Page 10 of Daddy Detectives: Episode 2

She picks up the pad of paper and pen and writes something quick. I glance down to see her signature. She has a light hand, her letters fluid and curving. It’s a very feminine signature. Rhonda Mitchell did not write that blackmail note.

Taking a chance, I withdraw the blackmail note from my jacket pocket and hand it to her.

She opens the sheet, and as she skims it, her eyes widen. The blood drains from her face as she drops into the seat across from mine.

“Where did this—I didn’t write it,” she says, meeting my gaze head on. “Is this why you’re here? Oh, my God, does Ian think I sent this to him?” She shakes her head and presses her right hand over her heart. “I swear to God, I didn’t. I would never do something like this. I did hurt him years ago, yes, but I’m a different person now. I would never hurt a hair on his head.” She hastily refolds the note and hands it back to me.

“Did you recognize the handwriting?” I ask. I watch the myriad emotions flitting across her face, ranging from confusion to sadness to finally anger.

She looks away, staring out a window at the street.

“Rhonda, who wrote the letter?”

Her attention snaps back to me. “You said you’re a private investigator. Did Ian hire you? Does he think I’m the one trying to blackmail him?”

“No, he didn’t hire me. I’m his husband.”

For a moment, she’s speechless. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. I brace myself, because if she reacts badly, it’ll only add to Ian’s pain.

“My son is gay?” she finally asks.

“He is. Do you have a problem with that?”

She looks confused for a moment, but then she shakes her head. “No, I don’t have a problem with it. I just want him to be happy. Earlier you said he has kids.”

“Yes. We have newborn twins, a girl and a boy.”

Her lips curve into a smile. “Twins? I’ll bet he’s a good daddy. He always was such a gentle soul.” Her demeanor cracks then as fresh tears start falling. “Excuse me.”

Rhonda jumps up from the table and runs to the restroom, leaving me sitting here wondering who sent that letter to Ian if she didn’t do it.

I believe her. But whoever wrote the letter has access to Rhonda’s personal belongings, namely the photographs.

I drink my coffee as I wait for her to reappear. I’m not going anywhere until I get answers.

* * *

When Rhonda finally emerges from the bathroom, she’s composed, although her eyes are bloodshot and rimmed in red. She’s definitely been crying.

She returns to my table. “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to work.”

I lay cash for my cup of coffee on the table and stand. “Rhonda, who wrote the letter?”

“My boyfriend, Gary. That’s his handwriting. I’m sure of it.”

“What’s his last name?”

“Sharp. Gary Sharp. We’ve been together about six months. He recently moved in with me.”

“And he knows about Ian?”

She nods. “I told him about my history, my time in prison. I wanted to be transparent, you know?”

“I presume he knows Ian’s wealthy.”

Now Rhonda looks guilty. “He does. I’ve been keeping track of Ian through new articles. I’ve read about the things he’s done for the city, the money he’s donated.”

“Do you have photos of Ian from back then?”

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