Weeds in The Garden of Love

  After his parents separated, Robbie missed his father so much his heart would ache. He wished his dad lived with them. He wanted things to be like they used to be. He didn’t understand. His father had tried to explain it to him, but Robbie didn’t want explanations. He wanted his family back together. He wanted to feel secure again.

  Many nights Robbie would lie in bed and whisper in the dark: “Why, God? Why did you let this happen to us? Why can’t it go back to the way it was before? You can do anything—can’t you, God? Why can’t you do this for Heather and me? Why can’t you make my Mommy stop drinking? Then my Daddy can live with us again. Please, God—please.”

  Even now, Robbie’s pillow is often soaked with tears as he drifts off to sleep. He is still a little boy, deeply hurt, with a broken heart, and he is powerless to do anything about it.

  Robbie is a casualty—a victim of divorce. All children of divorce are victims. They are not the only victims—just the only innocent ones.

  * * *

  Jim Roberts’ car was the only vehicle parked in the lot at the Victoria Crossing sales office. It was Monday and a regular day off for the sales staff. Craig manned the office alone on Mondays. Like most builders, Jim used a model home as an office. It would be sold later, once the development was completed.

  Craig parked his car beside Jim’s. He could hardly wait to find out what was going on. He wondered why his friend was so panic-stricken. He hoped Jim wasn’t involved in anything illegal like drugs or gambling. Craig didn’t want to be mixed up in anything like that. Oh, that’s nice, Andrews. Your friend is in trouble, and all you’re worried about is yourself. Reallllll nice.

  In reality, Craig wanted to do whatever he could to help Jim. He owed him. Jim hired him after he learned Craig lost his job at Towercrest because of the divorce. He remembered what Jim had said: “This will help you get back on your feet. And besides, you’re a great salesman who’s going to make me a lot of money.” Craig smiled to himself. That was Jim Roberts. He was always willing to help the other guy. Craig hoped he could return the favor someday.

  Craig opened the front door. “Hi honey, I’m home.” He expected at least a guffaw from Jim, but he was met with silence. He checked Jim’s office, the kitchen and the family room, which had been converted into a lounge for clients. Craig went upstairs to the bedrooms and bathrooms, but still no Jim. I’ll bet he walked down the street to check out the new stucco technique on that two story Tudor, Craig thought. He shoulda left me a note. He knew I was coming.

  Craig left a note on Jim’s desk, telling him where he was going. On his way out the front door, he remembered he was wearing loafers. He kept a pair of construction boots in the garage to wear around the sites. As he stepped into the garage, he saw Jim Roberts hanging from the rafters; his face was frozen in a grotesque purple gaze.

  “Oh, my God! No—Jim! No!” Craig ran across the garage. He grabbed Jim’s legs in a futile attempt to save him. He had never touched a dead body before. He was startled by the feel of Jim’s cold, hard legs. He knew his friend was long gone.

  Craig didn’t know what to do. He began to babble nervously. “Should I cut him down? No! You’re not supposed to do that! All the cop shows on TV say not to disturb the scene. Oh, yeah, the cops! I gotta call the cops! I have to get help!”

  Craig raced back into the house. His fingers trembled as he dialed. He was in a slow motion dream as he talked to the 911 operator. He hung up the phone and couldn’t remember if he had given them the address. I must have. Surely, they would have asked for an address. The address is one of the most important things.

  Craig waited in the office for the police. He paced back and forth for what seemed like an eternity. He could not get his mind off Jim’s body hanging in the garage. He wondered why the police hadn’t arrived. What could possibly take them this long? I wish they’d hurry up.

  Then, Craig noticed a piece of paper tucked in a corner of his desk blotter. He recognized Jim’s handwriting. Oh—man, he did leave a note! Craig picked up the note and quickly read it:

  I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. She would have exposed me and taken everything I have. I couldn’t face it. I had no other way out. Forgive me Craig. I didn’t want anyone else to find me like this. I knew you would understand.

