by Sue Henry
There never seemed to be a right time to tell you back then and as time went on I let it be. Back then, I was afraid to tell anyone but Ed, who was the father, of course, so he was the only one in Seattle who knew I was pregnant. He wanted to marry me, but I didn’t love him and knew it would never have worked. So I went home and then to Salt Lake instead. No one but my folks knew where I was and, though he demanded to know, they refused to tell him. He has always been convinced that Alan was that child and Bill and I found and adopted him later, which is not true, but I have let him think so rather than complicate the issue with the truth and thinking he might go hunting for his real children. Perhaps I made a mistake in that. He has been determined in this belief and persistent in demanding assurance, particularly in the last few months.
My only grief is that my friend in Salt Lake lost track of my son and I have never known where he is, or who adopted him. I named the boy James G.—for my maiden name, Grayson—and the girl, Jamie S.—for Sarah, which I have already told her. I gave them no last name, nor did I reveal Ed’s name as the father, but was able to stipulate that after adoption they would be allowed to keep the names I had given them. I have not told Jamie that she has a brother and I hesitate to tell her now—or to tell Alan about her or her twin, for that matter. Poor Alan. Perhaps it was another mistake to tell him from the start that he was adopted, for he has always had a resentful streak and that may be part of it. But hindsight makes everything easier to see, doesn’t it dear?
Oh, yes, it does. But I couldn’t help wondering if not knowing would have made Alan much different.
I honestly have no idea who is making these threats, but trying to scare an already dying woman with death is a bit redundant, don’t you think? I will not allow them to make wrong what I feel is right.
If you are reading this, you will have taken the pages that came with it to Don Westover, as directed. I know you too well to even consider that your personal ethics would allow you to open it otherwise against my wishes—and isn’t it a joy that we have always been able to love and trust each other so? So you will have seen the final changes I want made to my will and understand that it is the only way I know of being fair in what I have to leave to all my children. If it should turn out that one of the three of them actually is the author of these threats, or of my death—I can’t imagine it could, but should it—the line I have included, after much thought, about a felony conviction will take care of the inheritance part of it.
One last thing: in a secret space between the shelves of the bookcase near my desk you will find letters I have written to Ed and my children. They are personal and not part of this thing with the changes to my will. Would you see that they are delivered? Perhaps at the gathering I have arranged with the Callahan-Edfast Mortuary.
There isn’t much more to say, really, and I will soon be rambling on unnecessarily. Please, always remember how much I have loved you, my dearest of all friends. You must be the keeper of all the memories now. Go walk in the rain for me some warm September day, will you? Splash in the puddles and laugh for us both.
It’s been a great adventure.
Sarah
A great adventure? Oh yes! Life had always been full of adventure for Sarah, as for me. I think that in that regard we inspired each other. Her laughter had been giggles and my much lower one a hearty bray of appreciation, but how I would miss that harmony. And how I resented being deprived of it before I could share it to the last. I looked again at the two threatening pages she had received and realized again, through tears, how angry I was.
I was still staring at them and considering possible perpetrators when June came to the door to announce Detective Soames.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
WHEN ALL FOUR OF US WERE SEATED AROUND DON Westover’s desk and June called in with her shorthand notebook, they turned to me and waited.
It took over an hour—with a few interruptions—to tell them everything I knew, or speculated, and to answer their questions.
First I had Don Westover read the letter Sarah had sent me.
“You have to know how everything began and continued before you can understand how the people I’m going to talk about fit into all this,” I started. “The letter will give you some of the history.”
When he had read and handed it back to me, I started with my arrival in Grand Junction and told them everything that had happened since, including my experiences in Salt Lake. When I came to the Green River part, I took out the threat I had received there in the campground and laid it on Westover’s desk along with the two that had come to Sarah. It was plain that the same hand had drawn and written all three of the threatening messages.
Officer Bellamy stood up and leaned over to examine them without touching. “Better get these to the lab to check for fingerprints,” he said. “Probably wasted effort, but we might get lucky.”
For a long minute he just looked, then sat down again and gave us his thoughts.
“The note you got in Green River is pretty straightforward—directed at you and no one else, with specific intent. Whoever sent this may have something to do with Mrs. Nunamaker’s death and feels you’re getting too close for comfort. The two that came to Mrs. Nunamaker leave questions. What does right and fair mean? It refers to something specific, but doesn’t say what. It assumes that Sarah would know, and she probably did.”
“It must be related to the amendments she had me make in the legal dispersal of her property, or these last changes,” Westover suggested.
“Possibly. But who is the she the second threat includes—this woman, Jamie Stover, who claims to be her daughter?”
“It has to be,” I told him. “There isn’t any other woman involved that I know of and Jamie was there with Sarah before she died.”
“That concerns me, too.” He leaned back in his chair, frowning, and chewed on his lower lip.
“Tell me about the car you say was used in an attempt to force you off the road on the Monument,” Soames said. “You’ve seen it three times?”
