The Third Twin

By Kelvin L. Reed

David King and Jonathan King share a closeness because they're fraternal twins—or so they believe. Timothy Hunter is just like David. They have so much in common because Timothy is actually David’s identical twin brother. An unfortunate mistake twenty-five years earlier is finally corrected by a chance encounter between David, Jonathan and Timothy. But unknown to David, one of the brothers believes David has one twin too many. Twins don’t come in threes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelvin L. Reed
• Release date: Nov 22, 2023
• ISBN: 9780966763140

Kelvin L. Reed

Kelvin L. Reed grew up in Milwaukee, Wisconsin along with his five brothers. He attended college in his home state, eventually earning a Ph.D. in counseling psychology from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Kelvin has spent virtually his entire adult life working in the field of education. Currently, he is a public school counselor. He and his wife reside in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Book preview

FIVE: SIMILARITIES

SIX: ALONE

SEVEN: ORIGINS

EIGHT: A PLAN

NINE: THE RESULTS ARE IN

TEN: WAITING

ELEVEN: REVELATION

TWELVE: RESENTMENT

THIRTEEN: REUNION

FOURTEEN: LEGAL ACTION

FIFTEEN: CONFIDENCE

SIXTEEN: FAMILY GATHERING

SEVENTEEN: MAKING ACQUAINTANCE

EIGHTEEN: OUT AND ABOUT

NINETEEN: NO AVENUE FOR REDRESS

TWENTY: BREAKING STORY

TWENTY-ONE: NO COMMENT

TWENTY-TWO: PLAN TWO

TWENTY-THREE: HOME VISIT

TWENTY-FOUR: ON THE TOWN

TWENTY-FIVE: NEWS

TWENTY-SIX: SECRETS AND PLANS

TWENTY-SEVEN: RE-ACQUAINTED

TWENTY-EIGHT: OPPORTUNITY

TWENTY-NINE: ALONE TOGETHER

THIRTY: AGENDA ITEMS

THIRTY-ONE: STAY TUNED

THIRTY-TWO: ON THE AIR

THIRTY-THREE: VISITORS

THIRTY-FOUR: DILEMMA

THIRTY-FIVE: STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

THIRTY-SIX: RESCUER

THIRTY-SEVEN: HOME

THIRTY-EIGHT: ADVISOR

THIRTY-NINE: SEND A MESSAGE

FORTY: WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

FORTY-ONE: HERE I COME

FORTY-TWO: AN IDEA

FORTY-THREE: MEANS TO AN END

FORTY-FOUR: RELAPSE

FORTY-FIVE: A MESSAGE

FORTY-SIX: ADMISSION

FORTY-SEVEN: A PROPOSITION

FORTY-EIGHT: THIS LITTLE PLACE

FORTY-NINE: DATES

FIFTY: AWAKE

FIFTY-ONE: THE STORY

FIFTY-TWO: COMPARING NOTES

FIFTY-THREE: SUSPICION

FIFTY-FOUR: PREY

FIFTY-FIVE: GUARDIAN ANGEL

FIFTY-SIX: NEWS

FIFTY-SEVEN: STAY OR GO

FIFTY-EIGHT: ONLY ONE JUNE WEDDING

FIFTY-NINE: HONORED GUEST

SIXTY: FAMILY

Author Note

Acknowledgments

Another Smashwords Book By This Author

ONE: RECOGNITION

David King didn’t recognize the woman approaching his table, but she seemed to recognize him. He noticed the startled expression on her face when they had made eye contact, an expression which had transformed into a scowl. As she closed the distance between them he believed nothing good was about to happen.

She stopped at the edge of his table, placed her arms akimbo and glowered at David. She paused for only a moment to glance at his fiancée, Yvette, sitting with him; David was clearly the focus of her attention. So how is your cold? the woman asked, her accented voice evincing sarcasm.

Confused by the inquiry, David turned to Yvette, as if she could answer the question. She couldn’t, so he stood to his five-feet, eleven-inch height, remembering the advice his father had given him about proper manners when a lady approached. He ran his fingers down his loosened silk tie as he replied. I’m-I’m sorry, Miss, he stammered. Can I help you? I mean, have we met? He inspected the woman visually, trying to determine if he had ever encountered her in his twenty-four years of life. Standing under one of forty pendant lights in the moderately lit bar, she wore a purple sleeveless dress that hugged her petite frame. She had skillfully swept her long, dark hair over to one side of her pretty, diamond-shaped face. I’m afraid you have the advantage, he added.

