“Did she seem like a nice woman?”
Nate’s eyes were focused straight ahead as if he were trying to
picture her. “I don’t really know. I do recall that people at church
liked your parents. After services in the summertime, people generally stood around and talked. All I can say is that they both
appeared to be popular.”
“I’m sorry to ask so many questions, but you’re the first
person I’ve talked to who knew them personally.”
“I’m happy to tell you what I can. Your father was a big man.
He was Scandinavian, built like those skiers you see in the old
Olympic films. Big in the shoulders and the chest. He was tall, although when you’re a kid everyone seems tall. He had reddish brown hair. I remember that because so many of the Swedes in town were blonde, including your mother. He had a beard too. Very neat not bushy.” Nate shook his head. “I wish I could think
of something more definite.”
“You said he was a friend of your father’s. Did he say anything
about my father and the murder?”
Nate turned to look at her. His forehead was furrowed and his
eyebrows bunched together. He hesitated for a full minute before
he spoke.
“I got the impression that he liked Jimmy Newton very much.
As I said, they were friends. Fished together. I remember how
upset he was all through the investigation and when your father
disappeared, he seemed almost relieved. At the time I thought it
was because he didn’t want to be the one to arrest him.” Once more Nate paused as if debating if he should continue. “Please,” Clare said, “I’d really like to hear anything your
father said at the time.”
“I was home the night Dad got the telephone call about
Jimmy Newton’s death. He was in his office and I couldn’t hear
what was said. After the call was over, he slammed the phone
down. He was usually a mild-mannered man but I could hear him
cursing like I’d never heard before. My mother went into the office
and I stood outside just listening. Dad told mother that Jimmy
Newton had committed suicide. He kept asking why he would do
a damn fool thing like that. Mother kept trying to calm him down,
buthe was furious.”
Nate ran his fingers up through his hair.
“He said, ‘Why couldn’t he trust me to get to the bottom of
this?’ ”
S
Chapter Eight
“What did your father mean? Get to the bottom of what?” Clare’s voice was too loud and she forced it to a more level tone. “Was he saying he didn’t think Jimmy killed my mother?”
“I probably shouldn’t have told you that because it will only raise more questions in your mind. Don’t get your hopes up. What he said didn’t make any sense. According to anyone you asked, Jimmy Newton killed Lily.”
“Then what did your father mean?” Clare asked. “I don’t honestly know.” Nate shrugged. “I didn’t hear any more of the conversation because my father saw me in the doorway and sent me to bed.” Nate grimaced as he continued. “At the time, it was something I heard but it didn’t mean much to a kid. It was only in later years when I found him going through the case files that I asked him about it. At first he said he didn’t remember.”
“Was he having trouble with his memory?”
“No. It was his usual excuse. He had never liked talking about his cases. So I asked him what he thought about Jimmy Newton. He said he was a good friend and a very fine man. I asked if he knew why Jimmy had killed his wife. He said he never believed Jimmy was a murderer.”
“From everything I’ve read, there was never any question that Jimmy was guilty,” Clare said.
“I said the same thing to Dad and he agreed. Your father signed a full confession to the crime. What little forensic evidence they had at the time all pointed to your father. No one, even my father, registered any doubt that Jimmy Newton killed Lily. Dad said it was just a gut feeling because the Jimmy he knew wasn’t a murderer. Personally I always thought it was wishful thinking on Dad’s part.”
In the aftermath of Nate’s comments, Clare could only shake her head in bewilderment. What did any of it mean?
“Ever since I discovered I was adopted, there has been one stunning revelation after another. Every time I think I’m beginning to find the real story, something happens to turn it all inside out again. At this point I don’t know what to believe.”
Clare pressed her fingers against her temples rubbing the sides of her head. She had another headache building and knew she needed to get back to the cottage and lie down. Nate stood up as if he too realized she needed to get away.
“That’s enough for now, Clare.” He picked up the box and her notebook from the table. “You look as if one more piece of information will have you fainting away again. I’ll walk you to the car and when you feel better and have sorted some of this out, you’re always welcome to come back and talk about it.”
“Thank you for being so understanding.” Clare shoved the plastic bag into her purse and followed him back through the house.
“It’s been a very long morning. And I haven’t even gotten to the interview.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll be seeing each other very soon. I was going to the art show in town on Saturday. Would you like togo? It would be a nice change of pace for you.”
Clare smiled. “Ruth already asked me to go with her so I’ll probably see you there.”
“Then before someone else asks, how would you like to go to the Farm Exhibit on Sunday. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a long line of antique tractors and sat in the latest models.”
“Now you’ve really tempted me. How could a girl refuse such an invitation? What time is this fantastic display?”
“Let’s say I pick you up around two.”
“Excellent. I’m at Heart’s Content cottage.”
“I know just where that is. I didn’t realize that was Ruth’s place.” He opened the screen door and the squeak of the hinges sent a shiver through Clare’s body. “I’ll see if a bit of oil won’t fix that door. I hate to think of you flinching every time I open the door for you. It’s not good for a man’s ego.”
