Conspiracy of Silence

by Martha Powers

  “So I gathered. My editor knows him so that gives me a bit of an edge.”

  Bruce was in his late forties or early fifties. His navy blue suit was expensive, cut to fit his tall muscular body. He was a goodlooking man with well-cut features set off by his tan. She suspected he was a golfer because his right hand was much darker than his left and there was a line of white on his forehead that suggested a golf cap. His body was fit and, except for his receding hairline, he might have been taken for a much younger man.

  “Taffy said you’re checking into the Newtons.”

  “Yes.” For a moment Clare debated not giving in to his curiosity, but decided that would only serve to increase the mystery around her sudden appearance in Grand Rapids. “When I was doing my research on Grand Rapids, I came across the story of the murder. My editor thought it might be a good human-interest piece.”

  “I can’t imagine many people would be interested in it. It was a long time ago,” Bruce said.

  “Twenty-five years. Sort of an update of an historic event in a small town. People love that sort of thing,” she said. “Have you lived a long time in Grand Rapids?”

  “Born and raised,” he said with pride. “Except for college and law school down in the cities, I’ve been here for fifty years.”

  Just then Taffy returned with a stack of papers. Clare paid for the copies, thanked the clerk, and then turned back to Bruce.

  “I don’t usually run around picking up men, but I’d really like to talk to you about Grand Rapids.” She shoved the copies into her notebook. “Unless you’re in a hurry.”

  “Actually I was just going to take a break for lunch,” he said.

  “Great. I just realized I haven’t had lunch yet. Is there someplace close where we could sit and talk?”

  “Miller’s Place is just across the street. They have great soups and sandwiches. I’ll show you the way. And if Willi’s there I’ll introduce you. For a reporter she’d be a good contact because she knows everyone in town.”

  Clare followed him out the door and, talking casually, they crossed the park to a small storefront café. Inside it was pleasantly cool and very welcoming with yellow and white check tablecloths and white painted tables and chairs.

  “Let me buy and then I won’t feel guilty for taking time out of your day,” she said.

  The waitress arrived before he could refuse and Clare ordered a BLT and some iced tea. Bruce ordered the same. She smiled warmly across the table, grateful to have the opportunity to interview him.

  “What kind of law do you practice, Mr. Young?”

  “Please call me Bruce,” he said. “I mostly deal with real estate. There’s been a lot of interest in Lost Lake in the last few years as the baby boomers start to retire. A lot of them have come up here over the years to fish and boat. Property around the lake had been selling well until the last couple of years when the prices got a little out of hand and the bottom dropped out of the market.”

  “That’s true in a lot of places. Chicago has had a rough couple of years. It’s been a crisis time for sellers who’ve bought a second place and now can’t get rid of the old house. I can see why someone would want to retire here. It’s a lovely little town.”

  “You’re not looking for a place, by any chance?”

  Laughing, Clare shook her head. “No. I’m just here for a short time and then back to Chicago.”

  “Staying at the motel?”

  “No. I’m renting a place from Ruth Grabenbauer.”

  “I thought I saw some lights on in the cottage and wondered if she’d found a renter. My house is just another half mile down the road from Ruth’s.”

  “Then you probably know everything about the area. I was at Nate Hanssen’s yesterday and discovered that it’s the house the Newtons were living in at the time of the murder. Since you’re in real estate, you might know the answer to one of my questions. How did Nate end up owning the house?”

  For a moment Bruce’s gaze sharpened, and she sensed he was gauging the advisability of talking to a reporter.

  “I’m just looking for background information at this point, Bruce. Nothing I’d hold you to or quote you on.”

  He shrugged. “You can find all this information in the public records but I can save you a little time. The house originally belonged to Lily Newton’s sister, Rose Gundersen.”

  “Was it the Gundersen family home?”

  “Yes. Rose was ten or twelve years older than Lily. Lily came as a surprise. Her mother was almost fifty when she was born. Her father in his sixties. They both died before they updated their wills, so everything went to Rose. Near as I can tell it didn’t make any difference between the sisters. They both lived in the house and appeared to be on good terms with each other.”

  “You knew them?”

  “Yes. Lily was just two years younger than I was. We went to school together and dated for a year until she met James Newton. She never looked at anyone again. She was only nineteen or so when they married.”

  “I gather he was a lot older than she was.”

  “He was in his forties. He had a good job at Blandin. Something in graphic design. Lily was waitressing at the Forest Lake restaurant. He quite literally swept her off her feet. Before anyone even knew they were an item, they were married.” Bruce shook his head. “I sound like an old gossip, wandering so far off topic.”

  “I don’t mind. It’s all pretty interesting. Were you at the dance in Bovey the night before the murder?”

  After a slight hesitation, he nodded. “It was the Fourth of July. We were having a fun time until the very end. When the fight started, it pretty much broke up the evening.”

  “What was the fight about?”

  “I don’t really know. Everything was fine one minute and then the next thing you know there were punches flying everywhere. After that everyone bailed out. I’d gone stag so I just piled into the car and drove home.”

  The waitress arrived with their sandwiches and Clare waited until they’d each had a chance to eat a little before she continued her questioning.

