About Face

by Fern Michaels

  Casey couldn’t believe her luck. A gossipy librarian could save her hours of research.

  “If you want a ride, Hank’s going to town. I’ll see if he’s left yet.”

  Flora hurried out of the kitchen in search of Hank. Julie folded the last of the napkins and whispered to Casey on her way to the linen closet. “Be careful and watch Lilah. She’s nice, but she’s also a social climber. She’ll do anything she can to raise money for the library. I think it’s to protect her job. Your mother has donated large sums of money to the library. I saw the write-ups in the paper. There’s even a plaque hanging in the entrance to the library. Just thought you should know.”

  There was no time to ask any more questions. Hank appeared at the door, his keys in his hand. Casey waved as she followed the gardener out to his truck.

  Hank was a tall, wiry man of few words. His skin had darkened and leathered from the many hours spent in the sun. He looked older than his fifty-nine years. A touch of a British accent mixed with a Southern dialect usually made people stop and listen when he spoke.

  Casey’s silence didn’t seem to bother him. He accepted her compliments on the gardens at Swan House but hadn’t muttered another word. Humid air blew in through the truck’s open windows, leaving Casey feeling hot and sticky. She hoped the library had air-conditioning. She asked Hank. He shrugged. She took that to mean he didn’t know.

  Hank slowed the truck to a crawl as they entered the village of Sweetwater. He glanced at her, his eyes dark and cold, like black circles of ice. Casey shivered, in spite of the heat.

  “I know what you’re after, young lady, and if I were you, I’d stop before you stir up any more dust. Things have settled down. Mrs. Worthington isn’t going to like it when she hears about your visit to the library.”

  Casey was stunned. If he’d shoved her out of the truck and run her over, it wouldn’t have surprised her half as much. She felt at a loss for words. Thinking of Hank as nothing more than a country gardener was obviously a mistake. With his warning, she now had to consider him another clue in the mystery of her former life.

  She would have answers soon, she hoped, courtesy of Sweetwater’s library.

  Hank parallel-parked in front of the library. Casey opened the door and turned to him. “Thanks for the lift. When you report back to my mother, tell her I’ll be very discriminating in choosing what to read.”

  She slammed the door, not bothering to wait for Hank’s reply. Why the warnings? The picture, the glass, the clerk in Haygood’s. And now Hank. Julie was right. A definite evil lurked beneath the Southern gentility of Sweetwater.

  Sweetwater’s library boasted more books than Casey could ever recall seeing in one room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls and covered the windows. Fluorescent lighting provided a dim, murky light. Lemon oil mixed with mold and what Casey thought of as an old smell scented the room. Mildew and dampness.

  She spied a small desk piled high with books and walked toward it. Peering over the stack, she stepped back when she realized she wasn’t alone.

  “You must be Lilah.” Casey took a minute to compose herself. She wondered how long the woman would have let her roam the library before introducing herself.

  Small, pudgy hands cleared the heap of books off to the side. Casey saw why Lilah remained seated.

  She had to weigh at least three hundred pounds. Folds of fat hung from the sides of the chair. She had a triple chin and Elvira black hair that had been permed, or rather fried, to a frizzy mass. Piercing blue eyes held Casey’s gaze and never wavered.

  “I know it’s a shock. It always is when you’re not expecting it,” Lilah squeaked. Casey had to cover her mouth to hide her grin.

  “That, too. And don’t tell me I remind you of that little fat woman in Poltergeist. I’ve heard that so many times I could gag. You know if I were her, I sure as hell would work at that voice, you know, losing it and all. Her being an actress. But me, I’m the librarian, and I like being different.” The rotund Lilah huffed and drew in a breath as if it would be her last.

  Casey held out her hand. “I’m Casey Edwards.”

  “My God! The last time I saw you, you were covered—well never mind that. What in the world brings you here?” Lilah’s already high-pitched squeal sounded several octaves higher.