Clare was able to laugh now that she knew the source of her distress. He opened the passenger-side door and put the box and her leather notebook on the front seat. Then he walked around to the driver’s side and stood at the open door while she settled herself and put on her seat belt.
“I apologize for being rude on the phone yesterday. As you may have gathered I don’t have a lot of trust in the media. In this case I think we’ll get along just fine. In fact, I’m looking forward to seeing you again and, if I can, I’d like to help you to fill in some of the missing background of your early life.”
Clare tilted her head to look up at Nate. His face was in shadow and she didn’t know him well enough to verify his sincerity.
“Background for a book?” The moment she said the words she regretted it. “I’m sorry, Nate. I’m not usually so caustic. Your problem is with the media and my problem is that, ever since discovering my life was a sham, I can’t take anything at face value.”
“I can understand that. Don’t give it a thought. Erika and I will be going to the art show Saturday afternoon. If I see you there I’ll treat you to some of the coldest beer in the county. And the best hot dogs.”
“Now you’re talking my language. I’m not sure the dogs can compete with the Chicago brats I was raised on, but the cold beer sounds great.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a business card. “I can’t remember the phone number at the cottage. But this has my cell phone number. I think I need a day or two before we do the interview.”
Nate took it and slipped it into his shirt pocket. “We
’ll talk again about it on Sunday.” He stepped away from the car as Clare closed the door.
Shestarted the car, took one last look at the house and smiled at Nate as she drove down the driveway to the main road. Back at the cottage, she parked the car and took the box into the house. It was just after noon but it felt as if she’d been gone for a full day. Dropping everything on the sofa in the living room, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the porch. She brushed off the cushion on the wicker chaise lounge and sat down. Kicking off her sandals, she swung her feet up and laid back.
Lost Lake glowed in the noonday sun. Although it was hot, a slight breeze felt like silken brush strokes across her skin. On the far side of the lake, a fisherman cast along the shore, the silent rhythm soothing. As Clare relaxed she felt as if her bones were melting and closed her eyes, letting the tension seep from her body.
She came awake slowly, reveling in the sense of peace that filled her. The lake shimmered in the heat of the day. She didn’t know what time it was. The sun was closer to the horizon but she was far too comfortable to look at her watch. It was hard to believe that she had fallen asleep since she had slept so fully the night before. She stretched her legs and wriggled her toes. She was grateful that she’d been in the shade most of the time or she might have gotten a sunburn.
The familiar swish of tail against floorboards alerted her to the fact that her furry guardian had returned. Looking toward the sound, she spotted Waldo lying beside the chaise. Amazed to realize his arrival hadn’t woken her, she grinned at the dog.
“You must think I’m a total slacker,” she said.
Waldo clambered to his feet with the slight clink of tag against chain. He rested his head in her lap and she stroked the silky fur between his ears. A soft snuff and wagging tail were indications of his appreciation.
“What have you gotten into this time?” Clare asked as she lifted her hand to her nose. “The usual fish, I see.” She sniffed again. “Ah, with a hint of rosemary and mint. Rolling in someone’s garden? It’s a good combination but not guaranteed to overcome the fish smell.”
Asharp whistle cut the air and Waldo cocked his head, tail wagging more vigorously. At the second whistle, he rose to his feet and sauntered down the walk, angling toward the shore line. Clare watched his unhurried pace until he disappeared among the trees.
She stretched, then swung her legs over the side and slipped on her sandals. When she looked at her watch, she was stunned. Three fifteen. She’d been sleeping for three hours.
Luckily she didn’t have much to do before Ruth arrived for dinner. Getting up she looked at the furniture on the porch. She hoped it wouldn’t be too buggy because she wanted to eat outside as long as the weather was nice. She’d found napkins and a checkered cloth to cover the wicker table and she just needed to wipe off the cushions of the two pull up chairs. Ruth wasn’t due until seven so she had plenty of time to get ready.
Back inside she spotted the things she’d dropped on the sofa when she came in after her meeting with Nate. Since she’d missed lunch she took a yogurt out of the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of iced tea. She ate the yogurt standing behind the couch, staring down at the cardboard box and the plastic bag in her purse. Throwing the empty container in the trash, she sat down on the couch. She took a long drink of the tea, gaze steady on the box, then, with a shake of her head, she reached for the plastic bag.
According to Nate these were the items used to identify her father after the train accident. She poured the contents of the bag onto the table. A brown leather wallet and a gold chain.
The chain was a simple rope style. The spring catch was broken and if there had been anything on the chain it had been lost in the accident. The chain wasn’t delicate; the rope looked strong and appropriately masculine.
The wallet was shaped by its contents, the leather mottled with watermarks, sweat, and age. It was a simple folded style, bulging with the amount of bills inside. Opening it carefully, Clare stared down at the driver’s license in the ID window. The picture was small but clear. Jimmy Newton’s hair and eyebrows were a light reddish brown while his beard was closer in color to Clare’s. His eyebrows were drawn down over his eyes, giving his face a somber expression.
Clare’s first thought was that he didn’t look like a murderer. He looked totally normal. Someone you’d see on the street any day of the week. Obviously she couldn’t make any judgments based on his looks. After all, Ted Bundy hadn’t looked like a serial killer either.
