Silver River Secrets

by Linda Hope Lee

  She expected an angry outburst from Gram, but none came. She cast her a cautious glance. “Don’t you want to know what she wrote about?”

  “No, I don’t.” Gram clamped her jaw shut and folded her arms. “Like I told you, a journal is private.”

  “I’m going to tell you anyway, because I have some questions.”

  Gram shifted in her chair so that she faced Lacey. Her eyes were angry. “Is that why you brought me here? To make me a captive audience?”

  Lacey spread her hands. “Please, bear with me, just a little.”

  “All right, say what’s on your mind and get it over with.”

  Lacey took a deep breath. “She wrote about the amethyst necklace Grandfather gave her, the one that belonged to his mother. And how upset she was when she lost it at the restaurant.”

  Silence, except for the shushing sound of the flowing water and the twittering birds perched in a nearby tree.

  “And that someone found it—she didn’t write his name—and planned to return it to her on…on that day.”

  “So?”

  “So was Al Jr. the one who found it? Was that why he came that day? The necklace wasn’t mentioned at the trial. The prosecutor wanted everyone to believe Al came to see Mother when no one else was home.” Lacey looked down at her hands. Talking about her mother’s adultery—supposed adultery—always made her uncomfortable.

  “I knew she lost the necklace at work, but she never said anything to me about anyone finding it.”

  “Did the police ever see the journal?”

  “No. Although I would see her writing in it, she never left it around for anyone to read. Months after she passed away, I found it behind some books on the shelves in the living room, by the fireplace. Like I told you, I didn’t read it. I put it with the rest of her things that I’d been gathering up.”

  “Did you ever see the necklace again after that day?”

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t found on Al. That surely would have come up in the trial. So what happened to it?”

  Gram pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t know, but let’s say Al did return the necklace. Then I’m guessing that after your father shot Al, he took it.”

  “But it wasn’t found on Dad, either, when he was arrested. We would have heard about it in the trial.”

  “He probably pawned the necklace before the police caught up with him.”

  “Pawned it? Why would he do that?”

  “Oh, come on, Lacey, you know your father always needed money to pay his gambling debts.”

  Lacey bit her lip. Gram was right. She’d heard her mother and father arguing about his gambling often enough, and her mother had mentioned the problem in her journal.

  “But what if he didn’t pawn it?” she insisted. “What if someone else took the necklace?”

  “Someone else was there that day and they shot Al? That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it?”

  Lacey straightened her shoulders. “Not want to believe. That’s what I do believe.”

  *

  BACK AT GRAM’S APARTMENT, Lacey opened the box of her mother’s belongings.

  “I told you I’m not going to give away any of her things,” Gram said in a cross tone.

  “I know. But the necklace might be here. You might have overlooked it in a pocket or a purse. If I could find it, the mystery would be solved.”

  “And then would you stop fussing?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” Lacey dug into the box and brought out a navy blue cotton jacket. She stuck her hand in one pocket and then the other. Nothing.

  “I can’t stand this.” Gram wheeled around so that her back was turned and she faced the patio door.

  Lacey kept digging, but she did not find the lost necklace. When she finished, she taped the box shut again and set it in the kitchen for later transfer to the basement storage closet.

  They went to dinner and then joined some of the other residents in the activity room for a sing-along, which restored Remy’s good humor. When Lacey took her leave, her grandmother gave her a warm hug.

  “Thank you, dear one, for all that you do for me,” Gram said.

  “You’re welcome, Gram. You know I love you.”

  “I know, honey. And I love you, too.”

  *

  IN HER ROOM at Sophie’s, Lacey took out her mother’s journal and reread some of the entries. Then she went to the window and gazed out. Darkness hid the farmhouse, but she knew instinctively where it was and focused on the spot.

  The missing necklace nagged her. She was sure it was the key to the identity of Al Jr.’s true murderer. If only she knew what happened to it. Then she might be able to identify the killer and clear her father’s name. And then, once and for all, she could live in peace.