  I hope God forgives me—

  Jim

  Finally, a police car pulled into the driveway. Craig walked out the front door and approached two uniformed officers peering through the garage door windows. “I’m Craig Andrews. I’m the one who called.”

  “I’m Patrol Sergeant Cane. Is there another way into the garage? We don’t want to open these big doors.”

  “Follow me.” Craig led them to the side door of the garage. “The only thing I touched in there was Jim’s legs. I panicked and grabbed them when I saw him  hanging there …” Craig wondered why he had to tell them that.

  “We’ve got it from here, sir,” Cane said. “Don’t go away. We’ll need a statement.”

  “I’ll wait in the office. Oh, I found a note on my desk from the … uh … the … from Jim,” Craig said nervously.

  “Did you touch that note, sir?”

  “Oh yeah, I guess I did. I picked it up off my desk to read it. I wasn’t thinking straight and didn’t—”

  “Don’t worry about it, sir.” Cane looked at his partner. “Vic, why don’t you go inside with Mr. Andrews and collect that note while I take a look in here?”

  Craig showed the young police officer where the note was. Craig was still in a daze as he stood at the kitchen counter. He was staring blankly at nothing. The events of the past twenty-four hours had drained him; the late night surveillance, the early morning call from Jim and now this.

  Craig didn’t want to give a statement. He wanted to run. He was afraid the police would ask him to go back into the garage and identify the body. He was terrified he would be forced, once again, to see Jim’s corpse hanging from the rafters. Craig didn’t want to ever see that again. But he knew it didn’t matter—the image was burned into his brain. He would never forget.

  * * *

  Vikki waited until both the 7-11 parking lot and the street were empty before she snuck across to the motel. Adrenalin had her heart pounding as she headed for the room Lorne had entered. The police car siren startled her as a powerful spotlight shone in her eyes.

  “Now, where would you be off to, little lady?” a male voice said in a distinct brogue. “Business or pleasure?” Vikki shielded her eyes from the light. What could she say? She was on the wrong side of town, sneaking though a sleazy motel parking lot at night.

  “Evening officer. I was … uh … going to the motel office to see if a … if a friend of mine is staying here. I’m worried about her.”

  The police officer was now out of his vehicle and, as he walked towards her, he kept his flashlight pointed directly into her eyes. “Like to see some I.D. there, Miss. So who is this friend and why would she be here at this particular motel on a Monday night?”

  “Oh  umm  she’s visiting from out of town and doesn’t know the city very well.” Vikki handed the officer her driver’s license.

  “Okay—Miss Vikki Millard.” The officer looked at her skeptically. “You be careful. This is not the best neighborhood for a young lady to be out in, late at night.”

  “Thank you, officer. I’ll be careful.”

  “Oh, and Miss—”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “The office is that way.”

  “Thanks.” Vikki was embarrassed and quickly turned towards the motel office.

  She questioned the desk clerk about room rates and amenities, stalling until the police car pulled out of the parking lot. Vikki thanked the clerk, walked out and, once again, headed for Lorne’s room. Number four, she thought, as she came close enough to see the number on the door. The lights in the room
illuminated the curtains. Let’s hope I can find a part in those curtains. She did.

  Vikki peered through the break in the curtains but all she could see was the left side of a double bed and a small portion of the picture on the wall behind it. She thought she could hear laughter. Suddenly, Lorne and a woman rolled across the bed. Lorne was fully clothed, his back towards Vikki. She could not see the woman’s face. Lorne was blocking her view. She did know the woman had black hair, and she was wearing a red dress. Lorne lowered his head to kiss the side of her neck revealing her identity. Vikki recognized her right away.

  “It’s that drunken Chrissie from Towercrest!” Vikki had forgotten where she was.

  Lorne suddenly stopped kissing Chrissie’s neck, lifted his head and turned towards the window. As he moved off the bed, Vikki ducked low and stepped away. She found a hiding spot behind a vending machine under a nearby staircase. She crouched down out of sight as Lorne opened the door and walked out. He looked left and right before he slowly scanned the parking lot. He stood quietly for a moment, listening for any sound. Vikki’s heart was throbbing in her ears, and she was sure he would hear it.

