Chapter 12
Morgan’s mind whirled. “You think Tristan is Brett’s son.”
“Without a doubt.” Elizabeth lifted her voice. “Tristan, my granddaughter and I have a small errand to take care of. Will you be all right here with Jane for a few minutes?”
He nodded his head, a sheepish grin on his face as he devoured the pile of pancakes in front of him, leftovers from breakfast. “These pancakes are delicious.”
“Jane is a fabulous cook. Morgan and I will return shortly.”
Taking the back stairs to avoid running into Brett and Jeff Blakely, they reached the upper floor and walked to the other end to Elizabeth’s private apartment.
Once inside, they found Gerard seated at the kitchen bar, his laptop in front of him. He did a double take when he noticed them. “All done decorating your favorite tree?”
“We are. It appears we’re in the midst of a Christmas crisis.”
He turned, giving the women his full attention. “What sort of crisis?”
“Brett’s son and former brother-in-law showed up on our doorstep a few minutes ago.”
Gerard made a choking sound. “Brett has a son? You’ve never mentioned him before.”
“We just found out ourselves.” Elizabeth folded her hands. “Brett went to Vegas with some friends during a college break and came back with a wife.”
“Oh dear.”
“Oh dear is right. She worked at a strip club. At some point during the trip they met. My grandson was smitten and promptly wed her. He brought Addison home. Actually, Brett brought her here first, knowing his father would be fit to be tied, hoping I would soften the blow.”
“And did it?”
“No, Rhett and Brett argued. Rhett paid Addison a substantial sum of money to get a quickie divorce and promise never to return.”
“So many questions,” Gerard said. “Where is the ex-wife?”
“She died and left a note stating Tristan is Brett’s son.”
“Do you think there’s a chance the brother is lying, and the boy isn’t his?” Gerard asked.
“He’s the spitting image of Brett at that age, which is why I’m here, to track down some old photos to show Morgan.”
“I would still do a DNA test to confirm,” Morgan said.
“Absolutely. If you want to stay here with Gerard, I know where my photo albums are. This should only take a minute.” Elizabeth excused herself.
Gerard waited until she was gone. “Where are they now?”
“Brett and Mr. Blakely are chatting in the library. Tristan is in the kitchen with Mrs. Arnsby. He was wolfing down a stack of pancakes when we left.”
“This is a sad set of circumstances.”
“For Tristan. The timing seems…a little odd, although Mr. Blakely explained he travels for work and squeezed in the visit during his time off,” Morgan said. “Hopefully, he and Brett are having a civilized conversation.”
“Your brother is pretty even-keeled.”
“The uncle strikes me as being sincere. It had to take some guts to show up on Easton Estate’s doorstep.”
“Or desperation.”
Elizabeth reappeared. “I found the photos.” She hurried over and placed the faded photographs on the counter.
Morgan’s breath caught in her throat. The resemblance between Brett and the boy was unmistakable. Tristan was the spitting image of his father. “You’re right. They could be twins.”
“Clearly, we’ll need to confirm the fact that Brett has a son, but as far as I’m concerned, we’ll only be going through the motions.”
“They’re booked at the hotel in town,” Morgan reminded her. “Do you think it’s wise for them to be staying in Easton Harbor?”
“If they’re from Las Vegas, as Mr. Blakely commented, they have no idea what they’re getting themselves into with this storm.”
“Damage control,” Gerard said.
“Gerard is right. I’m not sure we want Mr. Blakely and Tristan wandering around Easton Harbor, telling locals the boy is Brett’s son without confirming the fact first.” Elizabeth glanced at her watch.
“I say we head downstairs to check on them and then hold a brief family meeting to discuss our next step.”
Gerard closed the lid on his laptop. “I’ll go with you.”
The trio exited the apartment, silently making their way down the back stairs and into the kitchen.
As they drew closer, Morgan could hear laughter…Mrs. Arnsby’s lilting voice and Tristan’s youthful replies.
Elizabeth and Gerard, with Morgan bringing up the rear, stepped into the kitchen where they found the boy still seated at the bar. The plate of pancakes was long gone, and he was working on a generous slice of breakfast bake.
