The Color of Honey: The Gillian Jones Series, #4

By Lois Lewandowski

A mistake in the lab finds another woman carrying probation officer Gillian Jones' baby. Gillian desperately wants the child, but when her ex-husband, Vincent, is murdered, Gillian is considered a suspect. Determined to clear her own name and find the true killer, Gillian digs into the events that led to Vincent's death. In the process, her own past collides with the present and she finds herself in a chilling game of cat and mouse with the killer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lois Lewandowski
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201337162

Lois Lewandowski

Lois Lewandowski is the author of the Gillian Jones Mystery Series. The novels are character-driven Midwestern murder mysteries which incorporate social issues and humor. Raised on a farm in northeast Nebraska, she’s called Lincoln her home for over three decades. During that time, she’s worked for a social service agency, a newspaper, the Nebraska State Patrol and the Department of Motor Vehicles. Lois enjoys reading, cooking, hiking and spending time with her family.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The smattering of freckles across Ian McCarter’s nose and his clear blue eyes reminded me of Huck Finn. If we’d lived a century earlier, the rest of him might have followed suit. As it was, a heavy stud pierced his right eyebrow and an unusual tattoo on his neck sent flames of purple and blue toward his head. Ian was a recovering meth addict. Unfortunately, he also had an addictive personality which meant that he easily became obsessed with things. He’d recently given up an on-line game when the monthly bill became excessive.

Ian was living with his Great-Aunt Ethel, a woman who I thought would steer him in the right direction, but so far, I wasn’t seeing much change. I know you’ve got housing provided for you, but have you found permanent employment? It’s a requirement of your probation, I reminded him.

Ian shrugged. It’s hard to find a job without transportation.

What happened to your car?

I sold it to pay bills. Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

I tapped my pen on the desk. I wondered if he’d squandered his car to fund the ink on his neck. I met his eyes. That’s a unique tattoo on your neck.

I’ve got another one started. He pulled up his sleeve so I could see a brown and blue design that encircled his upper arm like an Egyptian bangle.

As he explained the symbols in the tattoo, I noticed something unusual in his right eye, a little jerking motion called nystagmus that sometimes indicates intoxication. I leaned toward him across my desk and inhaled. I detected a dank odor of stale cigarettes, but no alcohol. As his probation officer, I should order a drug test. I inwardly grimaced. This was a bad day to entangle myself in one of Ian’s addictions. In less than an hour, I would be on my way to meet the surrogate mother who was carrying my baby. My baby! Just the thought of it made my stomach erupt in a wave of butterflies. Oh, no! I said and reached for the wastebasket at the side of my desk.

Mrs. Jones? Ian stood up. Are you okay? I looked up to see Ian’s eyes solidly focused on me.

Struggling to regain control of the queasiness, I straightened up in my chair. I’m better, thank you. I concentrated on his pupils. Have you been avoiding alcohol?

I haven’t had a drink since I’ve been on probation. Ian seemed genuinely surprised at the question. Are you sure you’re okay?

To my relief, the nauseous feeling passed and my stomach settled down. The bathroom in the courthouse was past the public waiting area and down the hall, not at all convenient in the event of an emergency. I’m fine, just an upset stomach. I pushed the waste basket back to its usual place. I didn’t have breakfast this morning.

Ian sat back down. You do look sort of pale. He glanced over his shoulder to the back of the office. A bowl of red and green apples and a jar of honey were on the credenza, compliments of my mother-in-law, Marlene, who had used them as an excuse to come see me first thing that morning. My husband, Clint, had told her we were both going to a consultation in Omaha, but he wouldn’t give her any other information about the appointment. Marlene was now on a fact-finding mission to find out the details. We were thrilled about the possibility of having this child, but our situation with the surrogate mother was not typical. Due to a mistake in the lab, my eggs had been implanted in the wrong woman. Clint and I were still in the process of accepting this situation, and sharing this information with Marlene would end up involving the whole town of Bend Brook, Nebraska. Although I loved Bend Brook and had called it my home for the last five years, I wasn’t ready to discuss this with people I met on the street. 

