Death of an Irish Diva (25 page)

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Authors: Mollie Cox Bryan

BOOK: Death of an Irish Diva
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Chapter 66
Vera turned around.
“So, Chelsea, what are you studying?” Vera asked.
“Marketing,” Chelsea answered.
“Are you all in the same major?” Vera asked.
“No,” one of the young women said. “I'm an art major.”
“Art?” DeeAnn said. “Too bad Sheila's not here. She was an art major. So talented. She'd love to meet you girls.”
Just then one of DeeAnn's workers came up and asked her to sign a purchase order.
“I know Sheila,” Chelsea said. “She's the scrapbook lady, right?”
Vera nodded. “Yes, but now she's looking into designing her own line of scrapbooks.”
“Aww, now, that's cool!” Chelsea said.
She was very pregnant, yet she still sounded like she was twelve. Vera found it disturbing. Chelsea could not be more than nineteen. Where were Chelsea's parents these days? She'd not seen them in town recently.
“So, how did you all meet?” Vera said after taking a sip of her coffee.
“Through a mutual friend,” said a young woman who appeared to be the oldest of the group. She was drinking bottled water and had just taken a bite of a scone.
“Would you like some banana bread? It's whole grain. No sugar. Really good for you,” DeeAnn said, rising from her chair and going over to the case.
“Thanks,” said one of the young women. “So kind of you.” She wore her hair in a ponytail. The others had their long hair pulled back, as well.
DeeAnn handed them each a thick golden slice. “No trouble at all,” she said, smiling. “So how did this happen?” DeeAnn gestured to their bellies.
They tittered.
“I mean, I know how it happened. What I want to know is, I mean, you are
all
pregnant. All look about the same size. You understand how curious it seems,” DeeAnn said.
They all just sort of looked at her, quieted.
“Well, I don't know how it happened,” Chelsea said, her face pink. “All I know is I can't wait for it to be over.”
“I hear ya,” another of them said. “I hate being pregnant so much that I'm sure I'll never have sex again.” She laughed.
“How will your boyfriend feel about that?” DeeAnn joked.
“I don't have a boyfriend,” the young woman snipped.
“Oh,” DeeAnn said. “No boyfriend?”
“I loved being pregnant,” Vera said. “It felt like such a miracle to me. Of course, I was much older than you girls. I was single, too.”
They quieted again and looked at her.
“I loved it when the baby kicked me or I could feel her turning, or when she had hiccups . . . . It was such an honor for me. I don't know how else to explain it,” Vera said in a hushed tone.
“Did you keep your baby?” one of them asked.
“Well, yes, of course I did,” Vera replied. “But I'm a grown woman, have a business, and can support a child. If I'd been younger, I don't know what I'd have done.”
But that wasn't quite the truth, Vera knew. She'd had an abortion years ago, way before she was ready to have a child. But she wasn't going to tell these women that.
“Are you all putting your babies up for adoption or just Chelsea?” Vera asked.
“All of us,” Chelsea said. “They are paying us well for our babies. We're students and need the money.”
“Who is paying you?” Vera asked.
She shrugged. “Some adoption agency one of our teachers knows about.”
“Alicorn?” Vera asked.
“No, that's not it,” the oldest one answered. “Our checks didn't come from there.”
“Where did they come from?” DeeAnn asked.
“Look, I don't know why you're so curious about this, ladies,” the young woman said. “It's all perfectly legal. We've signed contracts. We're working with a broker. We don't need to know the name of the agency. We get our money, and they get their baby. Fair and square.”
“Whatever,” Vera said. “It's no big deal to me. It's totally your decision, of course. Very personal.”
The women murmured in agreement.
“I hope you understand, of course, that it's likely not going to be as easy as you think to give up your babies. Just prepare yourself for the hormonal onslaught,” Vera said, waving, trying to make light of it, but hopeful that one of them heard her. “Who is the teacher that is helping you out?”
“Dr. Reilly,” Chelsea said. “He's a business professor.”
Chapter 67
Annie was disappointed to learn that the hypnosis session had been canceled, but she could certainly understand that Vera needed a few days to gather her strength. So she and Bryant had a plan.
They invited John and Leola Reilly and Bill to the hypnosis session. The Greenbergs were also staying in town one more week, so they could participate, but Vera wouldn't be told about it. The doctors planned on taking them to another location and then bringing them in once they started the hypnosis.
Bryant theorized that if that they didn't kill Emily McGlashen, these folks knew more than what they were saying, and could therefore lead them to her killer. He thought if they saw Vera's emotional walk through the crime, each one of them would be more ready to talk. A bevy of plainclothed police officers would observe their behavior.
“There are just way too many strange coincidences. They were all involved in this Alicorn place? C'mon,” he had said to her on the phone earlier that day. “And I don't care how much you want a baby. How many thousands can you spend on it? I can't understand that.”
He could not understand, but Annie could. She and Mike had gotten themselves into a mountain of debt with their IVF treatments to get pregnant. She, so successful at everything she did, could not succeed in having a baby. It felt as if her body had betrayed her. Over and over again.
