Family Secrets

By Dana Marie Booker

When privileged siblings, Jessica and Jason Lord are disinherited from their billionaire father's will, in a split-second decision they commit murder to keep a stepchild from becoming heir. Fortunately for the Lords, their murderous scheme remains a family secret until attorney Marie Perry is hired by the wife of the slain attorney.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors' Tranquility Press
• Release date: Jun 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957546834

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Taking his secret to the grave

At the crown of the hill, a gigantic wrought-iron gate stood before him.

Not only was it uninviting, but downright intimidating. A welded sign with raised letters read, Lord Manor Estates. He sat a moment, wondered what the mogul wanted with him. Why the urgent call? He’d only had a brief interview, and even then, he made it clear he wasn’t interested in Tom. Now, he was being summoned as if he were an attorney in Mr. Lord’s prestigious law firm.

The sunlight had nearly faded. Its orange hues were cast against the night. Glowing lights began to flicker on, covering the hillside like a sea of stars. The brilliant view forced him to stop and acknowledge the greatest architect of them all, God.

While Tom gazed in the distance, a beam of light suddenly bounced off his face. He used his hand to shield the blinding glare. The flashlight signaled him to pull forward to the guard shack. An officer walked closer flashing light on Tom’s car. He scoped the body of the vehicle, finally resting on his briefcase before a brief interrogation.

What you doing ‘round here? The uniformed guard asked, as if Tom had no business being on the Hill.

Good evening, Officer Larry, Tom said after eyeing his badge. I’m Thomas Miner; here to see Mr. Lord, he’s expecting me. He was cordial, kept his head forward, hoping to ward off a potential problem.

Check it out, Officer Larry whispered to his partner seated at the control panel. Got any ID? Larry wanted to know.

Tom fumbled in his back pocket but was relieved when Larry’s partner called back, He checks out.

Larry gave Tom a hard stare, then the go ahead with a jerk of his head.

Tom didn’t expect him to bid him a nice evening, as he was sure Larry did with other guests of Lord Manor.

The massive gates with huge fancy cursive initials, L M opened on either side, exposing the stately mansion. Marvin Gaye was on the radio asking, What’s going on? Tom answered back, I don’t know Marvin, but I’m about to find out.

Inside, Tom drove past rows of assorted flowers in a garden on his right. On his left, he noticed several horses gated by a white wooden fence, where a man led them into a stable. Probably thoroughbreds, he thought. Tom knew the Lords had money but had no idea how deep their pockets were lined until he saw the mansion sitting on acres of rolling green. As he approached the circular drive, Tom stopped for a moment and closed his eyes. He imagined it was all his. One day, he told himself.

Two gigantic twin lion statutes stood out, although they were made of stone, they seemed to be staring right at him. He parked alongside the curb in front of the mansion and checked himself in the rear-view mirror. He had to shift it though, at six-three, it was necessary to make all sorts of adjustments. He didn’t bother to check his hair; he kept a close cut, too tall to wear a big Afro, the latest style made him look like a totem pole. Tom checked his teeth for food particles and used his pinkie finger as a toothpick, though Audrey would have preferred dental floss. He was often told his straight white teeth were a nice set; they complimented his deep dimples and smooth brown skin.

Tom grabbed his briefcase and closed the door lightly, so a slam wouldn’t bring attention to his Chevy Impala. Not that it was a wreck, in fact it was a classic in mint condition, it just didn’t fit in with the Limo and Jaguar he parked behind or the silver Corvette in front of them. He stepped out of his car, inspected his suit, checked his shoes and straightened his tie; it was time to go in.

His heart began to beat a tad-bit faster as he made his way up the stony steps. He took a deep breath and admired the manicured lawn while he waited for someone to respond to the doorbell.

May I help you? A tall, thin elderly man asked. He wore a dark suit and no smile.

Yes, I’m Thomas Miner, here to see Mr. William Lord. The butler took a few steps back and bent slightly forward, it was Tom’s signal to enter.