I hesitated, thinking back and counting. “Yes—three. Once the night I arrived here—as the intruder drove it away from in front of the house. Once when the driver tried to force us over the cliff between Cold Shivers Point and the Serpents Trail. But I think we saw it before that, though I can’t be positive, because I didn’t see the taillights that time. We had stopped to look at the Book Cliffs and were pulling back onto Rim Rock Drive when it almost hit us, but went on past, headed east.”
“Same person driving?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ever see the driver. Ed Norris thought it might have been Sarah’s son, Alan.”
“Why?”
“He thought he recognized Alan during the cliff thing on the Monument.”
“And he’s the one who thinks Alan is his son?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he now?”
“Ed?”
“Yes.”
“As far as I know he’s still staying at the Holiday Inn on Horizon Drive, where he checked in the morning Sarah died.”
“And where are Alan Nunamaker and Jamie Stover? We’ll need to talk to all these people.”
I couldn’t tell him where to locate Jamie now that she had vanished. “Maybe Salt Lake. She said she lives there with her son, but didn’t say where, and she’s not listed in the phone book. I checked.”
“She may be unlisted. I can find out.”
Don Westover had been writing on a yellow sticky, which he handed to Soames across the desk.
“Here’s Alan’s home address and phone number. He runs the family businesses, so he may be either at the orchard or the winery. I’ve listed them.”
Still frowning, Officer Bellamy sat up with a question for me.
“You’re the only one of us who’s met her. Do you believe this Stover woman actually is the daughter?”
How should I answer that? Sarah had obviously been convinced. I thought back to how much Jamie had looked like Sarah the
first time I saw her as she walked across the lawn to me. It made me also remember the man I had seen in the Family History Library. It was such a tenuous and seemingly unrelated incident that I let it go for the moment and concentrated on sharing my mixed perceptions of Jamie rather than confusing the issue.
I had to confess that I couldn’t be absolutely sure. “She fits,” I told them. “She looks and at times even moves so much like Sarah that I find it hard to believe she’s not. But she stole the copy of Sarah’s will from my bag and disappeared. Why would she do that if she wanted to convince me she was for real? And she was angry—or frustrated—that Sarah hadn’t told her who her father was. I could have, but I wanted to make sure first.”
“Did you?”
“Tell her? No. I haven’t seen her since she disappeared that afternoon. Make sure? Yes. This letter from Sarah confirms that Ed Norris was the father of her twins.”
“But he still thinks Alan is his child?”
“As far as I know—yes. I haven’t told him otherwise.”
There were a few more questions, some of which I could answer, some I could not.
“If we step away from the details, all this seems to come down to a conflict over inheritance,” Westover suggested toward the last of our conversation. “I’m wondering now just where the other child is—the twin, Jamie Stover’s brother. Any way you can help us find that out? From the nature of these last changes, Sarah meant him to share in the inheritance—and it’s considerable.”
“It would take some time and opening sealed adoption records to find out who adopted him,” Soames said. “I’ll look into it and let you know.”
“What are you going to do now, Ms. McNabb?” Officer Bellamy asked me, a note of concern in his voice. “I’m not sure you should stay by yourself on Chipeta Avenue.”
Don Westover chimed in with harmonious agreement.
I hadn’t really considered staying anywhere other than my usual parking place beside Sarah’s house.
“You really think I’d be better off in some RV park?”
“Less vulnerable, at least. You could leave town, you know.”
“No, I couldn’t—or wouldn’t. Sarah’s gathering is tomorrow. Besides, I hate running.”
“Sometimes the better part of valor is to run like hell,” he suggested, flashing me a grin that immediately faded. “I was there last night when that woman next door called about another break-in. I saw that broken basement door and it took someone with a fair amount of strength to kick it in. You should consider that the same person may have left you the threat in Green River and could show up again.”
“I’ll think about it, but I rather think I’ll stay put,” I told him. “I’ll be careful, keep my cell phone handy, and Stretch is a good watchdog.”
He shrugged and an uneasy grimace flitted across his face and was gone.
“I’m off duty, but I’ll make sure a patrol drives by regularly to check on you tonight.”
I considered telling him about my shotgun, but unless I ever have to use it I see no reason to inform law enforcement officers that I have it, however nice and well meaning they may be. Law enforcement officers look askance at regular people with defensive weapons. I think they may be right about handguns. It’s harder to hit anything with a handgun anyway and easier for one to be taken away. You have to be serious to pull out a shotgun and if, or when, mine comes out, I am. It would definitely be within reach tonight. Meanwhile, I kept my mouth shut and smiled my thanks for his offer of surveillance.
“You know,” Westover said to us, leaning forward on his desk, “some of these people will be at the gathering for Sarah tomorrow afternoon. Alan and Ed Norris will be there for sure, right, Maxie? Maybe Jamie Stover, as well.”
Detective Soames nodded. “Then so will I,” he said, closing his notebook and depositing it in his shirt pocket.
They left together, taking the written threats to me and to Sarah with them.
Don Westover and I sat back in our chairs and looked at each other for a long moment in silence.