  She left the window and as she walked by the table, her gaze fell on the business card Elton Watts had given her. The card reminded her that tomorrow she must call him with her final refusal of his job offer.

  She picked up the card and tapped it against her palm, an idea forming. If she took the job, staying in town would give her an opportunity to look for the necklace. Maybe it was in one of Gram’s other boxes. Maybe it was still in the farmhouse, hidden in a drawer or a closet.

  Also, the job would involve talking to people. Maybe someone knew something that would help in her search. Of course, she couldn’t blatantly ask about it. She’d have to be circumspect.

  Excitement quickened her pulse. Then she sobered. Did she really want to stir up the past? Did she really want to talk to the townspeople? Did she want to endure the censures from those who believed her father to be a murderer?

  Then she thought of her father and the last time she visited him in prison. They’d sat with dozens of others in the crowded visitors’ room, sharing soft drinks and snacks from the vending machine and trying to carry on a conversation despite the lack of privacy.

  I didn’t kill Al Jr., he’d said. You believe me, don’t you, Lacey?

  Yes, Dad, I believe you.

  A week later, after a fight in the prison yard with an inmate who had a knife, Rick Morgan was dead.

  This might be her last chance to prove his innocence. If she didn’t grab it, she might regret it for the rest of her life.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Lacey phoned Ed Norton, her boss at the Boise Historical Society.

  “I know more time off is a big favor to ask,” she said when he came on the line, “but my grandmother’s move is more complicated than we’d at first thought.”

  True enough. She still had to arrange for the disposal of Gram’s leftover apartment furniture and finish sorting through the boxes.

  “I’m sorry, Lacey,” Ed said. “I’ve already granted you more time off than your contract allows. Maybe you can get someone there to help your grandmother?”

  “No, it’s personal stuff—you understand.”

  “I understand, but I can’t grant you more time.”

  “Then I—” Lacey gripped the phone, indecision waging a war inside her. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again she saw the copse of trees where the farmhouse stood. “I won’t be back at all.”

  Silence. And then Ed said, “I see. Well. We’ll be sorry to lose you, Lacey.”

  “Me, too, Ed.”

  Lacey’s hands shook as she ended the call. Had she really just quit the job she loved so much and worked so hard to obtain? Thrown her promising future away for a few more weeks here in Silver River chasing a dream that might turn into a nightmare?

  *

  “HERE’S YOUR OFFICE.” Elton Watts led Lacey into a room at the Sentinel and then stopped and studied her. “What? I know it’s probably not as big and fancy as your office in Boise, but won’t it do?”

  Lacey surveyed the dimly lighted room with a scarred desk and dented filing cabinets and thought of her office at the historical society, where the furniture was new and modern and large windows overlooked the cit
y park. But, then, that wasn’t her office anymore.

  “This is fine, Elton,” she assured him in a strained voice. “I’ll be out and about most of the time, anyway.”

  “True enough. Okay, then.” He pointed to a microfiche reader. “We have every back issue of the Sentinel. Sara Hoskins’s work is on the computer, and there’s also a printout. And here’s a list of the articles to publicize the celebration’s featured events.” He picked up a sheet of paper lying next to the computer. “Sit and we’ll go over this.”

  Lacey sat and opened her tablet, ready to take notes.

  Elton pulled up a chair next to her. “There’s a pie contest. Hester Hartley’s in charge. And there’s a special exhibit at the museum. See Del Ford about that. He’s the curator.”

  Elton put down the list and sat back. “Speaking of the museum, we’ll need an article about the new wing Cora Trenton’s providing in memory of her husband, George, and her son, Cal. George was mayor a while back. You probably remember him. And Cal passed away a few years ago from a brain tumor.”

  “Uh-huh.” Lacey’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she attempted to keep up with Elton’s chatter.

  “The flower show is Claire Roche’s baby. You might remember her, too. Her folks own Nellon’s Hardware.”