David, who is this woman? Yvette asked.

I’m trying to find that out, honey, David answered.

The woman sighed and rolled her eyes, topped by lids shaded with purple eyeshadow. What do you mean, ‘Have we met?’ She raised her long arms and dropped them. Is that the way you talk to your fiancée?

David turned his head left and right, noticing the attention the scene garnered. A crowd of about two-dozen well-dressed patrons inched closer, like a menagerie of beasts approaching a watering hole. They wanted to witness the early October, Friday evening encounter: a public skirmish between an attractive Asian woman and an attractive African-American couple at an upscale casino bar in Las Vegas. The spectators included five ladies directly behind the woman. David assumed they were her friends.

He turned his attention to Yvette. Surely, the stranger introducing herself as his fiancée would spark her curiosity, if not her outrage, given her jealous streak. He directed his response to the stranger. "Miss, I don’t know who you are but my fiancée is sitting right here." He pointed at a clenched-jaw Yvette.

Yvette stood, revealing a stylish pantsuit with a single button blazer, an outfit that covered an exquisite hourglass figure. She clutched her purse in her left hand and her date’s arm in her right, as if to take possession of him. "David, I want to know who is this woman and why is she saying she’s your fiancée?" She cranked her neck and pursed her full lips, waiting for an answer.

I don’t know, honey, David said. He could smell the alcohol on her breath from her single drink, a Long Island Iced Tea. I guess she thinks I’m someone else. It happens, you know.

Is that so? the woman in the purple dress replied. She reached into her purse, causing a few patrons to back up, apparently fearing violence. They reclaimed their spots when she produced her cell phone and took a step toward Yvette. A few whipped out their own telephones and began video recording the show. This is Timothy and me a week ago at the Smith Center, the woman said. She held up the phone.

David tilted his head to get a better look. To his surprise, there he was, posing with his arm around the woman; each wore a dark suit, a hat and a beaming smile. What the hell?

Yvette let go of his arm and gave him a forceful shove. You bastard! You said you enjoyed the play but you liked it so much you saw it twice? Once with me and, she pointed, once with her?

David opened his mouth but said nothing.

Answer me!

Wait, wait, wait, wait! he replied, pointing at the phone. That’s not me.

"Usotsuki!" the woman exclaimed.

David shrugged. What does that mean?

A short woman standing a few feet from the trio answered in an accented voice, She just called you a liar. It means liar in Japanese.

He knows what it means, the angry woman said, making a quarter left turn to address the translator. He speaks Japanese almost as good as I do. She dropped the phone back into her purse and faced David.

David clasped his face with his hands. Since when? He touched Yvette’s arm. Look, sweetie, obviously this woman has me confused with someone else. I mean, have you ever heard me speak a word of Japanese?

Don’t touch me! Yvette growled. Pictures don’t lie. What do you call yourself when you’re with her? Timothy? Her eyes welled with tears. After all I’ve been through, I thought you were different but apparently I was wrong. She ambled closer to the other woman. Men, she grumbled. They’re dirty dogs.

The woman nodded in agreement.

David appealed to the female stranger. Why are you doing this?

The woman shook her long index finger. "Saitei! Fuzakeruna!" she hissed.

David widened his eyes and opened his hands. What? I don’t speak Japanese so I have no idea what you just said.

The female translator in the crowd answered again. She said you’re the lowest and to stop being stupid.

A man in the crowd called out, You sho’ ‘nuff busted, bro. But I gotta compliment you on your taste in women. Both them cutie pies are fine.

Another man, who stood next to the first, chimed in. That’s what you get for being greedy—although I don’t blame you. The gaggle of patrons snickered.

David reached for Yvette. I’m telling you, baby, I’ve never seen this woman before in my life. I swear.

"Usotsuki! Usotsuki!" the woman retorted, her face distorted with indignation.

She just called you a liar again.

Thank you, David replied to the woman in the crowd. I got it.

A stocky woman with long, dark hair tied in a ponytail stepped between David and Yvette. She wore a white tuxedo shirt, black pants and a black bow tie. I’m the night manager. What’s going on here? She spoke with authority and a trace Spanish accent.

Romeo’s been shtupping two Juliets! a third man in the crowd answered. The crowd burst into laughter.