  “No one out there,” Lorne said, as he closed the door.

  Vikki was back in her car before she dared to take a breath. She had caught him with another woman, but Chrissie was not just any other woman. Vikki was livid. “First Eric and now Lorne!” She pounded the steering wheel. “Chrissie Andrews—that’s the second time you’ve done it to me! There won’t be a third time!”

  Hell hath no fury.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Agendas

  Craig Andrews was devastated. Jim Roberts’ suicide cost him not only a good friend but also his job. Two weeks after the funeral, letters from Jim’s lawyers arrived at the Victoria Crossing sales office. Everyone was given two weeks notice with no explanation. Craig figured Victoria Crossing had been sold to another developer. The new owner’s staff would replace them.

  Craig would have to find something right away. He hoped to land a job either with another developer or a real estate company. He did not want to fall behind on his child support and deprive his kids in any way. To make matters worse, he had been notified Chrissie had registered with the SOE. Craig remembered Garth’s warning about Lorne Davis: “Pray he never comes lookin’ for you.” A cold shiver ran down Craig’s back. The SOE ruined lives, and he didn’t want to be next.

  Craig had few options. The money Chrissie paid him for his portion of the matrimonial home was gone. His legal fees ate up most of it. He also traded in his Tercel on a later model used car and purchased some basic furnishings for his apartment. Craig was so immersed in his thoughts he almost missed the entrance. He drove into the underground parking garage of 100 Sandford Plaza. Mark Floyd could offer some guidance.

  * * *

  Chrissie took a swig from her flask, locked her car and walked into the arrivals area on the upper level of the terminal. She stopped, as usual, at the bar outside baggage claim where she could wait for them. She checked her watch. I have time for a quick drink. It will take them a while to get their luggage.

  She was on her second double vodka when she spotted Paul and Lauren Beaumont pushing a full baggage cart through the double doors. Chrissie quickly finished her drink and hurried over to them. “Hi, you two. Looks like you’re staying awhile.”

  Paul gave Chrissie a hug. “We’re on our way to Europe. Thought we’d stop by and say hello.” She knew he was kidding. The Beaumont's never traveled light, no matter where they went.

  They giggled and small-talked on their way to Chrissie’s car. Not only were they good clients, but Chrissie also considered them to be friends. She called Paul immediately when she heard this property was available.

  Victoria Crossing was prime real estate and this deal would be worth millions. Paul Beaumont was the right developer and had more than enough money to buy it outright. He told Chrissie: “This is too good to pass up. Let’s make it happen.” Paul was right. He was always right. That’s why he was such a huge success and why Chrissie admired him so much.

  “Helen Roberts wanted a quick sale,” Chrissie said, enroute to their hotel. “I was happy to help.” They all laughed. Not a nice laugh or a polite laugh, but the devious laugh people with no conscience use when they’ve profited from the misfortune of others.

  * * *

  Garth called upstairs. “Marcia. Rebecca. C’mon down, kids. Your mom and I want to talk to you.”

  Garth smiled at Loretta. She looked beautiful and content. She should. They had spent last weekend together at a quaint bed-and-breakfast place. They made love, talked, made love, laughed and made love again. Garth had long since forgiven her for her unfaithfulness. He was in heaven when Loretta invited him to move back home with her and the kids. Garth’s world was coming together, once again. He felt like the luckiest guy on earth. He loved Loretta so much. He felt good and didn’t want the feeling to end.

  Rebecca and Marcia came down the stairs. “Hi girls. C’mon in and sit down. Your mom and I have some good news.”

  Rebecca knew exactly what was going on. “You’re going to live with us again, Dad?”

  “Yup, I am. And I hope both you girls are okay with it.” Garth was surprised and impressed by Rebecca’s intuitiveness.

  “Sure,” Rebecca said. “Can I go now?”

