Conspiracy of Silence

by Martha Powers

  She knew her explanation was weak, but she didn’t know how else to express the feelings she had when she looked at it.

  “Come look at this one,” he said, turning her toward another canvas on the far side of the booth. “I think you’ll like this one better. I was fishing in the evening in a little bay off Lost Lake. The light was perfect. There was no breeze and the loons were just beginning to call across the water. Everything was still except for right against the shoreline where you can almost see the ripple of the water as a muskie swam just beneath the surface.”

  He pointed to a spot on the canvas and Clare narrowed her eyes to get a closer look. Whether it was the storytelling tone of his voice or the skill of his painting, she could swear she saw the water move. She looked at him and smiled.

  “It’s a beautiful painting.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There’s Jake,” came a shout from in front of the booth. Erika Hanssen stood in front of the opening, her hands on her hips. “Have you sold lots of pictures today?”

  “That’s a rude question, Erika,” Nate said as he pulled on his daughter’s pigtail. “Don’t encourage her, Jake. This child needs to learn some manners.”

  Erika ran up to Jake and gave him a hug, asking a series of rapid-fire questions about Waldo. Nate smiled across at Clare as he said hello to Ruth.

  “I came to steal your renter,” he said. “I promised her beer and hot dogs if I ran into her. Want to join us?”

  “I’ll walk over with you. I told Jake I’d pick up something for the two of us and come back to keep him company,” Ruth said.

  Clare turned to say good-bye to Jake and caught him staring at her, his expression pained. He was holding on to one of the metal support poles, and she walked over to him.

  “Now it’s my turn to ask if you’re all right,” she said softly.

  “Thanks for asking. I’ve got a pinched nerve in my back. Every once in a while it gives me fits. Gettin’ old is all about maintenance. Patch. Patch. Patch.”

  “I’m starving.”

  Erika’s whine effectively broke the group up. With a wave, Clare said good-bye to Jake.

  While Nate bought the hot dogs, she and Erika scouted out a table in the shade. It was close to one in the afternoon and the sun pressed down heavily. Erika seemed a little more friendly than she hadthe first time, chattering happily about the parade that Clare had missed.

  “You should have seen the high school drill team. They were the best,” she said. “The uniforms are so cool. I think I’d like to be on the team when I get to high school. I love marching. My friend Cindy and I are practicing doing flags.”

  “Carrying them?” Clare asked.

  “No. Waving them. It’s like rhythmic gymnastics. With those streamers. I’d much prefer to do that, but they don’t have teams here in Grand Rapids. The flag teams are cooler than cool.”

  She held her arms out, waving them enthusiastically, nearly knocking the hot dogs out of her father’s hands as he arrived at the table.

  “Sorry, Dad. I was showing Clare about the flag teams. Oh, there’s Cindy. I’ll be right back.”

  She darted across to another table where her friend was eating with her family. There was much chatting and gesturing between the two girls. They made the perfect foil for each other. Erika was willowy and blonde while Cindy was shorter and more compactly built with cropped black hair. Looking at the girl’s parents, she recognized Bruce Young, the man she had lured out to lunch after meeting him in the courthouse. She waved as he looked up and acknowledged her.

  “You know Bruce?” Nate said.

  “He was at the courthouse when I got my birth certificate. I interviewed him briefly.”

  While they ate, she told him about her run in with Ed Wiklander.

  “Ed’s a bit of a hot head,” Nate said. “He’ll get over it. He might even consider doing an interview once he’s had a chance to think about it. He wouldn’t want his father shown in a bad light so he might want to put his two cents in.”

  Erika returned and the subject was dropped.

  “Can Cindy come and spend the night?”

  Nate groaned. “We’ll talk about it when we get home. You know how I hate overnights. You girls just sit up and talk and watch videos, and I never get any sleep.”

  When Clare smiled at Nate’s tone, Erika glared at her.

  “That’s what my mother used to say when I wanted an overnight but she usually gave in.” Clare tried to make amends but she suspected it was too late.

