Not My Mother's Son "Things Aren't Always What They Seem"

Prologue

The aroma and feel of the air was that of autumn. The once-green leaves, now transforming into beautiful hues of red, orange, and gold, were starting to fall and catch in the wind gusts, causing them to scurry across yards, parking lots, and streets like field mice darting in fear from an irate person with a broom. Fall was always a pleasant time of the year, as it reminded David of Halloweens past when he, Joshua, and John dressed up in funny costumes and went door-to-door begging for candy from all their strange neighbors in the trailer park. David had been amazed at how the rule of never take candy from strangers was tossed out the window for the sake of a few hours of fun.

Halloween was one of the few holidays Bea allowed them to celebrate and that was only early on—the first few years they lived in Bunting Valley. Of course, when they returned home with their worn-out pillowcases full of tasty, sugary treats, Bea hid them. She told David and his brothers they were allowed to have a piece or two of candy per day, if—and only if—they were really good and deserved it. The problem was that David didn’t ever remember seeing the candy again. Once it left his grasp it was all over and he knew it. Obviously, in Bea’s opinion, he and his brothers were never good enough.

Beatrice Miller was being held in prison at the federal building. In July, she’d been arrested on two counts of kidnapping. During the search for evidence and witnesses, it was discovered she had kidnapped two additional children, who had since been returned to their families—one in New Orleans, the other near Seattle. Bea claimed she had a reason for kidnapping each and every one, although she refused to call it kidnapping. She simply referred to it as removing them from an unpleasant situation. The question was whether the jury would empathize with her, or find her guilty and recommend the maximum sentence.

David Miller, now twenty years old, was forced to grow up way before his time. The only biological child of Beatrice and Henry Miller, his life and upbringing would be described as nothing less than fiction; the sad truth was that it wasn’t fiction at all. He had lived through it and sometimes wondered how he had not only survived, but also came out at the other end older and wiser than his years. Tall, with eyes the color of creamy milk chocolate, his once dyed jet-black hair was now back to its natural shade of light brown with golden highlights, cut and styled in the latest fashion. He was a very attractive young man. He was told more than once he looked like his late father. Growing up, he thought the day when he grew taller than his mother would be when their relationship would change, but it hadn’t. She still found ways to push him around, manipulate him into doing her dirty work, and clean up her messes.

Benita Adams, David’s great aunt, had been contacted to appear as a witness for the prosecution. Aunt Benita was the picture of glamour, and everyday life was her runway. No matter where she went she dressed to the nines, and her visit to Bunting Valley was no exception. She had wedge-cut silver hair, the soft layers framing her face, and laugh lines around her eyes and mouth. Prior to her visit, David wasn’t even aware he had a great-aunt. Bea made it a point never to talk about family—except Henry, who’d passed away in a freak accident the year David turned seven. David tried many times to remember his father, but he wasn’t sure if he remembered things about him, or if they were things Bea had told him. She always managed to paint a picture with only happy times and joyful memories, using only the bright and cheerful colors in her palette. As dysfunctional as the family was, David doubted things had ever been quite so utopian.

Despite Aunt Benita’s upturned nose and her initial reaction to David and the trailer park he lived in, she’d been back to visit a few times while waiting for the trial. After much persuasion, Benita took David shopping, and he finally relented and allowed her to buy him a new three-piece, charcoal-gray suit, along with a few other articles of clothing. She told him he needed something professional-looking for the trial. Oh yes, the trial; David was not looking forward to seeing his mother again, but knowing he’d get to dress up in his brand-new suit made that bitter pill a little easier to swallow.

On the day of the trial, Benita sent a limousine to pick him up. Unable to sleep, he was up early and dressed, looking out the small, dirty, rectangular window in the door when the shiny black limo with tinted windows pulled into the dirt-covered driveway of the single-wide trailer on Crimson Lane. He’d lived in the house trailer for most of his life—most of the years he could remember, at least. When Benita said she’d send a driver, David thought it would be a taxi—but a limousine? It was times like these when he missed his brothers. He could only imagine the joy they’d get from riding in a stretch limo. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Bea had kidnapped those boys and led David to believe they were his brothers; he’d bonded with them as they grew up together. Now he suddenly found out he was an only child. Damn you, Bea. Not only did you destroy their lives, but you did a pretty good job on mine, too.

