She hoped her visit today would help her decide what to do about her discovery. Rory had offered to accompany her, but she wanted to make this trip alone.
When Lacey reached her mother’s and her grandfather’s markers, she saw that the flower vases once again were filled with pansies. This time, the blossoms were fresh, indicating a recent visit. Lacey tucked some of the flowers she’d brought into the vases. She said a prayer and crossed the lawn to her father’s grave. The fountain burbled softly, and birds twittered in the trees. She expected to find pansies in her father’s vase, and sure enough, purple blossoms peeked from the buried container.
She knelt to add her flowers and then sat back. “Dad, what should I do?” she whispered. “Shall I expose the killer and clear your name? Or let well enough alone so that the town continues to benefit from the Trentons?” She bowed her head and waited, but no answer came. Finally, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer.
As she was leaving, she noticed a woman sitting on the bench surrounding the fountain. A straw hat hid her features. Curious, Lacey approached her. When the woman looked up, Lacey recognized Claire Roche. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.
“Hello, Lacey,” Claire said. “I saw you earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt your privacy.”
“I didn’t see any other cars around.”
“I parked down the road. I always like to walk a bit when I visit.”
“You are the one who puts pansies on the graves. Isn’t that true?”
Claire looked down at her hands clasped in her lap. “Yes, I’m the one.”
“Why, Claire?”
“Sit down, and I’ll tell you.” She patted the seat beside her.
Lacey stepped onto the cement platform and sat beside Claire.
“First of all,” Claire said, “I want you to know there was never anything romantic between your father and me.”
“Okay…”
“He was devoted to your mother. He loved her very much.”
“I always thought so, but it’s good to hear you confirm that.”
Claire crossed her ankles and smoothed her skirt. “I had a cat named Mosey. He followed me everywhere. One day when I was cleaning the attic, he got himself stuck in a cubbyhole. I mean, really stuck. I couldn’t get him out for the life of me.
“Clint and I were separated at the time, and I was living in the house alone. I didn’t know what to do. I was frantic. Then I remembered your dad was building new kitchen cupboards for the Martins next door. I ran over there and asked him if he could help me.
“He packed up his toolbox and came over. He spent over an hour removing the boards, but, finally, he got Mosey out of the hole. Then he had to put the cubbyhole back together. He wanted to board it up, but I said no, because I didn’t want Clint to know about Rick having been there. Clint was—and still is—a jealous man. So, instead, Rick stuffed some cardboard in the hole.
“He said he’d take Mosey to the vet if I wanted him checked over, but as far as I could see, the cat was fine. I gave your dad a cup of coffee and a piece of cake and we had a nice chat.”
Lacey shook her head in wonder. “He never told me that story.”
“Clint and I got back together. And when Rick was arrested for Al’s murder, I couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was so strong…”
“It was,” Lacey agreed.
“Maybe I could have been a character witness, but I was afraid because I’d never told Clint about that day, so I kept quiet. And then when your dad died in prison, well, I felt terrible. I’ve been sorry all these years… But I didn’t think about putting pansies on the graves until last summer.”
Lacey let a few moments of silence elapse and then said, “What if my father’s innocence could be proven, even after all these years? But what if having the truth known would affect the town?”
Claire gazed off into the distance. “I’d vote for revealing the truth, even if there’s a price to pay. You owe it to your father, and to Rory’s dad, too, to set things right.”
They talked a bit more, and then Claire said, “Well, I’d better get back to my garden.”
“I’m ready to leave, too,” Lacey said.
“Do you want me to stop bringing the flowers?” Claire asked as they stepped onto the grass and began walking.
Lacey put out a hand. “Oh, no, no. Please, continue as long as you like. I know how much you love your flowers, and sharing them with my family is a wonderful gesture.”
They reached the turnoff to Lacey’s car. “Thanks for your story about my father.” Lacey gave Claire a hug.
“You’re welcome,” Claire said, with a sad smile. “He was a good man.”
*
IN HER ROOM at Sophie’s, Lacey took out the envelope containing her mother’s necklace and Cal’s confession. Pulling out the necklace, she looked at it for long moments, fingering the stones and the delicate filigree setting. She thought about her mother and her father, and about Al Jr., and Cal, and how their lives had become so entwined and, in the end, so tragic. She wondered what would have happened if her mother had not lost her necklace and Al Jr. hadn’t been returning it to her that day. Would Cal eventually have found them together and done his dirty deed?
Of course, she would never know the answers to those questions. But now she knew the truth about what had happened that day. She thought about what Claire said about the importance of truth and at last knew what she had to do.
Half an hour later, she parked in front of the Silver River police station. Inside, she approached the receptionist behind the counter.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked.
Lacey took a deep breath. “Yes, you can. I want to see Chief Barnett.”
*
BACK IN HER room once again, Lacey called Rory and told him of her visit to the police station.
“I can imagine the look on Barnett’s face,” Rory said.
“He was shocked, all right. But he said he’d look into it, and if Cal’s confession proved authentic—from handwriting experts, I suppose—he’ll make a public announcement.”