  As they walked back to Jake’s booth, Nate asked Erika if she wanted to go to the farm show the next day.

  “It’s so lame,” she said, her mouth set in a pout. “Just tools and tractors and farm animals. Can I go to the movies if Cindy’s mom can drive one way?”

  “Sure. I’ll call and see if that would work,” Nate said. He turned to Clare. “After I drop the girls off, I’ll come pick you up for the show.”

  “Would it be easier if I met you there?” Clare ignored Erika’s dragging feet and slumped shoulders at the news that Clare would be going with Nate.

  “No, then we’d be juggling cars and besides I know the best place to park so you don’t have to walk miles.” He grinned. “Don’t wear sandals. It gets a bit mucky around the animals.”

  “Good thought. Give me a call when you’re leaving and I’ll be ready.”

  When they arrived back at Jake’s booth, Nate and Erika said good-bye. Jake didn’t seem particularly talkative and eventually Ruth announced it was time to leave.

  Clare took one more look around at the paintings and realized that the picture that had bothered her was no longer hanging on the wall. She would have liked to have one more look at it to see if it was the picture that had bothered her. She had had the same kind of reaction when she’d seen the angel bell at Nate’s. Was there something about the picture that had struck her as familiar? She was just about to ask Jake about it when a customer wanted to purchase one of the larger landscapes.

  The rest of the day was spent at the Judy Garland museum. They toured the restored home where Judy lived for her first five years. Since she moved to California in 1926, the house was a time capsule of the 1920’s style. Clare thoroughly enjoyed the museum, which showcased some of the Wizard of Oz memorabilia. The most interesting was the carriage that Judy rode in on her way to see the wizard.

  When Clare noticed that Ruth was getting tired, she suggested a quick dinner out and then home.

  Even Clare was tired by the time she got back to the cottage. There was a message on the answering machine from Bianca, inviting her to have lunch with her and Pastor Olli on Monday. She watched TV for a while and then went to bed.

  She found the note in the morning.

  It had been slipped under the backdoor sometime during the night or in the early morning. It was a plain white envelope containing a single piece of white paper folded in three. The message was written in block letters.

  GO BACK TO CHICAGO. POKING YOUR NOSE INTO PAST HISTORY CAN BE VERY DANGEROUS. A shiver ran down her spine as she read the note. She crumpled it in her hand and threw it into the wastebasket by the sink. She paced the floor trying to rid herself of the feeling of being watched. She suspected the person who wrote the note was the same person who had come into the cottage when she wasn’t there. It took time, but eventually her fear was replaced by anger.

  Walking back to the kitchen she took the note out of the wastebasket. Laying it on the counter she smoothed out most of the wrinkles. Staring down at the note, she couldn’t guess whether it was written by a man or a woman. She had the right to find out her family history no matter if it upset the entire town. She wasn’t going to be scared away by such melodramatic tactics.

  She drove to Pastor Olli’s church for the morning service. After the service, she looked around for Bianca. The woman gave her directions to their house on the lake and suggested that Clare come the next day at noon.

  Back at the cottage she changed
into cotton slacks and a red sleeveless blouse. Mindful of Nate’s comment, she wore sneakers instead of sandals.

  “You’re in for a rare treat, Clare,” Nate said as they drove into the fairgrounds. “I can’t decide which would be more exciting for you the plowing demonstration or the log stripping.”

  “You can laugh at me if you like, but I know I’m going to enjoy it all. I’ve been to county fairs in Illinois and love learning about old-fashioned farming techniques. You’re just jaded living here full time.”

  Walking along with the crowd, Clare noticed how many people nodded and waved to Nate. It was clear that he wasn’t a city boy living in a rural community. He was definitely well entrenched in the town, comfortable with the people.

  Although there was good cloud cover, the day was hot. The tractor display was in the open and, after wandering up and down the aisles of both antique and modern machines, Clare was ready for some shade. When Nate stopped at a long line of engine parts, she said she’d like to go check the baked goods in the exhibit tent. They agreed to meet in an hour and a half at the beer tent.

