Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

by Pamela S. Meyers

  Meg resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The incident was over a month ago. I’m surprised you even remember.”

  “When you almost hit someone, you remember.” He turned toward the two-story house sitting across the yard. “We can talk in the kitchen.” He glanced at Lester’s Model A. “He want to come too?”

  Lester sat slumped against the driver’s seat, his newsboy cap pulled over his eyes. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

  “He’s fine. I don’t intend to be long.”

  She followed the farmer across the dirt and up some steps into a closed-in porch. Fred removed his work boots and pushed open a door. “After you.”

  Meg followed him into the kitchen. Fred gestured to a wood table placed in the middle of the large room. “I’d offer ya some coffee, but I drank the last cupful.”

  Meg slid onto a mismatched chair. “Not a problem.” She brushed some crumbs off a spot on the tabletop and opened her pad to a blank page.

  Fred hitched up his overalls by the straps before plopping into a blue chair across from her. He stared at her notebook. “So what do you want with me?”

  Meg poised her pencil. “I’m looking for your reaction to the news that the winning name for the new building has been chosen. Since you were so adamant about Miss Fenner getting her due after winning the first competition, I wondered what your thoughts were now.”

  His forehead creased. “Violette got cheated. What’s wrong with calling the place Harborlight like she suggested?”

  “I guess none of the entries impressed the committee. That’s why they had a second contest.”

  His white bushy brows shot up. “Do you know what the winning name is?”

  “No. They’ll announce it next week.”

  “Why don’t you ask your daddy? He’s on the committee.”

  Meg pressed her lips together. “What brought on your interest in Miss Fenner’s cause?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “That’s what a reporter does if she’s going to get a story.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Since when have you been a reporter, and what makes you think there’s a story?”

  “You and your friends’ strong defense of the young woman piqued my curiosity.” She doodled a design on the pad. “I’d like to make this a human-interest item.”

  Fred jumped to his feet, his face suddenly crimson. “Violette was cheated. It’s as simple as that.” He stabbed his index finger toward the door. “Now I’ll ask you to leave so I can get back to my chores.” A vein in his neck pulsed.

  Afraid he’d drop dead of a heart attack, Meg gathered her things. “If you change your mind, give me a call at the News-Trib.”

  “There’s nothing to change my mind about.”

  Meg crossed the muddy yard to the Model A and yanked the passenger door open. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Lester started. “Get what you needed?”

  “Hardly.” She slid onto the seat. While Lester stepped out to crank the engine, Meg jotted a note on the pad. Source, Fred Newman. Refuses to talk. Seems to be hiding something.

  Lester climbed into the car and put it in gear. “Where to next?”

  “Do you know Violette Fenner’s married name?”

  “She married Hobart Smith. They live on County Road B. That’s where we’re going?” At Meg’s nod, he drove toward the gate and turned right onto the highway.

  The Smith farm was well-kept with a gravel drive. After Lester stopped the car behind the house, Meg climbed out and made her way past what looked like a large lilac bush to a side porch and knocked. The door swung open. Violette Fenner Smith wore a simple dress and flour-sack apron that looped over her head and tied around the waist. A smudge of flour graced one of her cheeks. “May I help you?”

  A whiff of baking bread teased Meg’s nose, and her stomach rumbled. “Mrs. Smith, I’m Meg Alden from the News-Trib. Do you have a minute to answer a question?”

  The young woman nodded. “Sure, if it’s fast. I’m baking.”

  “Seeing as how last fall your entry won first place in the contest to name the new building, I wanted your reaction to the news that a winner of the new contest has been selected.”

  Violette grinned. “When are they going to announce the winner?”

  “Next week during a meeting at the high school. How do you feel about it?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Do you know when, exactly?”

  “I can find out and let you know. Doesn’t it upset you that they opted not to use the name you won with earlier?”

  “Not really. The important thing is, I won the fifteen dollars. And this time the prize is twenty-five dollars. We can sure use the money.”