Mrs. Jones? Ian’s concern was apparent in his eyes. Would an apple help? He indicated the credenza behind him.

Sure, I said. A red one please.

Ian got out of his seat and brought the whole bowl over to me. I can’t tell the red from the green.

I picked out an apple and watched Ian put the bowl back. You’re color blind?

Color deficient, he said. Just red and green. Most people ask me why I don’t have red flames. He pointed to his neck. I’d never pick a color I couldn’t see.

I put the apple down. So, all those apples look the same to you?

He turned in his chair and pointed to the jar of honey. They look the same color as what’s in the jar over there.

That’s honey, I said.

I thought it was. He smiled. To me, red and green and honey are all the same color.

I picked up a pen and held it up between us. Would you do me a favor? I’m going to move this pen from side to side and I’d like you to follow it with your eyes.

Isn’t that what they do in field sobriety tests? Ian asked. That has nothing to do with being color blind.

I nodded. I’m sure it doesn’t. I just want to see how your pupils react. He did as I instructed and to my relief both of his eyes tracked perfectly. I checked the time; Clint would be here to pick me up in fifteen minutes. I think we’re done for today. Let’s set up your appointment for next week.

I SPENT THE NEXT FIVE minutes in the courthouse bathroom, putting on lipstick, fluffing my wavy brown hair and surveying myself in the mirror. I was wearing a simple short sleeve dress and black flats. On my 5’9 frame, it was dressy, yet practical. Hopefully it conveyed that I could take on motherhood at the drop of a hat. My phone beeped. Clint was waiting for me. I grabbed my purse from the counter and ran down the courthouse steps, hurrying along the sidewalk to where he waited. Clint leaned over and pushed open the door of the pickup. I noted his usual attire of blue jeans and shirt had been replaced with khaki pants, a dress shirt and even a tie. Wow," I said, pulling myself into the truck seat.

Hurry up, Clint said. We don’t want to be late.

Rather than being late, we arrived at our destination in Omaha, Nebraska a good twenty-five minutes early. We were meeting at the medical clinic owned by Vincent Telfano and David Bossart. Vincent was my ex-husband and David was my stepfather. Vincent also happened to be the doctor for the woman who was carrying my baby. The building didn’t look like a medical facility. Three stories tall with black reflection glass, it looked more like an office building. Clint and I came in through the row of entrance doors. A bank of elevators was in the middle of the first floor. Near the elevators, people milled around concession type counters. Large signs announced the specialty of each area: X-RAYS, DENTAL, PHARMACY, LAB.

We’re supposed to ask for Casia Niva in Ob Gyn, I glanced around the first floor. I don’t see Ob Gyn.

Second floor, a smiling woman in scrubs overheard us.

At the elevator, a placard clearly indicated Ob Gyn was on the second floor. I’m so nervous I didn’t see the sign, I said.

I know how you feel. Clint took my hand and with his other pressed the button. Seconds later we were standing in a waiting room with several women, some who appeared pregnant. I looked around the room, trying to decide which one might be the woman who was carrying my baby.

We have an appointment, we’re to ask for Casia Niva, Clint said to the receptionist.

I nudged Clint and indicated a woman sitting by herself in the corner. She smiled serenely at me. I think that’s her, I whispered excitedly.

A door to the side of the counter opened and a very thin woman with long white blond hair stepped out. She hugged a stack of files to her chest. She was dressed in a colorful blue paisley skirt, a teal tunic, dark blue leggings and ankle high boots. Her hair and clothes were youthful, but her face suggested otherwise. I pegged her to be in her late forties. Gillian and Clint? Follow me, please.

She led us down a hallway. Just in here. She opened a door and indicated that Clint and I should go ahead of her. We walked into a room apportioned with couches, coffee tables, and flowery paintings. Another couple sat on the couch facing us. The woman looked up at me. She wore a black and gold blouse trimmed in iridescent green that complimented her mahogany skin. The man was average looking, tightly curled black hair puffed from the side of his head, while the top was mostly bald.

I turned to Casia. This room is already occupied.

She nodded, her pointed chin emphasizing a crooked smile. These are the other Joneses. Rylan and Juliana, meet Clint and Gillian.

