Conspiracy of Silence

by Martha Powers

  “Newspapers never get things right,” Robinson said dismissively. “All I can tell you is what Margee said. She said Rose’s old boyfriend was making a play for her again and Jimmy Newton took aswing at him.”

  All through the rainstorm, Clare had flashes of memory. Each time she touched something, she would get a picture of another time and place when she had a similar object in her hand. The only time she was free of the mind pictures was when she was stroking Waldo’s fur. Eventually she curled up on the couch, keeping one hand on the dog, and went to sleep.

  When she woke up, the rain was gone and the sun was shining in the front window. She opened the front door and walked outside. Waldo followed her, limping down the stairs. He sniffed his way around the yard as she breathed in the air, thick with the smell of rain.

  Waldo barked and she saw Jake’s gaunt figure coming through the line of trees along the shore. The dog hobbled over, greeting the old man with a wriggling body and a slobbering kiss. Jake leaned over and inspected the side of his face, then patted his side and strolled across the grass to the porch.

  “I’d have called, but your phone’s still out,” Jake said. “I came by earlier. I looked in the window and saw you were sleeping so I figured I’d just let you be for a while.”

  Waldo padded up the stairs, brushing Jake’s side. “Go lie down, Waldo. You’re all wet.”

  Before they could move, the dog shook his whole body, spraying both Clare and Jake with water.

  “I’ll get a towel,” Clare said, laughing at the annoyance on Jake’s face.

  She brought out a bath towel and, after drying himself off, Jake rubbed down the dog. “Hope he hasn’t been any trouble.”

  “Hewas nice to have around. I’m not sure he’s much of a watchdog since he didn’t bark when you took up your post outside last night.”

  Jake ducked his head, avoiding any comment. “I just stopped at Nate’s place and he’s still not home. It’s only an hour and a half from Bemidji, so he should be home by now.”

  Clare looked at her watch. “He said he was going to see how Erika was doing before he left. I’m meeting them over at the Itasca Nursing Home. Let me check my phone. He said he’d call if she wasn’t well enough to clog.”

  Reaching in her purse, she pulled out her cell phone. She checked for voice mail. “That’s good. There’s no message so that means Erika is over her stomach flu.”

  “Then I’ll take the dog off your hands. I’m having an early dinner at Ruth’s today. She doesn’t let Waldo in the house under the best of circumstances. Just imagine her expression if she found a wet, smelly dog on her doorstep. I’ve got plenty of time to run him home.”

  “Thanks for everything, Jake.”

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. She wondered if he was offended by the personal gesture because he jerked away as if he’d been hit with an electric prod. He lifted a hand and waved it as he headed along the shoreline with the dog.

  Looking down at her water-spattered clothes, she went into the bedroom to change. She pulled out a maroon, teal, and black striped dress that Nate hadn’t seen before. She slipped it on. It was empire-waisted with a smocked tube top that accentuated her breasts without being overly sexy. The flared skirt was finished off with a ruffled hem. Feminine and flirty, she decided as she checked her reflection in the mirror.

  She checked out the window, spotting the puddles left behind after the rain. Putting away her sandals, she slipped on black ballet flats with soft rubber soles. She took off the chain she’d been wearing and hunted through her jewelry box. She pulled out a silver replica of a Hershey’s kiss on a delicate chain. Hooking on the matchingearrings, she took one last look in the mirror.

  Staring at the silver kiss, she could feel her consciousness sliding back in time. She was back in the boathouse, her mind flooded with memories. There was a rubber raft that stood in the corner and piles of beach towels. A set of oars was propped up against a canoe. She remembered that she wasn’t supposed to be near the boathouse but she’d snuck in whenever she got the chance. She remembered one time peeking in the window and seeing a boy and a girl kissing.

  Another time she’d almost been caught. She’d actually been inside and hid behind the raft when she heard someone coming. She remembered it was Rose. She came into the boathouse and put something into a metal box underneath the floor boards. After Rose left, she crept out and pulled up the box. She could remember the disappointment she’d felt when she discovered a letter. Since she couldn’t read, she’d jammed it back into the box and put it back in the floor.

