The McKenna Legacy Trilogy

by Patricia Rosemoor

  Diane never doubted how much this husband cared about her.

  The reason she'd never regretted Frank's untimely death.

  THOUGH SKELLY HAD FOUND several references to Lily in the year before the murder, mostly on the society pages as Roz had expected, he still hadn't come across any information that raised his reporter's antennae. No matter. He kept at the task, scrutinizing one microfiche after another. Time consuming work, but the owners of the Clarion had only fully embraced computer technology a few years ago, the reason Heidi hadn't pulled any of her research from the Galena weekly.

  Trading one microfiche for the next, Skelly wondered if Roz was doing any better than he. If she was trying to control Diane Nesmith as she had him earlier, he doubted it. What had gotten into her? Either she'd rolled off the wrong side of the bed or she'd had trouble sleeping.

  If the latter, Skelly certainly hoped he was to blame.

  His grin faded when he remembered seeing Hilary sneak inside right after he'd imagined someone was watching the house. He hesitated telling Roz. He knew she wasn't ready to suspect either of the elderly Langs.

  His musing was interrupted when Sara – office manager, columnist and proofreader – poked her head into the small back room that served as the morgue. With her light brown pony tail and her freckled nose, the young woman didn't look mature enough to handle so much responsibility.

  "How's it going, Skelly? Making any progress?"

  She'd not only recognized him but had been aware of his purpose in town. He'd immediately received the red carpet treatment and an unsolicited promise that his visit to the Clarion would remain confidential.

  “Only a few issues to go."

  "I have a little free time. If you tell me what exactly you're looking for, maybe I can help."

  "Thanks, but it's one of those 'I'll know it when I see it' predicaments."

  "Gotcha. Yell if you need anything."

  "Will do."

  Skelly scanned through the next microfiche so quickly that he almost passed up the story covering the Historical Society Ball. He backed up. The annual fundraiser had been held barely a month before the murder. From the spread of photographs, he gathered the whole town had turned out. On closer inspection, one of the shots in particular piqued his interest.

  Lily being very friendly with a man who wasn't Frank Sullivan.

  Skelly took stock of the burly man in his expensive-looking tuxedo. Most others had settled on suits. He appeared to be fortyish, sported a receding hairline and was chomping on a cigar. While his arm was wrapped possessively around Lily's waist, she was leaning into him, wide-eyed, her smile dazzling. The caption identified the man as Anthony Cavillo.

  Centering the photo in the frame, Skelly made a copy, which he took to the reception desk where Sara was focused on her computer until she spotted him.

  "Recognize this guy?" he asked, setting the copy on her desk.

  "Anthony Cavillo." Her eyebrows shot up. “Sure, everyone knows the owner of River Bluff. That's a combination resort and vacation housing development."

  "Where?"

  "A few miles southwest of Galena, along the Mississippi bluffs. Take Blackjack road and follow the signs. Oh, and he's part of a syndicate operating River Star, a river boat casino operation."

  Skelly's antennae went on alert. “Thanks."

  Sara handed him the photo copy and said,” Anthony Cavillo has helped boost the local economy for decades. People around here like him. A lot."

  "I'll keep that in mind."

  Skelly figured he was warned. He'd better be cautious when sniffing around for information about the eminent businessman. He couldn't help but wonder about the syndicate running River Star, so the first thing he did back in the newspaper morgue was to pull out his cellular telephone and Heidi's card. He called her home number, but her machine answered.

  "Skelly here. I need whatever you can get on one Anthony Cavillo from the early sixties up to the present."

  He shared the little he already had and asked her to get back to him as soon as possible. Hesitating only a moment, he decided to give her the Lang's number as well, in case he couldn't be reached on his cell phone.

  Then he returned to the microfiche. Unfortunately, the next few issues of the Clarion revealed no pearls of information other than details of Lily's arrest, confession, subsequent trial and incarceration.