Nothing’s going on, David answered quietly. I seem to be the victim of mistaken identity. We came here for an after-dinner drink. I was sitting here with my fiancée and this woman… He pointed at the woman standing next to Yvette. ..started a scene. I don’t even know her. I’ve never seen her before in my life.

The night manager examined all three. Well, this is a respectable establishment. We don’t want trouble, so I think it would be best if all three of you leave.

Feeling defeated and humiliated, David lowered his head and stared at the hardwood floor. He gestured for Yvette to join him. Come on, honey. I’ll take you home.

Go to hell! Yvette snarled. I’ll call a cab.

The man who had spoken the first time called out, I’ll drive you home, baby! The crowd giggled like a group of high school cheerleaders.

David took a step closer to Yvette. Please let me do that much. What would my dad say if I told him I let you go home in a cab?

Yvette gritted her teeth. Okay, but if you say one word to me in the car I swear at the first red light I’ll get out and walk.

David nodded and mumbled a one-word reply. Okay. He watched Yvette turn and amble toward the front door, not waiting for him. He reached into his pocket, retrieved a few bills and dropped them onto the table. We’re leaving, Miss Night Manager. You won’t get any trouble from us, but I can’t speak for the other woman. She— He looked around.

She was gone.

TWO: SURPRISE

Timothy Hunter sat on top of the queen-sized bed in his second-floor Las Vegas hotel room and wiped his nose with a tissue. The caplets he had swallowed an hour earlier had eased his congestion and allowed him to breathe better. With a pair of high-end headphones covering his ears, he studied a musical production for the second time on his tablet, pausing occasionally to scribble notes on a pad. He and his fiancée, Kiko, had participated in the performance three days before; he on the cello and she on the violin. Their treasured instruments—the sources of their livelihood—lay propped against the wall in a corner of the room, which bore the smell of Chinese food liberally seasoned with ginger and garlic.

Timothy and Kiko had been among thirty, mostly Los Angeles musicians hired to record the score for a movie that had been filmed in Las Vegas. The composer-conductor had requested that the betrothed pair, who resided in LA, join him in Las Vegas because he had worked with them in the past. The maestro had also assigned Timothy the task of critiquing one movement and reporting back to him as an academic exercise.

Timothy replayed a section and nodded. Good, very good, he declared. The tempo is just right. He made another notation on his pad.

He studied the images on his tablet and admired the poise and confidence of the conductor, a middle-aged man who had built his career by taking chances and traveling wherever work existed. The former music professor still found time to mentor younger talent, sometimes by giving them small assignments to test their insight and judgment. Timothy repeated aloud the pledge he had made. You will have it this Saturday.

At twenty-four and only a year out of graduate school with his master’s degree in music, Timothy felt grateful to be working so steadily already. He wanted to show his parents he could make it on his own without their financial help. They had done enough by paying for his education, even though they could certainly afford it. They had always been such wonderful, generous parents. Although adopted, he had never been treated like anything other than their only son—their only child. I’ll make you both proud, he declared.

He took a deep breath and tapped the screen of his tablet to close the video. He removed the headphones and pondered whether he should peel off his jeans and T-shirt and crawl under the covers. He missed sleeping in his own bed but frequent travel, often on short notice, was the life of a session musician. Fortunately, he and Kiko had worked together on this most-recent project, not an infrequent occurrence.

He had looked forward to getting out of Los Angeles for a while, with its depressing daily news reports of murders and mayhem. Their first night in Las Vegas two weeks earlier had been memorable; the modest hotel room, paid for by the film company, had brought out the passionate lover in both of them. He had anticipated working during the day and making love with Kiko every night but long work days and now a dripping nose had put the mockers on that. Nevertheless, this temporary setback would pass and in eight months they would be married next June in Japan. Timothy chuckled. "A Black man exchanging seiyaku in Japan with the daughter of a wealthy Japanese businessman, he whispered. Not exactly the son-in-law Daddy had envisioned for his youngest daughter."

Timothy yawned and checked his cell phone to make sure it was on in case Kiko called. She had wanted to stay at the hotel and pamper him but he had insisted she accept the invitation by a few female members of the orchestra for a little Friday night, girls-night-out fun, which included dinner and drinks.