  Casey briefly wondered if she’d ever live her reputation down. Whatever it was. “I’d like to learn a bit about Sweetwater. I thought if I were to read up a bit, something might jar my memory.”

  “Then it really is true?”

  “What?” Casey asked.

  “You really don’t remember, do you? I’d say it’s a blessing, though some wouldn’t. Why I tell you I remember that day like it was yesterday. The lights flashing, Sheriff Parker, practically a boy then, and your poor momma, why it was awful, I tell you, just awful.”

  Casey couldn’t believe her good fortune. Lilah had opened the door, and she hadn’t even knocked.

  “I don’t remember anything about the past.”

  “Let me tell you this, little lady, some things are best forgotten. Now that memory of yours, it’s doing the right thing, shutting down on you and all. A young girl like you shouldn’t have those kind of memories. Of course, a young girl like you shouldn’t have had to do what you did. I always thought there was more goin’ on than what was said at the inquest. So did everyone else in this town.”

  Casey felt as if the air was being sucked out of her lungs.

  An inquest?

  “Then there must be a file, records, newspaper clippings, something. You said this sheriff, what’s his name, is he still sheriff?” Casey’s heart slammed against her rib cage.

  Lilah rolled her large frame away from the desk and crossed flabby arms over an ample bosom. “Yes, he is, as a matter of fact. Why do you want to know?”

  Casey knew a challenge when she heard one. Lilah the librarian wasn’t going to display loose lips today. At least not yet.

  “I would think it obvious. I’d like to know what happened that day.” Casey heard the desperation in her voice. She tried to take a deep breath to steady herself. It didn’t work. She felt on the brink, desperate.

  “I’m thinkin’ it’s not my place to tell you about that day. Ask Evie, she’ll be the one to tell you. She is your mother, young lady.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea right now. Mr. Worthington suffered a mild stroke last night. Mother is with him at the hospital.”

  “Oh, that poor woman. I tell you, she’s had more to bear than most. She’s always been such a generous soul. When the chance came for the library to purchase our microfiche machine, your momma donated the money. Poor, poor John.” Lilah heaved another deep sigh.

  Taking a chance that Lilah’s tongue might loosen if pulled, Casey asked, “You see why I can’t ask my mother. But I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you told me what you remember.”

  Lilah seemed to be in deep thought. “I guess I could do that. Why don’t you pull up a chair.” Lilah pointed to the chair behind her.

  Casey sat down and waited. Excited, yet fearful, she needed to hear this woman’s account of a time that her mother, Flora, and apparently anyone connected to Swan House refused to talk about.

  “It was a real fall day as I recall. I’d had dozens of trick-or-treaters that started out early in the evening. The little ones. I remember running outta candy. I’d just turned on the television to watch my favorite talk show.”

  Casey waited patiently while she ran on and on about her favorite soap star who was appearing that day on her daily talk show.

  “The sirens scared me half to death. You don’t hear them much in Sweetwater. I remember wondering what in the world could have happened to cause such a ruckus. Being alone and all I needed to know what happened, so I called Vera. She’s Sheriff Parker’s dispatcher. It was the only instance I could ever recall where Vera was speechless. That woman’s mouth usually wags a mile a minute.”

  Casey smiled. Took one to know one.


  “She could barely talk. Said the sheriff had gone out to the Edwards place. Well, right away I knew something awful happened. I always told your momma that boy wasn’t right in the head. Buzz knew it, too. Course by that time, your father’d met his maker and Evie was left alone with two little ones to raise. The boy not being hers and all just seemed to make it worse.”

  “Wait! What do you mean, the boy not being hers?”

  “I thought you knew.” Lilah shook her head, her fried locks slapping against plump cheeks. “Buzz was just a youngster when he married Carol Conners, his high school sweetheart. Talk was they had to get married. Some said Buzz wasn’t the father, but who knows? They did that back then. Men accepted their responsibility. Not like today. Babies having babies, then going on national television and talking about how they did it. It sickens me, truly it does. Buzz did the right thing, no matter what they say.