“I see the pancakes were a hit,” Elizabeth teased.
“Mrs. Arnsby is the best cook on the planet,” Tristan said as he took a big bite of breakfast bake. “Uncle Jeff and I usually eat frozen breakfast sandwiches. Mom wasn’t much of a cook. She could burn oatmeal.”
“In your mother’s defense, burning oatmeal is fairly easy to do,” Mrs. Arnsby said. “Leaving it unattended on the stove will make it stick to the pot pretty darn quick.”
Elizabeth made her way to the bar. “I’m glad you’re enjoying a home-cooked meal. If you don’t mind me asking, where are you living now that your…mother is gone?”
“With Uncle Jeff. He travels a lot. His neighbor lady lets me stay with her until he gets back.”
“You don’t have grandparents or other relatives who are able to keep you while your uncle travels?” Morgan asked.
“Nope. It was Mom, me and Uncle Jeff.” Tristan started to say something and abruptly stopped.
“What is it?”
“I thought. Well, I had a dad, but he doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”
Morgan’s heart went out to the boy, noticing his shoulders drooping. “So you thought you had a father but didn’t.”
Elizabeth and Morgan exchanged a glance over the top of Tristan’s head, a picture of what Addison Blakely’s life had been like starting to unfold.
The boy had a father-figure but only while Tristan’s mother was alive.
It was a sad state of affairs, with Tristan suffering because of his mother’s questionable actions.
And he was way too young, at least in Morgan’s opinion, to be carrying the heavy burden and feeling such rejection.
“Maybe she thought he cared for you,” Morgan said softly.
Tristan’s eyes flashed with anger. “He never married Mom, but he gave her money.”
He said something low, and Morgan almost didn’t hear it. “You think Brett doesn’t want you either.”
“Why would he?”
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Listen to me, Tristan, I didn’t know your mother very well, but she loved you and cared for you all these years. Your Uncle Jeff loves you too. There appear to be some decisions needing to be made, but you are too young to have to worry about this.”
Gerard spoke. “You should be focused on school, sports, being a kid.”
“I’m not hungry anymore.” Tristan pushed the plate away. “I told Uncle Jeff I didn’t want to come here. Nobody wants me.”
Elizabeth stepped closer, her voice steady and strong. “I do not believe it. Neither does your uncle. Tell you what…instead of dwelling on bad stuff, I’m going to ask Jax, one of my close friends, to show you around. Do you like antique cars?”
Tristan brightened. “Like race cars?”
Morgan couldn’t help herself. “I would consider Burnie a race car, especially when Grandmother is behind the wheel.”
Gerard choked back a laugh.
Elizabeth shot her husband a pointed stare. “Collector cars. He and Ben Baker, the estate’s chauffeur, can show you our collection.”
Tristan’s eyes grew round as saucers. “You have a chauffeur?”
“He helps transport guests to and from the harbor and airport.”
“Is Easton Island named after you?”
“After our family,” Elizabeth said. “As well as the airport and the harbor.”
“You must be rich.”
Morgan quickly steered the conversation in another direction. “Do you like the snow?”
“It’s cool.” Tristan hopped down from the barstool. “I’ve never seen snow before. It’s awesome.”
“I’ll have Jax find you some warm winter clothes.” Mrs. Arnsby darted out of the kitchen.
She returned in less than a minute, closely followed by Jax. “I heard we have a young visitor who would like to see our car collection and maybe take a ride on a snowmobile.”
“A snowmobile?”
For a second, Morgan thought the boy was going to pass out from excitement.
“You’ll need warm clothes.” Jax put a fatherly arm around the boy and led him out the door with Tristan talking his ear off, firing off a round of questions about the snowmobile and if they thought they might see deer.
Mrs. Arnsby stacked the dishes Tristan had left behind. “The boy has an appetite. I bet his mother had a hefty grocery bill.”
“He seems like a good kid,” Morgan said. “He’s had a lot thrown his way with his mother’s death.”
“An uncle unable to care for him,” Gerard tsk-tsked. “The question now is, if Elizabeth is correct and Tristan is Brett’s son, what does he intend to do.”
Elizabeth cast a wary glance toward the hall door. “There’s only one way to find out.”