After consuming the cold caplets, a tall glass of orange juice and a meal that included a bowl of hot and sour soup he was already feeling better. He hoped to still attend that public school music fundraiser tomorrow afternoon. After a good-night sleep, he would wake up in the morning feeling like a new man. He and Kiko had ridden together in her SUV so she would drive them back to LA on Sunday while he slept. Perhaps tomorrow night he would be ready to engage in a passionate exchange of bodily fluids with the always-willing Kiko.

He removed the headphones and grabbed the television remote laying next to his tablet. Time to check out one of the sports channels on TV and see how the October Major League Baseball playoffs were shaping up.

He heard the sound of a click at the door and dropped the remote. Surprised, he sat up straighter and checked the watch Kiko had given him for his most-recent birthday. It was only a little after nine o’clock. Kiko had told him to expect her return around midnight. It had to be her, he surmised, but why had she returned so soon? He could feel his heartbeat accelerate out of concern. He watched the door being flung open and slammed shut, and responded by rolling out of bed on the side away from the door. Kiko entered. She had looked so radiant in the purple dress she had purchased a few months earlier. Now she looked terrible and obviously had been crying.

Kiko-chan! he said, darting toward her but stopping a foot away. What happened? Are you all right? Did someone hurt you? His heart pounded fiercely with apprehension.

Kiko stood erect and stared at him with eyes on a face darkened by obvious distress and running mascara, then she rotated her head slowly, inspecting the room.

If Timothy didn’t know better he would swear she appeared surprised to see him. He reached for her. She didn’t accept his overture but because she didn’t recoil either he placed his hands on her arms gently. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Kiko shook her head slowly. You... Her voice trailed off.

Timothy pointed at himself. Me? What about me?

You are here, she declared, barely above a whisper.

Timothy shrugged. Of course I’m here. Where would I go? You have the car.

Kiko continued shaking her head, almost as if in a trance. Not possible you could have got here so fast and changed your clothes.

THREE: CHANCE ENCOUNTER

Jonathan King stepped to his right, avoiding a collision with four teenage girls walking with their heads down while staring at their cell phones. He strolled alongside his fraternal twin brother. They both wore dress shirts, dress pants and ties but no one would assume they were twins by their appearance. Broad-shouldered Jonathan, with his head-turning, movie-star good looks, carried thirty more pounds of muscle due to a vigorous near-daily workout. At six-feet, three inches, he also stood four inches taller than David, who entered the world twelve minutes after him, according to their birth certificates. Jonathan also wore a closely cropped beard while David was cleanly shaven.

Hey handsome, one of the girls sang to Jonathan as he passed them. The other girls giggled.

Jonathan scoffed. Dumb brat doesn’t know she’s playing with fire, he thought. He grimaced and turned to David. Tell me again, why are we here? He spoke loud enough to be heard over the voices of the crowd. Jonathan and the crowd competed with the classical music played by ten high school students. The mostly twelfth graders huddled at the slightly elevated stage adjacent to the east wall in the cafeteria. Every thirty minutes a group of students from a different local high school would take to the stage and play a few songs.

Why? David replied. Because Mom asked us to come?

Oh yeah, Jonathan said. And why did I agree to go to some public school music fundraiser on a Saturday afternoon when I could be home watching college football?

David grinned. Because you only have one mother, he said, and this is important to her, and you won’t get cut out of her will, making me sole-inheritor.

Jonathan chuckled and added a nod. Oh yeah, that’s right. He and David laughed and shoved each other playfully.

Jonathan inspected the bright interior of the Las Vegas Performing Arts Academy cafeteria and the hundreds of people milling about on a late Saturday afternoon like ants. Everyone negotiated around circular dining tables and unattached chairs scattered throughout the area. Hundreds more congregated outside, enjoying the generous sun and warm air. Photographers and star-struck students snapped photos of celebrities—the former with their cameras and the latter with their phones. Television news crews filmed interviews.

Jonathan winced. He didn’t like crowded events, but his only sibling, David, a high school music teacher himself, didn’t seem bothered by the meandering strangers. Jonathan enjoyed the company of machines, especially computers. People were too needy. Where’s Mom?

David pointed. Over there. Just to the left of the stage. She’s talking to the mayor and…I believe the woman in the gray suit is the lieutenant governor.

