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“Listen. You can’t control how I feel or how I’m going to react to whatever it is you want to tell me.”
“Fair enough.” Miranda had left the folder back at the condo, on the dining room table. The realization made her skin prickle. What if Trey came home early and saw it?
She tried to think it wouldn’t matter because there was nothing in it that wasn’t true. Aida had backed up all her work with public records and easily verifiable data. Maybe it would be good if he’d see it; then he’d know she’d exposed him, and he’d clear out. Go back under the rock from which he’d crawled out.
Whatever. There was little she could do about it now. Now, she needed to do a quick rundown of the gist of what the private eye had found.
“Trey, aka Bruno Purdy, is not who you think he is.”
“Oh, Miranda—”
She cut him off. “You need to listen. Don’t interrupt. It won’t take me long. Everything I’m going to tell you is backed up in that folder I left back home.” She shuddered again as she thought of it being discovered, and she realized she was afraid of Trey, really afraid.
“So, Bruno Purdy has an arrest record. A fairly long one too. It’s all in the folder, but the highlights are that he’s a petty crook. He doesn’t have anything major, like murder, rape, kidnapping, armed robbery, but what he does have is a string of complaints.”
Connor stared at her, slowing his pace.
“The arrests and protective orders all come from one group—gay men. At least that’s what I suspect. Sexual orientation isn’t usually listed in public records. But all the complaints came from single men, usually older, usually well-off. He’s been convicted of aggravated assault, theft of personal property, and stalking. Lots of the latter. He’s lived all over. And those things he mentioned? About living downtown and being an attorney?” Oh, how she hated to tell him this. “Lies. Pure, simple, and indisputable.” She felt like she was stabbing her father. But he needed to know. “Daddy, he doesn’t have a law degree. He doesn’t even have a degree. He did take, ten years ago, some courses at a community college to be a court reporter but dropped out after only one quarter. He never lived downtown, or if he did, it was on the streets. Hehasbeen arrested for vagrancy. His last known address? One of those fleabag motels on Aurora.”
She stopped when she noticed Connor had paused. She turned to look at him. The hurt and confusion was writ large across his features. And it made her ache inside. She reminded herself that it was the information and who it traced back to that caused the pain, but it was hard to shake the guilt of feeling she was somehow responsible for his hurt.
And she was. She was. She could have left him in blissful ignorance. But the funny thing about that state was that it never lasted. It would hurt more later. Much more. She didn’t want to think what letting things go could lead to.
“In short, Daddy, he’s left a trail of broken men behind him. San Francisco, Chicago, Miami, LA…to name a few. Men who have been swindled, some physically hurt.
“He’s a con artist. And as much as I despise telling you all this, you have to know. And you have to get away.”
They faced each other across the wide concrete path, staring. Her father gazed at her as though he didn’t recognize her.
And then, he turned and began walking away.
“Daddy?” She was panic-stricken.
He increased his pace, away, toward the blue bridge in the distance. The sound of an air horn, a boat alerting the bridge it needed to raise to accommodate its mast sounded, and Miranda thought it was her own scream for a moment. She jumped.
She began to hurry after him, calling.
He stopped. Turned. His face was anguish personified. “No. Don’t follow me. Leave me alone. Just leave me alone.” He held up his hand. Miranda stopped, stunned, and dropped her arms, which she hadn’t realized were reaching out, to her sides.
“Okay, okay,” she said softly. His posture, his expression—both told a tale of being unreachable. She could only hope he would soften, that she hadn’t crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.
She watched as he hurried away, shoulders hunched. She had to use all of her restraint not to run after him, throw her arms around him. Soothe the pain she’d brought.
“Read the folder, Daddy. It’s all there.”
If he’d heard her, he gave no indication.
She stood watching the departing figure of her dad, thinking that if she had eaten lunch, she would be throwing up.
Chapter Twenty-Three
CONNOR WALKED HOMEstunned, angry and deeply hurt. He was so defeated he wasn’t even aware of his surroundings, let alone able to appreciate them. The sky may as well have been black, the birdsong muted, the wind stilled, the scenery a blur, abstract.
He trembled, breathing quickly and was on the verge of tears.
As he trod uphill on Dexter Avenue, almost home, he pitied himself. Despite traffic on the road and dog walkers and runners on the sidewalk, he spoke aloud to himself. His voice was soft, words mumbled, butstill.
“Why is all of this happening to me? All of a sudden! I moved along blindly for so many years, taking for granted my joys, my successes, my loves. They were there and I didn’t expect change. Stupid! Everything, good and bad, everything changes. In November, I lose the man I thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. I meet a nice guy, or so I thought, and I now don’t know what to trust or believe. And my daughter, bless her heart, seems to think I need looking after because god forbid I make a decision for myself.”