On the drive to the federal building, David played with controls and pushed buttons, trying not to think about the day ahead. He closed the partition between the front and back seats more than once. The driver, dressed in a black suit and white-collared dress shirt, rolled his eyes as he watched his jubilant rider in the rearview mirror. David imagined he’d probably seen his share of elated passengers, and not wanting to waste the experience, decided to make the most of it.

David was shocked to see all the news media gathered outside the federal building, an old historic landmark in downtown Jamestown. Something like this didn’t happen very often in North Dakota, especially a sleepy little town like Bunting Valley. Every local news station and national news affiliate had representatives camped out on the sidewalk, waiting to hear details of what they were calling the trial of the century. When the limo rounded the corner, several camera men came running toward them, thinking David was somebody. Unsure of who they thought he was, he sat back and smiled through the tinted windows. I am somebody; you just don’t know it yet.

David and the other witnesses were corralled together in a large conference room off the main hallway, the same hallway that led to the courtroom where he would face his mother. Aunt Benita was there, as was Mrs. Edna Brown, David’s elderly next door neighbor; Officer Butler, who was the arresting police officer in the kidnapping of Maggie Taylor; and a couple other people he didn’t know or recognize. David, looking very nervous, took a seat beside Aunt Benita. You look so handsome, she said, reaching for his hand.

Thank you, and thank you again for the suit. I’ve never had anything this nice before. As I told you, Mom did most of our shopping at Second Hand Sam. The only time we got anything new was when someone gave it to us… and that wasn’t very often.

I’m so sorry, David. I wish I’d known. I would have done something to help. She squeezed his hand a little tighter.

You don’t need to be sorry. It’s none of your doing, and I didn’t know any different. And the limo! Oh my gosh, Aunt Benita. It was unbelievable.

Prosecutor Gregory Hildebrand, a young attorney handling his first high-profile case, burst into the room, full of energy, a whirlwind followed by a blur. Wearing a very nice navy blue suit and matching tie, he’d come by to say a few words before the trial began, to let them know what was going to happen, and the order in which they’d be called to testify. David was told he would be the second witness, after Aunt Benita.

Unbeknownst to David, Benita Adams had met with the prosecutor for several hours the day before. They discussed the time she’d lived with Edward Noslen, her brother, and her niece Beatrice, the accused. Even though it had only been six years, they were six formative years in Beatrice Miller’s life, and explained a lot about the way she lived. Benita told of how she’d bumped into Beatrice, years later, on a street corner in Dallas. Bea, sitting in a wheelchair, held a sign that read "Homeless and penniless. Please help." Hildebrand said that con artists and swindlers often did such things to garner sympathy, and asked Benita if she thought this was the case. She hesitated, and then nodded. He needed to be sure she was one hundred percent certain it had been Beatrice Miller on that street corner, and Benita Adams confirmed there had been no mistake. Even though Beatrice was several years older, she would never forget those eyes; and even though the baby teeth had been replaced by adult teeth, the smile was the same. The sad, hollow look on her face was enough to keep Benita awake at night, wondering what went wrong. Now she knew. But she wanted to make sure the court knew she didn’t fault Beatrice and was convinced the whole scam was Edward’s idea. She’d made the trip to help Beatrice, not hurt her.

While David waited for his turn, he paced back and forth in the conference room, carpeted with commercial-grade gunmetal gray carpet. A large, rectangular, dark oak table sat in the center of the room, with twelve or more chairs spaced around it. Its edge was slightly worn from arms and sleeves that had inadvertently polished it over many years. On the wall hung elaborately framed photos of President Barack Obama and the current governor, John Hoeven, next to a copy of the Declaration of Independence in an ornate, vintage-looking frame. David had been required to memorize portions of it for his freshman social studies class, but as he stood reading it, none of it seemed familiar. A window with a faux wood-grain blind let some natural light into the room, but a bank of overhead fluorescent lights overtook the space. Some armless chairs, matching those pushed under the table, lined the walls. Most of the people sat in them, awaiting their turn. On a taller table, pushed up against a wall, was a clear plastic pitcher of ice water and several Styrofoam cups.