  The vision faded and Clare stood holding the top of the dresser. She was shaken by this latest vision. It was much more real than the others had been. The memories were returning strongly now. Eventually she’d be able to look at each scene and not be so frightened of the past.

  She wondered if the box was still in the boathouse. After all this time, would the letter still be in the box?

  Checking the time, she realized that Jake had only been gone fifteen minutes and she still had an hour before she had to be at the nursing home. She picked up the phone on the counter to call Nate, but the line was still dead. Since she was all ready, she might aswell go over to Nate’s and they could go together. Grabbing her purse, she locked up the house and ran up the path.

  Shewas almost at the top when she caught the toe of her shoe on the edge of one of the flagstones. Sprawling forward, she went down hard, landing on her hands and knees.

  Taking a moment to assess her injuries, she was relieved that she hadn’t broken any bones or twisted an ankle. Her knee was cut. Blood ran down her leg as she stood up. Reaching into her purse she brought out some tissues and pressed them on the cut. She sucked in her breath at the burning sensation. Gritting her teeth, she waited a minute and then pulled the tissue away. It was just a surface cut, bleeding profusely but not very serious. She shook her head as she accepted the fact she would be adding another scar to the knee.

  It was the same knee she’d injured the night she fell in the boathouse, and it was the same knee she’d cut when she fell at the logging camp. It was definitely a bad omen for the rest of the evening.

  S

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “Can you make us some sandwiches, Erika?” Nate asked, as they arrived back at the house. “I need clean clothes and then I’ve got to check on a couple things. It won’t take long and we’ll take off for the nursing home.”

  “Do you care if it’s peanut butter and jelly?”

  “I don’t care if it’s liver and onions,” he said, cutting through the kitchen. “I’m starving and we won’t get anything to eat until after your show.”

  Upstairs he put on a fresh knit shirt and a clean pair of khakis. Grabbing a light sports jacket, he hurried back downstairs. Once in the office, he picked up the phone and cursed when he found it dead. Even though the rain had stopped, the storm must have brought down several phone lines. He wondered if the service was out all around the lake. Using his cell phone, he tried to reach Clare’s cell, but it automatically jumped to voice mail. He didn’t want to leave a message. He wanted to talk to Clare.

  Hecleared off his desk, then picked up the box of old files he’d brought from the police station and set it on his desk chair. He draped his sports jacket over the back of the chair and opened the flaps on the box, just as Erika entered with lunch.

  “Thanks, honey,” he said, taking the plate from her hand.

  “I brought you a cold beer too.”

  “What a good daughter you are.” He grinned as she set the bottle down on the corner of his desk. “I suspect child welfare might consider me a bad father because you know I prefer beer over milk.”

  “Well, duh!” she said. “Do I have enough time to IM Cindy?”

  “Yes, but you can’t tell her anything that you heard today. First we have to talk to Clare. Understood?”

  “If Clare says it’s okay, then can I tell Cindy?”

  “We’ll see.”<
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  “Oh, Dad. That almost always means no.”

  “Get your costume on and then you can go online. I’ll give a holler when I’m ready to leave.”

  After Erika left, Nate took a long swallow of the beer, sighing in pleasure. He munched the sandwich as he began removing each item from the box. He perused it to get a general sense of what it was, then set it in the pile on his desk.

  He’d called the police station after his interview with the Robinsons. Jon stated that he’d reopened the investigation on Margee’s death in light of the arson. In his turn, Nate promised to skim through the contents of the files to see if he could spot anything unusual. Since he didn’t know what he should be looking for, he thought it was a time waster. However, since he had some time, it would be the perfect project to keep him from worrying about Clare.

  It was a slow process and he wasn’t even a third of the way into the box when he picked up a newspaper clipping from the Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin newspaper. It was the article written after the train had killed Jimmy Newton. The names of the men who witnessed the accident or suicide were circled at the bottom ofthe page.