  “Make sure you get alefse,” he said. “You’ll like it.” Clare wasn’t sure what a lefsewas but inside the tent she found the display easily enough since the exhibit had the largest group. A young girl in a Norwegian costume stood behind a long table while an older man worked the griddle. She mixed up some batter, all the time explaining the process.

  “A lefseis a thin pancake made of potato, cream, and flour,” she said. She demonstrated rolling out the pancakes and then handing them over to the man who set them on the griddle. They reminded Clare of tortillas but the smell was more doughy.

  “Would you like one with lingonberries or cinnamon and sugar?” the girl asked as she set one on a paper plate.

  “I better try the cinnamon.”

  Clare paid for the treat and then taking the paper plate, blew on the rolled pancake until it was cooler. She took a bite as she strolled along, stopping occasionally at a display that interested her. Finished with thelefse, she put her plate in the trash and licked the last of the sugar from her fingers.

  Standing in front of a tableful of homemade jams and jellies, she picked out several she thought Ruth would enjoy. She carried them over to the cash register. As the woman behind the table turned, Clare froze. It was the woman in the grocery store who had called her Abby.

  “You know me, don’t you?” Clare blurted out.

  The older woman hesitated for a moment, then nodded her head. “I know who you are, but I don’t really know you. You’re Abby.”

  “Yes,” said Clare. Her mouth was dry and she swallowed several times. “Did you know Rose?”

  “We went to school together. She was my best friend.” The woman’s voice was practically a whisper. “I’m Margee Robinson.”

  Clare smiled in relief. It was a name she recognized from the past. “Rose talked about you. You were the one who sent the China stamps.”

  “Yes. I lived there for many years. I taught school.”

  For a moment there was silence as each of them eyed the other. Clare guessed that Margee was in her late fifties, the same age that Rose would be if she were alive. She was short and very petite with beautifully styled blonde hair. Her celery-colored linen dress was understatedly expensive. In her younger days she must have been very striking.

  Clare’s heart beat excitedly at the realization that she had actually found someone who knew Rose and maybe even knew her parents.

  “Can we talk?”

  Margee looked around at the crowd of people milling around the tent. She lowered her voice further. “Since you’re here in Grand Rapids, I gather you know some of your history.”

  “I know about my mother and the murder.” Clare raised her chin defensively. “I’d like to know more.”

  “I can’t talk now. The murder’s not a popular subject in town, butthere’s something I think you should know. Can I speak to you someplace later?”

  Clare looked at her watch. “I’m meeting a friend in front of the beer tent in forty minutes and then we’re going to the lumberjack show.”

  “I’ll see you at the show. Beside the log rolling pool,” she said, then in a louder voice. “I think you’ll like the rhubarb and raspberry jam. It’s not too sour. And the apple is always good. That will be five dollars for the two.”

  Margee reached across the table and took the jam jars and put them into a paper bag. Surprised at the abruptness, Clare reached in her purse for her wallet just as someone bumped into her shoulder.

  She turned to face Pastor Olli who was walking with Bianca and Ed Wiklander. Olli patted her arm.

  “Sorry, Clare, I didn’t mean to mow you down,” he said. “We were so busy chatting I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  “No problem. It’s good to see you again.” Clare nodded to the others. “You too, Bianca and Ed.”

  “Hope you’re enjoying the farm show,” Olli said.

  “I am. I just had my first cinnamonlefse. If I stay here too long I won’t be able to fit in my car. Who knew the food in Minnesota was so good?”

  “That’s our secret,” Bianca said. “Next time you’ll have to try thelefsewith the lingonberries. That’s my favorite.”

  Clare pulled out a five dollar bill and passed it across to Margee. The woman’s face was blank of expression as she accepted the bill. She handed Clare the paper bag, then moved off to straighten the display of jars on the table.

  “Are you here with Ruth?” Olli asked.

  “No, I think I wore her out at the art fair yesterday. She decided to stay home today. Nate Hanssen brought me.”