They had just decided to stop treatments and seek adoption opportunities when she found that she was pregnant. Ordered to complete bed rest for the first six weeks because she had miscarried so many times, she did nothing but read about parenting and babies. Could she allow her hopes to fly, to soar? Would she have the privilege of being a parent?
A knock on her front door interrupted her thoughts.
DeeAnn, Vera, and Sheila walked into the house. Sheila handed her a coffee.
“We have news for you,” she said. “You'll need to sit down for this.”
“Okay,” Annie said, taking a sip of the coffee as she sat down.
“You know that group of women we keep seeing around?” Vera said.
“The pregnant women.” DeeAnn interrupted.
“Oh yeah. The ones at the festival?” Annie said.
“I ran into them today and followed them into DeeAnn's—”
“And they were talking about a professor and—” DeeAnn said.
“One of them was my student. She recognized me and talked to me. Said she was putting her baby up for adoption,” Vera said.
“Well, I know that family very well,” Sheila said. “I know that they could not afford to send her to college. I thought maybe she was on a scholarship. So when DeeAnn and Vera came to me, I called her mother.”
“And her mother has not heard from her in months,” DeeAnn said.
“Because of the pregnancy?” Annie asked.
“Yes, not just that, but she'd gotten mixed up with a professor there. You'll never guess who,” Sheila said.
“Well, since we all know only one professor, I'd guess that it would be Reilly,” Annie said. “But what's the big deal about that? Professors and their students have been messing around for ages. C'mon.”
But wait. He was on her list. And he was a board member at Alicorn.
“But here's the thing,” Sheila said. “Her mother said she was paid very well to have this baby. Her mother did not approve of this at all. She said there were other young women who were students, her friends, that were doing the same kind of thing.”
“Sort of like surrogacy?” Annie said. Tricky business.
Sheila nodded. “All of them being paid thousands.”
“Thousands? You must be mistaken,” Annie said. “For babies?”
“For several babies,” Sheila said. “All belonging to John Reilly.”
“These girls are in it for several years, evidently,” Vera said. “Doesn't it just break your heart? The girls also told us that Reilly was their broker. Their go-between to the agency. They didn't even know the name of the place.”
Annie mentally sorted through everything she knew, everything she was just told. But it still didn't add up to murder. Unless . . .
“Vera, you said that this young woman used to be a student of yours. Did she know Emily? Could she have been one of her students?”
“I don't know,” Vera said. “Come to think of it, she did stop dancing with me about the time Emily came to town. I thought it was because she had graduated from high school and had just, you know, moved on. “
Annie picked up her cell phone and dialed Detective Bryant.
“Adam, do you have the list of Emily McGlashen's students?”
“Why?”
“I think we may have stumbled on a lead for you. Bring your list and come to my house.”
“Now?”
“As soon as you can,” she said.
Annie turned to face her friends.
“Did you have to get him involved?” Sheila said.
“Well, yes,” Annie said. “Reilly was on the list of donors at Alicorn. And he's a board member there.”
“You saw a list?” Sheila asked.
“Yes, but the only names I recognized were Reilly, Vandergrift, and Bill.”
“Bill Ledford?” Vera said.
Annie's heart sank. She had not planned to tell Vera.
“You mean my ex-husband is donating sperm to a sperm bank?”
Annie nodded.
“I just don't know what to think of that . . . ,” Vera said, becoming paler by the minute.
“Obviously, he wants another baby at some point,” DeeAnn said.
“I can't imagine,” Vera said.
“Some men are funny about wanting to leave a son behind,” DeeAnn said. “You know sometimes I wonder about them. Men, I mean.”
“Don't try to change the subject, DeeAnn,” Vera said. “Bill and I, we tried for years . . . and all along he was donating sperm?”
“It's probably recent,” Annie said.
“Yes, but why wouldn't he just impregnate Kelsey the old-fashioned way?”
“Maybe she can't get pregnant.”
“Well, thank God for small favors,” Sheila said. “That woman should not be a mother.”
“And you have to wonder about Bill,” DeeAnn said.
“Oh, I'm one step ahead of you on that,” Vera said. “The police questioned him about Kelsey taking Elizabeth. He claimed he knew nothing about it.”
“Do you believe him?” Annie asked after the room was silent a few moments.
“I don't believe anything he says anymore. I feel like I don't even know the man,” Vera said.
Chapter 68
“Detective Bryant has taken John Reilly in for questioning about Emily McGlashen's murder,” Vera told Beatrice when she walked up the stairs to the front porch.
“Well, now, isn't that something?” Beatrice said.
Vera sat in the wicker chair next to her mother.
“Do you think he did it?” Beatrice said.
“I don't know why not,” Vera said. “He's impregnating young women and paying them to have his baby.”
“What? Have you gone off your rocker, girl?”
“No, I wish I had. I don't get it. Evidently, he's helping several young women get through school by paying him to carry his babies.”