  “Ronald wasn’t right from the git-go. Your father took him to see some doctor in Atlanta. Never told anybody what was wrong, but it sure didn’t take a genius to figure out little Ronald wasn’t right. Seems like it wasn’t too long afterward that your father and Carol divorced. Never knew why, Buzz never talked about it, and Carol moved to Tennessee.

  “A few years later Buzz met your momma. Boy, what a looker she was. The men couldn’t get enough of her. Buzz thought he was the luckiest man alive. I remember seeing him once walking down Sweetwater Way all smiles, like he knew the answer to the greatest secret in the world.”

  All ears, Casey eased to the edge of her seat.

  “I can’t remember how long they dated, but it wasn’t long after they married that Carol died. Ronald being the way he was, none of her family wanted to take him in. Of course since Buzz claimed to be the father, they expected the child would live with him.

  “He must have been around seven or eight when he came to live with Buzz. Evie was pregnant with you, I remember that. I admired her, takin’ another man’s child to raise, especially in her condition.”

  Lilah pulled a drawer open and removed a half-empty bag of Snickers and offered one to Casey. She took the offered chocolate and waited for Lilah to continue.

  “Right after you were born things started to change. Evie was havin’ a hard time with Ronald, and Buzz, if I remember correctly, had just got laid off from the mill. Your Grandma Edwards took you whenever she could. She still worked, cleaned houses for Sweetwater’s finest folk. Let me tell you, she did one hell of a job. That’s what paid for that condo.

  “Things just went from bad to worse in that family. But I’m gettin’ ahead of myself. Back to the day all hell broke loose, that is what you want to know, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 10

  “That seems to be the day no one wants to talk about. You might as well start there.” Casey took another chocolate bar from the bag, anything to keep her trembling hands busy.

  Lilah shoved her bulk from the chair and waddled to the back of the library. She motioned for Casey to follow.

  “I have some papers I kept. There were several articles in the Sentinel. Don’t know why I kept them. I guess I knew this day would come.”

  An ancient wooden file cabinet contained the papers Casey hoped held the secrets to her past. The librarian thumbed through several papers before she found what she was looking for. Casey stood next to her, wanting to peek over her shoulder but afraid to do so.

  “Let’s sit down.” Lilah hobbled back to her desk.

  “The inquest. Surely the paper covered that?” Casey prompted.

  “Let’s not be in such a hurry. You’ll learn soon enough. Remember I’m telling you what I remember of that time, not what the papers reported.” Lilah removed several newspaper clippings, all yellowed with age. She flicked through them, careful of their condition.

  “Here it is.” She skimmed the article. Casey knew that if what Julie and Flora said was true, Lilah had memorized the contents of the articles.

  She passed the washed-out paper to Casey.

  October 31, 1987

  On a day usually reserved for celebrating the awakening of the dead, residents of Sweetwater mourn the death of Ronald William Edwards. The twenty-six-year-old male was found slain in the family’s home. Evie Marie Edwards, the victim’s stepmother, was too distraught to comment on the death of her stepson. When asked about a suspect, Sheriff Roland Parker refused to comment. At the time of this writing there have been no arrests.

  The rest of the story told of the shock and horror the residents of Sweetwater felt about the murder.

  Casey laid the article on the desk. “How horrible for Mother. This”—Casey pointed to the newspaper—“doesn’t tell me anything, other than that a crime was committed. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s tragic, and worse that it happened on Halloween, but really, Lilah, this doesn’t give me the first clue to my past.”

  Lilah smiled, showing beautiful white teeth. “Maybe not now, but who knows about later?” She looked through the folder and gave Casey several more articles from the Sentinel. All said the same thing. A murder was committed. Nothing about witnesses or suspects. Casey viewed the dates. All were written during the week after her stepbrother’s death.

  “This is it? What about the inquest? Did they ever find the killer? You can’t commit murder, have the entire town in an uproar, then come to a dead stop.” Casey flopped the papers onto Lilah’s desk. It was like a big joke. On her.