I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name, Tom said.

You’re asking who I am? The man looked puzzled, then stated, Jakes.

This is nice Jakes, Tom admired, entering the foyer. He stepped onto a shiny black and white checkered marble floor. To his right, heavy pieces of cherry wood furniture sat on a huge area rug. Without an invitation, Tom moved into the living room. The wood finishes were shiny enough for him get a glimpse of himself. The wall art had lamp covers attached at the top of the frames that shined golden dimmed light on original paintings.

This way, Jakes insisted, his voice hurried. Tom followed him up a solid wood staircase lined with carpet. At the end of the hall, Jakes knocked lightly on a bedroom door then gestured for Tom to go in.

That you, Jakes? A strained voice called out.

Yes, Sir, you have a visitor. Mr. Lord turned to look at Tom.

Hello, Mr. Lord, Tom moved toward the old man in bed. He hadn’t realized Mr. Lord was ill over the phone. He hesitated then asked, How are you feeling this evening, Sir?

Good as can be expected for a dying man. Mr. Lord adjusted himself, so he could sit up a bit. His weight had dropped considerably since Tom last saw him. Lying in the massive bed, he reminded Tom of a newly hatched chick, weak and frail, clinging to life. His master bedroom was a miniature version of the living room, except for the grand piano and plush green carpet, deep enough to hide bare feet and the breathing apparatus normally found in intensive care units.

Come close to me, Tom, Mr. Lord asked.

Tom moved a maroon winged back chair beside Mr. Lord and sat down. Then Tom lowered his head near the dying man to hear him clearly.

I know you’re wondering why I asked you here, he paused. I want to change my will, he whispered, a cough followed.

Are you sure, Sir?

Death makes a man think about his life, how he’s treated people and the mistakes he’s made, Mr. Lord paused for a few deep breaths. I wasn’t the best husband, father, employer or friend. I know I can’t change any of the things I’ve done, but I’d like to have a chance to do something right, before I die, his strained voice conveyed.

Mr. Lord, would you like to write your requests instead of talking? It might make it easier for you, Tom suggested.

Mr. Lord shook his head, no, and then continued to explain. As it stands, my children, Jessica and Jason Lord, my houseman, Jakes, Emma the housekeeper and my estranged wife are the beneficiaries of my estate, the bulk of it going to my children, he raised the plastic breathing device and put to his nose, air that wasn’t his own. Then he handed Tom a slip of paper. It’s the combination to the safe on the wall over there, behind the Picasso. Open it. You’ll find a copy of my will, he whispered.

Tom moved to the multicolored artwork that displayed the distorted face of a woman. He played with the combination for a minute.

You see it, Son?

Yes, Sir, he said taking notice of the neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills, velvet covered jewelry boxes and what looked like an insurance policy.

Years ago, I did a foolish thing, it cost me my wife and the respect of my children, he said.

Tom closed the safe and walked back toward the bed with the will. What did you do?

I slept with another woman, he whispered. His eyes shifted to a black and white photo of him and Mrs. Lord on the nightstand. She never forgave me.

Sir? Tom hesitated. This sounds personal, why did you ask me here instead of someone from your firm?

I don’t want any of them knowing my business! The word would be all over the office, hell, all over town before they could bury me, he said, coughing out the last few words. Besides, the news might get back to my family before the reading of the will. Mr. Lord took another whiff from the inhaler.

The other reason I hired you, is I wanted to make up for the way I treated you back at my office. Bring me that red tin box over there on the bureau. Mr. Lord pointed with a shaky hand.

Tom looked around until he spotted it, then he picked it up and carried it to his client.

This box contains fine chocolates from Switzerland. Take it home to your wife, tell her I’m sorry for dragging you out so late, he began to cough violently again.

Thank you, Sir, it’s very considerate of you, Tom said. Sensing that Mr. Lord’s time was near, Tom asked if he wanted him to call his family.

Mr. Lord shook his head, no.