  “I really appreciate all the info, Bruce. I’ve just read some of the articles in the newspaper, but talking to someone who was here at the time really helps to flesh out the story.”

  “I’m glad I can be of some help.”

  “So Rose Gundersen owned the house. Were all three of them living in the house after Lily married?”

  “No. Rose was working in Minneapolis. She rented the house to the newlyweds and occasionally came to Grand Rapids for a weekend. The Newtons had a daughter. Abby. She was three or four when her mother was killed.”

  Clare tried to keep any emotion out of her expression. It was strange having Bruce talking about her parents and herself in such a dispassionate tone.

  “In the newspaper it said that Abby went to live with Rose Gundersen. In Minneapolis?”

  “I don’t think so. They both just disappeared. I suppose Rose was desperate to protect the child. She had never married and so she was free to pick up and start a new life someplace else. In any event, Rose gave a power of attorney to Judge Shannon, your landlady’s brother, in order to sell the house here and the one in Minneapolis. Nate’s father bought the lake house.”

  “Nate’s father was the chief of police at the time, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Bruce wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a drink of his tea. “Thatcher had it appraised by the bank and several realtors and paid full market price for it. It was all aboveboard.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply there was anything wrong with the deal,” Clare said. “I was just trying to get my facts straight.”

  “You’d never recognize it now. After Thatcher died, Nate practically gutted the place.” Bruce shook his head in disapproval. “It’s a little too modern for my taste.”

  Clare ate her sandwich in silence as she tried to digest all the new information. “His daughter said that the murder took place in the house.”

  “Don’t
believe a word of it,” Bruce snapped. “That child just loves to dramatize everything. There was never any evidence at all to indicate that anything untoward had taken place in that house. Not a scintilla of proof.”

  After his outburst, Bruce relaxed and they finished their lunch ashe told her about the activities in Grand Rapids during Tall Timber Days.

  “Make sure you catch the lumberjack show on Sunday. The boys are really talented with an ax and there are plenty of laughs.”

  “I’ll make a point of seeing it,” Clare said. “Thank you so much for all your help today.”

  “My pleasure.” He reached in his pocket for a leather card case and handed her one of his cards. “In case you need any other information, don’t hesitate to call.”

  After shaking hands, Clare headed for her car, anxious to get back to her research. At the house she spread out the papers on the counter and, pulling up a stool, she looked with amazement at her own birth certificate. She knew from talking to other adoptees that an amended birth certificate issued after an adoption would reflect her birth date, her new name, and show Rose as her mother and Thomas Prentice as her father. Her name was listed as Abigail Clare Newton, and Lily and James Newton were recorded as her parents.

  Rose never legally adopted her.

  Clare wished that Ruth’s brother was still alive. Uncle Owen seemed to be involved in every aspect of the mystery. Did Owen arrange for the fake birth certificates? She knew judges had certain powers and many connections so it was not unlikely that he had set everything in motion. He was in Chicago at the time of the murder and Rose may have gone to him for help. With him gone, she would probably never know the reasons behind the deception.

  As she stared at the certificate she realized one more inconsistency. Her other birth certificate showed her birthday as December 2, 1978. Her actual birthday was October 21, 1978.

  Why had that been changed?

  Looking at her parents’ marriage license she thought she might have a clue. Clare had been born seven months after their wedding. Lily must have been pregnant when she married.

  After what Bruce had said, the sudden marriage made sense. If Lily had been pregnant there would have been a need for speed. In the seventies there was still a stigma to babies born less than nine months after the wedding. And what struck Clare as consistent with Rose’s strict moral code was changing the date. She could imagine the rationale that with the new date, Clare was not a child conceived out of wedlock.

  With a sigh, Clare put the new documents inside her notebook and set it on the counter. She moved her laptop over to give herself a little more space. She was compiling a substantial amount of notes. Each new fact changed the picture she’d been forming in her mind. It was still a puzzle, but now the search for identity was less painful and was beginning to be a mental challenge to fill in the gaps.

  Checking the clock, she headed for the bathroom and stood under the shower for a long time, letting the water wash away the tensions of the last few days. She took her time getting ready for her dinner with Nate. The white eyelet shirtdress and white sandals showed off her summer tan. Although the day had been hot, the breeze had picked up and was streaming through the open windows in the cottage. She decided it would be cool enough to wear her hair loose around her shoulders instead of tied back.

  The cardboard box she’d gotten from Nate was still on top of the dresser. She reached inside and removed her mother’s satin case, smiling as she set it beside the one that had been Rose’s. There was no doubt that except for the color difference, the two cases were identical.

  For a moment she debated wearing her mother’s pearls, but decided she needed more color. Rummaging in her own jewelry, she chose a malachite pendant on a gold chain and matching earrings. Then she opened the dresser drawer and pulled out a soft pashmina wrap in case the evening turned cool. She’d bought it originally for Rose the Christmas she’d started chemotherapy. With her hair gone, Rose needed something lovely to look at and the wrap was like a security blanket in the days ahead.