  When he found the name of the man who'd been sheriff at the time, he scribbled it into his notebook. He assumed Orville Galt had been long retired. A local telephone directory gave him Galt's number and address. Talking to him might shed some light on a few things, not the least of which was whether or not he'd alerted Noah Lang of Lily's arrest in the middle of the night as the old man had claimed.

  He'd barely recorded the information when he heard Roz in the reception area. Not wanting her to know he was checking on her grandfather's story, he slipped the notebook into his pocket and hurriedly replaced the directory. When she found him, he was straightening up the desk around the microfiche machine.

  "Looks like my timing was perfect," she said from the doorway.

  "Yep." Still stinging from her impression of a prison commandant, he couldn't help needling her. “I was almost ready to come looking for you."

  A deep line appeared between her eyebrows. “Why? I told you I'd find you here."

  "Told as in dictated. And to make sure you could keep the upper hand, you chose not to tell me where you were going."

  "You knew I was planning to talk to Diane Nesmith."

  "But you withheld the name of her shop."

  The frown deepened. “An oversight."

  "Then you won't mind telling me now."

  With an exasperated sigh, she said, “Yesterday's Treasures."

  Giving Skelly a gut-wrenching start.

  Chapter Seven

  TENSION LAY THICK BETWEEN THEM as they traded the cool newspaper office for the late morning heat. Skelly's questions concerning her whereabouts had annoyed Rosalind, but his tight-lipped silence put her on edge. She was debating whether or not to leave it alone when he took the choice from her.

  Hooking her arm and pulling her around a corner onto a side street where they were apart from the crowd, he demanded, “So why the hell didn't you tell me the name of Diane Nesmith's shop earlier?"

  His delayed reaction astounded Rosalind, as did his irate expression. He was truly angry. Not having a clue as to his point – other than his being ticked because she had taken charge of the investigation – she resented his trying to make her feel culpable.

  "I don't get it," she protested, extracting her arm from his grip. “What's your problem?"

  "When you came looking for me after your detour to the drug store, I was standing directly in front of Yesterday's Treasures."

  "If you say so." She shrugged and settled against an iron railing that protected the stairway to a basement entrance. “I wasn't really paying much attention to anything but finding you. As for this morning, I may have been assertive in delegating tasks, but if you think I purposely withheld information from you, I didn't."

  To her relief, some of the tension drained from Skelly and his features softened from angry to concerned. Another surprise, one she didn't want to examine too closely. Remaining annoyed with him was infinitely more comfortable.

  "While you were there," he calmly began, “did you happen to run into an older guy wearing an odd-looking toupee?"

  She waited until a couple passed by them before quietly saying, “Perry Nesmith, Diane's husband."

  "I was right, then," he muttered, jaw clenched. “Nesmith saw us yesterday afternoon, and he recognized us, Roz. So at least one person who could know something about the murder was aware that we were in town."

  Unease replaced annoyance. The man hadn't indicated he knew who she was, not even when they'd been face-to-face. “Are you certain?"

  "I was admiring the goods in the front window when I felt someone watching me. I caught Nesmith at it, and he
suddenly got real busy. Then you found me. As we walked off, I glanced back inside and caught him staring after us. By his face, I'd swear he knew exactly who we were."

  Finally, the reason Skelly was so troubled hit her. “The brakes!"

  "Perry Nesmith is definitely a candidate," he agreed. “What did he say to you?"

  "He ordered me to leave. “And he'd been pretty hostile, Rosalind remembered,

  her pulse surging. She waited for more people to pass by. “Diane nearly had a stroke when she took a good look at me. Literally. Perry was being very protective of her."

  Skelly swore under his breath. “So you didn't get anywhere with the widow."

  "I didn't say that. Diane did some talking while her husband was in back, fetching her medication. “But Rosalind felt unsettled, vulnerable, continuing the conversation in the street. She pulled away from the railing. “Let's finish this inside somewhere."

  He canvassed the area as if making certain no one was observing them. “Okay."