All right then, what changes would you like to make? Tom pulled out a legal pad and began to take notes with his gold Cross pen, a gift from his parents when he graduated from law school.

I’ll leave the portions I’ve allotted to Jakes, Emma and my wife the same, but those spoiled brats of mine… he waited to catch his breath. I’m cutting them out completely. They may not believe this, but I do love them. That’s why I’ve decided to give them a chance to make it without any more handouts, he paused. They both have law degrees, they can earn a living, Mr. Lord took several deep breaths then moved his head on the pillow to make himself more comfortable.

Tom looked over the paperwork. He was shocked to know of his client’s plans to leave his children penniless. While securing Mr. Lords requests on paper, he thought of how he’d tell them. Well, it’s like this, your father wants you to make it on your own…no, that won’t work, your father was only thinking of you when he left you destitute…no, no, your father feels it’s high time you started pulling your own weight. Nothing sounded right.

He was sure that once they received the devastating news, the first thing they would do is contest the will. But, like the previous will, Tom was setting up a Bypass Trust, which passes assets directly to the people of his choice after he’s gone; a Trust as final as the man’s passing. The mere fact that he would be the one to inform them assured him things would get crazy. Mr. Lord had placed him in a precarious situation.

Who do you want your estate divided among? Or should their portions go to charity? Tom questioned.

Besides your attorney’s fees, there’s someone else more deserving. He paused. A child, the one born out of my lust, Mr. Lord coughed violently.

Tom patted his back then poured him a glass of water.

Can you go on, Sir?

Mr. Lord nodded and took a sip of the water. Where should I sign? he asked.

We’re not quite there yet, Sir, just as soon as I make the changes, you’ll be able to sign, Tom said.

Make sure you give her their share; I want to die in peace.

What about your soul? Will it have a peaceful eternity? Tom asked.

I don’t deserve heaven if that’s what you mean, he coughed.

But Sir, you have an advantage that a lot of people don’t get. You have the chance to repent, to accept…

Mr. Lord raised his weary hand, Tom, please, he coughed. Spare me the rhetoric. Just get the Will finished so I can take my final rest.

Tom respected Mr. Lord’s wish and continued filling in the blanks of the new Trust. Mr. Lord moaned a few times and again refused to let Tom call someone.

Sir, I need the name of the new beneficiary? There was no answer. Tom repeated himself a little louder. Mr. Lord, the child’s name? I need to put it in the Trust. He realized the old man was slipping away. Tom said a silent prayer on his behalf. His feeble neck barely supported the weight of his head. The physical position in which Mr. Lord lay, told of his exhaustion with life.

As he stared down at William Franklin Lord III, he gave him credit for trying to rectify his past, for not taking his secret to the grave; but he shuddered at the thought of him leaving this earth without eternal life in heaven.

Without notice, Mr. Lord rose and motioned for Tom’s pen. He scribbled his signature on the bottom line and laid back. His last words… Elizabeth Ann Lord.

*

From the top of the stairs, he noticed them waiting in the foyer. They looked anxious, waiting for the door of their father’s room to crack. They looked up at Tom as he headed down the stairs; the red tin box clutched to his chest, his black leather briefcase in his other hand.

Their eyes were big question marks; Tom knew this wouldn’t be easy. He slowed his pace as to not appear hurried, knowing he had in his possession a legal document that would rape the Lord children of their expected riches. He trembled with fear. His eye stung from the sweat that dripped from his face. His lip tasted salty, an indication of his stress. Tom was sure the would-be heirs were concerned about their wealthy father requesting an attorney in his final hours, to them; it could only mean one thing, a change in the will.

Where are you going in such a hurry? The pretty blonde woman inquired. She stood in his path with her arms folded, one foot placed at the bottom of the stairs. She allowed the slit in her robe to hang open, exposing her shapely leg. He knew it had to be Jessica Lord, miss sophisticated, beautiful and rich.

Your father passed only moments ago. I’m sorry. Tom bowed.

