With some hesitation, Nellie took the letter from my hand. "Thank you, I will make photocopies and send it to all my relatives. As you can imagine, the dreadful tale of the Hawksworth family has remained over us like a dark shadow throughout the generations. This will lift that shadow once and for all, and we can give my great-granduncle a lofty position in our family tree."
We smiled at each other, and it morphed into a hug. It wasn't the satisfying ending I was hoping for or even considering, but it was a good ending nonetheless. Even if the rest of the town never found out the truth, the most important people would know the truth, at least Bertram's descendants would know.
Chapter 34
I hurried out to greet Briggs as he pulled into the driveway. I threw my arms around him for a much needed hug. It had been such a roller coaster of a day, filled with ups, downs and emotion. The only person who could bring me back to solid footing was Detective James Briggs.
He leaned back with his disarming smile. "Whatever I did to deserve that welcome, I'll have to make sure to repeat it."
"You know what you did and thank you. You're the best. By the way, how did Detective Fairchild take it since I didn't stick around too long after your magnificent speech about Miss Pinkerton and her skills and keen sense of smell?"
We headed into the house. "Let's just say she left with a sour expression and few words." He opened the front door for me. "She is not a good match for this town, but with her family connection to the mayor—"
Kingston started his welcome dance as we stepped inside.
"Do you mean you'll have to put up with her because she's Mayor Price's niece?" I walked to the kitchen for the glasses of iced tea I'd prepared. "That's hardly fair."
"I know. I'm just waiting to see how she handles the rest of this case. She was supposed to be taking Vince in for questioning." Right then his phone rang. "This might be Fairchild. I asked her to call me once the interview was over."
"So much for staying out of it." I winked as he pulled out his phone to answer it.
I kept my ear turned toward the conversation as I prepared the sandwiches we'd decided on for dinner. It seemed to have to do with the Sanders case, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.
I sliced tomatoes as Briggs walked into the kitchen. "That was Detective Fairchild. Apparently, she asked Vince Sanders to come in voluntarily to be interviewed about his brother's death."
I stopped slicing and peered up at him. "Uh oh. What happened?"
"Vince Sanders took off with the taco truck. Left behind the rest of his crew, and they have no idea where he went. He's not answering his phone."
"So he's flown the coop, as they say. At least he's in a vehicle that's easy to spot. I'm sure they can catch him soon. Sure sounds like guilt to me. But then I already knew he did it."
"Yes, you did. Fairchild certainly handled this whole thing poorly. She wasted a lot of time trying to pin it on Franki." He picked up a slice of tomato and nibbled on it.
"Well, I won't celebrate her failure since it means a killer is on the loose, but just between you and me, I'm kind of doing a little happy dance down here below the counter where you can't see my feet. Also there's another reason for my happy dance. I had an amazing encounter with someone at the cemetery."
A laugh burst from his mouth. "The cemetery? Was it a ghost?"
"No, although that would be amazing but really scary. This person was very much alive, and she just happened to be visiting the Hawksworth gravesite. Her name is Nellie Smith and she—"
His phone rang again, halting my big ta-da moment. My exciting announcement just wasn't going to be the same. He walked away with his phone. I finished making the sandwiches.
I was just putting the dill pickles on our plates when he returned with a head shake. "That was Officer Chinmoor. He said dispatch just got a call that a truck was on fire on the highway five miles past Mayfield." He picked up his plate. "A green taco truck, to be exact. The driver was nowhere in sight."
We carried our plates and glasses to the table. "Why would Vince set his own truck on fire?" I asked but answered the silly question myself. "Because it's not exactly a good getaway car."
"He probably has good insurance on it. Perfect for someone who needs quick cash to leave the country. The state police will get him. He can't go too far without wheels."
We sat at the table. I had such a hard time suppressing my smile that Briggs caught on immediately.
"I think there's a word for what you're feeling," he said. "It's a long, German sounding word."
"Schadenfreude," I happily supplied for him.
He snapped his fingers. "That's it. Gaining pleasure from someone else's misfortune."