  A nearby bakery provided tables and chairs for hungry shoppers who wanted a fast energy boost. A peak through the window assured Rosalind the place wasn't too busy yet, so they could have some privacy...if they managed to keep their voices down.

  Entering, she directed Skelly to claim a table off in the corner while she went up to the bakery counter. The bear claws were calling her name, so she bought a couple to go with their coffees.

  She'd barely slid the tray onto the table before Skelly asked, “So what did you get out of the widow?"

  Wanting a moment to settle down inside, Rosalind sat, serenely unloaded their refreshments and placed the tray on an empty chair. She took a swallow of coffee for good measure.

  By contrast, Skelly was a mass of impatience. His tight expression. His stiff posture. His fingers uncharacteristically drumming the table top.

  Rosalind decided she liked bringing out this side of Skelly. His obvious frustration at not having the upper hand humanized him somehow, made him more appealing...if that were possible. She had to admit he certainly couldn't have been more appealing than he had been the night before. Though she'd like to pretend her tiny romantic digression hadn't happened, memories of that kiss kept nagging her at inopportune moments.

  She pushed the mug and plate that Skelly had been ignoring closer to him. “Have some coffee while it's still hot. And these bear claws are to die for."

  "Ro-o-oz."

  Taking a hint from his warning tone, she figured it was time to stop pushing his buttons. “All right. Diane knew her husband had been cheating on her for years and wanted a divorce that he wouldn't even consider."

  "Sullivan was looking out for his political career."

  "She, of course, claims the divorce issue prompted the murder. Because Lily had finally decided to make her separation from Grandfather final, Diane figures she expected Frank to do likewise."

  "Then killed him when he wouldn't agree to leave his wife for her?"

  "In a fit of passion."

  A thoughtful Skelly took a big slug of coffee, then shook his head. “Doesn't

  make sense. If Lily loved Sullivan so much, why did she keep reconciling with Noah? Could be Diane killed her husband to get out of the marriage...or Nesmith did the dirty work for her."

  "I'd say we have ourselves a couple of genuine suspects as Grandfather suggested," she agreed without enthusiasm.

  Able to imagine all the years of misery Diane had gone through – not only knowing her husband was cheating on her, but having no way out – Rosalind felt sorry for the poor woman. If Diane had killed Frank Sullivan, the heinous act certainly had been one of desperation.

  She took some comfort in her bear claw and coffee before changing the subject. “So, did you come up with anything from the Clarion?"

  Skelly pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded and handed it to her. Though his fingers brushed hers only briefly, Rosalind was reminded of the way he'd touched her the night before. Immediately self-conscious, feeling her neck warm, she focused all her attention on the copy of the old newspaper photograph. Of course she recognized her grandmother if not the man.

  "Who is he?" she asked.

  "I thought you might know."

  She read the caption. “Anthony Cavillo. Cavillo. I recognize the name...though not because it was linked with Lily's."

  "He's a big shot around here."

  Skelly told her about the resort and gambling boat. Rosalind had heard of both. She gathered he found some fault with Cavillo's second business. Gambling was always suspect, but the river boats were a fairly new venture begun long after Lily had disappeared. She didn't see what gambling had to do with her grandmother.

  "So Lily knew him. What's the big deal?"

  "Roz, wake up and take a closer look. Lily knew him." He arched his eyebrows at her. “And this photo was taken mere weeks before the murder."

  Lily and Cavillo did appear to have more than a passing acquaintance, Rosalind realized, a lump settling in the pit of her stomach. A new scenario involving a love triangle occurred to her. She didn't like imagining one man killing another over Lily any more than she did believing Lily could be a murderess. She handed the copy back to Skelly.

  "We can only guess whether or not they were having an affair."

