Bad Dad. Alice Shane
BAD DAD
By
ALICE SHANE
Copyright © 2014 Alice Shane
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design: © Melchelle Designs
No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or translated in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author ([email protected]). The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents other than those in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Published in e-Book format by eBookIt.com
ISBN: 978-1-4566-2280-0
DEDICATION
This novel is lovingly dedicated to my husband, Hal, whose optimism and editorial insights were invaluable.
And to my brother, Albert, whose generosity and support is deeply appreciated.
PROLOGUE
Mary Lou Fuller disappeared one humid summer morning after her husband, Danny, left for work. She had brown-bagged his lunch and sent him off with a hasty kiss. That was the last time he saw her.
Despite a police investigation over a two-month period, there were still no leads as to where she might have gone or who might have abducted or murdered her. Mary Lou had evaporated into thin air.
Danny Fuller knew something though. It was about Lester, his father.
The knowing came to Danny as a crystallization arising out of observations of Dad. His demeanor. The way he spoke. His voice. More hushed than usual, his words, carefully chosen – changes that seemed to have occurred recently, within the past few months, around the time that Mary Lou vanished. It was all so gradual. Nothing startling. Danny barely noticed at first. But he couldn’t help but wonder if this diminution of Dad’s easygoing charm, so typical of someone who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, could be linked to Mary Lou’s disappearance.
***
Lester tried not to think about the murder. Nor did he and his foreman, Mike Sanger, ever discuss it once arrangements were made and carried out.
Occasionally, the image of Mary Lou’s body falling through the clouds from the Learjet would invade Lester’s thoughts, despite his efforts to shut them out of his consciousness. Yet, he didn’t experience much in the way of guilt or remorse – emotional fallout that had been minimized by hiring Mike to do the dirty work.
Obsessed with these random thoughts, Lester studied his face in the mirror while shaving. At 57, he was still youthful looking, although the strain of orchestrating the crime was beginning to show. Lines around his eyes had deepened. The corners of his mouth turned down in perpetual sadness. Or was it his imagination?
He was haunted by fears of being found out, even though he knew these concerns were irrational. Mike would never blab about murdering Mary Lou or being paid $50,000 for the job. It wasn’t even remotely possible. Who in his right mind would admit to being a hired killer? True, you can never predict what people will do, but Mike was someone he could trust with his life.
Still, the secretiveness of this dirty business had gotten to Lester. Who would understand his rationale for getting rid of Mary Lou who had been unfaithful, who had dragged his only son down from a privileged existence into the muck and mire of working class poverty?
He was doomed. He would go to his grave without ever revealing what happened to Mary Lou.
CHAPTER 1
Lester’s wife, Margo, intuitively knew from the South Carolina area code and the Southern accent who the caller was. It was the wife of Lester’s estranged son, Danny.
“Is this the Fuller residence?” the woman queried in a slow, lazy drawl.
A Bible Belt redneck, Margo thought with distaste. “Who is this?” Her voice was brittle, edgy. She wasn’t going to give this stranger any reason to believe she was welcome.
“I’m Mary Lou Fuller – does that ring a bell?” the woman announced in sassy tones, the drawl ominous, threatening, as if challenging Margo. I dare you, I double dare you, a singsong mantra reminiscent of a childhood chant.
“Mary Lou Fuller? I don’t recognize the name. Are you sure you have the right telephone number?” Margo probed, intending to distance herself from this woman.
“I’m married to Danny Fuller.” I’m trying to reach his father, Lester Fuller. Does he live there? I found this number among his ex-wife’s papers. She died last January from diabetic shock. Did you know that?” the girl asked, the dare in her voice rising to a crescendo, or so it seemed to Margo who already dreaded what this call would portend.
She wasn’t obligated to tell this person anything, Margo decided, concealing her surprise that Lester’s ex was dead. Finally. Lester always said he wanted to pee on the bitch’s grave, although she knew he was too much of a gentleman to do such a thing.
“Why don’t you give me your telephone number and I’ll talk to my husband about this,” Margo suggested, scribbling the number on a small notepad, abruptly ending the conversation by saying that one of them would get back to her.
What was the real purpose of this call? Her heart raced, her mouth suddenly felt dry. She didn’t for a moment believe it was entirely about Gloria Fuller’s death. They must be after money. His son’s reappearance in Lester’s life could conceivably jeopardize her rights under their prenuptial agreement. In less than a year, their prenup would mature. Half of Lester’s wealth would accrue to her – unless something dreadful happened.
The very thought of friction developing between herself and Lester unleashed a wave of anxiety. She wondered if there was any Valium around the house. Lester’s doctor had prescribed it for occasional use when he was stressed out. God only knew she needed something to calm down! But, no. She didn’t like the idea of suppressing her feelings with drugs. She would go for a long jog. Or pump iron in the exercise room next to the library.
Margo studied her image in the ornately framed gilt-edged antique mirror that hung above the liquor cabinet, next to the tufted leather sofa where she sat in the library. She was visibly upset, pale. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair was disheveled and looked stringy. It needed a combing.
It was 5:15 pm. Lester would be home in an hour or so. How would she find the words to break this news to him? Mary Lou Fuller’s call. The death of his ex-wife. The prospect of his estranged son reappearing in his life?
All of this was more than she could handle. And Lester. How was he going to react?
Margo toyed with the idea of not telling him about the call but thought better of it. Sooner or later, he would have to know.
CHAPTER 2
Lester Fuller was the sole heir and CEO of Fuller Energy, a natural gas exploration company with drilling rigs thrusting skyward over the landscapes of Pinedale and Dubois,Wyoming.
The enterprise was launched by his wildcatter grandfather, Jacob Fuller, at the turn of the 20th Century, when the industry was in its infancy.
His father, Charles Fuller, an engineer, entrepreneur, visionary, linked up to federally-funded pipelines in the 1970’s, enabling Fuller Energy to transport natural gas throughout the entire Midwest – a hookup that catapulted the company into a leading independent energy producer and supplier.