Secrets Never Told

by Raegan Teller

  “Serena Hart, his wife, was killed by the estranged husband of one of her legal clients,” Cade said. “As you may know, traditional Native American men are very possessive of their women.”

  “If you’re implying that Josh is possessive, then you don’t know anything about him. He can be overly protective at times, but in his line of work, that’s understandable.”

  “Look, I have to be honest. Talking to my ex-wife about her lover is a bit uncomfortable for me.”

  “Then why are you?” Enid’s tone was sharper than she intended.

  “He may not be who you think he is. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Enid put her tea cup in its saucer so hard, she was afraid she had cracked her mother’s china. “And how do you know what I think of him?”

  Moving over closer to Enid, Cade put his arm around her. “I’m not here to cause you problems. We might be divorced, but I’ll always love you and worry about you.”

  She pulled away.

  “I didn’t want you to hear from someone else about my being in town investigating Josh. I’m trying to do the right thing.” He paused. “If I don’t do this story, someone else will take it.”

  Enid’s mind was racing. “Who called in the tip?”

  Cade smiled. “There’s my girl. Her reporter’s instincts are back.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “We don’t know who called it in, but it came from New Mexico. All tips are recorded, but the sound quality leaves a lot to be desired. You really can’t tell much. No discernible accent.”

  “What did he say? Exactly?”

  “The tipster said he knew we were investigating police vigilantes. No, wait, he didn’t use that word. He just said police killings.”

  Enid recalled Josh’s face when they talked about his wife’s murder. His dark eyes had flashed anger. “Did he name Josh specifically?”

  “No, but with the information the tipster provided, it couldn’t be anyone else.”

  “So you just jumped in your car and rushed down here to see if this tip had any merit?”

  “No, I drove here to see you and talk to you in person. If you want me to hand this story off to another investigative reporter, I will. I’m not interested in writing a revenge story about Josh, even if I don’t like the idea of your dating him.”

  Enid decided to let that last comment go. “If you do this story, will you promise to keep an open mind and not let our relationship cloud your judgment?” No matter how uncomfortable this situation might be, she trusted Cade to be fair. He might not have been the best husband, but he was an excellent reporter.

  Cade leaned over and kissed Enid gently on the forehead. “Yes, of course.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Enid sat at her desk looking at the paperwork stacked on her desk. She had begun working for Jack Johnson when the Madden Gazette was a small-town, weekly newspaper. Then he bought two small weeklies in surrounding counties and combined them into one paper about six months ago. Even before the acquisitions, many of the reporters had left, some leaving journalism altogether due to low pay and long hours. Others had moved on to the State in Columbia, the Post and Courier in Charleston, or one of the other daily newspapers. The Tri-County Gazette, like many weeklies, struggled with high turnover and low profit margins.

  Today, she had a hard time concentrating, as her mind kept going back to the conversation with Cade. Could he possibly be right about Josh? If she asked Josh about it, then she could blow Cade’s investigation. But if she didn’t confront Josh with this information, he might think she was colluding with Cade.

  She was massaging her throbbing temples when Ginger, the newspaper’s office manager, knocked on her door. “There’s a woman here who insists on seeing you. Right now.” Ginger waved her arms dramatically, as she was prone to do when frustrated. “I tried to get her to make an appointment, but . . .” She waved her arms again.

  “It’s fine. I’ll be glad to talk to her.” Enid pointed behind Ginger. “She’s already here.”

  Ginger turned around to face the woman. “I told you to wait up front.” Ginger made a huffing sound and marched back down the hallway.

  Enid motioned for the woman to come into her office. “I apologize for Ginger. She’s a bit demonstrative at times. I’m Enid Blackwell.” She extended her hand, which the woman ignored. “Please have a seat.”

  The woman’s age was hard to tell. She stooped over and her shoulders slumped, but her face was free of wrinkles or lines. It was as though someone had pasted a young woman’s head on an old woman’s body. She was covered from head to toe in dark grey clothing that looked at least two sizes too large for her slight frame.

  “I understand you wanted to see me. How can I help you?” Enid asked.

  “I seen seven crows on your house yesterday.”

  Enid gripped her pen. “My house? How do you know where I live?”

  The woman laughed softly and shook her head. “You in Madden, missy. Everyone knows you live in dat house.” Her smile disappeared. “You know what seven crows mean?”

  Enid glanced at the phone on her desk and was tempted to call for help. But who would she call? Jack was out of town, and Ginger might only make things worse. “No, I don’t, and I’m not really interested. May I ask your name, ma’am?”

  In a singsong voice, the woman replied, “Seven for a secret, never to be told.”

  Enid stood up. “Alright, that’s enough nonsense. I’d like for you to leave. Now.” Enid walked to the door and motioned for the woman to get out of the office.

  The woman didn’t budge. “Now, don’t go getting your hackles up. Didn’t you never hear that verse?”

  Enid pointed to the door again. “Have a nice day. Now, please leave.”

  “I know whose bones them is at that big house on the water.”

  Enid walked back to her desk and sat down. “What bones?”

  “Don’t play dumb,” the woman said, pointing a finger at Enid. “I know you ain’t stupid.”