  Fred Rea and J. Jorgenson.

  Nate crumpled the paper in his hand.

  J. Jorgenson. Jake Jorgenson?

  Was it possible that Jake was the same man who had witnessed Jimmy Newton’s death?

  Jamming the clipping in his shirt pocket, he grabbed his jacket and tore out of the office to the bottom of the stairs.

  CONSPIRACY OF SILENCE 287 “Erika, we have to leave now.”

  “But, Dad, we’re way early,” came her shouted reply. “We have to make a stop on the way. Don’t forget your shoes.” He paced the kitchen until Erika came clattering down the

  stairs. Remembering to tell her how cute she looked, he hustled her out the door and back into the car. She was barely buckled into her seat when he swung the car around in a spray of gravel and drove to Jake’s house. Not finding him at home, he became concerned about Clare.

  “Is something wrong, Daddy?”

  Realizing she only called him Daddy when she was upset, Nate smiled to reassure her.

  “We’ll go and pick up Clare,” he said. “We’ve still got plenty

  of time.”

  He tried to keep to the speed limit as he raced toward Heart’s

  Content. He pulled into the driveway and swore when he saw that

  Clare’s car was gone. In the spot closer to Ruth’s house, was Jake

  Jorgenson’s old Honda.

  “We’re going to see Ruth,” Nate said, shutting off the engine

  and jerking open the car door.

  With Erika behind him, he hurried across to Ruth’s door and

  rang the bell. When she opened it, he brushed past her, stalking

  into the living room to confront Jake. Without a word, he reached

  into his shirt pocket and handed the older man the clipping. “Ah,” Jake said with a shuddering breath.

  “What in the name of all that’s holy is going on, Nate?” Ruth

  said, coming into the living room with Erika behind her. “Jake has some explaining to do,” Nate said.

  Hewatched myriad expressions cross the older man’s face and

  for a moment felt sorry for him. He turned his head and spotted

  the painting on the mantel. He recognized it immediately. It was

  the picture of the girl and the dog on the dock. Nate walked over

  to get a closer look.

  “Jake brought that for Clare.” The tone of Ruth’s voice was

  a reflection of her confusion. “Is that what you want him to

  explain?”

  Nate peered at the completed painting. It was definitely Jake’s

  best. The colors glowed and breathed life into the subjects. At any

  minute the dog would move or the girl would laugh. Nate caught

  his breath as he studied the features of the child. It was Clare. It was Clare as a child of four. Painted with the loving hand

  ofa father. In a flash everything became clear. Nate turned. Jake

  had a curious smile on his face. He straightened his shoulders and

  nodded.

  “Yes. I’m Jimmy Newton.”

  S

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Clare’s heart sank when she pulled in the driveway and realized that Nate and Erika hadn’t returned. They must have gotten a later start and planned to go directly to the nursing home. She smacked the steering wheel with her open hand in annoyance.

  She pulled out her cell phone only to discover her battery was dead. For one moment, she wanted to throw it out the window but after a steadying breath, she plugged it into the charger and waited. This wasn’t a good start to the evening, she thought, looking down at her knee. At least the bleeding had stopped.

  She stared at the house. There wasn’t much left of the original house except the screened porch. She closed her eyes and tried to picture the house when she was living in it. In a flash an old memory clicked in, everything crystal clear as if she were reliving it.

  It was the creak of the floorboards that woke her. She lay still on the couch in the living room, listening to the tap of footsteps crossing the screened porch beyond the open window. She scrambled upright until she could peer over the back of the couch. She recognized her mother just as she heard the unmistakable click of the screen door latch.

  Where’s Mommy going?

  She didn’t have a stomachache anymore and she didn’t want to stay alone in the dark. She jumped off the couch and slipped her feet into the pink fuzzy slippers that matched her bathrobe. In the moonlight, she spotted her doll at the end of the couch, her blonde curls sticking out above the afghan. She took a grip on her hair and pulled the doll into her arms and headed for the door.