Daddy’s dead? She asked, as if he was speaking of the family pet.

He waited for a spill of bereavement, but there was none. Her brother stood nearby, but he was quiet.

Do you have a family attorney? Tom inquired. His eyes roamed between the two of them.

Of course. Why? Jessica asked.

You might want to consult him regarding your father’s last wishes. Tom paused. Well, if you will excuse me, it’s late. He politely moved toward the stained-glass double doors.

Why did he call you? She demanded to know.

I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to discuss it, he said trying to make his way past her.

She stepped in front of him, So, you admit it was legal business?

Well, I am an attorney. His tone implied her question was unintelligent, which she did not appreciate.

Her younger brother, Jason chimed in. What did he say? Did he talk about his will? He showed a strong facial resemblance to her: a real pretty boy, blond hair, blue eyes and a muscular build.

Tom said nothing.

We don’t appreciate being ignored, Jessica told him.

Sounding very dignified, Tom answered, And I don’t appreciate being ambushed. He instantly regretted being flippant with her. He could tell it wasn’t often she encountered a well-groomed, educated black man who spoke the English language better than she did. Look, there’s really nothing I can tell you. I’ll leave instructions with your attorney first thing in the morning.

Even though Tom’s tone was apologetic, Jessica’s anger had already begun to fester. She stood firm; her olive complexion grew red. You’ll tell us what we want to know right now, nigger.

Silence filled the hall, her words hung in the air. Her eyes threatened, begged him to strike her, but Tom couldn’t justify putting aside his Christian beliefs and risking his career because she had been disrespectful.

It was the early seventies, humiliating people of color was fading, but not dead. It lent power to the backward thinkers. To stand proud against her meant risking his life. To be silent would set his people back 100 years. He was going to be bigger than she. Before his intentions were clear, Jason walked up on him, his words threatened, It’s real simple, all you have to do is tell us what we want to know, boy.

In a matter of seconds, the new suit that was filled by a confident attorney became dampened with the perspiration of a nervous black man. Not because Tom was afraid, he was sure Jason was no match against his height and street knowledge, but because he wanted to represent the Lord and words like nigger and boy made that very difficult. Tom recited the Psalm about fearing no evil and kept his composure. It’s like I told her… he tried to explain.

Her, has a name, Jason was quick to say.

Forgive me, Miss Lord, but I simply cannot discuss the matter with either of you. Tom swiftly moved past Jessica and reached for the doorknob that led to his escape.

Jason covered Tom’s hand with his. You think we’re going to let you walk out of here, just like that?

Their eyes met. Jason wanted a fight and wasn’t willing to back down. He pushed Tom backwards, causing him to stumble and drop his things. All Tom had wanted was to reason with him; instead, he was forced to engage in a battle that had been going on for over 400 years.

Jason, stop it! Jessica shrieked. But it was on.

Minutes later, with great effort, she managed to pull the men apart. She rose with tousled hair and her robe hung sloppily off her shoulder. She caught her breath and gazed at the raging bulls. I apologize for my brother’s behavior; all we want to know is what my father wanted with you? Her voice pleaded.

On his feet, Tom lightly patted his wrinkle-free suit as if putting dignity back into it. Although his white shirt was stained with anxiety, he was glad the fight had ended. He immediately asked for forgiveness, although Tom believed the Lord had expected him to defend himself. Why had it come down to a fistfight? He wondered. The thought of it all angered him; he had to get home.

Tom still had not answered Jessica’s question as he retrieved the red box of chocolates and reached for his briefcase. Suddenly, Jessica scrambled for it, grabbing, like a spoiled child. Ignoring Jason, Tom pushed her aside, causing her to fall against the staircase. He then rushed out through the door, clinging to his belongings, down the steps in a fierce race to his car. Tom prayed the Chevy Impala wouldn’t stall.

Go after him, Jason, Jessica screamed from the floor. And don’t come back empty handed.