Officer Rich Butler, one of Bunting Valley’s finest, had befriended David in the midst of all that was going on. He was the first officer to arrive at Lake Gerber on July 17, 2010, the day Maggie Taylor was abducted. Never having been involved in a kidnapping case from beginning to end, and after talking with the Chief of Police, he had adopted the role of lead investigator, a position he did not take lightly.

On the morning of the arrest, Officer Butler had visited the Miller trailer and spoken to Bea Miller and one of her sons, although David was nowhere to be seen. A few hours later, Officer Butler was also present when the arrest was made in an abandoned parking lot at the end of Crimson Lane, and both Bea and David were handcuffed and taken away. Having seen David change so much since the initial arrest, Officer Butler knew there were great things in store for him now that he was free from his mother’s influence. He could sense David’s uneasiness, and came over more than once to tell him everything was going to be okay.

David wasn’t really worried about testifying; he was more worried about seeing his mother. He’d avoided it to this point. She’d sent messages through her attorney’s office more than once, saying how much it would mean to her if David came to visit. He even got a couple of letters in the mail, which he did not open. He didn’t have it in him to forgive her yet. And he didn’t want to hear her side of the twisted, demented story until after the trial. David didn’t want anything to change his opinion, which might ultimately change his testimony.

Growing up, he’d never tried to defy her, knowing he’d somehow pay for it in one way or another. To think he was about to go before a judge and jury and tell the truth without repercussions was beyond his wildest dreams. It was daunting, and even though it was the right thing to do, he still worried Bea would find a way to punish him. If he had a dollar for every time she’d threatened to cut out his tongue if he told anyone what was going on—well, he’d have enough money to buy more than a hamburger from the dollar menu. David snickered at the thought.

Aunt Benita seemed to be gone for a long time, but when she came back she told David she thought it went well. How did she look? he asked, not really sure he wanted to hear what she had to say.

She looked like an older version of Beatrice, the little girl I still love with all my heart. Benita, a little flushed, tapped her chest over her heart with her hand as she continued, She looks a little tired, but beautiful. Honestly, the whole setup is exactly like those crime shows on TV. You know, like Law & Order.

I’ve never watched TV. David hung his head. She refused to let us have one.

Benita’s brow furrowed. Really? I thought everyone watched TV. I can’t imagine. She looked deep in thought. So how do you keep up with the Kardashians?

The Kar-who? David asked, as if she were speaking a foreign language.

Benita shook her head. Well, anyway. Beatrice is sitting at a table next to her attorney… I think his name is James Monroe… facing the judge’s bench. There’s another table just like it where Mr. Hildebrand is sitting, if you can call it sitting. That man looks like a professional shopper on Black Friday… never in one place very long. The courtroom is pretty full. I guess everyone is curious.

What did they ask you?

Just stuff about when Beatrice was a little girl and how your Grandpa Edward treated her.

Was that it? David was hoping for more. He wanted to know what to expect when it was his turn.

More or less, Benita said with a strained smile.

David Miller, you’re up next, a middle-aged woman announced, holding the door open for him. David took a deep breath and followed her to the heavy wooden double doors at the back of the courtroom.

David entered slowly, feeling uneasy, as if he were walking the plank. Officer Butler had somehow managed to escape the conference room and was seated near the back. David spotted him, comforted to see a friendly face in the crowd. Trying to avoid looking at Bea, David glanced around at everything except the table where the woman—whose DNA confirmed she was his mother—sat. Everything was wood; wooden doors, tables, benches, floors, even the blades on the ceiling fans. After he was sworn in, he repeated his name and his relationship to the accused, and took a seat in the witness box.

The prosecutor got right down to business, asking David to tell the jury what happened the day Charlie, also known as Mikey, was abducted from the Stop-N-Save grocery store in Greenfield, North Dakota. Mikey was one of the two children Beatrice Miller was on trial for kidnapping. David had repeated the story so many times he had it memorized. He even knew when to give a pregnant pause, to allow the best reaction from the jury and audience.

David had seen a few movies, when they had the money and Bea allowed him out of the house. As he sat there on the witness stand, he felt like a character in a film. The attorneys were so articulate David swore they were reading from a script.

