Betrayed Birthright

They moved into the house but came to a standstill in the foyer. Bates stood ready and alert, but his eyes were filled with longing as he gazed at the child. Dylan reflected the same expression.

“A dog,” he breathed, awe filling his young voice. “What’s his name?”

Abby grinned. A dog and a boy. A match made in heaven. “His name is Bates.” She glanced at Sheriff Galloway. “It’s fine if they play, but you’ll have to give permission.”

With wide, excited eyes, Dylan begged his father. “Can I, Dad?”

Sheriff Galloway squatted in front of his son and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Bates is a trained attack dog. He’s a working animal and you’ll have to be careful. You can play with him as long as you’re in the same room with us. Now, approach him from the side and squat down beside him so he can sniff you. From a dog’s perspective, that’s the proper way to greet him.”

Abby’s heart pinged at the tender way Sheriff Galloway—a hardened former FBI agent—treated his son. A pang of loss gripped her. Her own son, had he lived, would now be over three years old. She stowed away the painful memories and watched as Dylan followed his father’s advice. Bates sniffed all around the child and licked his face.

They all laughed and the group moved into the kitchen. “Everyone take a seat. I’ll have dinner on the table in a jiff.” She laid the table with plates, silverware and napkins, then nuked the whole dish of leftover lasagna and pulled the bread out of the oven. Dylan’s eyes rounded when she filled his plate.

“We don’t eat like this at home. Dad buys those frozen dinners and sticks them in the microwave.”

Abby laughed. “Well, you’re having a homemade dinner tonight. When I cook, I always make a lot because I love leftovers.” She said grace and everybody dug in. If not for the dangerous incidents that kept happening, Abby would almost feel at peace, but one look into Sheriff Galloway’s eyes reminded her that her life would be unsettled until they had some answers.

When they finished eating, Abby stood. “Leave the dishes. I’ll clean up after choir practice. I’ll be late if I don’t hurry.”

The sheriff stood. “I’ll drive you there.”

Houston gave her a peck on the cheek and winked at her, his faded blue eyes twinkling. “That was a mighty fine dinner, Ms. Mayfield. Dylan and I are much obliged. We’ll head on and get out of your hair.”

Abby gave both of them a hug. “It was my pleasure. Y’all come back soon.”

She stood at the door and watched as they walked down the sidewalk and climbed into an old truck.

A throat cleared behind her. “I’m sorry they showed up unannounced. My grandfather tends to live by his own rules.”

Abby grinned. “They’re quite a pair. I enjoyed both of them.”

* * *

While waiting for Ms. Mayfield to gather her things, Noah processed the information he’d gathered. Both choir members, Joanne Ferguson and Walter Fleming, had checked out on a surface search. If they didn’t find some answers soon, he’d give them a second, deeper look.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Noah decided to give Sheriff Brady in the Mocksville, North Carolina, police department a quick call to follow up on the previous incidents involving Ms. Mayfield. Maybe Brady had discovered something new.

The phone rang twice before it was answered.

“Mocksville Police Department.”

“This is Sheriff Noah Galloway. I’d like to speak with your sheriff.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll connect you to Sheriff Brady.”

“Thank you.”

A few seconds passed. “Sheriff Brady speaking.”

“I’m Sheriff Galloway, calling from Blessing, Texas. There’s been an incident here that involves a former Mocksville resident and I’m gathering information.”

A long sigh filled his ear. “I assume you’re calling about Abigail Mayfield. I’m aware she moved to Texas about eight months ago. Her grandmother calls me frequently.”

After hearing Abby talk to her grandmother on the phone, Noah could imagine the older woman demanding answers.

“What happened this time?” Brady interrupted Noah’s musings.

Noah filled him in on the B and E. “She has a trained attack dog and we responded quickly. The intruder fled the premises. No one was hurt, but there is an interesting twist. At some point, someone left a photograph of Ms. Mayfield’s parents standing in front of the ocean holding a child. She claims the child isn’t her. The picture was placed inside a glass-fronted cabinet in her kitchen. I don’t know if the intruder left the picture during the break-in, or if it was left at another time. Ms. Mayfield filled me in on the incidents that happened in your jurisdiction and I called to see if anything new has surfaced.”

“Nothing solid.”

Noah sensed the man holding something back and he was determined to dig it out of him. “I’d appreciate anything you can give me, including your opinion.”

“Fine, but be aware this is pure conjecture. I don’t have a shred of evidence to back it up.”

“Understood.”

“It’s just interesting that these incidents began after her husband was killed in a car crash several years ago. There were no other cars involved. It happened in the Blue Ridge Mountains and he went over a cliff for no apparent reason. The car was checked thoroughly and Mr. Mayfield was tested for drugs and alcohol. Everything came out clean as a whistle.”

“What led you to check on the husband’s death?”

“I interviewed everyone connected to Abigail Mayfield and came up empty, so I dug deeper. Turns out Mr. Mayfield had a big life insurance policy and that’s why I checked on his death.”

Goose bumps pricked Noah’s arms. “How much?”

“I’ll put it this way. Ms. Mayfield is a wealthy woman by most people’s standards. Her husband was insured for half a million tax-free dollars. There was nothing to indicate foul play regarding her husband’s death, and I couldn’t find one person who had anything bad to say about Ms. Mayfield. The whole thing doesn’t make any sense.”

“I appreciate the information.”

“Let me know what you find out and call if I can help in any way.”

Noah slowly tucked his cell phone back in his pocket.

Was Abigail Mayfield the innocent choir director and piano teacher she appeared to be, or did she have a sinister side? One capable of murdering her husband for monetary gain?

With these unsettling thoughts in mind, Noah watched Ms. Mayfield descend the stairs. He followed her out the front door and waited while she locked the house behind them. They climbed into his patrol car and he headed toward Blessing’s one and only church. His mind ran a gauntlet of different scenarios. He’d witnessed the underbelly of society during his tenure at the FBI, and nothing would surprise him, but deep down he didn’t believe—or want to believe—that Abby was capable of such violence. Her voice brought him out of his musings.

“Okay, I’m a straightforward woman, Sheriff Galloway, and I want you to lay your cards on the table so we can get past whatever’s bothering you.”

She surprised him with her frankness. “How did you know something was bothering me?”

“Sheriff—”

“Call me Noah.”

“Fine. Noah, and if we’re going to be spending time together, you can call me Abby. Now, spill.”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it. Abby might look like a beautiful rose, but the woman had grit and he did want answers. “I just spoke to Sheriff Brady.”