Miss Lizzy's Legacy by Peggy Moreland Page B

surprises for one day.”
    Judd threw up his hands. “Terrific! Now we have the great-great-granddaughter of Miss Lizzy, Guthrie’s most famous madam, renting one of the old girl’s rooms, and she doesn’t even know it.”
    Molly looked down her nose at Judd. “Don’t be disrespectful. Miss Lizzy was a fine, upstanding woman. Besides,” she said with a sniff, “you said you didn’t believe Callie was a descendant of Miss Lizzy’s, anyway.”
    â€œHell, I don’t know what to think. Now she says she’s an artist and she’s going to use the space upstairs as a temporary studio while she’s here.”
    â€œMaybe she is an artist.”
    â€œYeah, and I’m an elephant trainer.” Judd folded his arms across his chest. “And I suppose you’re going to leave it up to me to tell her the truth?”
    â€œOnly when you think the time is right, dear.” Suddenly Molly’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “That’s it!” she cried. She rocketed from her chair, dropping her needlepoint to the floor while she made a beeline for an old rolltop desk, heaped high with stacks of paper. “I knew I recognized her name.” She dug through the pile and came up with a brochure. “Callie Benson.” She crossed the room and waved the brochure under her son’s nose. “And you thought she was a reporter.” She made a tsking sound with her tongue and tossed the brochure onto his lap. “She’s an artist. A brilliant one, I might add. And now you’ve probably insulted her with your crazy suspicions.”
    Judd picked up the brochure and flipped through it while his mother paced in front of him, continuing her chastisement of him for his rudeness. He knew, given time, she’d wind down. She always did. While he waited for that to happen, he entertained himself by reading the brochure.
    The pamphlet consisted of about seven pages, filled front and back with pictures of sculptures. The last page was the one that caught his attention, though. For on it was a picture of Callie, stooped over a mound of clay with the beginnings of a face appearing beneath her mud-slickened hands. If not for the picture, he could have ignored the brochure and her claim to be an artist as just one more lie.
    â€œAnd I think you owe the woman an apology, at the very least.”
    An apology? Judd closed his eyes and hauled in a long breath, thinking an apology wouldn’t even come close. Especially considering the way he’d treated her in her hotel room the night before. Maybe instead of offering an apology, he ought to just lie down and let her stomp on him for a while. Maybe then, she’d consider them even.
    * * *
    Callie sat on the floor of her hotel room with copies of magazine articles and newspaper clippings scattered all around her. Prudy, as always, had come through for her, faxing every word that had been written about Judd Barker over the last three years. Callie had scanned the reports monitoring his career climb, highlighted in yellow pertinent facts about him and stacked them to the side. The one thing that puzzled her was that he seemed to have given it all up. The career, the money, the fame. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t cut a record or made a public appearance since the trial. Odd, but then he was an odd man, she thought.
    The articles concerning the alleged rape and subsequent trial remained in front of her. She chewed the pen’s plastic top as she glanced over the papers spread in front of her. The headlines that heralded his arrest were bold and front page.
    The captions alone were enough to convict a man—if they were to be believed—and the photographs accompanying them, damning. Judd pictured leaning over the edge of a stage, kissing a woman. Judd grinning from ear to ear standing backstage surrounded by screaming fans, all of whom were female. Judd caught unaware in a