  "Or we could ask him," Skelly suggested, tapping his finger against the likeness of Anthony Cavillo. “I know you're not thrilled thinking the woman Grandpa Noah worshiped could have been involved with even one man outside of her marriage, but –“

  She cut him off. “But I'm trying to be realistic. And non-judgmental. Lily's marriage to Grandfather had been rocky for several years." And perhaps her grandmother had destroyed it even as she'd destroyed her own love-relationship – though her grandfather had been more determined than Tim to hang onto the woman he loved. “Perhaps we should pay Mr. Cavillo a visit later, after we collect the Thunderbird. What do we do in the meantime?"

  Only after posing the question did Rosalind realize that, despite her vow to manage the situation, she'd handed control back to Skelly. A quick look at him assured her that at least he wasn't gloating.

  He said, “I think we should glad-hand the local candidate for the governor's seat."

  "Walt Rogowski?" Starting to feel as if she were out of the loop, Rosalind had to remind herself that being a reporter made Skelly a professional investigator of sorts. His instincts were more finely honed than hers. “What in the world does he have to do with anything?"

  "Rogowski was working for Frank Sullivan at the time of the murder. A few years later, he was sharp enough to win Sullivan's seat in the state senate. That's not the kind of man who misses things."

  Rosalind agreed. “He would have known exactly what had been going on in the political arena around Sullivan."

  Now if only they could convince the candidate to share any information he might have stored away in his memory.

  WALT ROGOWSKI FINISHED PROOFREADING a new promotional flyer that was ready to be printed and distributed at the parade on Tuesday. He handed the clipboard back to Kim, a perky seventeen-year-old volunteer. Planning on being a political science major, she would work for his campaign the entire summer until she had to leave for college.

  "Looks good," he said, meaning her as well as the copy. He wasn't too old to appreciate her dark beauty...or her youthful innocence.

  "I'll take it to the printer personally."

  Walt nodded, then dismissed her, after which he searched for Eddie Turner, the not-too-bright but brawny fellow he'd hired to see to his continued good health. He spotted his bodyguard in the midst of several winsome volunteers making paper flowers for the Fourth of July float. The incongruous sight of something delicate coming from those menacing hands amused Walt. Eddie was turning out to be a man of many talents.

  The outer office abuzz with activity and noise, he retreated to his antique-lined inner sanctum to work on his Fourth of July speech in peace and quiet. He planned to make it a humdinger, one t
hat would get the entire town behind him, get everyone's juices flowing. Not to mention a substantial amount of cash. He wasn't ignorant of the cost of the governor's seat, and over the years, he'd grown expert at finagling campaign contributions even out of die-hard penny-pinchers.

  Opening the folder, Walt went over the bare bones he'd already written. He'd created his own version of family values that would be part of his platform. Not bad. He was recording some thoughts about where to expand and what to add, when a knock at his door rattled his focus.

  Vexed, he said, “Come in," though he continued to write so he wouldn't forget anything.

  Footsteps stopped directly opposite his desk. “Mr. Rogowski?"

  "Call me Walt." He looked up to match the face with the unfamiliar if intriguing husky voice. Hiding his instant hostile reaction took every bit of the finesse he'd developed as a politician. “What can I do you for you folks?"

  He aimed a winning smile at Lily's granddaughter and that tabloid scum who accompanied her. He'd been angry when he'd been informed of McKenna's first broadcast, furious when he'd caught the second himself. Forewarned was forearmed...but even so, he couldn't believe his luck. The past had finally come knocking at his door precisely when he was reaching for the pinnacle of his political career.

  The blonde gave him a winning smile. “We'd like a few minutes of your time."

  "I'm always available to my constituents," he said expansively, as if he didn't want to be rid of them both and the sooner the better. “Sit. Please."

  As they took the armed chairs opposite him, Walt leaned his head against the padded leather of his chair back. He'd long ago perfected appearing relaxed even when he was fuming inside. He should damn well have received more than one Academy Award for Best Performance over the years. Though he knew why the couple had come to see him, it wouldn't do to show his hand. He waited for one of them to speak.