Jonathan scowled. To hell with politicians. You never see them except in October when they’re running for re-election. He gestured with his head. Look at Ruby behind Mom. She looks nervous. He observed the six-foot-tall, handsome, twenty-seven-year-old, statuesque woman stationed a few feet behind his mother holding a tablet and stylus. Mom, aka Natalie King, was decked out in a red peplum bodycon dress with a ruffled waist that showed off her top-heavy, inverted-pyramid shape. Males of all ages who strolled past her slowed down to stare at the beautiful former actress.

David nodded. Ruby’s always like that when Mom’s out in public. That’s the nature of being a personal assistant and bodyguard.

Jonathan smiled. Mom looks happy. I don’t go for all this fuss, but I’m really proud of her. In spite of how busy she is at work, she helped raise a lot of money so public school kids could have musical instruments—at least at school anyway.

David nodded again. She and Dad may not have been the most ‘hands-on’ parents, but their hearts have always been in the right place.

Jonathan felt the familiar twinge of resentment. His parents, former successful entertainers who now ran a hugely successful talent agency in Las Vegas, had been generous with their twin boys financially but less so with their attention. Jonathan appreciated the advantages of his upbringing—the beautiful homes, the private schools, the domestic workers, the automobiles—but he had always wished his parents had given more of their time to their only children. He brushed the feeling aside. Too bad Dad couldn’t make it.

He’s in LA for that special deposition; you know, his lawsuit.

I know, Jonathan muttered. Thieving White folks should’ve known better than to rip off one of Louis King’s songs without paying. Dad ain’t scared to take a mofo to court. Further declarations were interrupted by the conversation of three high school boys nearby. They spoke while staring at Natalie King.

Damn, that woman’s fine, the tallest of the three declared. He spoke with a Spanish accent. I’m a Tex-Mex, but I wouldn’t mind drinking me some of that chocolate milk.

Fuck yeah, a plump boy with a goatee agreed. Last week I saw a movie that came out twelve years ago when I was about five years old. She wore this tight-ass string bikini and—

Ooh, ooh, ooh! I saw it, the third boy exclaimed, the shortest of the group. He whistled and wiggled his fingers. Man, what I wouldn’t do to get my hands on those big-ass tits.

Their laughter prompted Jonathan to grit his teeth and take two steps toward them.

David grabbed him by the arm and marched in the opposite direction. Come on, twin brother. They’re just stupid kids. Let’s go outside and get some air.

Jonathan allowed David to drag him outside. Once they were twenty-feet clear of the building he jerked his arm away. Alright, Alright, he snapped. I’m okay.

David sighed. We’ve heard remarks like that for our entire lives. Shoot, you talk that way all the time about women. Why do you let it get to you?

Jonathan frowned. I don’t know. I guess because it’s Mom.

David put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Jonathan, you’re getting too old for me to pull you out of scraps. Remember how many times you nearly got kicked out of Shady Oaks Academy? If it wasn’t for Mom—

I wasn’t going to touch those punks, Jonathan protested. I was just going to tell them the woman they were talking about is forty-five years old—old enough to be their mother—and deserves more respect.

But she looks ten years younger, David said. Let it go. It’s the penalty for having a beautiful mother—thanks to good genes, a personal trainer and top-notch plastic surgeons.

And what about those letters? Jonathan asked. And that stalker?

David shrugged. She doesn’t get that many letters from crazies anymore. And as far as that stalker, that’s what Ruby takes care of.

Jonathan looked around. The school’s well-populated, outdoor quad area, surrounded by buildings on four sides, was littered with several tables and benches, and a few small Utah juniper trees. He sat on one of the benches just vacated by a group of students. So what are you going to do about Yvette?

David sat next to him, sighed and lowered his head. I don’t know. She didn’t say one word to me when I took her home last night and she won’t answer my calls or texts.

Jonathan rubbed his hands over the short whiskers that covered his milk-chocolate-shaded face. You never saw that woman before? The one who bum-rushed you last night?

Never.

Jonathan poked David in the ribs. Come on. You told me she was pretty. You can tell me. You’ve been getting a little sushi on the side, haven’t you?

David shook his head forcefully. No. I told you that already.

Jonathan held up his hands. Okay, bro. I believe you. Don’t get all upset.

Then stop saying things like that, David remonstrated. I don’t understand why you don’t like Yvette.

Jonathan opened his mouth to lie but changed his mind. After a few seconds passed he shrugged. It’s just that she’s too damn high-maintenance. Too many issues.

With all she’s been through? David asked. "Can you blame her? I mean, the woman lost her parents and her left leg below the knee in a car accident when she was only