  “I heard he’d agreed to an interview. Mostly he doesn’t cotton to the media, but for a pretty girl like you I can see he’d want to make an exception,” Olli said. “Nice of him to bring you over to this event. He’s quite a catch, you know.”

  “Hush, Olli, you’ll embarrass the girl.”

  Bianca grabbed her brother’s arm and pulled him along, muttering at him under her breath. Ed Wiklander stayed behind. As Clare started to walk away, he blocked her path.

  “I want to apologize, Clare,” he said. His round cheeks were red and he shifted awkwardly. “I don’t know why I was so riled up yesterday. When I got home I realized I was out of line. You’re a reporter doing your job. You’ve every right to look into our little murder.”

  Although she bristled at his calling it “our little murder,” Clare decided he was being sincere. “No need to apologize, Ed. You were just speaking your mind.”

  He shrugged in relief. “I got to thinking about it and I thought it might be better if I talked to you. Sometimes the newspaper accounts aren’t totally accurate. I’d be happy to speak to you if you had any questions. Maybe meet for drinks?”

  “That would be nice,” Clare said. “I’m still doing some research, but when I’m ready I’d be pleased if we could sit down and talk. Why don’t I give you a call?”

  Ed gave her his business card and she tucked it into her purse. He walked along with her, pointing out some of the exhibits he thought would interest her. As they came to the shooting range, Clare jumped at the sound of the gunfire.

  “That’s something you might want to know,” Ed said. “Every year at Thanksgiving time there’s a turkey shoot. Nowadays it’s pretty lame. People shoot at a cut out of a turkey, not the real thing. The crackpots who make such a ruckus over hunting, called the old version animal cruelty.” He paused mid-rant.” At any rate, back before the murder, Jimmy Newton won the contest three years in a row.”

  “So he was familiar with firearms.”

  “According to my dad, Jimmy could shoot farther and straighter than most guys could see. And Big Red was no slouch either.” Ed grinned. “My dad used to win the turkey most years until Newton came to town. Most guys can shoot pretty well with practice, but Jimmy’s shots were always right on the money. Dad said, you couldn’t give him a target he couldn’t hit dead center.”

&nb
sp; Ed came to an abrupt halt and the tips of his ears reddened. Clare suspected that it must have dawned on him that his comments might be inappropriate considering the fact Jimmy Newton had confessed to murdering his wife. After a few more stuttered sentences, Ed disappeared into the crowd and Clare went in search of Nate.

  She was a little early for the meeting so she stopped and watched a teenage girl leading two goats around a small track. Twin boys were sitting in a red wooden cart that was hitched to the goats. A man who was probably the father held a video camera and followed them around as the mother waved her hands to direct the children’s attention to the camera.

  She watched several more rides then checked the time and headed for the food tent. Nate was outside watching for her.

  “You were right. I did like thelefse. Hope you got one.”

  “I did. After I tore myself away from the spark plug display. I ran into Jake Jorgensen and we both had one. Didn’t you see him? He walked right past you while you were talking to Pastor Olli. Jake was heading for the pies and cakes with a determined look in his eyes. I saw Ed Wiklander over there too.”

  “He apologized to me for being rude.”

  “Good. That’s just like Ed. He goes off half-cocked and then comes to his senses when he cools down. I think he’s a good guy although I suspect he’s being nice so you’ll go out with him.”

  “Jealous?” she asked, grinning up at him.

  “Yes.” His reply startled them both. “Don’t give me that wide-eyed look. You must have noticed that I’m spending more and more time with you. I don’t want to rush you, but I think we have some kind of good connection.”

  Clare found it difficult to respond in a crowd of people, pushing past them. They were clearly blocking the doorway, but she couldn’t find the energy to move. As if he’d read her mind, Nate put his arm around her and pulled her over to the side of the tent where they stood face-to-face.

  “Well?” he asked. “Am I wrong?”

  “No,” she mumbled under her breath. “I feel the electricity too, but I’m not sure what it means. I’m in a highly confused state andI’ve just ended a serious relationship. I don’t trust my emotions at this point.”