  “If you recall, I said I’d let you look at what I had. I said I’d tell you what I remember. That’s not to say someone else doesn’t have more information. You’ll learn something sooner or later to nudge that missing memory of yours.”

  “I’m sorry I wasted your time. That day seems to be so important, yet I keep getting the same answers. It’s almost like everyone is going out of their way to hide something.”

  “You can probably get the transcript of the inquest at the courthouse. I’ll call over there and see if Marianne can get the files pulled. She’s the clerk. If anyone can get their hands on information, she’s the one to do it.”

  Lilah thumbed through a large Rolodex. Satisfied, she dialed the number and turned, leaving Casey staring at her broad back. She couldn’t hear what Lilah said, and wasn’t sure if she wanted to.

  What kind of place is Sweetwater? What evil lurks in the minds of those who live here? And what is so wicked about my past that I can’t remember? My stepbrother was savagely murdered. I should have some recollection of that, shouldn’t I? My God, I’ve been in a mental hospital for ten years and have no idea why. I never questioned it. Until now. I must truly be insane. Why would anyone in their right mind continue as I did for all those years and not question it? At least I should have asked my mother. Or Sandra. Sandra would have told me.

  But Casey had her answer: Sanctuary was a mental hospital. Obviously, she hadn’t been in her right mind or they would have never put her there. And who were “they”?

  “Says she’ll look, but you’ll have to hurry. She was about to go to lunch.”

  “I’m sorry. What?” Lost in her thoughts, Casey hadn’t heard Lilah.

  “Go on over. She’ll look for you, but hurry. When you leave, turn right, walk two blocks. You can’t miss it.”

  “Uh, sure. And Lilah, thank you. Thank you for taking the time to share your memories. We’ll talk soon.”

  “Anytime, Casey.”

  After the dark library, the August sunlight was blinding. Casey shielded her eyes against the glare and spotted the courthouse just up the street.

  The color of red dirt, the brick building appeared to be at least three stories high. Thick white columns surrounded the building. At the very top of the courthouse four clocks could be viewed from any angle, their chimes creating an echo. She smiled. Couldn’t call in late for work if you worked at the courthouse. Casey was sure the courthouse boasted a porch, or at least that’s what it looked like from a distance. Lush green lawns sprawled at least a hundred feet on either side of the official-looking bui
lding. Sprinklers soaked the deep green grass. Casey wondered if Hank would approve.

  She climbed the stone steps and entered the building. Very well maintained, the halls were quiet that hot afternoon. She could here the click of typewriter keys and the swishing sound of a copy machine.

  Her heels clacked against the black-and-white marble floors as she followed the click-clack of the typewriter to an office at the end of the hall. Perched in the traditional feet-flat-on-the-floor-elbows-in position from typing class, sat a woman about her age. Casey cleared her throat.

  “Yes?” the woman said. Casey was glad her mother had purchased the fine clothes she now wore—a dove gray skirt with a matching blouse. She knew, and she didn’t know how she knew, that this woman judged people by their appearance. Maybe it was the woman’s piercing gray eyes.

  The woman gave an impatient glance at the slim band of silver on her wrist. “I’m about to go to lunch. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “I’m not sure.” Casey decided to take her time. After all it was only one o’clock, and they weren’t about to close the courthouse this early. Casey eyeballed the woman. A gold clip held white-blond hair in a tight French braid. Pale skin, untouched by cosmetics, as colorless as her hair. Thin lips formed a phony smile. Casey thought she needed color. She expected her foot to start tapping at any moment.

  “Lilah sent me over here.” Casey said. If this pale, lackluster creature was the Marianne who could find anything, Casey thought she’d be better off looking for the transcript herself. She didn’t relish the thought of spending a second more than necessary with the frozen mannequin.

  “Yes, she mentioned you were coming. However, Marianne had to leave. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  With an irritated edge to her voice, Casey asked, “I wanted to see a transcript. Is there anyone other than Marianne who could help me?” Casey looked for a name tag or some type of identification.