Every House Has a Secret – 24

 

 

"Mr. Alan Thatcher, please," Rand said when a receptionist at the financial firm answered the phone Tuesday morning.

 

"May I ask who's calling?"

 

"Randal Jordner."

 

"What is this in reference to, sir?"

 

"One of his clients suggested I talk to him about my financial portfolio and perhaps my switching brokers." That was the story Rand had come up with, figuring he'd be more likely to get through to Alan with that than he would if he said he was a reporter, or that he had personal business with him.

 

"Let me see if he's available." She put him on hold, during which he had the dubious pleasure of listening to elevator music.

 

"Alan Thatcher, here," Alan said a few moments later. "The receptionist says you wish to talk with me about your portfolio. It would be better if you made an appointment to come into my office."

 

"I'm afraid I misled her, and you," Rand replied. "My husband and I recently purchased your father's house and I have a question."

 

"I'm afraid you have the wrong Alan Thatcher. My father, to the best of my knowledge has not nor does he plan on selling his house."

 

"I'm referring to your birth father, Dennis Hodges."

 

There was a definite coldness in Alan's voice as he replied, "I've had no contact with him since I was a child, other than his occasional obligatory visits on holidays and special occasions. Those ended by the time I reached adolescence. I know that he died several years ago. As far as his house is concerned, I haven't seen or been in it since he and my mother divorced and she got custody of me and my brother, Steven."

 

"Then you and your brother didn't inherit it and spend your weekends there for approximately two years?"

 

"Good Lord no. Whoever told you that was lying. May I ask why you're interested in these men who, I'm presuming, did?"

 

"The pair, who claimed to be you and your brother, abandoned the house two years later and put it on the market. From what the realtor told us the house didn't sell because it was obviously in very bad shape. My husband and I bought it as a fixer-upper, which we're doing. In the process, we found something we believe belonged to Mr. Hodges."

 

"May I ask what?"

 

"Photographs of two boys and their mother. We believe they may be Hodges sons by his first marriage."

 

"Why them and not me and Steven?"

 

"One photo was dated nineteen-sixty-eight. You and your brother would have been seven and eight at that point. The boys in the photos look older than that by at least a couple of years."

 

"All right, that makes sense. If the woman is their mother, it would have been Emila. She died, was murdered…" Alan sighed, "in nineteen sixty-nine."

 

"Yes, we're aware of that. It's why we thought you might have been interested in the photos."

 

"As I didn't know they existed, and honestly don't care, I wouldn't have gone looking for them. You really should be talking with Dennis Junior or George. I'm sure they're the boys in the pictures," Alan said.

 

"I will. Thank you for your time."

 

"No problem. I hope you find them."

 

"You don't keep in contact with them I take it," Rand said.

 

"No. After their mother's death, and what happened next, they were sent to live with Emila's parents."

 

"When Hodges was kicked off the police force."

 

"Yes. You have done your research. Her parents lived in, I believe, Ohio. Columbus, if I remember correctly. I have no idea where my stepbrothers are now."

 

"At least that gives me a place to start looking. Again, thank you for your time."

 

"You're welcome."