  Yes, the person Gram thought might have put the pansies on the graves at the cemetery. Lacey definitely wanted to talk to Claire.

  “She and Clint live on Lewis Avenue. Be sure to take a look at her garden. It’s something.”

  “I’ll do that.” Especially to look for pansies.

  Elton picked up the list again and adjusted his glasses. “The downtown business association is sponsoring a raffle aimed to get people into the stores during the celebration. Millie Nixon, at Millie’s Boutique, is in charge of that.”

  “I can talk to Kris, too, since she works for her aunt.”

  “And of course we can’t forget the classic car show. That’s Rory Dalton’s project.” He frowned. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

  Lacey’s stomach tensed. The last thing she wanted was more interaction with Rory. She forced a smile. “Not as far as I’m concerned. If interviewing Rory is part of the job, then of course I’ll talk to him.”

  Elton’s frown faded. “See, you’re a professional. That’s one reason I wanted you for the job.” He sat back and studied her. “I’m curious, though, about why you accepted my offer when you were so against it at first.”

  “I, ah, well, it will give me more time with Gram.” True enough.

  “Your boss was okay with giving you more time off?”

  Lacey looked down at her tablet. “We worked out an arrangement.” That was true, too, even if the “arrangement” meant quitting her job.

  “Good, good. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to be involved with the project because interviewing people who knew your folks might be a problem.”

  “I won’t let that bother me,” she said in a decisive tone.

  Elton beamed. “See? Like I said, you’re a professional.”

  *

  “YOU’RE STAYING IN town to do a special job for Elton Watts?” Gram gave Lacey a puzzled look as she set her teacup in its saucer.

  They were having tea in the activity room, elegantly furnished with picture windows and double doors opening onto a sun-filled courtyard. Several residents worked on a jigsaw puzzle, while across the room, a woman played classical music on a baby grand piano.

  Lacey plucked off the teapot’s crocheted cozy, releasing the aroma of Earl Grey, and then refilled Gram’s cup. “Yes, I’ll be here for a few extra weeks.”

  “So that’s why Elton called you. But what about your job in Boise? Did your boss give you more time off?”

  Keeping her gaze focused on her task, Lacey added tea to her own cup. “We, ah, came to an agreement.”

  “Did you quit your job? Or get fired?”

  “A little of both.” Lacey replaced the cozy back on the pot. “But aren’t you glad I’m going to stay longer?”

  “Of course. But I didn’t expect you to lose your job. This doesn’t have anything to do with Norella’s missing necklace, does it?” Gram narrowed her eyes.

  “It might.”

  Gram shook her head. “You’ve ruined your career to chase after the silly notion that the necklace had something to do with Al Jr.’s murder and that finding it will somehow prove Rick’s innocence.”

  Lacey tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “I guess that’s it in a nutshell, as they say.”

  “I should have burned that journal,” Gram said.

  THE MINUTE LACEY rounded the corner of High Street and Lewis Avenue, she spotted Claire Roche’s garden. Enclosed by a white picket fence, it filled the entire backyard of the modest two-story home.

  Lacey parked at the curb, but instead of getting out, she remained behind the wheel. On her job in Boise, she’d conducted countless interviews. She loved talking to people, gathering information to use in a report or one of the society’s publications.

  But today, Lacey also had a personal motive for visiting Claire Roche, and that put her on edge.

  Finally, she gathered up her purse, took a deep breath and stepped from the car.

  Peering over the fence, she glimpsed a woman on her knees digging in one of the flower beds. “Mrs. Roche?” Lacey called.

  The woman stopped digging and looked up from under the brim of her yellow straw hat.

  “I’m Lacey Morgan. We spoke on the phone this morning.”

  “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you.” Claire Roche put down her trowel, stood and approached the gate.

  In her fifties and not more than five feet tall, Claire’s slight body was all but lost in baggy jeans and a short-sleeved, cotton print blouse. She wore little makeup, which brought into prominence her large and soulful brown eyes.

  “Come in.” Claire unlatched the gate and held it open.

