legitimate name. So I checked the local school records and found a Jonathan Wellington enrolled between 1960 and 1968.”
“Jonathan,” Alyson interrupted. “That’s the name we found on the photograph in Barkley’s stuff.”
“We know Mary died in 1968,” Trevor joined in. “So what happened to Jonathan after that?”
“I have no idea,” Mac answered as she nibbled on the end of a French fry. “The paper trail ended, until a couple of years ago.”
“What happened then?” Alyson asked impatiently. She didn’t know how Mac could think about food at a time like this, let alone keep stuffing her face.
“I did an online search for an obituary for Mary. I didn’t find one, but I did find an obituary for a Jonathan Wellington, who died on July 22, 2002.”
“Are you sure it’s the same Jonathan?” Alyson asked.
“Well, not a hundred percent,” Mac admitted, “but the paper did say he was forty-seven years old, so the age matches.”
“What else did the obituary say?” Alyson prodded.
“Not a whole lot, except that he left behind a wife and a son named Caleb.”
“Did it say how he died?” Trevor asked.
“No, it just gave the date of his death and his surviving relatives.”
“So if Jonathan’s dead, the missing heir is Caleb,” Alyson deduced. “Can we find out anything about Caleb?”
“There’s a Caleb Wellington who goes to this school,” Trevor informed them. “He’s a junior too. A member of the drama club, real artsy.”
“Makes sense.” Mac nodded. “The article indicated Jonathan lived in Cutter’s Cove at the time of his death.”
“Do you think he knew he was Barkley’s son?” Alyson wondered.
“We don’t know for certain he was Barkley’s son,” Mac reminded them. “Our investigation so far seems to indicate he probably was, but we have no hard evidence, like a birth certificate, eyewitnesses, or incriminating letters. And,” she continued, “I don’t think he could have known about Barkley. Otherwise why wouldn’t he have come forward when Barkley died? It looks like the estate is probably worth millions.”
“Wait a minute. Now I’m confused. Who died first, Barkley or Jonathan?” Alyson asked.
“Good question,” Mac responded. “Hang on and I’ll check my notes.”
Mac set her plate of chili aside and dug into her backpack. She pulled out a manila file folder, opened it, and pulled out a sheet of lined yellow paper. “Jonathan died on July 22 and Barkley was found dead on August 3 of the same year.”
“Wow, that’s beyond coincidence.” Trevor shook his head. “Both men dying within a couple of weeks of each other.”
“Should we talk to Caleb?” Alyson asked.
“Not yet,” Mac replied. “We need to see if we can find anything concrete linking Jonathan and Barkley. I mean, it’s still feasible Mary got pregnant by someone else and Barkley just befriended her when she delivered his groceries, so he felt sorry for her and decided to help her out financially.”
“I doubt it,” Alyson said.
“I agree,” Mac nodded, “but so far we have tons of speculation and no proof.”
“Mac’s right,” Trevor agreed. “We don’t want to suggest to Caleb that he might be the heir to millions and end up being totally wrong. Besides,” he added, “we still don’t know where the withdrawals from the trust have been going since Barkley’s death. If someone doesn’t want an heir to be found, we might be putting Caleb in danger.”
“It seems we still have more questions than answers,” Alyson complained.
The conversation died as the gang finished eating. Alyson looked out the window at the surfers who had decided to take advantage of the unusually large waves. Cutter’s Cove was definitely a surfing town where huge waves served as almost an excuse for cutting class or calling in sick to work.
Alyson found that most longtime residents, like Mac and Trevor, took the sensational view the lunchroom provided for granted. But
“Jonathan,” Alyson interrupted. “That’s the name we found on the photograph in Barkley’s stuff.”
“We know Mary died in 1968,” Trevor joined in. “So what happened to Jonathan after that?”
“I have no idea,” Mac answered as she nibbled on the end of a French fry. “The paper trail ended, until a couple of years ago.”
“What happened then?” Alyson asked impatiently. She didn’t know how Mac could think about food at a time like this, let alone keep stuffing her face.
“I did an online search for an obituary for Mary. I didn’t find one, but I did find an obituary for a Jonathan Wellington, who died on July 22, 2002.”
“Are you sure it’s the same Jonathan?” Alyson asked.
“Well, not a hundred percent,” Mac admitted, “but the paper did say he was forty-seven years old, so the age matches.”
“What else did the obituary say?” Alyson prodded.
“Not a whole lot, except that he left behind a wife and a son named Caleb.”
“Did it say how he died?” Trevor asked.
“No, it just gave the date of his death and his surviving relatives.”
“So if Jonathan’s dead, the missing heir is Caleb,” Alyson deduced. “Can we find out anything about Caleb?”
“There’s a Caleb Wellington who goes to this school,” Trevor informed them. “He’s a junior too. A member of the drama club, real artsy.”
“Makes sense.” Mac nodded. “The article indicated Jonathan lived in Cutter’s Cove at the time of his death.”
“Do you think he knew he was Barkley’s son?” Alyson wondered.
“We don’t know for certain he was Barkley’s son,” Mac reminded them. “Our investigation so far seems to indicate he probably was, but we have no hard evidence, like a birth certificate, eyewitnesses, or incriminating letters. And,” she continued, “I don’t think he could have known about Barkley. Otherwise why wouldn’t he have come forward when Barkley died? It looks like the estate is probably worth millions.”
“Wait a minute. Now I’m confused. Who died first, Barkley or Jonathan?” Alyson asked.
“Good question,” Mac responded. “Hang on and I’ll check my notes.”
Mac set her plate of chili aside and dug into her backpack. She pulled out a manila file folder, opened it, and pulled out a sheet of lined yellow paper. “Jonathan died on July 22 and Barkley was found dead on August 3 of the same year.”
“Wow, that’s beyond coincidence.” Trevor shook his head. “Both men dying within a couple of weeks of each other.”
“Should we talk to Caleb?” Alyson asked.
“Not yet,” Mac replied. “We need to see if we can find anything concrete linking Jonathan and Barkley. I mean, it’s still feasible Mary got pregnant by someone else and Barkley just befriended her when she delivered his groceries, so he felt sorry for her and decided to help her out financially.”
“I doubt it,” Alyson said.
“I agree,” Mac nodded, “but so far we have tons of speculation and no proof.”
“Mac’s right,” Trevor agreed. “We don’t want to suggest to Caleb that he might be the heir to millions and end up being totally wrong. Besides,” he added, “we still don’t know where the withdrawals from the trust have been going since Barkley’s death. If someone doesn’t want an heir to be found, we might be putting Caleb in danger.”
“It seems we still have more questions than answers,” Alyson complained.
The conversation died as the gang finished eating. Alyson looked out the window at the surfers who had decided to take advantage of the unusually large waves. Cutter’s Cove was definitely a surfing town where huge waves served as almost an excuse for cutting class or calling in sick to work.
Alyson found that most longtime residents, like Mac and Trevor, took the sensational view the lunchroom provided for granted. But
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