Identity Withheld by Marcelle Dube

Author:Marcelle Dube
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: female sleuth, police procedural novels, mysterious past, female sleuth mysteries, police procedural mysteries, murder fiction books
Publisher: Falcon Ridge Publishing
Published: 2021-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

CLEO STRUGGLED TO SIT up, ending up with her back against the wall. She kept an eye on the stranger. He didn’t try to help.

Something was wrong with her ribs. She had trouble taking a full breath. Hopefully they were only bruised and not broken. And her head hurt from where it had hit the van floor.

Her heart raced and she had to work at keeping her voice calm. “My father is James Brennan,” she told the man firmly.

The man shrugged and stood up abruptly. He had been sitting on a low wooden stool, like something used in milking cows. He was wearing gray slacks and dress shoes, and a heavy black sweater over a white shirt. She caught a whiff of rank sweat as he moved.

“You mean Maurice Lackowicz,” he said.

She stared at him blankly. “What?”

He turned away and walked to the window. There were no curtains on it and she could see his reflection. There were no lights on outside. Was the power out everywhere or was it just this house?

It looked—and felt—late.

She glanced around the room again. The whole place looked dilapidated and she could smell dust. A lot of it. Where were they? And where was the other guy?

“The man you call your father,” he said, his back still to her, “his real name is Maurice Lackowicz. And your mother’s name is Daniela Ruhr.”

Cleo’s mouth parted in astonishment. What was he talking about?

He turned to look back at her but the candlelight didn’t reach his face. “Maury was my accountant, for Christ’s sake. He stole Dannie away from me. But she was already pregnant with you when they ran away. They lied to you.”

Something gave way inside Cleo and she found herself panting as she pressed her back against the wall. She felt the blood drain from her face and her hands turned icy. The whole room felt colder and she began to shiver.

This was what her parents had been running from her whole life. This was what she had been afraid of all this time. This man. Her father?

She drew her good leg up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knee in an effort to conserve heat.

“Why did they need to run away?” she asked, shying away from his assertion.

A flash of white in the window told her he had smiled. She was glad she couldn’t see his face clearly.

“Not only did they take you, little girl, they took a lot of my money with them. And I want it back.”

She shuddered at the note in his voice. This man’s calm was surface only. Underneath, he was very angry.

She examined him as best she could in the dim light, trying to see if they had anything in common. He was tall and thin, just like Dad. And he had brown eyes, just like Dad.

“What’s your name?” she asked suddenly.

He was quiet for a moment, clearly debating whether or not to tell her.

“Peter. Peter Dielissen.”

She’d never heard the name before. But adding the name to the faint accent, she thought he might be Danish.

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