  “You mean the bones found at the Glitter Lake Inn, I presume.”

  The woman cackled and then mocked Enid. “You presume rightly.”

  “If you know something you need to talk to Police Chief Hart.”

  “He your man, ain’t he?”

  Enid straightened the stack of papers on her desk, as she had already done several times. “That’s none of your business. How do you know anything about those bones?”

  “If you want, I’ll just go talk to your lover boy police man.” The woman leaned forward in her seat. “But you’re curious as a cat, yes, you are. That what makes you good. Figured you’d want to know first.”

  “I’ll be glad to pass along whatever you tell me to Chief Hart.”

  The woman smiled, showing a beautiful set of white teeth. “My auntie once told me a woman be buried there at the inn. But she didn’t die there.”

  “What’s the woman’s name, the one buried there?” Enid picked up the pen on her desk and started making notes. “Do you know anything about her?”

  The woman shrugged again and stood to leave. “You’re the one to know the secret. ‘Seven for a secret, never to be told.’”

  “Stop talking in riddles. What does that mean?”

  The woman walked toward the door.

  “Wait, please give me your name or how I can contact you.”

  The woman left without saying another word. Enid walked up front to Ginger’s desk. “Do you know who that woman is?”

  Ginger continued to stare at the computer screen. “Never saw her before.”

  Enid walked outside and looked around. The woman was nowhere to be seen. Jack’s pickup pulled into the small parking area beside the newspaper office. Enid waited for him to get out.

  “Well, this is nice. Having a welcoming committee, I mean,” Jack said. “Or are you just out for some air?”

  “I was looking for a woman that came to see me.”

  “Come on in, and you can fill me in.”


  Enid looked in both directions again but didn’t see the woman. A light breeze blew, and leaves skittered across the sidewalk in a circular motion. “Seven crows,” Enid said aloud, shaking her head as she followed Jack into the building.

  CHAPTER 5

  Enid sat across from Jack’s big metal desk and told him about her encounter with the woman. She looked at her notes. “That’s about all I know.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair. “Well, that’s quite a story. Can’t say that her description rings a bell at all, but I’m still a relative newcomer here. Anyone in this town less than three generations means you’re new.” He sipped coffee from a chipped brown mug. “How old was your visitor?”

  “I have no idea. In some ways, she seemed old, but her teeth were perfect and her skin was as smooth as a baby’s.” She paused. “What’s this rhyme about seven crows? Have you heard it?”

  “As I recall, it’s from an old nursery rhyme, 18th century, I think. It’s been revised over the years. I did an article many years ago on the dark side of these children’s verses, and I recall that being one I researched. This woman, was she white? Black?”

  “She had brown skin the color of caramel and the most beautiful green eyes.”

  “I wish Cassie were here to tell us more about the inn’s history. Although, she was a relative newcomer, too, even though the inn had been in her family for generations.”

  The mention of her late friend’s name made Enid recall their brief, sister-like relationship. “I was thinking of Cassie, too. I’m sure there are records somewhere of the previous owners.”

  “I’ll check the paper’s archives for any mention of a killing at the inn, although if the body was hidden, it was likely not reported.”

  “A secret,” Enid said, “never to be told.”

  “Seems like that comment was meant to get into your head. When she mentioned knowing where you live, did she confirm that she actually knew your address?”

  “No, not really. And I admit, she did get into my head. She was just so strange. Her body was big and stooped, but her face and everything else about her was younger.”

  “Maybe she had on a costume,” Jack said.

  “Now that I think about it, her clothing appeared to be padded underneath.”

  Jack leaned forward. “So why would a fairly young woman dress up like an older person and come to see you? Why the game? Why not just call you anonymously?”

  “Do you think it’s a hoax?”

  Jack leaned back in his chair. “Probably. But I’ll still check and see what I can find. You might want to share all this with Josh. He may know something about this woman.”

  ☐ ☐ ☐

  Enid walked down the sidewalk toward the small police station with the intention of talking to Josh. But instead, she walked down the street a few blocks further to the Blackwell building, named after Fern Blackwell, her ex-mother-in-law, who had made a generous donation to the town years ago. The old two-story building had been restored and now housed Madden’s Women’s Club, Garden Club, Historical Society, and a small art studio. The main living and dining areas of the elegant old building were often rented for bridal showers, tea parties, and other events.

  A couple years ago, Enid had met the young woman with the historical society who served as the host and greeter for all visitors. But now there was a new person here, a young black man. While Enid wouldn’t describe Madden as a racist town, the blacks and whites didn’t mingle much. Each group was respectful of the other, but they remained separate. Since this building was the mecca of old Madden, the young man’s employment was somewhat surprising.

  “Hi, I’m Roscoe.” His bow tie jiggled a bit as he vigorously shook Enid’s hand.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Roscoe. I’m Enid Blackwell.”

  “Oh, what a lovely name. I assume you’re related to Fern Blackwell whose generous donation made all this possible,” he said, waving his arm around.

  “Yes, she is my ex-mother-in-law. You’re new here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m working on my master’s in historical preservation. My thesis will focus on small towns, so I’m working here on an internship.”