  Meg’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying you entered the contest again?”

  “Why not? They didn’t say I couldn’t.”

  The woman had spunk, and she liked that. “Care to share the name you suggested?”

  “I entered several times.” Lines around her sparkling eyes deepened. “To tell you before the announcement might jinx me.”

  “If you win, I want to interview you for a story.” Meg held her pencil over her pad. “For now, what’s your reaction to the protest group that defended you?”

  Violette’s face pinked. “I don’t want to talk about that night. If Hobart hadn’t been with me, I’d have walked out.”

  “Do you know why Fred took such an interest in your plight?” Meg shifted her weight from one foot to the other, wishing Violette would invite her in for a slice of bread.

  “Maybe because he’s got a bone to pick with your father.”

  The pencil slid through Meg’s fingers and bounced off the step. She drew her gaze back to Mrs. Smith. “My father?”

  “Fred claims that, a number of years ago, he was pulled over by a policeman for a reason he won’t disclose, and that your father secretly kept him in jail during harvesttime, causing him to lose nearly all his crop. He wants your dad to pay.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Outside the News-Trib office Meg said good-bye to Lester, and he went on to County Hospital to see his dad. She headed down Main Street and climbed the stairs to the second-floor offices over Kohn & Jennings Men’s Store. She paused in front of the first door in the long hallway that ran the length of the building and studied the stenciled gold lettering on the bubbled glass window.

  LOUIS P. ALDEN

  ATTORNEY AT LAW

  If she tore up her notes, no one would be the wiser. But a reporter must be ready to tell the truth at all times. Does that count when it involves family? Meg gripped the doorknob and turned.

  Sally Drummond, Dad’s new secretary, glanced up from studying her steno pad. “Meg.” A sunny smile emerged. “It’s been a long time.”

  Meg regarded her with a wary eye. During eighth grade, Sally and her girlfriends had relentlessly teased Meg because she couldn’t stay focused during class. She’d kept her distance from Sally and her friends during high school. “It’s been awhile. I was surprised to hear you were back in town.”

  The brunette nodded. “When Charles was laid off, we had to move in with my parents.” She ran her hand over her typewriter as if it were solid gold. “With this job and Charles working at the National Tea, things are looking up. The Lord has blessed us.”

  The Sally Meg remembered had scoffed at her for believing in God.

  She liked this Sally a whole lot better. “That’s wonderful.” She glanced at the closed door leading to Dad’s office. “Is my father free?”

  “I’ll check.” Sally stood and went through the door, her full skirt making a swishing sound as she walked. Meg wandered to the window. Across the street, Jack emerged from the bank and headed toward the office, nodding a greeting at old Mrs. Fitzsimmons as she stepped out of the bakery. He stopped and said something more. Mrs. Fitzsimmons jiggled with laughter. The man could even charm the old ladies.

  “You can go in.”

  Meg turned. Sally stood by her desk.
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br />   “Thanks.” Meg whooshed past her and stepped into her father’s wood-paneled office. A faint hint of his pipe tobacco tickled her nose.

  He leaned back, his leather chair creaking under his shifting weight. “Well, Meg, to what do I owe this honor in the middle of a workday?”

  She shut the door and sat in front of his mahogany desk. Her tongue felt as dry as day-old bread. “I need to ask you something.” She scanned the rows of law books filling the shelves behind him. She was right to come here, wasn’t she? “About Fred Newman.”

  His iron-gray brows knit together. “Fred?”

  Meg nodded and studied the swirls of green and yellow in her print skirt.

  “I have an appointment in ten minutes. If this isn’t important, maybe it can—”

  She lifted her gaze.

  Dad sat as straight as a pole, his face stoic but pale.

  Meg clasped her shaking hands. “Did you send Fred Newman to jail and keep it off the record?”

  He snapped his head back in surprise. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “According to a source, Fred says it happened.”