I lifted my fingers and squeezed them close together without touching. "Maybe a tiny bit. Still, I hope they catch Vince soon." I placed my napkin on my lap. "Now, about Nellie Smith."
Briggs picked up his sandwich. "Who is Nellie Smith?"
"The mysterious person at the Hawksworth gravesite." This time it was my phone that interrupted the conversation. I glanced at the screen, deciding whoever it was could leave a message, but I instantly recognized the phone number of Ann Wescott, the newspaper editor. "Oh wow, I have to take this. Don't wait for me. You look hungry."
"Yep, starved."
I left the table to answer the phone. "Hello, this is Lacey."
"Hello, Lacey, Ann Wescott here. I've been giving it a lot of thought, and I want to publish the letter."
It took me a second to comprehend what she'd said. "You do? The Bertram Hawksworth letter?"
"Yes. Do you want credit for the find, or do you want to remain anonymous? We would love to do a short interview so you can give details of how you found it. That can be anonymous too."
Using anonymous seemed like a cowardly path to take. On the other hand, I didn't want to lose my business license. Something told me Mayor Price was just ruthless enough to pull some kind of revenge on me. He'd disliked and distrusted me from the start. Maybe, somewhere deep down, his intuition told him I was going to eventually uncover the Price family's dark secret.
"Can I think about it?" I asked.
"Sure. When can you bring me the letter? I'll let my photographers take a nice, clear photo for the paper. I'm thinking front page. I'm hoping to have it in the Saturday issue."
A rush of excitement coupled with a hefty case of nerves rushed through me. "Oh, that's right, the letter. In a crazy, lucky coincidence, I met Bertram Hawksworth's great-grandniece. She just moved back to town to the old farmhouse her grandmother owned. I showed her the letter and eventually gave it to her. It seemed right. But I can get it from her first thing in the morning. She'll be thrilled to have it published in the paper. She would like very much for her great-granduncle's name to be cleared."
"Perfect. Let's firm up the details tomorrow, and I'll get a reporter out to meet with you. You can hand over the letter then. We'll take special care of it while it's in our possession." She released a sort of half sigh and cheer, a woo hoo of sorts. "I've been agonizing over this since we spoke on the phone. It'll be risky and we'll definitely be causing a stir in town but then that's what a good paper does, right?"
"Right. I can't tell you how pleased I am you're doing this. I think it's only fair to the Hawksworth family."
"I think so too. We'll talk later. Have a good evening, Lacey."
"You too." I hung up and did another little happy dance as I scooted and skittered to the table.
Briggs wiped his mouth with a napkin. "After my two unfortunate calls, looks like you got good news."
I sat primly on my chair and made a show of placing my napkin neatly on my lap. (I loved to drag out anticipation.) "Ann Wescott, editor of the Pickford Tribune, has had a change of heart. She's going to publish Bertram's letter in the paper. Front page. And they're going to interview me about how I discovered it."
Briggs was quiet for a moment, apparently absorbing and assessing the whole thing. "Wow, that's a big deal. This is goin
g to be explosive. How are you feeling?"
"Nervous, excited, thrilled, apprehensive—" I smiled. "Get the picture?"
"Sounds about right."
"Ann said I could remain anonymous or I could use my name. It's up to me. What do you think I should do?"
"I wish I had an answer for that, but honestly, Lacey, I'm not sure. A name behind the story always gives it more weight than anonymous but then—"
"Then I'll have to jump into alleys and hide behind mailboxes when I see Mayor Price."
"This definitely won't score points with the man, but I think you need to ignore that when making your decision."
I picked up my sandwich but my appetite had disappeared. I was too excited and nervous. I placed the sandwich back down. "Darn, I wished I'd eaten this before the call."
Chapter 35
I sat down for a paper bag lunch with Lola at the town square. The flower shop had been fairly slow all morning which was normal for late summer. There were no holidays around the corner, and people were busy buying back to school clothes and supplies. They had no money for frivolous things like flowers. The quiet morning had worked in my favor because it freed up an hour for me to meet with a reporter. A nice young woman named Desiree took down all the details of my investigation. I had brought my notes and graphs to jog my memory. I'd started the research so long ago, I'd nearly forgotten some of it.