  A glance at her watch showed she still had another half hour before Nate was due. She looked around the bedroom, then realized she’d left her purse in the kitchen. Setting the wrap on the counter, she reached inside for her cell phone, wallet, lipstick, and thehouse key and transferred them to a small white knit shoulder bag.

  Going back into the bedroom, she picked up the handkerchief Nate had given her during her bout of crying that morning. She’d washed it but hadn’t found an iron in the cottage. Ready at last, she started out of the room, then turned back to pick up the empty cardboard box to put in the trash. She automatically looked inside.

  In the bottom of the box was a small, white envelope.

  S

  Chapter Eleven

  Clare stared down at the envelope in the cardboard box. Fingers shaking, she picked it up, holding it gingerly by one corner. She examined the box thoroughly, but it was empty. Setting it on the floor in the kitchen, she sat down on one of the wooden stools and contemplated the letter in her hand.

  The envelope was three by four inches, the size of a note card. The color was beige and the stock was of good quality. There was no address on the envelope. No writing at all.

  With her thumb she pried up the flap of the envelope. Inside was a folded sheet of notepaper. Pulling it out, she opened it. The handwriting was a strong masculine script and her gaze automatically dropped to the signature. Stunned, she sucked in her breath and the letter shook violently until she could steady her hand and read the words.

  Abby, I’m sorry I had to send you away. I just wanted to make sure you would be safe and cared for. No matter what you hear, nothing that happened was your fault. Please know that your mother and I were so happy when you were born and loved you completely. You have always been our angel. You brought sunshine and laughter into the house. I’m sorry that I have to go away too, but I love you more than I can tell you and I will keep you in my heart forever.

  Your Father The initials JN were scrawled at the bottom of the page. Clare stared down at the letter, reading the words over and over. Knowing the reason that Jimmy Newton had to leave Grand Rapids, she was surprised by the sweetness of the letter. In her mind she couldn’t connect the loving words to the murderous actions of the man. He made no mention of his sorrow over the death of her mother. Or his guilt. He made no excuses at all.

  “Why did you do it?” she said. At first she didn’t even realize that she had spoken aloud. Her voice was just a whisper, almost as if the thought had merely passed through her mind. It was the question she wanted answered more than anything else.

  “Clare?” She had been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she let out a quickly muffled screech at the sound of Nate’s voice outside. Placing the note inside the envelope, she shoved it in her purse and hurried to the front door to let him in.

  “Was that a scream? I didn’t mean to frighten you.” “I’m sorry. I was just in another world and didn’t hear your car.” Not wanting to talk about her latest discovery, she picked up her wrap and walked over to the door and snapped on the outside light. “I’m all ready to go.”

  He looked surprised at their abrupt departure but stepped back outside, waiting as she checked to be sure the door was locked before leading the way up the path to the car.

  “I somehow thought a famous author would be driving a flashy sports car.”

  Nate laughed. “I actually did have a sports car until Erika was three. It was a little blue beamer convertible. A real babe magnet. However, I had a hell of a time getting Erika in and out of the car seat and eventually gave it up for the RAV4,” Nate said, as he held the door open for her. “I thought we’d go to the Cedars at Sawmill Inn. They’ve got great steaks, and, if you like fish, you can’t beat their walleyed pike.”

  “That sounds perfect. I liked the look of the place when I drove past it and I’ve been looking forward to going there.”

  Once settled in the restaurant, Clare looked a
round, pleased at the ski lodge ambiance and the stone fireplace on the far wall.

  “Good choice,” she said. “The room has a wonderful warm feeling and I suspect in the winter with a fire roaring, there must bea capacity crowd.”

  “The local folklore has it that many babies have been conceived in the winter after dinner at the Cedars,” Nate said.

  “Thankfully it’s summer but I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “That probably ruins my chances of getting lucky tonight.”

  Clare could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “Behave yourself or I’ll mention your womanizing reputation in my interview.”

  Nate laughed, unruffled by her comment. Their drinks arrived and he waited to see if she liked the wine before asking her how her day was. He watched her as she talked about finding her birth certificate and her parents’ marriage license. Listening to the emotion in her voice he wondered what it would be like to discover that your whole life was a lie. He could imagine anger and a sense of betrayal being the predominant feelings.

  “Do you think whoever chose December second as your birthday picked it at random or could there be some significance to the date?” he asked.

  With her thumb, Clare wiped the condensation off the side of her wine glass. “I haven’t found anything yet. It wasn’t either of my parent’s birthday or Rose’s. It may be another one of those things I’ll never find out.”

  Ashadow of sadness crept into her expression and, wanting to offer comfort, Nate reached across the table to take her hand. She looked startled at the contact and, for a moment, he thought she was going to pull away.

  “I was going to be married last weekend. A week ago tomorrow,” she blurted out.

  Her fingers tightened on his hand and she shook her head in chagrin as he sought for some sort of response.

  “Why is it I feel compelled to tell you my life’s story?” she said.

  “Probably for the same reason I told you mine.”

  Nate smiled across at her. Although she held his hand tightly, he could see the tension easing in the rest of her body. He was dazzled by the green of her eyes and the trusting way she looked at him.