“Well,” he said with a resigned sigh. “This certainly changes things, doesn’t it? I’d better get these last changes of Sarah’s into some kind of understandable format, as I’m sure as hell going to be asked to explain them. We’ll also have to amend the paperwork that has already been filed, or submit again. I’ll get that done soon so you can sign it.”
“What about those letters she left for Alan, Jamie, and Ed?” I asked. “Should you bring those to the gathering?”
“I’m reluctant to hand them out until we’ve settled everything legally,” he said, frowning. “Let’s wait, shall we, until later. You could deliver them when we disclose the amended contents of the will. I don’t see how we can notify beneficiaries or transfer allocations of inheritance until we see if Jamie Stover’s twin can be found. Knowing he exists makes a difference. Of course both of them will have to prove they are related to Sarah. If that proves out, Alan will probably contest it, you know. Legally this could take months—years. Who knows?”
I sympathized and agreed, hoping it wouldn’t take that long, and left him to it, thanking June on my way out for keeping her boss in the office as I had requested on the phone.
What a tangle of complications, I thought as I drove toward home, stopping once to replenish the groceries my trip had depleted—vegetables for a salad and pork chops for my dinner. Finding myself unexpectedly in the frozen food aisle, I almost fell off the wagon and picked up some lime sherbet for dessert, but remembered the ice cream I had bought in Helper.
I had a suspicion that I would hear from Ed with a suggestion that we meet again for dinner, but this time I intended to refuse and stay put in my own comfortable space for the rest of the day. I had had enough of discussing Sarah’s children, the threats, the will, the police, and all the rest of it for the time being. I intended to either put some amusing movie from my collection in the DVD player, or escape into a good book I hadn’t yet read—possibly both. Settling down for a quiet evening with only Stretch for company was what I wanted.
As I traveled the few blocks back to Chipeta Avenue, I couldn’t help wondering about Alan and how little I had seen of him. I had left a message for him at home and at his business office with the information about his mother’s gathering the next day, but no response had been forthcoming. He had successfully avoided me since I arrived, but angry, upset, or not, he surely wouldn’t absent himself from this occasion out of spite. He was not going to be happy about the rearrangement of what he clearly considered his inheritance and he could, I supposed from Don Westover’s remarks, make things legally difficult, though ultimately he would probably be forced to face failure and conform to his mother’s wishes. She had seemed to anticipate that from the way she so carefully delineated her wishes.
Why was everything so hard for him to accept? He and Sarah had made a happy pair when he was a cheerful, adventurous child. He had loved to be read to, I remembered. There had been a golden retriever puppy with enormous feet. It had grown almost as big as Alan and, inseparable, they had gone everywhere together. He had even wanted to take to it to school. Denied, Gully—for Gulliver—had faithfully waited for him on the front porch every afternoon, met him with wags of total joy in reunion, and had often slept in his bed if undetected by Sarah and Bill. What had happened to that happy little boy? Had he ever gone searching for his birth parents, like Jamie?
I hadn’t meant to spend the rest of the day thinking about Alan, or any of the other people involved, but had allowed myself to fall back into it. I gave myself a mental shake as I turned the corner onto Chipeta, looking forward to a walk with Stretch before finding some lunch for us both. Before we went to the park, I needed to call Mr. Blackburn at the Callahan-Edfast Mortuary to be sure all would be ready for tomorrow’s gathering for Sarah.
A blue pickup truck occupied the space at the curb where I had been parking the rental car, so I pulled in behind it where there would be enough shade to keep m
y car cool, though I didn’t intend to go anywhere else that day. Carrying my single sack of groceries, I started across the lawn toward the Winnebago, but hesitated at sight of the figure I saw sitting on the low extendable doorstep of the coach.
Is it sometimes possible to materialize people just by thinking about them? At that moment, I felt it must be. For in the shade of the house, leaning back against the screen door, legs stretched out in front of him, fingers laced across his waist, Alan Nunamaker appeared to have been waiting long enough to now be taking a nap.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ALAN HAD EVIDENTLY BEEN THERE LONG ENOUGH FOR Stretch to decide he was no immediate threat and quit barking. I stood looking down as he slept like an angel, or the child I had recalled, total innocence on his face, peaceful and trusting that nothing unpleasant would disturb his rest. Always slim and muscular, I knew he moved with an easy natural grace that had allowed him to excel at sports. At forty-three there was not yet a hint of gray in his dark hair. A little damp with perspiration, it had a tendency to form waves around his ears, and I remembered that at kindergarten age his head had been a mop of curls. Sarah and I had more than once looked down at him asleep in his bed and marveled at the miracle of such a beautiful child.
Remembering that as I looked down at him on my step, I thought I saw more of his mother in his face than many natural children. Was it possible that he really was . . . ? No, I knew it was not and that I simply wished it were. But she had loved him more than many natural parents love their children, for he had been a choice— fulfillment, perhaps even atonement. What could have made him so angry and determined to prove his worth, especially with her gone? Or could it be because she was gone?