  His jaw clenched. “If it’s not from Fred, it’s only hearsay.”

  His answer slammed into her heart. He hadn’t denied it, so it must be true. Dad never lied. “Why does Fred carry a grudge against you?” Meg flipped open her notepad. “It seems when he questioned the integrity of the contest at the meeting, he wanted to humiliate you. Unfortunately, it was Miss Fenner who ended up being embarrassed.”

  “You’re not putting what those people told you in the paper, are you?”

  She looked up. “Why not?”

  “You’ll start rumors that will have a terrible backlash.”

  “Meaning?”

  “My reputation will be tarnished, which will result in lost clients and lower income. That would affect our family. I might have to let Sally go, which would affect her and her family.” He pulled his pipe from his pocket and took the lid off the humidor sitting on the corner of his desk.

  “Is it rumor or truth?” Meg scanned her father’s taut features. “Just tell me it’s not true and I’ll stop investigating.”

  The pipe clattered onto the desk. Dad pushed to his feet. “If the type of material you aspire to write depends on half-truths and innuendos, then I understand Oscar’s reluctance to allow it. The discussion is over. And not one word of this at the dinner table.”

  Pressure pushed at the back of her eyes as she closed her notepad. “I’ll see myself out.”

  At the office, without first removing her wrap, Meg scurried to Jack’s open office door. He sat bent over the desk, his shirtsleeves rolled up, scribbling notes. She coughed and he looked up, offering her a disarming grin. “Hey there. Any luck with the interviews?”

  “I have a dilemma.”

  He set down his pen and waved at the visitor’s chair. “Let’s hear it.”

  Meg shut the door with a soft click. “I know why Fred Newman was so vocal at the meeting, and it had nothing to do with Miss Fenner.” She plopped into the chair. “He wanted to embarrass my father because some time ago Dad had Fred thrown into jail off the record.” Meg shook her head. “I don’t know why or any details.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Do you have any proof other than what Fred said to you?”

  She took out her notebook. “Mrs. Smith told me.”

  “Who’s Mrs. Smith?”

  Meg worked herself out of her coat and let it fall over the back of the chair. “The winner of the first contest. She’s married now. I interviewed Fred before I spoke to her. He acted as if he was hiding something. This frightens me, Jack. If my father—”

  “We can’t run the story on conjecture only. Do you want to drop it?”

  Meg ran her palms over her skirt. What would it hurt? Let life go on as it had been. “Yes…I mean, no.” She let out a groan. “I don’t know.”

  “What would you do if it didn’t involve your dad?”

  “Keep investigating.”

  Jack steepled his fingers to a point in front of his mouth. “Having a loved one as part of the story makes a difference, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Meg studied a knothole in the floorboard then looked up into Jack’s solemn face. “It’s not in Dad’s character to go against the law. There must be more to the story. I have to find out what really happened. And then clear my dad’s name.”

  “That’s the answer I was hoping for.” Jack picked up his fountain pen and scribbled a note. “If Fred spent several days in jail off the record, the sheriff would have been in on it. When did this supposedly occur?”

  “All I know is that it was several years ago. I’ll see what I can learn.” Meg jumped to her feet and gathered her belongings. “Just pray I don’t find anything I don’t want to know.”

  “Off the subject. Was that letter from California the answer you were waiting for?”

  She forced a smile. “Yes. Mattie is putting in a good word for me at the Examiner. It looks like I have a favorable chance at a job in the typing pool.” She turned to leave. “Would you like the door left open or closed?”

  “Closed.”

  The door shut, and Jack let out a long whoosh of air. Had she said Maddie or Mattie? Mattie could be a pet name for Matthew. Something a woman might call her sweetheart. Pain sliced through his heart. He rested his elbows on his desk and put his face in his hands. What was going on? Was he falling in love with her, or was it because he wasn’t used to being on the losing end? He stood and paced a circle. He was jumping to conclusions. Either one could be a woman’s name. He turned and headed back to his chair. He needed to focus on the paper, not his personal life, which was becoming more tangled by the moment. And he needed to talk to Oscar.