"These are the other Joneses? Clint’s voice rose a notch in pitch. He then stated the obvious. They’re black."

Rylan Jones cocked his head sideways to look at his wife. Did you know they were white?

She put a hand to her mouth, silently shaking her head.

An uncomfortable silence enveloped us as we contemplated each other. Casia stepped in front of me. Shall we all have a seat and discuss the slight color discrepancy?

Color discrepancy? I repeated.

Slight? Juliana echoed.

A quick knock and Vincent entered the room. I noted my ex-husband’s styled black hair and attractive face. At one time, we’d had a perfect life. I was in my first year of law school and Vincent was in residency. A car accident shattered my ankle and our marriage. Eventually my ankle healed and I walked normally, albeit without heels.

Dr. Telfano, Juliana was up and off the couch. Thank goodness you’re here. I need to talk to you. Alone.

Alone? Rylan stood up. What do you mean alone? I’m in this, too, you know. We agreed to make this decision together.

I took a step toward Vincent. None of us knew there was a color discrepancy.

Vincent turned on his heel toward Casia, his mouth open but she spoke first. I’m so sorry, Dr. Telfano! I know I was supposed to share that information with them but I thought it would be easier in person.

Dr. Telfano, Juliana persisted, charging around the coffee table. This changes everything!

Let’s all sit down and discuss it, Vincent said in a soothing tone. He took Juliana’s elbow and guided her back to her seat. She shook her arm away from Vincent, the gold bracelets on her wrist making a soft jingling noise. Vincent signaled to Casia and they pushed another couch up to the coffee table. Clint and I took seats across from the other Joneses. Vincent pulled a rolling stool from across the room. Casia stood opposite him.

I have a question, Clint said.

Vincent nodded solemnly at him. Go ahead.

I just want to clarify that she, Juliana, he paused and indicated the woman across from us, is carrying a baby that is Gillian’s egg and an anonymous sperm donor’s?

That’s correct, Vincent said.

So how many eggs do we have left in the cryopreservation tank? Clint asked.

Vincent shot Casia a questioning glance before addressing Clint. I thought this was already discussed. There are no eggs left. Gillian’s eggs were all used.

I gasped. "They were all fertilized by an anonymous donor?"

Clint put his face in his hands, for a moment I thought he was going to be ill. His hands dropped to his lap. How many frozen embryos are left from Gillian’s eggs, he paused, and the anonymous donor?

Vincent shook his head. I understand what you’re thinking, but there are none left. Let’s start from the beginning; fourteen of Gillian’s eggs were thawed.

All of them? Clint and I said in unison.

Vincent held up a hand so he could continue. Only six survived the thawing process. Frozen eggs are fragile. Of those six, four stopped developing, and the remaining two were transferred to Juliana, who is now pregnant with a single baby.

Juliana’s bracelets jingled as she shifted on the couch. If someone had said fourteen eggs, we would have known something was wrong. We only had eight eggs left.

We’ve lost all our eggs before any could be transferred so we only wanted to know the end result, Rylan explained.

I’m so sorry, I said, while Clint made a sympathetic noise.

Vincent’s smile was tense as he addressed us all. Before we all came to this meeting, Gillian and Clint indicated they wanted to raise the baby. That is still correct?

Yes, we do! I put my hand to my mouth, realizing how loud I’d said it.

Absolutely, Clint echoed, but without any enthusiasm.

Vincent’s stool squeaked as he turned to the couple across from us. Juliana and Rylan, you said that if Gillian and Clint wanted this child, you were willing to be a surrogate for them.

Rylan loosened his tie. I’m still on board with that.

Mmm, Juliana’s pursed her lips. I don’t know. I feel like I’m being pushed into this decision.

Rylan turned to his wife. "Baby, we discussed it. This child isn’t related to us, it’s related to her." He pointed an index finger to me like I was somehow at fault.

Juliana folded her arms in front of her. That was before.

They still want the baby, Rylan said. Nothing’s changed.