“That would set things right for you—and your father, wouldn’t it?”
“It would, but if that turns out to be the case, I asked him to please wait till after the celebration. I don’t want anything to spoil that for the town. Everyone’s worked so hard to make it a success.”
“Including you.”
She gave a short laugh. “Yes, I guess I can be included.”
“So that means you’ll be here, too. You can ride with me in the car rally and we’ll go to the street dance.”
“Wait a minute, Rory. You make it sound like, well, like we’re together, or something…” Her voice trailed off.
A moment of silence followed, and then he said in a low voice, “We are together, Lacey. For now.”
After they ended the call, Lacey walked to the window and gazed out. Together for now, he’d said. What would happen after the celebration? What would happen after Chief Barnett revealed the outcome of his investigation? Would they still be together then? Or had they been apart too long?
Her roving gaze landed on the copse of trees marking the Whitfield farm, where the old house still stood. The house that Rory hated and wanted to destroy. Wouldn’t the fate of the house always come between them?
*
“THAT’S THE LAST ONE.” Lacey sealed the envelope, put on a stamp, and added the envelope to the stack of outgoing mail on the corner of Gram’s desk.
“All the bills are paid, then?” Gram asked.
“Yes, and the thank-you notes to everyone who helped with your birthday party are written, too. Do you want to write a note to Cousin Bessie?”
“No. We’ve been emailing and talking on the phone. She’s doing fine. I still miss her, though. Maybe we could visit her someday?”
Lacey smiled and replaced Gram’s pen in its holder. “Maybe. Montana’s not that far away.”
She was tucking Gram’s checkbook and
mailing supplies into the desk drawer when someone knocked on the front door.
“Could you get that, please, honey?” Gram said.
“Of course.”
Lacey shut the drawer, went to the door and opened it. She frowned when she saw who stood there. “Rory?”
“Hey, Lacey.” He took a step forward.
She moved to block his way. “What are you doing here?”
“I have an appointment to see Remy.”
Lacey narrowed her eyes and kept a tight grip on the doorknob. “Appointment? What about? If you’re here to nag her into—”
“It’s all right, Lacey,” Gram called from the living room. “Let Rory come in.”
“Well…all right.” Lacey stood aside while Rory entered the apartment. He was casually dressed in jeans and a blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. A leather briefcase slung over his shoulder was the only indication he might be there on business.
She followed on his heels. “If you think you’re going to badger Gram about the farm…”
Gram held up her hand. “Please, Lacey. Rory called and said he wanted to talk to me, and, yes, it’s about the farm. I said I’d been thinking about the place, too, and maybe the time had come to have another discussion.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to tell him he couldn’t come. Have a seat, Rory, and let’s hear what you have to say.” Gram gestured to one of the easy chairs grouped around the coffee table.
Rory sat and placed his briefcase on the coffee table. Gram rolled up her wheelchair across from him. Lacey went to Gram’s side but remained standing. She folded her arms and waited, her muscles tense.
“First of all,” Rory began, “I want you to know I’m not here as a representative of Dalton Properties. I turned in my resignation and no longer work for them.”
“What?” Shock rippled through Lacey.
Gram leaned forward in her chair. “Rory, you didn’t.”
“I did, Mrs. Whitfield. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. About everything.” He looked up at Lacey and then focused on Remy again. “And I have in mind what I would like to do.”
“Uh-huh,” Lacey said, coming back to her senses again and allowing sarcasm to creep into her voice.
Rory spread his hands. “Hear me out, please.”
“Lacey, hush,” Gram said.
“First, I want to tell you what you might expect if you sell the property with Dalton Properties as your representative.” He opened his briefcase and took out some papers. “There’s a builder in Milton who’s very interested.” He spread the papers on the coffee table. “This is what he wants to do.”
Gram leaned over to look. “A subdivision.”
“Of course,” Lacey said.
“Yes. And here’s his offer.” Rory pointed to a figure on one of the papers.
Gram gasped. “That much?”
Lacey looked over her shoulder and when she saw the amount, she sucked in a breath.
“Yes, that much,” Rory said. “But I have something else in mind.”
“You want to buy the land yourself,” Gram said.
“I would, yes. But even if you don’t want to sell it to me, I want to restore the house.”
Gram pressed a hand to her chest. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Because I understand how much the house means to you, how it helps you to remember the happy times as well as the sad times. And I thought if the house were brought to life again, well, maybe it would help you to have more happy memories than sad ones.”
Gram handed the paper back to Rory. She looked up at Lacey. “What do you think?”
“Why, I don’t know. This is all so sudden. But it’s what you want, Gram.”
Gram clasped her hands together. “I don’t know what to say, either, Rory. This is such a surprise. But if I did sell the property to you, what would you do with the rest of it?”
“I have some ideas, but they’re not fully worked out yet. I’ll show you the plans when they’re finished. But I wouldn’t build subdivisions. I give you my promise on that.”
“And who would live in the house, once it’s restored?”
Rory shrugged. “You might want to sell it so that some other family can enjoy it, like you did. Or, you might want to live there yourself.”
