Page 80 of The Blackmail of Denise Randall

THE CONFRONTATION

Keaton doesn’t contact me for the next few days. I should apologize, but my pride won’t allow it. I’m pathetic. Although I feel safe from outside danger, he was right. I’m terrified of myself. With a patrolman always around the house and following me, it’s made Roland and me getting together difficult, and I can’t restock my pills. Which means I have to focus on breathing and finding different ways to calm myself.

Right now, I’m focusing on my future. A future away from here, away from drama and sexy construction workers. I’ve filled out several applications for internships at a variety of companies that range from a couple of hours away to across the country. Crossing my fingers, I’m hoping to get accepted at a multimillion-dollar corporation that’s only a couple of hours away from home. The company’s name is Morgan Distributing. They handle several small businesses scattered across the country and a few outside the U.S. Everything from restaurants, clothing boutiques, grocery stores and hotels. If I was to get a foot in there, my future would be set. I take a deep breath and submit my final application. It would be a dream to manage any accounts in the fashion industry. I look at the clock and realize I’ve been busy with this for the last four hours. The day is almost gone.

Speaking of fashion, I need to get material to design Alice’s dress for her wedding rehearsal. She has so much faith in me, and I can’t let her down. Landon used to have faith in me like that too, which makes me miss him more. Planning Alice’s wedding without him feels wrong. I leave the guest house and head to the main house. I climb the staircase that leads to the private quarters of the house. Then I go across the hall to Landon’s old room. It’s been six years, and we still haven’t touched his room. Everything is exactly as he left it. Well, minus any dirty laundry.

Entering the room makes my chest feel as though it’s being squeezed. I lie down on his bed with my sketch pad and begin working on designs for Alice’s dress. Landon always had the most confidence in me out of everyone. The difference between a compliment from Landon and the others was Landon didn’t care to tell me when he didn’t like something. So when he told me I was talented and amazing at fashion—I believed him. I know right now he thinks I can do this, and I need that support. Being in here is helping my creativity flow.

I wonder when Mom and Dad will clean out his room? Alice’s room is the same. Her nursery remained the same for seventeen years, but when they heard she’d been found, they remodeled it to suit a young woman, rather than a baby. Otherwise, they might have not ever changed it.

Before I leave Landon’s room, I grab his freshman, sophomore, and junior yearbooks, blinking back the tears as I hurry out. I go back to the guest house and flip the books to Keaton Sloan’s graduating class. I turn to the S’s and run my finger down the column. Salamon, Sanders, Schneider, Sloan, Smith. I pause and read, Keaton Michael Sloan. I look at his sophomore class picture and barely recognize him. His cheeks are fuller with speckles of acne and his hair is shorter. The most notable difference is his eyes; they’re empty. I scan through the book for any more photos of him, but there’s only the group football photo. I then do the same with his junior year yearbook, but he isn’t there. This must have been when he went to LA. The last yearbook is his senior year. His hair is grown out to the point it fans out at his ears. In this photo, he’s smiling and those adorable dimples are featured. He’s more fit, but still not the beefy hunk he is today. This time his eyes are bright and holds a smile. There are a few solo photos of him in the sports’ section of the yearbook. He was voted class clown. I groan when I spot a photo of him and Emily dancing together at Homecoming. She looks beautiful. She almost looks the same from when I saw her at the construction site. That seems forever ago now.

There’s a knock at my door. I ease off the couch and tiptoe toward my door. I pull the curtain back on the side window to peek out. Keaton.

“I hear you, Denise. Stop sneaking around and open the door.”

I throw it open and cross my arms. “Can I help you?”

He gently nudges past me and enters the house. His eyes scan the room, landing on the yearbooks. “Are you checking up on me?”

I narrow my eyes. “No. I was looking at—at photos of my family.”

His eyes turn sad and he says, “I miss him too.”

Landon. I don’t know what to say so I remain quiet. Keaton picks up a yearbook and a soft smile crosses his handsome face. He turns around to face me and says, “Wyatt Anthony checks out. My buddies at the station said they’ve got nothing on him.”