  “Me too,” Marcia said. The girls didn’t wait for an answer. They bolted up the stairs, giggling to each other. Garth didn’t know if they approved or not.

  Loretta reassured him. “They’re fine. If they had a problem, you would have heard about it right away.”

  Garth was relieved. It was like he had been given a second chance and was starting his life over again. He was back home living with his family. Also, he had a new job in sales with a heavy equipment dealership. The sales manager Bob Arden didn’t believe the rumors about Garth. He also had no love for Ron Zelnick, Garth’s former boss, who blackballed him in the construction industry.

  Garth checked the time. He was late for a meeting with Craig. He told Loretta not to wait up. After he kissed her, she reminded him of her offer. “Remember what I told you. I’ll help you guys nail Lorne Davis. Let me know what I can do.”

  Garth loved her for that too.

  * * *

  Helen Roberts intercepted Craig as he walked out of Mark Floyd’s office. “Craig. Got a minute? I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Sure, Helen.” The stress of Jim’s death had taken a toll on Helen. She looked ten years older. Although she tried to conceal her pain, her eyes betrayed her. The hurt in her soul was too intense.

  “I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me,” Helen said. “It’s been a difficult time. I don’t know what I would have done without friends like you. I’m so sorry you lost your job. I had to sell Victoria Crossing. The place reminded me of … of … well, you know.”

  “That’s okay, I understand. I’ll find something else.”

  “Listen.” Helen sat up straight. “What if I call the new owners? I’m sure Paul Beaumont would hire you.”

  “You mean Paul Beaumont from Houston? If he bought it, then—” Craig stopped himself. If Beaumont owns it then Chrissie’s involved. Those two are as thick as thieves. No way I could work at Vic Crossing. He decided now was not the time to burden Helen with an explanation. “Thanks for the offer, Helen, but I’m real close to accepting a position. So that’s who bought Victoria Crossing, huh?”

  “You know Paul Beaumont?”

  “Heard of him, that’s all.” Craig was trying to cover his tracks. “Everyone in real estate in this town has.”

  “Oh, if you don’t mind, Craig, I need your help on something.”

  “Sure.”

  Helen opened her desk drawer and took out some photographs. “Do you recognize the woman in these pictures?”
r />   In the first photo, Craig saw Jim Roberts helping a woman out of his car. She had her back to the camera but was clearly well put together. Looking through the rest of the photographs, Craig realized this was the evidence Helen used to accuse Jim. The last snapshot exposed the woman’s identity. Vikki Millard! Jim—ou old pistol, you! Wait a minute—now what do I say? I don’t really want to get Vikki involved in this. “Not sure. Why is she with Jim?”

  “I think they were intimate, but I couldn’t prove it.” Helen put the photos back into her desk. “This time.” She looked directly at Craig. “Yes, I caught Jim several years ago. He was cheating on me with one of his office staff. He said he had never done anything like that before. He apologized profusely and promised it would never happen again. I told him I believed him. But to be honest, I never completely trusted him after that.”

  This conversation was making Craig uncomfortable. “So—you believe he was seeing this woman?” He didn’t know what else to say.

  “I had no hard evidence other than these photos. I accused Jim of being unfaithful. He denied it, of course. Then, I showed him the photographs. Oh Craig, I feel so guilty. I mean … if I hadn’t told Jim I was divorcing him, well … maybe he wouldn’t have—” Helen stopped, unable to say the words she was thinking.

  Craig wanted to ease her pain and tried to comfort her. “It’s not your fault, Helen. You have no blame in this. You didn’t want this to happen. You had to find out what was going on. Anyone would have done the same.”

  “Thanks, Craig.” Helen stood and shook his hand. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Glad to help. Please, let me know if I can do anything else for you.” Craig stopped at the door. “I’m curious, Helen. Did you take those pictures?”

  “No—they were mailed to me anonymously.”

  Craig walked out, curious as to who was responsible for those photographs of Jim and Vikki Millard. Vikki Millard. Funny, I always thought she was a sexy little thing.