“It was no big deal. It was over three years ago,” Heather said. “We dated a little and that was about it. It didn’t mean that much to me, or him either. Right when I was dating him, I met someone else and really fell in love. It was the man I married. Clint and I broke up shortly after . We were casual friends afterwards for a couple of months, and that was it.”
The two women stared at each other. “I swear it,” said Heather.
Cindy knew in her gut that wasn’t the whole story.
“You have to tell me everything,” Cindy said, “because now I’m in danger, and so is my family.”
Heather could barely speak. “It’s awful, really awful,” she finally uttered, taking it in.
“You have to tell me the truth. Did you see Clint this past year?” Cindy steeled herself for anything.
“Not at all,” Heather gasped . “I swear to you, I’m happily married.”
“Did he contact you?” said Cindy.
“Not once. There was no reason.”
“Swing more mamma!” the child called out.
“Heather, listen, there’s a reason someone sent Clint your photo a few weeks before he was killed.”
Heather blanched.
“The killing’s not all over, either,” Cindy went on. “Not by a long shot. We all could be in danger.”
Heather looked terrified. “What do you mean,
“Whoever killed Clint took this photo of you and your son.”
“My son could be in danger?” She started trembling.
“Anything’s possible,” Cindy said.
Heather’s eyes filled with tears. “You have to swear you won’t tell anybody,” the words poured out of her. “Swear.” She was trembling.
“I don’t know if I can swear,” said Cindy. “I may have to tell someone if you and your son need protection.”
“I have no idea who took the picture, but this is Clint’s child,” Heather burst out. “Nobody knows it. Not even Clint. I never told him. I never told my husband either. He thinks the child is his. We were so happy together, we were getting married, it would have ruined everything. I didn’t know myself who the father was, at first. The timing of everything overlapped. It was crazy.”
“How did you find out it was Clint’s child?”
“He looks so much like him,” Heather’s voice was shaky. “I look at him and see Clint. I couldn’t stand it, so I finally had him tested. Just to be sure.”
Cindy’s feelings were all over the place. She and Clint had often spoken about the family they wanted to have together. Now Clint had a child that he never knew, with someone else. That was awful. On the other hand, there was a part of Clint still alive. That was wonderful.
“I’ve got to keep my son safe, and also my marriage.” Heather couldn’t catch her breath. Then she started sobbing.
Cindy wanted to calm Heather down. “It must be so painful for you to keep all this hidden,” she said .
“No, it isn’t,” Heather said. “I love my son. I love my husband. My husband loves the child as his own. I’ll have more children later on. Who’s hurt by this? Nobody.”
“But somebody knows,” Cindy said.
Heather’s eyes opened wide. “Who?”
“The person who took the photo.”
“They want to ruin my life?” said Heather, “Why?”
The two women stood beside one another, sudden compatriots, facing an unknown enemy.
“They wanted to ruin Clint’s life,” Cindy answered.
“But why?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” said Cindy. “But I believe that whoever took the photo, killed Clint as well.”
It was too much for Heather. She put her hands over her face.
“I’m terrified,” she murmured.
Cindy wanted to soothe her but didn’t know how.
“Swing me more mamma, swing me more!” the little boy cried out, lifting his arms up to the sky.
Driving back to New York, Cindy’s mind was spinning. It had stunned her to find out about Clint’s son. If Heather was just a casual girlfriend, and if he had no idea about the child, there was no reason why Clint should have mentioned her. She had no choice but to believe Heather.
But who could know about the child? Who wanted Clint alerted? His family knew about all his girlfriends. Had someone in the family managed to track all this down? Take the photo? Who else would even care? For a crazy moment, Cindy wondered if her marriage to Clint could have ever worked? Suddenly, she wasn’t sure. There were so many unknown clouds floating around him, so many dark corners in his life. She didn’t know if she could bear finding another one, could bear losing the memory of the man she’d so deeply loved.
Chapter 12
When Cindy got home, she was exhausted. She made herself a cup of tea and collapsed on the sofa, drinking it slowly, thinking about Clint’s son. Clint would have been a wonderful father. Cindy felt awful that Clint would never see him, never even know that a woman he barely knew was the mother of his child.
Then out of nowhere, the doorbell rang.
Cindy got up and went to the door.
It was Clint’s mother.
It was extremely unusual for Clint’s family to just drop by. And his mother couldn’t have picked a worse time. Cindy was not in the mood to see her.
And beside her stood Marge, looking distraught.
“We need to talk to you.”
They marched into the living room without asking and scanned the place, up and down. Cindy wondered what they were looking for.
“I never knew why Clint chose this house,” his mother said bitterly. It was an old story, Cindy’d heard it many times.
“Because he loved this house,” Cindy said briskly. “And so did I.”
“Clint loved all kinds of odd things,” Clint’s mother looked at Cindy through half closed eyes. “He didn’t always have the best taste.”
Cindy didn’t really have energy for this.
“There was a lot in Clint’s life that we didn’t understand,” said Marge.
“Sit,” Cindy said perfunctorily. “It’s been a busy day.”
“Really?” said Marge. “What did you do?”
Cindy resented any question at all from them about her personal life. She decided to push the envelope now, as she was sick of pretending all was normal.
“I’ve been checking on some leads I have,” Cindy said, matter of factly.
“What kind of leads?” his mother perked up.
“Leads about who might have had Clint killed.”
Both Marge and his mother shuddered. Cindy knew it was harsh, but she was tired of games.
“I’m delving more and more into Clint’s life,” Cindy continued, and looked at both of them closely. “There’s a lot that doesn’t add up.”
His mother peered back. “Whatever Clint did or didn’t have in his life, he didn’t deserve to die.”
Cindy met her head on. “No one deserves to die. And no one deserves to be a young widow either.”
“You’re hardly a widow,” Clint’s mother snapped. “You two weren’t even married a week. More like a