“He didn’t send the guy? So, he’s innocent.” Was it you this whole time, Keaton?

“I didn’t say he was innocent, but technically, yeah, he is. I’m worried about you since we don’t know who broke in. We have no leads.” If it was you, you wouldn’t have any leads, now would you?

I stare at him and try to find any signs that this guy could be capable of going so far as to send a crazy guy to my house, just so he could what? Maybe he wanted Wyatt to go to jail, so he tried to frame him? Maybe he did get mad at Trent and decided to play the hero to win over the Randall family?

Keaton tilts his head and inspects me. Finally, he asks, “Denise, what’s going on?”

“I find it strange that all this time you never went out of your way to talk to me, and then all of a sudden, you’ve got the balls to blackmail and proposition me for sex. You take me straight to discover my cheating boyfriend on our ‘first,” I make air quotes with my fingers, “‘date.’ It’s quite the coincidence that you were at the right place, at the right time when I had a break-in, which there are no leads for. I don’t really know who you are or what you want. I have no clue what’s going on. And I think you have something to do with it.”

Keaton has the nerve to give a humorless chuckle. “You don’t know me? That’s really a sting to my ego, considering that I’ve been in the mix with your family for years. I’ve been to your house and around you and your family for the past six years. But then again, why would a shallow, spoiled, self-righteous princess like Denise Randall be interested in someone like me?” He spreads his arms out and with a fake smile says, “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the guy that’s been friends with your brother and sister. More importantly, I’m the guy that risked his integrity to make sure you weren’t arrested for a crime you committed. I’m the asshole that proved what a bigger asshole your little pampered, limp dick Wyatt is.”

“Whatever. I wasn’t going to date Wyatt anyways.”

“Oh yeah? But you’d rather ‘date’ some asshole like that because he has money.” He runs his hand through his hair and growls in frustration. Using a mocking tone, he asks, “Remember that time that you almost got attacked but didn’t because somebody was right there to save the day by risking his life? I got stabbed for you! Trent called me and was worried about you. Ask him. I’m also the only one to sing happy birthday and make the day only about you. Your words.” He releases a sound of frustration again and holds his hands up. “Why am I always arguing with you?” He begins to pace and then points to my phone sitting on the couch. “I’ve tried to help you time and time again. I don’t judge you for your abuse of pills, but you have the nerve to judge me? Over what? Is this so I’ll back off and you can go back to your,” he uses air quotes, “‘perfect life?’ Which translates to numbing out on drugs and walking around like a show pony.” He walks over and picks up my phone and hands it to me. “If you think I’m a suspect, then call the police. I’ll be at my house for the rest of the night. Have a nice night, Denise.”

I watch him calmly walk out the door. I jump slightly when the door slams closed. I stand there and listen to his car drive away. Almost in slow motion, I swipe my lock screen and place the call.

“I still can’t believe you. Really, Denise?” Rachel rolls her eyes and feeds Caleb another bite of French fry.

“What?” I stab at my salad with a fork. “You think I was wrong to suspect him? Tell me you don’t think this whole situation seems strange.”

After my phone call last night, Rachel insisted we get together for lunch. Gabriella is in school and Trent is at work, so it’s just me, her and little Caleb. He throws the French fry down and smears his applesauce on the table.

Rachel laughs. Laughs. “Oh, most definitely. Just one thing. Explain how he set you up at the fair? I mean you did key Isabelle’s car. That’s what set all this into motion.” She immediately stops laughing. “Explain how he got your sweet Wyatt to screw Charlee for the past couple of months?” I flinch, and she whispers an apology, “Sorry. But really?”

“Okay, but what about the rest? Let’s say he didn’t set it all in motion. What about-”

She holds a hand up and shakes her head. “Stop it. Just stop. You’re ridiculous. I still can’t believe you.”

“It didn’t hurt to confirm his story with Trent.”

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