Tom sped from the circular driveway, headed straight for the gates. Officer Larry waved his arms, motioning him to stop. He didn’t. Tom zoomed right past him and through the open gates.

He thought of the final hours of Mr. Lord’s life, how his children neglected to be at his bedside. The only concern they seemed to display was Tom’s reason for being there. They weren’t even in the room when Tom arrived. From his perspective, if they were concerned for this man, it had not been out of love, but out of greed.

About half a mile down the hill, he was blinded by high beams. His rear-view mirror completely white; filled with light. Someone was tailing him.

I can get out of this…I just have to keep my eyes on the road…these curves…it’s so dark…how do they see at night?

Tom constantly checked the rear-view mirror. Just down the hill and I’m home free…

The glaring lights grew closer and closer. Boom! Tom jerked forward; he’d been hit. He touched his forehead to find a droplet of blood on his finger. Boom! Err! He felt the impact again; it caused him to sway onto the opposite side of the road. He regained control and looked back in awe, They’re trying to kill me…

Tom glanced at his briefcase on the passenger seat while maneuvering the Chevy. He’d look at the road and then at the briefcase, again, back and forth.

Boom! Err! Err! Boom! The car behind him was now linked to his bumper. He held tightly to the wheel, steering as best he could, but the wheel seemed to have a mind of its own. Lord forgive me for all my sins, and for those who now persecute me, he whispered. The tires screeched like they were in pain, as he was led off the road. Oh God, Nooooo… BANG!!!!

CHAPTER 2

Marry in Secret

"What we got here?"

Looks as though this here fella was speeding down the hill, next thing you know, BANG! Right into that tree, the deputy explained with hand motions.

"Why would he be speeding down a winding road? Unless he was trying to kill himself."

Whatever the case, he’s dead as can be. Look Sheriff, the car is smashed in so far, it kinda looks like it’s inside the tree.

Dang, was anybody else in the car?

No, Sir.

Sheriff Billy Hunt inspected the 1963 Blue Chevy Impala that was once in immaculate condition. In the front seat, sat a young black man slumped over a mangled steering wheel. The impact was so forceful he was barely recognizable. Glass fragments from the busted windshield protruded from his face and neck. Speckles of deep red blemished the dashboard. On the original AM radio, blood dripped from an open wound and soaked the powder blue carpet.

Good God, what a sight, Billy said to the deputy. My guess is either he was blind or was drunker than the legal limit.

As the coroner and the police photographer went to work, Billy checked the car for foul play. He took off his cowboy hat (something he rarely did) and stuck his head through the driver’s window. The gruesome scene reminded him of one of those horror flicks they show at the movie house in town. As an officer of the law, he’d seen a couple of guys lying dead from bullet wounds, but nothing like this.

He strolled to the rear and noticed a broken taillight, coupled with dent marks and fresh scratches that left tiny aluminum shreds on the bumper. The driver seemed to take pride in his car. Billy seriously doubted he drove a mile over 35mph, especially at night and certainly not drunk. Nope, this boy was careful, he said out loud. So, Billy ruled out the drunken theory, somebody wanted him dead.

Billy checked the back seat of the car, but nothing clued him to the culprit. Then on the floor, just under the passenger seat, he saw a red tin box. He put on a rubber glove and grabbed it.

Candy? Imported chocolate from Switzerland, he read. Hmmpp. Billy put the box in a plastic bag he retrieved from his pocket and held it under his arm while he completed his inspection.

Deputy, that taillight and those marks on the back of his car, what do you make of ‘em? Billy asked.

Looks like he was bumped, Sheriff.

Bumped? More like pushed. Well, one thing we know, he was forced off the road that makes this case a homicide.

What makes you think he didn’t have nothin’ to drink?

There’s no trace of liquor on his breath. Besides, he loved his car; it was a classic, no way he would risk having an accident. And, he was coming from Lord Manor, Billy said.

What does that prove? The deputy asked.

