light from the hall.

Mom, what are you doing? Bertie asked as he shielded his eyes from the light.

Oh, I just wanted to apologize for—

It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything, Bertram blurted quickly.

Larissa stood beside Garret with her arms crossed over her chest and said, Yeah, we understand your moods. It’s from being pregnant. She smiled at her mother who grinned quickly. The fifteen year old smirked at her brother and tilted her chin upward slightly, proudly.

Rolling his dark blue eyes at her, Bertram returned her sarcastic gaze and corrected; It’s called hormones, stupid. How naïve little sisters can be.

Larissa turned her light blue eyes toward him, rolling them and stuck out her tongue before gazing up at Garret to see if he had caught her. He merely smiled tensely down at her, but did not say a word.

Come on, Abbey. The kids need their sleep if they are going to make it to school in the morning, he replied with a yawn and guided her down the hall.

She smiled at the two of them sadly, not wanting to leave her children, but thought logically and murmured, I guess you’re right. Alright, let’s get to bed. She gently pushed her daughter in the direction of her own bedroom across from Bertie’s clean one. Abigail immediately heard Garret’s slow, heavy breathing next to her as they climbed into the cold bed, though she felt uncommonly warm with his arm draped over her.

She was standing in a damp church and looked anxiously around the empty room. Her eyes rested on an open casket her father was buried in. She slowly stepped down the aisle, squeezing her hands into fists as she reached the pale, drained body. Abigail touched his cold face as he opened his dark eyes that were almost black. She tried to pull herself free from his iron grasp, but his strong grip prevented her to go.

Where are you going, Abbey? You were always my favorite, he said with a shaky voice.

No! Abigail cried and finally tugged her fingers away from his clammy hand. She ran down the aisle without looking back at him and pushed the heavy doors open.

Where are you going? Wait. Come back, Abbey. Come back here! Abigail!! She heard from inside the cold, empty church until all went dead silent.

Abigail jumped up in her own bed with a breathless gasp that awoke Garret. He began rubbing her back silently in an attempt to calm her down, but found his voice and asked, Are you alright, Honey? Was it the dream again?

She nodded slightly, feeling him push her tangled red hair away from her damp, pale face and breathed, I don’t know why this is happening to me, Garret. Why can’t I forget him? He wasn’t a good father at all, not to Simon, any way.

Garret decided to remain silent because he hardly knew her father; only meeting him a couple times in twelve years he and Abigail had been together.

"Maybe you’re right. I didn’t think