*
Trish scrolled through the microfiche until she located May 1888. The space was small and yet Karl had used it to store stacks of old newspapers, making it rather tight quarters. She read headlines until her eyes hurt but found nothing about Albert Jackson.
"Mom, it isn't here."
"Good." Rhea slid the drawer she'd been peering over closed.
"What do you mean?"
"Good, I found the 1880's, but there is only one spool."
"Please be there. I'd hate to think it was all in my head." Trish surrendered the tiny workspace to Rhea who took over with familiar ease.
"I'll have to remember to bring my genealogy notebook next time. Karl was right, his granddaddy recorded everything in the paper. I dare say a fellow couldn't buy a new horse without it being news."
"I don't care about buying horses. Go to May and see if you can find anything about Albert--"
"Eureka!" Rhea fell silent, reading intently for several minutes.
"You found it."
"Actually-- oh, I'm looking at the wrong date. But wait."
"What?"
"Who murdered Albert?"
"I don't know."
Rhea lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "A man dies in your arms and you don't know who did it. What kind of a legal mind are you? Never mind. Here, read this."
Trish stepped back, giving her mother room to get out of the chair and laughed. "Aren't you glad we didn't wear nice clothes this morning?"
"You were right, this is jeans and grubby t-shirt work. Read right below June 13th."
Trish settled in the rickety chair and scanned the page for June 13th.
Quinn Jackson hung for the murder of his brother, Albert Jackson, on the 21st of May. Jackson was found guilty in a court of law. Circuit Judge Willard Fairbanks elicited the executioner's confession in an open court of law…
Trish's throat went dry, her breath caught. "It can't be."
"How do you know--" Trish thrust the chair back against the filing cabinet, sending the disarray of books, papers and dust spewing to the floor. She raced for the front door of the newspaper shop, blindly bouncing off the printer, desks and chairs. Reaching the outdoor air, she gasped repeatedly as her tears threatened.
The Talisman - Crisscross Page 47