"I told Ryder I don't want one of those traditional sit down dinners at the wedding. I was thinking of a buffet with a massive dessert table and one of those chocolate fountains."
"You won't get any argument from me on a chocolate fountain. Just don't pick a pastel colored bridesmaid dress. Maybe something in a cocoa brown." I sipped the bottle of iced tea I bought at Corner Market. It was icy cold and refreshing.
"Naturally, Elsie will make the cake and you will do the flowers. Ooh, maybe Les can make some yummy coffee drinks. We could have a coffee bar," she said excitedly then frowned. "I only wish I was good friends with a seamstress."
"That sure would complete the set, wouldn't it?"
Lola tossed her head toward the sidewalk and Pickford Way. "So it's true," she muttered. "Kate told me she was back with Dash."
Dash and Kate were strolling toward the lighthouse lawn with a bag of food. She was gripping his arm as if worried he might suddenly run off. But he looked happy. Maybe this was the right ending after all.
"Yes, Dash mentioned it to me and then, of course, Kate came in for one of her impromptu chats." I pulled a chip out of the bag. "It's always so awkward when she comes in—"
"And acts like you've been besties since high school," Lola added. "She does that to me too. Looks like she's very happy now. Hopefully, it sticks this time." She chuckled. "Who knows, maybe you'll be neighbors one day. Then you two can chat over cups of coffee and stuff."
"You're a comedian. Really."
Lola searched around in her bag and pulled out a baggie of grapes. "Here, since we are truly besties and not just when we have something we want to brag about, I'll share my grapes with you. They're really tasty and sweet."
"Thank you." I plucked one out of the bag and into my mouth. As I enjoyed the sweet burst of flavor, I surveyed the town square. The spot where the taco truck had stood was empty, only a piece of the yellow caution tape still fluttered from the light pole it had been anchored to.
Lola followed my line of sight. "The police were sure sloppy about cleaning up the caution tape." She reached for another grape. "I suppose that was because the new detective was in charge. How did that all go? I've been so caught up in wedding planning, I haven't heard how it ended. Did they find out who killed the taco brother?"
I reached for another grape. "It was the brother, Vince. I knew it long before Detective Fairchild." I was never one to enjoy bragging, but Fairchild had botched things so badly and she'd done it all with such arrogance, I couldn't help myself.
"Of course you did. Sounds as if the new detective isn't exactly stellar at her job. Is it true she's related to Mayor Price? I heard a few customers talking about it."
I nodded. "Yes, she is his niece. I'm discovering more and more that Mayor Price wields his power with little consideration for ethics. Just like his great-grandfather."
Lola sat forward. "That's right. Ryder told me you found a letter that implicates the past Mayor Price in the Hawksworth murders."
"Yes, Ryder helped me connect with the editor of the Pickford Tribune. It took some consideration, mostly because the current mayor is vengeful and well, simply put, mean, but they're going to print the Hawksworth letter in the paper. Soon, everyone will know the truth, that Bertram Hawksworth did not kill his family and commit suicide. He was a victim, a victim of Harvard Price's malice."
"Good for you. It's always a win when a corrupt politician is exposed. You should be proud of yourself." Lola leaned back on her hand to catch some sun on her face.
Her words helped me with a tough decision. "Thanks, friend." I picked up my phone and dialed.
"Pickford Tribune," the voice said.
"Yes, Ann Wescott please. This is Lacey Pinkerton."
The hold music played long enough for me to pop in another grape.
"Hello, Lacey. I just read the interview. It's perfect and the photographers are working on the image right now."
"That's terrific to hear. Miss Wescott, I've changed my mind about being anonymous. Go ahead and mention my name."
"You're certain about this?" she asked.
"If you can put your paper on the line, I can put myself there too. I think the story carries more weight if there's a name attached to all the research."
