Chapter 10 #2
He smiled. She was sure cute. Then he surveyed the mess of her place, and his heart sank. He hated to upset her with what the maniac had done.
“Is it bad, sir?”
“Yes, Maria. If I could, I would spare her seeing it, but the police need her to check and see if there’s anything missing this time.”
“Do you want me to tell her?”
“No, I’m coming home, and then I’ll bring her back here. I just wanted to make sure she is all right.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. Be back there in about twenty minutes.”
After he hung up the phone, he ran his hand over Sascha’s red couch, slashed to shreds, with mounds of stuffing scattered everywhere.
It wasn’t even his stuff, but he felt sick about it just the same.
And he wished more than anything that he could protect her from seeing the sight.
He had to make it right with her. Because of him, Sascha’s life faced the same peril as he did.
The idea made his stomach muscles clench with concern.
The police still searched for fingerprints when he headed outside to his car.
All the way home, he worried about her reaction.
As emotional as she’d been the previous night, he was certain she would dissolve in tears upon seeing her place.
But it had to be done. And what of the two thousand dollars he’d given her?
He’d looked, but found no sign of the money at all.
Sascha read the newspaper article dated twenty-six years earlier.
Two white males born May 15th, approximately five minutes apart, are being tested to determine if a mix-up in parent assignments occurred.
Francine Drury claims her son was the redheaded baby and not the blond one she received from the attendant to nurse.
Montague and Janet Landry also claim the redheaded baby was the one Mrs. Landry gave birth to.
Sascha couldn’t believe anyone would think a baby was theirs based on hair color. She dug through the box and pulled out another later clipping.
Blood Tests Reveal Truth in Presumed Baby Mix-Up
The blood tests show beyond a doubt that the redheaded baby is Gregory Montague Landry, son of Montague and Janet Landry. Ms. Francine Drury continues to protest the findings, stating that the Landrys’ son is hers.
It was interesting to see that there was no mention of the dad’s involvement in all of this.
Maria cleared her throat as she walked into the room. “I thought Mrs. Landry had gotten rid of those years ago.”
Sascha stared at the newspaper clippings. “And to think the other baby wasn’t wanted. But hopefully after a while, she realized she was wrong, and everything was okay.”
“I sure hope so. The woman claimed that since she had red hair, Gregory was her son. Both Mr. and Mrs. Landry are blondes, so the Drury woman knew the whole thing was a mistake. She was a bit of a kook.”
“But blood tests don’t lie.”
“No, they don’t.” Maria cleared her throat. “Mr. Gregory Landry is returning home. He’ll be here shortly.”
“Oh. Good. I need to check out my place.”
Sascha dug around in the box some more and found an article about Louis Landry, a resistance fighter in France during WWII. He’d been awarded several medals for his work and bravery in the fight against the Nazis.
“Is Louis Landry a direct relation to Gregory and his dad?” she asked Maria.
Maria glanced at the article. “Yes. He’d had to kill a lot of Nazis who had murdered a lot of Frenchmen, had rescued British and American Air Force crews shot down over France, but he’d also eliminated traitors who had been paid by the Germans to give up the names of anyone in the resistance.
Many men and women in the resistance died because of the traitors.
I remember a woman being furious with him when he spoke to a group of college students about the war, stating that he had killed her great-grandfather. ”
“But he was a traitor,” Sascha said, guessing it was the case.
“Yes. The worst part was that they had been best friends. But the traitor had been out of work, and he was being paid to turn in his fellow Frenchmen, including Louis Landry. When they discovered the correspondence that he was sending to the Gestapo, the resistance killed him, or they would have been revealed, tortured, and killed.”
“Do you think—I mean, that’s a long time ago, but do you think someone would have something against the family for that?”
“I did consider it and asked Gregory and his parents what they thought. They believed that Louis would have been targeted. Not any of his descendants.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, after searching through four more boxes, Sascha pulled out a glossy color photo. She smiled at the pudgy-faced baby with the orange fuzzy head.
“Just like my baby pictures. I knew they would be. A carrot top…all orange fuzz.” She set it aside and dug some more.
“Aha.” She ran her finger over his image.
Dressed in junior-sized Army fatigues and smiling as big as the Great Lakes.
He was cuter than cute. “All boy.” Then she discovered another.
The picture featured a chubbier baby wearing a sailor’s suit, his head covered in red ringlets. She smiled. “He is so adorable.”
“His mother refused to have his hair cut.”
“He’s just so lovable.”
“Thank you.” But it wasn’t Maria speaking. It was Gregory.
Sascha turned to see Gregory watching her from the doorway. Immediately, her body heated in embarrassment. She’d been so wrapped up in his baby pictures that she’d forgotten all about the time.
Maria stood, then excused herself from the room at once.
“I bet they’re not half as cute as yours,” he said, waggling his brows at her.
“You’re right. Several of mine were shot au naturale.”
He chuckled. “That I’ve got to see.”
“Where are yours like that?”
“My parents are Puritans at heart. No nude baby photos.”
“That’s a shame. My relatives are wild gypsies. Nature at its best.”
He smiled broadly, making her jump to her feet.
He was thinking about her being naked next to him in bed…like a wild gypsy. She could see his thoughts. He hadn’t made love to her…she hadn’t lost her powers. They were just not quite back to normal, still…flaky. That was all that was wrong.
His face showed his concern as his brow wrinkled. “What’s wrong, Sascha? You’ve turned as pale as ice.”
She wrung her hands. “No…no.” She took a deep breath. “No, I’m all right.”
“You’re shaking.” He led her into the living room and sat her down. “Your skin has lost all its coloring…absolutely bloodless.”
“Promise me, Gregory, no matter how much I say I want you to, you must never make love to me.”
He stared at her, uncomprehending.
“Promise me!”
“I don’t understand, but I promise.”
She took a deep breath. “If I explain it to you, you won’t believe me.”
“You can read my mind.”
Her mouth dropped open. He couldn’t really believe she had the power to do so, could he?