He sat straighter in the witness box, trying to ignore the wooden spindles poking him in the back, and told how Bea went to the Stop-N-Save in Greenfield in search of a little girl. When she first saw the baby, dressed in a yellow snowsuit and wrapped loosely in a Winnie-the-Pooh blanket, she thought it was a girl. When she got the baby home and found it was a boy, she panicked and asked David to get rid of it. David smiled as the audience gasped, right on cue. Then he explained that when he told Bea he would do no such thing, she threatened to cut off his penis and dress him like a girl. Again, a major reaction from the crowd, and David loved it. The whole experience was surreal, something he would remember for the rest of his life.

When the prosecutor asked who the child was, David looked straight at his mother for the first time and stated the truth. I’ve been told his real name is Charlie Novak. We called him Mikey.

Mr. Monroe stood and walked over to the witness box. He walked back and forth, boot heels clicking on the wood floor, repeating one word—David—over and over while tapping his lips with his perfectly manicured index finger. David disliked him from the start. Balding, with a bad comb-over, he reminded David of a used car salesman—seedy and dishonest. You stated your mom took a child from the Stop-N-Save in the fall of 2003. Is that correct?

David rolled his eyes, knowing Monroe was trying to catch him in a lie. For once I’m not lying, and this jackass has the nerve to give me a hard time. No, I stated Bea took a baby boy from the Stop-N-Save in the fall of 2003.

Mr. Monroe found something humorous in David’s response and softly chuckled. He turned to look at David again. How old were you when this happened?

I was twelve.

Monroe continued to pace. David could tell he was trying to find fault with his answer. With his finger still tapping his lips, Monroe abruptly asked, And as a twelve-year-old-boy, did you not think about calling the police?

I threatened to call them if she hurt Mikey. Your questions are going to take her down, and you’re not taking me down with her.

But not because she kidnapped a baby?

No. She told me his mom had left him unattended in the shopping cart. She thought Mikey was better off with us.

Monroe stopped and leaned in, his face inches from David’s. And was he?

It smelled like Monroe had eaten an onion and garlic sandwich for breakfast, and David quickly turned his face. It’s impossible for me to answer that question, not knowing his background, he shrugged.

No further questions, Your Honor.

David felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. Bea had kidnapped Mikey in broad daylight from a shopping cart at the grocery store, and Monroe was trying to make it look like he was just as guilty because he didn’t call the police. If Monroe had any idea what it was like to grow up with Bea Miller as your mother, he would understand that calling the police was not an option. As he stepped down from the witness stand, he glanced in the direction of his mother for the second time. She smiled at David, and as he read her lips, he felt sick to his stomach. I forgive you, David. He was then led back to the conference room to wait with the others to learn her fate.

Shortly after he returned, Officer Butler came in and told him what a fine job he did. If you stick to the truth and give the facts as you remember them, you’ll always win out in the end.

I couldn’t believe Monroe! What a slimy bastard.

He’s not that bad. Remember, he was hired to defend your mother and show that she isn’t as horrible as everyone thinks she is. Don’t take it personally. He cross-examines everyone that way.

Well, maybe he does, but I don’t like him. How can he sleep at night knowing he’s in there protecting her? What she did was wrong, and she deserves to be punished. I’d give anything not to be her son.

Officer Butler patted David on the back. It’s times like these we hope the justice system works the way it should.

I guess, but it still makes me mad.

I understand completely. They’re taking a fifteen-minute recess, and then I’m going back in. Do you want to come with me? We could sit near the back.

I don’t know if I want to hear what’s going on.

It might help you realize Monroe isn’t out to get you.

David thought for a moment and nodded. Do you mind if Aunt Benita comes with us? he asked.

Not at all. Officer Butler, being a little taller than David, glanced over to see if Benita was still sitting where they left her.

After asking her, Benita said she was tired and would rather sit in the conference room and wait. As it was, she knew more than she cared to. Her memories of Beatrice were still innocent and untainted and she wanted to keep them that way. Benita remembered the promise she’d made Beatrice when she was only a year old—to protect her, love her, and make sure Edward never hurt her. Tears welled in her eyes when she realized how miserably she had failed.

As David and Officer Butler sat at the back of the courtroom waiting for the trial to recommence, Officer Butler told David the next witness was Detective Kenneth McClure from the Greenfield Police Department.