She turned to her husband. Yes, things have changed! I have cultural concerns now. And even though they say they want this baby, I don’t know. She eyed us doubtfully. They were expecting a white child and this baby is biracial.

Everyone started speaking at once. Vincent held up a hand to quiet us all.

We’d love this child no matter what color, I said, we’d love the baby even if there was a birth defect or other problem. I felt my eyes roll judgingly toward Vincent and he cringed.

Juliana’s expression remained stony. You know that for sure, do you?

We’ve had a foster child, Clint said. We love Logan as if he were our own biological child.

Juliana didn’t appear convinced. "You had a foster child? Why don’t you have him anymore?"

Logan is with his biological mother right now, I said.

Do you still see him? Would he be like a half-brother to this baby? Rylan asked.

We aren’t able to see him at the moment, I broke off, my voice choking.

Clint took my hand. Logan sometimes preferred Gillian over his own mother. It made Logan’s mother feel threatened. We’re still trying to work things out.

We’d see him on any terms, I said, regaining my composure.

Juliana’s expression softened. That would be a hard situation. She reached down to retrieve a picture from her purse. She looked at it fondly before handing it to me. We want a sister or brother for our little guy. A smiling apple-cheeked little boy stood before oversized blocks with the word t-w-o spelled out. He had a high forehead and a halo of curly hair.

What’s his name? I asked.

Thesolonius Coltrane Jones, she said proudly. We call him Theo.

I’m an attorney by day and a celloist in a jazz band by weekend, Rylan added. That’s where the Coltrane came into play for his middle name.

Did you go through in vitro? I asked Juliana.

Juliana smiled at Vincent. Yes. Other doctors we went to weren’t very encouraging because of my age, but Theo was conceived on our first try with Dr. Telfano.

So, Vincent seemed happy to pick up the thread of the conversation, back to the subject at hand. He turned his chair to the other Joneses. Juliana, this is your second successful in vitro. In my opinion, even at your age you’d be an excellent candidate for a third. All the prenatal and delivery costs will be paid for during this pregnancy and any subsequent IVF or other fertility treatment will be without cost, provided they’re ordered through the Bossart-Telfano Medical Group. He smiled encouragingly, waiting for an answer.

Juliana’s expression turned defiant. I’m forty-one years old. I’ll have to wait a year before I’m able to have another transfer.

We’re going two for two with Dr. Telfano. There’s no reason we couldn’t go for three in another year. Rylan put his hand on her thigh. This is her baby you’re carrying.

She looked at her husband. I need some more time to think about this.

Rylan glanced at me. They seem like nice people. Mistakes happen.

Juliana looked doubtful. My sister’s a neonatal nurse. She says errors like this don’t happen anymore because now the labs assign a barcode to everything. If the barcode on your file doesn’t match the egg or sperm in the lab, they’d know about it before any mistake happened.

We do take those precautions, Vincent glanced at Casia, who gave a small nod of acknowledgement. I noticed there were dark circles beneath her wide blue eyes.

We use barcodes at the Implement Company where I work, Clint said. It keeps track of the inventory and prevents a wrong part from being sold. He paused. The information is initially entered into the computer by a person.

You’ve seen mistakes happen with that system? Vincent asked hopefully.

Well, no, I haven’t, Clint said. All I’m saying is a person enters the information and people do make mistakes.

Juliana put a hand on her stomach. So, whoever made the mistake in the lab gets to chalk it up to human error and go on with their life?

Oh, no, Casia shook her head vehemently. We’ve identified the person. That individual has been terminated.

Vincent glanced over at his assistant. Please pass out the paperwork so everyone can review it. Casia handed each of us one of the folders she was holding, observing our faces as she did so.

Once we had our paperwork, Vincent continued. This guarantees that the Bossart-Telfano Medical Group would cover any expenses associated with the baby that Juliana is carrying and cover any future fertility treatment that either of you opted to use provided that the treatment was ordered through our HMO.

I will continue to see Dr. Rupert, I said stiffly, finding the thought of Vincent as the doctor overseeing my fertility treatment unsettling.

Rylan flipped through the pages in seconds. I looked down at my own folder which was immensely thicker. Clint was looking at it, too.