Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Seven: The Mother Gray

Chapter Seven: The Mother Gray

Don't be such a chicken Olivia.

Sometime during the ride back from the station, I had convinced myself that interviewing my mom was a good idea. I was standing in front her bedroom door, working up the nerve to go in. I crossed my fingers in hopes that she was asleep or that she wouldn't hear me knocking. Taking a deep breath, I finally tapped softly on her door.

"Come in Olivia."

Ugh, how did she hear that? And how did she know it was me?

Using my index finger, I slowly pushed the door inwards. It creaked and groaned until it was completely open and I could see the entire room. Then and only then did I tiptoe inside, making my way towards my mother's bed.

She was sitting in bed reading some smutty book (I guess if you can't live it, you read about it). Setting her book aside, she patted an empty part of her bed for me to sit on. Reluctantly I sat next to my mom, keeping myself close to the edge just in case there was an emergency where I needed to flee.

There was a moment of silence as we both mentally prepared ourselves for the conversation or whatever else was about to happen. It was a common ritual between us that kept us from strangling each other on most days.

"My father..." I held my breath as I spoke. "I want to know what you knew about him."

"Will you change your name?"

"No."

"Elizabeth sounds nice, doesn't it?"

"Mom I am not changing my name to yours."

"Well, it doesn't have to be my name," she said as if my response was what was wrong with the conversation. "I almost named you Laura...."

"Mom..." I interrupted.

This conversation was getting me nowhere, and I had no clue what made me think that the result would be otherwise. Shortly after the first time I asked about my father, she had started avoiding me and my hero worship for my mother started to fade. It had been years since we were able to hang out or have a normal conversation.

Sighing, I decided to cut my losses (no one had cried yet) and make my exit. A cold hand grabbed my arm that stopped me from leaving. Looking up, my mother's sad brown eyes met mine and I settled down for a story.

"It was a beautiful summer..." she began wistfully.

* * * * * *

I knew it!

Or I kind of knew it. There were some surprising facts in my mother's updated story that had my mind racing. According to her the elusive Henry Stone arrived in Rosswood randomly and not with the group of workers my grandfather had originally hired. She knew very little else about him since he refused to talk about his past and left as quietly as he had arrived (leave it to my mother to hook up with a potential sociopath).

Now I was on the hunt to find where he had run off to, but it was appearing almost impossible. An online search gave me practically nothing new. Ninety percent of the results belonged to some R & B music producer and the rest were random facebook accounts.

It didn't help that the only images I had ever seen of this man belonged to the police department. My only other option would be to go to the local library, since Rosswood usually interviewed new residents.

Elena...

Elena had gone to the library the other day...specifically to look at old newspapers and files. I couldn't get out of my room fast enough, but she wasn't in her room or in the living room or in the kitchen...

"Elena, where are youuu?" I said as I ran outside to check if her car was in the garage (it was).

"Were you looking for me?" The voice came from out of nowhere, making me twirl around trying to spot the culprit. It wasn't until I heard some familiar laughter that I realized it was Elena, sticking her head out her bedroom window.

"Don't move," I said with my palms in the air for emphasis, because sometimes words were not enough for that girl to understand.

I was out of breath by the time I reached her bedroom, "Where were you?"

"Here, but you ran in and out really fast."

"Of course," I said crashing on her bed.

I might have fallen asleep, but not for long. Although it was probably more than a second since Elena felt the need to poke me in the face.

"Stop that," I groaned, swatting her hands away. With my eyes still closed, I briefed my lovely sidekick about all the new information (from both Nate and my mother).

"You went to talk to her....alone?" Elena eyes widened with awe.

"Yes, but she didn't know much about Henry," I muttered. "Did you find anything in the library?"

"Nothing we don't know," she answered slightly disappointed. "Maybe grandpa kept better records."

Yes. If there was any information on this man, it would be in his employee files. Why didn't I think of it before?

"I don't care what people say, you are a genius," I said planting a big kiss on her forehead.

* * * * * *

A ghost. That's what I decided Henry Stone was, because there was nothing in the files. I couldn't believe a careful man like my grandfather had hired him. His social was a fake, his last known address was a burger king and his references were all from imaginary companies. Then there was the fact that there was no record of him attending any of the schools on his resume.

Two hours later and I had nothing. If he hadn't disappeared a month before my uncle died, I would have suspected him as the murderer.

Maybe he did do it and just left early to distract the police......

In the process of trying to make sense of such a shady character, a second person came to mind. A childhood friend of my grandfather, whose phone number was in Carl's belongings when he died.

Gray was a private investigator, who specialized in some questionable areas of the law. As far as I knew no other family member had met this friend of my grandfathers, but somehow Carlo found him.

It was fishy, but not surprising that the police never made the connection. A business card with random shapes would be suspicious, but impossible to turn into a phone number unless you had the proper code. So for twenty-five years it had just sat in an evidence box, waiting to be solved.

I had recognized the code as soon as George pulled it out off the box and almost couldn’t contain my excitement. Cryptic messages were one of my grandfather’s favorite lessons, but in this case the code wasn't necessary. I immediately recognized the business card itself, the phone number was etched into my memory.

Ring...Ring...Ring

"Gray," answered an old, but strangely powerful voice.

"Stone."

"Ollie, it's been a while."

"Yes it has, and you still owe me a poker game," I joked.

"Any time, but you didn't call me this late for that," he answered getting straight to the point.

"No...I wanted to know if you ever met Carlo."

"Why?"

"They're reopening the case..." I began, wondering how much I should be explaining.

"Maybe we should meet."

We agreed on breakfast and I felt pretty awesome for figuring something out the police hadn't (although it wasn't entirely their fault). I am sure Gray would have spoken to the police if they had come to him, but he would never approach them voluntarily....call it old habits.