  “That’s interesting. Have you been in town long?”

  “Oh, no, ma’am. This is my first week.”

  “I’d like to do an article on you, that is, if you’re interested.”

  “Oh, yes. That would be wonderful,” Roscoe said, straightening his bow tie.

  “I came here to see if a woman I met recently, an artist, is in the studio. She invited me to drop by.”

  Roscoe waived his arm toward the stairway in a sweeping gesture. “Of course, the art studio is upstairs. May I escort you?”

  “No, I can find it.”

  “Then just make yourself at home.”

  ◆◆◆

  Enid took the stairs to the second floor where the art studio was at the end of the hallway. She knocked on the door.

  A female voice called out, “Come in.”

  Enid walked into the high-ceilinged room flooded with sunlight from the three large windows at one end. “Hi, Lindy. I met you at your art showing at the inn recently, and you invited me to come to the studio. Is this a good time? You look busy.”

  The fifty-something woman’s pixie hair cut was a beautiful silver grey, but she had a youthful look. She wiped her hands on a paint-stained towel before reaching out to Enid. “I told you to stop by anytime, and I meant it. So glad to see you.”

  After Lindy showed Enid her collection of dragonfly paintings and a few of tree frogs, Lindy said, “I get the sense there’s something else on your mind today, other than my artwork. Can I help you with anything?”

  Enid blushed slightly. “I did want to see your work. I particularly love this one,” she said, pointing to one of the tree frogs with large eyes. “But, yes, there is something else. I think you told me you do work for two of the nearby high schools, with their drama classes.”

  “How nice of you to remember that small detail.” Lindy went to the back of the studio and got a large black portfolio from the cabinet. “Here are sketches, and some photos, of the stage backdrops I created for their plays.”

  “These are great. Looks like a lot of hours go into creating these canvases.”

  “Yes, and I do it to help the kids and the arts, so it’s all unpaid work. A labor of love, as they say.” Lindy closed and zipped the portfolio. “Are you involved in plays or stage work?”

  “Me? Oh, goodness no. Do you meet the students or others involved in the plays?”

  Lindy cocked her head slightly. “Well, sometimes. Why do you ask?”

  Enid told her about the woman that came to the newspaper office. “I’m not sure, but it may have been someone in costume. She looked so young, maybe not as young as high-school age though. She was stooped over and appeared to have a hard time walking. Except when she left the office. I’m just wondering if maybe she’s involved in plays or acting.”

  Lindy leaned back in her chair. “You’re a reporter, right?”

  Enid nodded.

  “Do these questions have something to do with a story you’re working on?”

  “No, well, maybe. At this point, I’m just trying to follow up on her visit.”

  “Jack speaks highly of you. Otherwise, I would be leery to talk to a reporter about something so vague. But, as I said, Jack thinks you’re wonderful, so how can I help?”

  Enid relaxed the tension in her shoulders. “I’d like to find this person to ask her more about what she told me. Or maybe it was all just a prank.”

  Lindy went to her work table and picked up a sketch pad and pencil. “Describe her for me.”

  Enid closed her eyes and tried to remember as many details as she could about the old, or perhaps young, woman that came to see her. As she shared those details with Lindy, the artist sketched away feverishly. When she stopped drawing, she picked up a handful of colored pencils and began filling in more details to the sketc
h. After a minute or two, she held up the sketch pad for Enid to see. “Is that her?”

  Enid’s hand flew to her mouth, “Oh, my gosh. Yes! That’s her.” Enid studied the sketch more closely. “You’re amazing.”

  “Well, it was your detailed description that made it possible. You have a good eye. Ever think of trying art?”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick to writing. Do you recognize this woman?”

  “No, I’ve never seen her, at least not in this outfit. What makes you think she was in costume?”

  “I think most of all it was because her face didn’t match the rest of her.”

  “Maybe she just had a young face.”

  “Perhaps. May I keep this?” Enid asked.

  Lindy tore the page from her sketch pad. “Of course. I’ll just take a photo of it. If anything comes to mind, or if I see her anywhere, I’ll let you know.”

  Walking back to the newspaper office, Enid’s mind wandered more often to Cade’s comments about Josh than to the strange encounter with the woman in her office. She pulled out her phone and left a message telling Ginger she’d be back later. The second call she made was to Cade.

  “This is a surprise. A pleasant one.” Cade said, answering his cell phone.

  “Can we meet? Just for a few minutes.”

  After a brief hesitation, Cade replied. “Sure. Meet you at Sarah’s in a few.”

  ◆◆◆

  Most of the locals referred to the only restaurant in Madden, Sarah’s Tea Shoppe, as Sarah’s diner. The exceptions were the town’s finest ladies who took tea there in the afternoons. If a place could have a split personality, this one certainly qualified. The early morning and lunch crowd was typically a mixture of retired locals, mostly older white men, and a few commuters who drove to Columbia or other places to work each day. The latter group often ordered coffee to go or something that could be eaten with one hand while driving. Sarah’s bacon and egg sandwiches cut in quarters, with no mayo to drip, were popular for mobile eating.