"I couldn't agree more. We'll add your name to the story. I've never been so nervous and excited about an issue in my thirty years in the industry."
I laughed. "I'm right there with you. Good luck. I hope you sell a lot of papers."
"Oh, I've already asked them to double the print numbers. I think this is going to be big. That's my other line, Lacey. I'll talk to you later."
"Yes, have a good rest of the day." I was a touch more nervous after she mentioned the double print numbers. Soon everyone would read Bertram's words, and Mayor Price was going to be raging mad about it.
Lola pushed up from her hands. "Well, well my brave friend. It was nice knowing ya." She noticed my expression and quickly pulled back from teasing. "It'll be fine. Remember when that cranky old mayor tried to get Kingston banned from the shop? The town spoke up and the council members listened. I think the people will have your back again if Price tries anything. And you've got me and Elsie, so no one will mess with you."
"Good to know." I pushed to my feet. "I've got to head back to the flower shop while I still have one. Are you coming?"
Lola leaned back on her hands again and lifted her face to the sun. "Think I'll work on my tan for a few more minutes. Tell my hunky fiancé I'll be by later to see him." She lifted her face. "I love that word fiancé, don't you? Makes me feel so mature and sophisticated."
I laughed. "Said the girl in the rock 'n' roll t-shirt and baseball cap."
She grabbed out a handful of grass and tossed it at me. "Go do your flower thing."
Chapter 36
Ryder had agreed to open up the shop. He knew I'd be too anxious about the Saturday edition of the Pickford Tribune to be able to concentrate on arrangements and customers. I poured myself a cup of coffee, then decided the last thing I needed was caffeine. The second Briggs' car pulled into the driveway, I raced to the door. He had the day off, and he had promised to pick up a paper and some donuts on the way over.
Briggs climbed out of his car with a box of donuts.
"Did you get a paper?" I asked.
He reached into the car and emerged with the paper in his hand. "It's on the front page, just like the editor promised."
I grabbed for the paper.
He made a point of lifting up the box of donuts. "If this isn't the strangest thing to happen. Normally, you'd be snatching the donut b
ox from my hand."
"You make me sound like some kind of a donut obsessed—" I unfolded the paper and a breath swept into my throat. The photographers had done a great job. The hundred-year-old script looked clear and legible. Next to it was a column titled "Bertram Hawksworth Was a Victim Not a Killer." "Let's get out of the sun. I want to read this." I hurried to the steps.
Briggs' phone rang as we walked into the house. "Thought it was my day off," he muttered as he answered. "Briggs here." He wandered off to take the call, and I sat at the table with the paper.
"Just over two years ago, Lacey Pinkerton, a florist and an amateur sleuth with a talent for solving murders, decided to research the century old tragedy that left the entire Hawksworth family dead, murdered in their own home. The Hawksworth manor and the murders have brought many curious tourists to the town of Port Danby. Now, thanks to Miss Pinkerton, a major piece of evidence has been uncovered to explain just what might have happened that fateful night in 1906."
My phone rang, interrupting my reading. It was Ann Wescott. "Uh oh, trouble already," I muttered to myself. "Hello, Ann."
"We've already sold out of all the papers. I've just sent it to the press for a third run. The phone has been ringing off the hook, local stations and other papers calling to get more details."
I felt a little light headed, so I stood up and paced my front room. "That's great. I'm happy for the Tribune."
"I sense a bit of apprehension in your tone. Don't worry, Lacey. You're not going to come out as the bad guy in this. Mayor Price is probably going to have a rough couple of weeks but it'll all pass. The important thing is that the truth is out."
"Yes, I'm sure you're right." There was little confidence in my tone. It was going to take me time to process everything. As was always the case with Ann, her other line beeped through and we ended the call with a 'talk later'.
Briggs came back into the room. "They caught Vince Sanders about three hundred miles from here. He confessed to the whole thing. Just a major case of sibling rivalry. He never got over Rico stealing Angel from him, and Rico was always taking too much credit for the success of the business. Guess he'd just had it with his younger brother."
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