The details on the license showed Jimmy’s height at five eleven and his weight as one hundred eighty pounds. Hair: red. Eyes: brown. His birthday was February 19, 1940. Calculating quickly she realized he would have been sixty-seven if he’d lived. He was forty-two when he died.
Looking at the picture she felt little emotion for the man who was her father. She didn’t know him and had no memories to give her a sense of personal loss.
In the five card slots on the left side there was a library card, a claim ticket for shoe repair, and a health identification card from the Blandin Paper Company. The divided currency well was filled with paper money. Taking it out, she set it on the coffee table.
Except for a few, all the bills were new one hundreds, although the top edges were slightly curled as if they had gotten wet. She counted the bills twice. There was two thousand, eight hundred fifty-six dollars. She supposed he had taken the money to help him get far away from Grand Rapids and start a new life.
Putting the money back in the wallet, she placed it and the gold chain back in the plastic bag. She didn’t know what to do with the bag. She didn’t like the idea of having so much money in the house. Standing up, she searched the room for a safe place to keep it. Above the kitchen cupboard, various decorative items had been stored. One was a box about the size of a shoebox. Pulling the step stool from the corner, she climbed up and reached for the box.
She dusted it off with a towel as she brought it back to the table. The wood appeared to be cherry with brass hinges and a brass latch on the front. On the top was a picture of a loon made of painted inlaid woods. The box itself was nicked and scratched and the brass hinges and latch were tarnished with age. Opening thelid, she found that the plastic bag fit easily inside.
Once it was back above the cupboard, Clare turned her attention to the cardboard box. She didn’t think she wanted to open it when Ruth was due for dinner in such a short time. Since her morning meeting with Nate, her emotions had been in a constant state of upheaval. It was hard to keep a psychological balance through her search for identity. She suspected the contents of the boxmight be upsetting and she decided whatever was in it could wait until the next day.
She put the box on the shelf in the bedroom closet, closing the curtain to hide it from sight. Getting out cleaning supplies, she washed the table and chairs then looked through the cupboards until she found dishes and other things she needed for the dinner. When she’d completed the arrangements, she had time for a brisk walk along the lake road. The activity was just what she’d needed. Walking along, she enjoyed the beauty of the lake as seen through the trees and between houses and yet her mind was free to go back over all she’d learned since she’d arrived in Grand Rapids. After a good workout, she returned to the cottage for a long shower.
She dressed in blue and white floral Capri pants and a simple white blouse. After she blew her hair dry, she twisted it up into a pseudo-French roll and clipped it with a large wooden barrette. She brushed on lip gloss and returned to the bedroom. Unzipping her blue satin jewelry case, she rummaged inside until she found a pair of chandelier earrings set with blue cat’s-eye stones and a matching bracelet. Although she would have preferred to go barefoot, she put on her soft leather sandals.
Clare had just put the ham slices in the oven when Ruth arrived. She was wearing a flowered cotton dress that did little to diminish the size of her ample figure. She was holding another plate of cookies.
“If you keep this up, Ruth, I’l
l have to walk back to Chicago.” Clare laughed as she kissed the older woman’s cheek. Setting the cookies on the counter, she held up a bottle of wine. “Make it a tall one. There must be a full moon coming because the library was filled with lunatics today.”
Clare poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Ruth. “I sprayed the porch with some bug repellant about an hour ago in hopes that the mosquitoes would leave us alone.”
“I hope you realize that you’re speaking of our state bird. Aedes communis— the common mosquito.”
Picking up her wine glass, Clare led the way out to the porch. “Imeant no disrespect,” she said with a grin. “I just happen to be one of those people who hates those little bloodsuckers.”
Ruth sat down and raised her glass in salute before she took a sip. “Now that’s the kind of gentle sting I like.”
“Me too.”
“As to our Minnesota bloodsuckers I’ll share some facts with you that might make you look on them more kindly. Male mosquitoes don’t bite. Only the females. They require protein for egg development but they live on nectar and fruit juice so they need the protein in blood in order to lay the eggs.”
“So you’re telling me that I shouldn’t mind the bites because it’s just a motherhood thing? Truly, Ruth, female support is one thing, but it doesn’t lead me to a love of the little beasts,” Clare said.
“They really are quite fascinating. They’ve been around since the Jurassic Age. If you saw the movieJurassic Parkyou saw what a vital part they played in preserving the DNA of the prehistoric animals. A long movie, but scientifically interesting.”
“How come you know so much about mosquitoes?”
Ruth smiled and took another sip of wine. “One of the benefits of working in the library is that you have so much research material at your fingertips. Plenty to read on those days when all you do is give directions to the restrooms.”
“Besides, I suspect everyone in Minnesota wants to find out what to do about mosquitoes.”
Ruth shook her head. “Tourists mostly. We who live here find them a necessary evil and try to ignore them. There’s really no getting rid of them. One female can lay one to three hundred eggs at a time. Since she lives up to a hundred days, a single female could lay three thousand eggs in her life span.”
Conspiracy of Silence Page 11