“Now, that sounds like something straight out of a B movie or a bad, bad science fiction novel.”
“Don't I know it,” Vera said and sank into her chair.
“Just because he's done that doesn't mean he killed Emily,” Beatrice pointed out.
“I know. Oh, Mama, I've got such a headache trying to figure it all out. I'll let Detective Bryant do it,” she said and sighed.
“Good idea,” Beatrice said. “Look at that hummingbird.”
She pointed out a bright hummingbird buzzing around her feeder. “I think he was here last year. Those male birds are the lookers, you know.”
“Pretty,” Vera said.
“Where would John Reilly get the money to pay women to have his children?” Beatrice said after a few moments.
“That seems to be the million-dollar question,” Vera said. “Nobody knows. I suppose they will find out.”
“Maybe this will clear you,” Beatrice said.
Vera harrumphed. “I hope it's not too much to hope for.”
A quiet calm overcame them then as they both sat and watched the hummingbirds. Beatrice's garden bloomed with Virginia bluebells, bleeding hearts, and bright red tulips.
 
 
When Beatrice went to bed that night, she was happy. They had another suspect. Her daughter would be allowed to live her life in peace.
They all went to bed that night with a measure of relaxation that they had not felt in a long time.
But a loud gunshot in the middle of the night tore into that bliss Beatrice had been feeling.
What was that? Who was that?
She grabbed her robe, met Vera and Jon in the hallway, peeked in on Elizabeth.
She was there.
Another shot sounded.
Was someone shooting on the street in front of her house?
“Call the police,” Beatrice said to Jon and reached for her pistol in the downstairs drawer.
“Mama, put that thing away,” Vera said.
“Unhand me, girl,” Beatrice said as a woman's piercing scream invaded their neighborhood. A great commotion of house doors opening and people yelling ensued.
By the time Vera and Beatrice got to their front doorstep, the neighborhood was well lit. As they walked out along Beatrice's sidewalk, Beatrice found herself blinking. Her heart pounded furiously.
Old heart of mine, don't fail me now,
she thought and blinked again. Was she really seeing what she thought she was seeing?
Leola Reilly stood in the middle of Ivy Lane with a smoking shotgun in her hand, her husband splayed on the street in front of her. Vera wanted to go to him. Beatrice stopped her.
“Stay back. The woman is crazy, and she has a shotgun,” she whispered.
“You killed her!” Leola screamed at him. “You killed the love of my life!”
She looked like a madwoman. Her face was red and contorted, and she was flinging the shotgun around as if it were a baton.
“Now, Leola,” he said, holding his shoulder, obviously injured, bright red patches of blood soaked through his pajamas.
“Why? Why? Just because she was onto you and your little seedy game?” She looked up, as if she had just realized she had an audience. “Yeah, that's right. He killed Emily. Why? Because she found out that he was taking money from Alicorn to fund his own little baby operation. Bastard!”
She lifted her shotgun.
“Leola!” Vera shouted. “Don't! He's not worth it.”
“What?” she said and looked up at Vera.
“Leola, c'mon. Put the gun down. He's not worth going to prison for,” Vera said, her voice shaking.
“What else is there for me? He killed her. My Emily!” she groaned.
“Yes, but your children. Your children need you,” Vera said, moving toward her slowly. Beatrice held her back. “The police will send him off to prison. They are going to need their mama.”
“That's right,” came a male voice from somewhere near Vera. Soon he was in front of her. It was Detective Bryant. Where was his gun?
“I ought to shoot your ass, too,” she flung at Detective Bryant.
“Maybe,” he said. “But Vera is right. We have enough evidence to arrest him. Are you going to leave your children without parents?”
“He'd been funneling money from the foundation for years, Leola,” Bryant went on. “He brought Emily into his scheme by promising her an all-Irish baby.”
Leola sobbed, but she didn't lower her gun.
“The only problem was the lab could not accept her eggs. They were full of genetic mutations,” Bryant continued. “The adoption agency she came from had lied. She was not one hundred percent Irish. She was not one hundred percent healthy. And she wanted out of his scheme. She was trying to do right by those girls. She tried to warn them.”
An eerie stillness came over the scene. The tableau was dark and sordid, even as the white picket fences stood in watch. Porch lights and flashlights provided only spots of light here and there. Beatrice's neighborhood stood waiting, watching the drama unfolding before them. Leola held up the gun and pointed it at her husband.
Beatrice noticed the onlookers—the Chamovitzs, DeeAnn and her family, and Sheila and her husband. The whole neighborhood was witnessing the spectacle.
Leola looked like a crazed woman. Her eyes were lit by a fiery passion. Her husband whimpered like a wounded animal. She took a deep breath, lowered the gun, but lifted her leg and kicked him.
“Okay, Bryant,” she said and handed him the shotgun. “We'll play it your way.”
Vera looked over at Beatrice, who was watching her. Was that her daughter? The woman who helped talk down a crazed woman holding a shotgun to her husband? Beatrice swallowed hard. She didn't think she'd ever been more proud in her life.

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