  Lacey followed her into the yard, breathing in the variety of fragrances in the air. “I appreciate your seeing me on such short notice.”

  “No problem. I need a break about now, anyway.”

  Claire led them along a stone path through beds of roses, impatiens, dahlias and geraniums. Figurines of fairies and dwarves tucked among the blossoms gave the garden a fanciful air.

  She watched for pansies but didn’t see any. Perhaps Gram was wrong about Claire being the person who had put pansies on the graves.

  Claire motioned to several lawn chairs under a maple tree. “This is a good place to talk.”

  Lacey sat and took out her tablet and tape recorder. Claire removed her gloves and hat and laid them in her lap. She ran her fingers through her short gray curls.

  They chatted about Sara Hoskins’s husband’s heart surgery and Remy’s broken hip and her move to Riverview. Claire’s friendly manner put Lacey at ease.

  After a while, Lacey directed the conversation to the upcoming flower show. “The show’s at the town hall, correct?”

  Claire nodded and then said in a wistful tone, “I wish we had the convention center that A. J. Dalton wants to build. That would give us ever so much more space.”

  At the mention of Rory’s grandfather, Lacey stiffened. “I hadn’t heard about that. Where does he plan to build it?” Was that why he and Rory wanted Gram’s property?

  Claire shrugged. “I’m not sure. But he’s done so much for this town. Where would Silver River be without him?”

  Lacey gritted her teeth to keep from answering that question. Instead, she said, “Why can’t you have your show at the county fairgrounds?”

  Claire shook her head. “Too far away. We want everything connected with the celebration to be here in town. That’s what Silver River Days are all about. Our town.”

  At last, Lacey sat back and turned off her tape recorder. “You’ve answered all my questions for the article, so I’ll let you get back to your gardening.”

  “It does keep me busy.” Claire put on her hat and picked up he
r gloves.

  On the way back to the gate, Claire again leading the way, Lacey took a last look around for pansies. She was about to give up when she spied their purple, blue and red blossoms tucked away in a bed near the house.

  “What lovely pansies,” she said.

  Claire paused to look at the flowers. “Yes, they are. Such delicate little blossoms.”

  “I saw some just the other day,” Lacey said as they continued walking.

  Claire shrugged. “Not surprising. Lots of people grow pansies.”

  Lacey took a deep breath. “The ones I saw were at Restlawn. I took some flowers to my family’s graves. Someone had put pansies on all three, my grandfather’s, my mother’s…and my father’s.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, and I’d like to know who that person is.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because…because I’d like to thank them.”

  They reached the gate. Claire put her hand on the latch. She turned to Lacey, her mouth set in a tight line. “Maybe they don’t want to be thanked. Maybe they want to remain anonymous. Maybe the person puts flowers on lots of graves, even the grave of a murderer.”

  “My father was innocent.” The words tumbled from Lacey’s mouth. “I know he was.”

  Claire scowled. “Doesn’t matter what you think. He had a trial, and according to the jury, he was guilty. Justice was served.”

  *

  LACEY DROVE AWAY from Claire Roche’s house wondering about the woman’s sudden change from friendly and open to angry and defensive. While she hadn’t actually admitted to being the one who’d left the pansies, Lacey would bet she knew who did. But perhaps, as Claire insisted, the gesture meant nothing special.

  Still, Lacey wanted to know the person’s identity.

  Now, though, she needed to turn her attention back to the task at hand. Her next interview was with Helen Jacobs, owner of Jacobs Gallery, who was coordinating the festival’s art walk.

  At the gallery, Lacey spent a pleasant half hour with Helen discussing her event. She had moved to town only a few years ago, and if she knew Lacey’s history, she didn’t mention it.

  Afterward, Lacey stood on the sidewalk debating what to do next. She had time for one more appointment today. Maybe she should get Rory’s interview over with. Should she call first and see if he had time to talk to her? Or drop in unannounced? She decided on the latter. If he were too busy to talk, then she’d set up an appointment.