“I am going to walk again.” Gram straightened her spine and lifted her chin.
“You don’t have to make a decision right now,” Rory said. “Just think about it.”
Later, after Rory left, Lacey joined Gram on the patio. They sat in silence. Lacey looked out across the lawn to the path by the river, but her thoughts lingered on Rory and his startling proposal. Who would’ve thought…
Gram broke the silence. “I don’t know what I will decide about Rory’s offer, but I do know one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“He is a very, very nice man. I’ve told you often enough that I’ve always liked him. But I’ve never liked him more than I do today.”
*
“IT’S HERE, LACEY.” Elton Watts greeted Lacey as she entered the Sentinel’s office two days later. He picked up the top copy from a stack of newspapers on the counter and handed it to her.
Silver River Sentinel Special Edition blazed in fancy script across the top. Below that was the byline, “Written by Lacey Morgan.” She took a deep breath and savored the moment. Seeing her name on something she’d authored was always a thrill.
Elton’s daughter, Clio, left her desk and came to join them. “The paper looks really good, Lacey.”
“I knew you’d come through with a winner.” Elton beamed.
“Thanks, Clio, Elton.” Lacey spread the paper on the counter and turned the pages. “It does look good. You two deserve credit, too, though, for soliciting the advertising and doing the layout.”
“That’s mostly Clio.” Elton gestured at his daughter.
Clio grinned and took a little bow. “Glad to help.”
“The paper will be on sale all over town during the celebration,” Elton said, “and Del wants it for a special display at the museum. He wants you to be there. At least for opening day.” He looked at her over his glasses. “You are sticking around, aren’t you?”
Lacey looked up. “I, ah, guess I am.”
“Oh, you have to stay.” Clio clapped her hands.
Elton nodded. “You are a part of this celebration, Lacey. And, you’re still a part of this town. You might as well accept that and take your rightful place.”
Her rightful place. What exactly did that mean?
*
“I’M SO PLEASED to have this.” Grace Patch clutched a copy of the Silver River Sentinel Special Edition to her chest and smiled at Lacey.
Sitting behind a display of the newspaper at the historical museum, Lacey returned Grace’s smile. “Your ancestors are included in one of the articles. They were some of the area’s earliest pioneers.”
“I know. I’m going to save this for my grandchildren. Family is important.”
“It surely is.” Lacey nodded soberly. No one knew that better than she.
As Grace stepped away, Del approached. “The newspaper is selling like hot cakes. And the books aren’t doing too bad, either.” He gestured to the rest of the display, which included books and pamphlets from the museum’s bookstore. “I sure appreciate your being here today.”
“I’m glad the project is a success,” Lacey said, as she nodded to a couple that stopped by the table.
“No doubt about that. We sold at least a dozen special editions with the last tour. And the mannequins you dressed got a lot of compliments. You’re talented, Lacey.”
Del’s compliment rang with sincerity, and Lacey took in a deep, satisfied breath. “Why, thank you, Del.”
The front door opened, and a group entered. “What time’s the next tour?” a man asked.
Del checked his wristwatch. “In about five minutes. Come on in and sign ou
r guest book while you wait.” He motioned for them to approach the counter.
Lacey straightened the stack of newspapers and the display of books. When she looked up, Rory stood at the table. Her heart skipped a beat.
“Hey, looking good.”
“Me, or the newspaper?”
He swept his gaze over her. “Both.”
“You’re not bad yourself,” she said, admiring the way his Silver River Days T-shirt stretched across his broad chest.
Rory turned to Del. “Okay if I take your star away for a while? It’s time for the car rally.”
“Why, sure.” Del’s eyes twinkled. “Y’all go on now, and have a good time.”
Outside, the celebration was off to a good start. People strolled the sidewalks, popping in and out of the stores to see their special displays. In the park, a band entertained with country music. People sat on benches or on the grass to listen while they enjoyed food purchased from nearby vendors.
While she and Rory stood on a corner waiting for the traffic light to change, Jorgen Miller stepped to her side. Lacey stiffened. She hadn’t spoken to the restaurant owner since their unpleasant interview.
His “hey, you two” was cheerful enough, though, and so she added a smile to her “hello.”
Rory leaned around her to ask, “How’s your special menu doing?”
“Real well. We’ve had a lot of compliments from the lunch crowd.” Jorgen shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. “Ah, Lacey, I read what you wrote about The Owl in the newspaper’s special edition…”
Expecting to hear a complaint, she held her breath.
“Good job,” he said.
“Glad you approve, Jorgen.”
After she and Rory crossed the street and Jorgen was out of earshot, Rory said, “I’m guessing that was also an apology for giving you a hard time when you interviewed him.”
“You may be right,” Lacey said. “If that is the case, I accept.”
They reached Main Street, where the classic cars were lined at the curb, all polished and gleaming in the sunlight, many with their hoods open and engines running.
“There’s Tom Jackson’s Model A.” Rory pointed to the car at the end of the line. “It was his grandfather’s.”
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