  At County Hospital, Jack parked under a maple tree and cut the motor. He gripped the door handle and paused.

  God, You said You’d make the way straight if I acknowledged You. Here’s another thing to add to the list. For Meg’s sake, let this rumor about her father and Fred be hot air and nothing more.

  He almost added another request, asking God to stop Meg from moving, but thought better of it and climbed out of the Ford instead. Despite the cool temperatures, the sun warmed his neck as he approached the main door. Even if Oscar was well enough for a visitor, Jack still needed to gauge the man’s strength. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Oscar and cause him to have a setback.

  He reached the entrance and a nurse rushed up, her navy cape lifting in the breeze. He held the door open for her, and she nodded her thanks. Jack removed his fedora then followed her inside, his nose twitching at the antiseptic smells. “Would you be able to direct me to Oscar Zimmer’s room?”

  She waved down the first-floor hallway. “He’s in Room 110. Maybe some company will cheer him up, because he’s crankier than usual today.”

  Chuckling, Jack approached Oscar’s door and tapped.

  “Don’t just knock. Come in and do what you need to do.”

  Jack pushed the door open. “I don’t know who you’re expecting, Oscar, but I’m only here to say hello and get the cobwebs out of your brain.”

  A broad grin stretched across Zimmer’s face. “Well, if you aren’t a sight for sore eyes. Figured you were too busy getting the paper out on time to pay me a visit.” Oscar scooted up higher on the angled mattress.

  It seemed odd to see him in a faded hospital gown instead of the ever-present starched shirt and tie. At least his white thatch of hair still looked as if it had been styled with an eggbeater.

  Jack snagged a straight-backed chair and dragged it next to the bed. He plopped down. “It was a rough first week, but the last couple have been okay. The way Lester talked, I thought it better to not disturb you.”

  “Outside of a few days, I’ve been ready for some visitors besides the missus and Lester. I hope my boy’s been helpful. It seems like he’s been here more than there. I guess it didn’t work out, having him take my place.”
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br />   Jack cast about for words. “We’re all cut out for different things. He’s been a great help.”

  “I heard Meg broke her left arm, but at least she can still write the want-ads and Thelma can do ‘Town Talk.’ You been able to keep up with your reporting?”

  Jack’s pulse quickened. “It’s taken some overtime on the part of Meg and Thelma, but we’re managing.” He swallowed hard. “In the interest of getting out the paper, I’ve had to tap into Meg’s talents.”

  Oscar scowled. “What do you mean by that? She’s not reporting, is she?”

  “I’ve had to use her to write up some pieces. If I didn’t, we’d have half a paper.”

  Zimmer stared straight ahead, his frown deepening. “You’ve probably opened a Pandora’s box, but as long as she understands that it’s only till I get on my feet.”

  Jack squirmed. “I’ll make sure she’s aware.”

  “That was a good story on the meeting protesters. You following up? Finding out what’s going on?”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here.” Jack crossed his legs. “Do you know anything about Fred Newman being jailed several years ago?”

  Oscar pushed his glasses farther up his nose. “Where did you get that notion?”

  “The story goes that Fred was unofficially jailed and the public never knew.”

  Oscar’s face blanched. “You think I was paid not to publish the news?”

  Jack raised a hand. “If a cover-up happened, you wouldn’t have known. I’ve got half a mind to drive into Elkhorn while I’m here and see what the sheriff remembers.”

  Oscar picked up a glass of water from the bedside table and sipped on its bent straw. “Did the source mention names?”

  “Only one.” Jack stared toward the window, wishing he didn’t have to say the words. “Louis Alden.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The County Sheriff’s headquarters sat at the north side of Elkhorn’s town square, next to the courthouse. Jack parked in front of the two-story brick structure. Within minutes, a deputy ushered him into Sheriff O’Brien’s office.