  “Matilda, wake up. We have to go with Mommy,” she said, whispering into the doll’s ear. “We have to be quiet.”

  Tiptoeing across to the door, she turned the handle. The hinges squeaked and she slipped through the opening, pulling the doorclosed behind her. Her slippers made soft, shushing sounds as she crossed to the steps. She squinted in the darkness. A flash of lightning cut across the sky and she saw her mother’s white dress as she started down the path into the woods. She opened her mouth to call out.

  “No, Matilda. We can’t wake Daddy.”

  She ran across the grass to the tree line. The reddish wood chips made the path easy to find. She’d helped Daddy put the new mulch down. It had taken a long time to spread it all the way to the boathouse. The pine bark was soft underfoot. Moonlight filtered through the cover of trees and she quickened her pace.

  “We have to catch Mommy.”

  She skipped along, but when she didn’t see anyone ahead she paused. Branches waved above her, scraping against each other in the rising wind. She jumped at the loud snap of a breaking limb. The sky lit up with another flicker of lightning and it started to rain. She hurried along the trail, hugging the soft body of the doll against her chest.

  “Don’t be a baby, Matilda,” she whispered. “You’re a big girl now. Big like me. I’m not scared.”

  The sleeve of her bathrobe snagged on the branch of a bush. Shesnatched her arm away and folded both arms over the doll, holding her tight against her body. Her breath made short hissing sounds as she pressed her face into Matilda’s hair. Her heart beat loudly in her ears.

  “Oh, Mommy. Where are you?”

  Ahead the trees began to thin out. She ran to the end of the path, stopping at the edge of the clearing. She looked through the rain at the dark outline of the boathouse. She released her breath ina whoosh of air as she saw the patch of flickering light in the window.

  “See, Matilda. Mommy’s in the boathouse.”

  She stepped into the clearing. A loud pop split the silence of the night. Two sharp cracks followed. She turned to run back to the house, but the trees had closed in behind her. She squinted in the rain, but couldn’t see the path.
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  “Mommy,”she cried as she whirled around and ran toward the boathouse.

  She clutched Matilda, pressing her against the place where her heart was hammering. A rowboat was tied up to the wooden walkway. Her slippers slid on the wet decking that surrounded the boathouse. She fell, cutting her knee. Whimpering, she limped along the decking. She could see a patch of light inside the door.

  “Mommy!” She cried out, hurling herself into the room.

  Thunder crashed overhead. She screamed. In the flickering light of a candle, images stood out starkly. The pirate face. Red spots on the white dress. Aunt Rose’s letter box.

  Within the circle of light, halfway between the candle and her slippers, lay a gun.

  Tucking Matilda securely under her arm, she leaned over and picked up the gun. She used both hands to hold it. It was heavy, the metal cold against her fingers. She held it sideways, staring down at it. She knew the gun. It was Daddy’s.

  The door behind her slammed against the wall. The wind snuffed the candle and the room plunged into darkness. Her fingers tightened on the gun.

  The explosion startled her and the flash of light and the darkness that followed blinded her. Her ears rang with the closeness of the gunshot and for a moment she was deaf. She staggered backward and dropped the gun. Matilda slipped from her grasp.

  A beam of light shot through the doorway, pinning her to the floor. Ears still ringing she heard a voice from a long way off.

  “Abby? Abby? What have you done?”

  Clare sat motionless in the car, the voice still echoing in her head. Her hands gripped the steering wheel as if it was her lifeline toreality.

  After all these years, she had seen the night of the murder played out from start to finish. She had no doubt that what she had witnessed had wiped out her memory. She replayed the scene in the boathouse over and over in her head to be absolutely certain of what she had seen. There was no mistake.

  In the fluttering light of the candle, she had seen Lily lying on thefloor of the boathouse. The front of her dress was covered in blood. The gun was lying beside her mother. There was blood on her nightie, but she thought that was from her fall outside on the decking. No wonder she couldn’t remember where she got that scar. It all went back to the night of the murder.