When was the last time you heard of one of the Lords having a drink with a colored man. Billy tapped his temple with his index finger reminding his deputy to use his head. Y’all get this mess cleaned up. What’s this boy’s name anyway?

Won’t know his name ‘til they get ‘em out the car, he’s probably sittin’ on his wallet.

Did anybody think to check the glove box for registration?

Yes, Sir, Sheriff Hunt, but there wasn’t nothin’ there, the deputy explained.

Were there any other items in the car besides this here box of chocolates I found?

No, Sir.

Okay, soon as they get his wallet, hold on to it. Don’t give it to nobody but me. You got that, Deputy?

Yes, Sir, Sheriff Hunt. Where you goin’ now?

I’m gonna take a drive up the hill.

*

Billy felt a little nauseated as he drove up the hill. The collision turned his stomach. He was willing to bet the coward who killed Tom never bothered to look. If he had, Billy knew he was going be dealing with one sick mind.

It had been more than ten years since he’d been up there. The last time was back when he and Jessica were in love. It seemed like eons ago. He used to get so excited whenever his father let him tag along to Lord Manor.

Can I go pop, please, he used to beg like a little puppy.

Sure, Son, come on, his father would say.

Reflecting, Billy remembered a time when Miss Franklin got on his father’s case about pushing his and Jessica’s relationship. They’re just kids, Mark. They haven’t even reached puberty, for goodness sakes. Miss Franklin, their next-door neighbor, was like a surrogate mother to him; she’d never married and considered Billy and his dad as family.

It was true that the sheriff encouraged his son to date Jessica, being wealthy was important to him, mainly because he was just scraping by with his own son. For years, his father watched Mr. Lord solve all his problems with his money. It gave him power. A license to say and do whatever he pleased.

Billy once heard an argument between his father and Miss Franklin; she accused him of being under Mr. Lord’s spell. She believed his father thought Mr. Lord was truly happy, and that he could be too, with the right amount of money. She told him, True happiness carries no price tag. The choices we make in life determine our happiness. Even with all the money Mr. Lord has, he should be the happiest man on earth, but he’s not. What you need to be encouraging is those kids going to church. Wouldn’t hurt you none either, she said. Of course, his dad had known she was right as usual, but like many others, church wasn’t somewhere he wanted to be.

It was no secret that Mr. Lord had problems with his wife, his children, and his business, but if he had money, the consensus was that anything could be worked out. Billy would never forget Miss Franklin telling his dad, No man can amass enough money to sell all the problems life has to offer. She continued with, The Bible asks, ‘What profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul?’ Billy’s father just nodded; he wasn’t the confrontational type.

He switched gears, put Jessica in drive. She was his first and only true love. They planned to marry in secret after high school. It didn’t matter to her that Billy’s dad was in a much lower tax bracket. At their age, love was more important than money. I swear that girl was the prettiest thing I ever laid eyes on. Her beautiful smooth face, her blue eyes, and her hair, golden like wind-blown sunshine, he reminisced.

Their plans had come to a screeching halt after Billy’s father was killed. Convinced that Mr. Lord had something to do with it, Billy stopped seeing Jessica. It broke his heart to end their relationship, she was more than a girlfriend; she was his best friend. He knew it wasn’t her fault, but he had to end it out of respect for his father.

Their breakup devastated Jessica. He’d had the worst timing, not long after the disappearance of her mother. Billy had been her confidant, the only one she felt comfortable releasing her deepest emotions to, and then, without warning, he seized his love, support and friendship as if she had no right to keep them. In the years that followed, Jessica became increasingly mistrustful of her father, family and friends, although her relationship with Jason grew close. She acquired a snobbish reputation and only socialized with those of her class or race.

Billy blamed Mr. Lord for Jessica’s behavior. Spoiling her with things instead of giving his time, his love and a good whipping every once in a while, he thought. Maybe if her mother would have stuck around, or me, for that matter, she would have turned out to be a decent person.

The road was familiar although they’d torn down the old barn, he and Jessica used to make out in. He wondered how it would be seeing her father