Past, Present and a Future (Going Back)

by Janice Carter

  “It’s just a novel, Vince. But some events in the book are loosely based on my own memories and experiences.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Well, guess I should buy myself a copy and check it out.” He came from behind his desk and walked Clare to where Gil was waiting.

  “Thanks again,” Clare said.

  Carelli tipped his index finger to his forehead in a goodbye salute and shut the door behind them.

  “You were right,” Gil whispered as soon as the door closed. “That was a waste of time.”

  Clare blew out a mouthful of air. Now wasn’t the time for the I-told-you-so remark she felt like making. She and Gil walked silently along the hall to the reception area at the front of the building. The sheriff’s office door, farther down the hall from Vince Carelli’s, was closed.

  As they passed it, Gil said, “Maybe we should talk to the sheriff, too.”

  Clare frowned. “That would look bad, wouldn’t it? As if we didn’t trust Vince to do his job.”

  “Frankly, I don’t. The guy looks like the type who’d say anything to get rid of us and then just go back to whatever he was doing before we interrupted him.”

  “Perhaps he’s right, though. Maybe the chances of finding anything out are slim.”

  Gil shrugged. “Maybe. Anyway, it’s your call. There’s the secretary,” he said, pointing to a woman sitting at a computer in a small partitioned corner of the reception area.

  They walked up to the counter and when the woman looked up, a big warm smile crossed her face. “Gil Harper! I thought that might be you when you came in a few minutes ago, but I was busy on the phone and didn’t get a chance to say hi.” Her eyes twinkled. “Don’t you remember me? Come on, I haven’t changed that much. Other than a few extra pounds.”

  Clare had been thinking the woman looked familiar. She glanced at Gil, who was returning the smile. “Hey! Beth Moffatt?”

  “Not Moffatt anymore. I married Joey Silverstein. He was in my year, too, so maybe you don’t know him.” She looked at Clare. “Nice to see you, too, Clare. I was a year ahead of you and Gil, but we go way back. Don’t we, Gil?”

  Clare smiled and turned her gaze to Gil, who explained, “Beth’s father and mine worked together at the lumber mill. Our parents played euchre together every Saturday night for years.”

  Gil leaned on the counter. “How is your family, by the way? Your brother? Your parents?”

  “My mom’s in a retirement condo in Hartford.” Beth’s face sobered. “Dad passed away a year or so ago. Eddie’s fine. Has a family of his own now and lives in Greenwich.” She paused. “I was sorry to hear about your father, Gil. He was such a nice man.”

  Gil pursed his lips and gave a quick nod. “Thanks. So, Vince Carelli asked Clare to leave her home phone number with you. He’s checking out an incident for her.”

  “Okay.” Beth reached for a pad and pen.

  Clare gave her the number and wandered toward the front door while Gil and Beth continued to chat a bit more. Finally he joined her and, after calling out another goodbye to Beth, placed his hand in the center of Clare’s lower back as he guided her out the door.

  “Small world,” he commented as they emerged onto the sidewalk.

  “Small town,” Clare said.

  “You said it. Listen,” he said, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, “would you like to go somewhere for a coffee?”

  The invitation took her aback after the coolness that had sprung up between them since last night. “I’ve had enough coffee today, thanks Gil. But what about a walk? It’s such a nice day. Maybe we could go by the bookstore and see if the manager has found out anything more about the vandalism thing.”

  His smile brought an unexpected shiver. “Lead the way,” he said, cupping her elbow with his hand.

  The sensation of his touch was both familiar and oddly reassuring. The short walk to the store was made in silence, but this time, it was a companionable one. Clare felt herself relax, enjoying the faint warmth of the autumn sun on her face and the comforting pressure of Gil’s hand on her arm. The day was going to be just fine after all, she was thinking as she preceded Gil into Novel Idea.

  But the first face she saw inside chased away that notion. Jeff Withers glanced up at her from a book he was perusing and smiled.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE FROZE midstep. Then, regaining her composure, Clare smiled back at Withers and continued on to the rear of the bookstore. As Gil caught up with her, he bent his head down to whisper, “Who was that?”

  “Hmm?” Clare peered about for the manager while the only sales clerk she saw rang up an order for a customer.

  “The guy that stopped you in your tracks back there. The one with the Cheshire grin.”

  “Jeff Withers,” Clare said. “The reporter who interviewed me last Saturday.”

  “Ahh. That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why his smile hit the floor when you walked past him. I’d have liked to have seen your face.”

  Clare grinned. “I gave him the look I honed in a classroom of rebellious adolescents.”

  “Brrr. I can feel a chill just imagining it.”

  She laughed, catching her lower lip in her teeth. Their eyes met and for a breathtaking instant, Clare found herself back in time. But the moment vanished as the clerk finished her task and came toward them.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Is the manager in today?”

  “She is, but she had to pop out for a minute. She may be back in ten or fifteen minutes. Can I take a message or something?” The young girl frowned slightly, then smiled. “Aren’t you Clare Morgan? The author who was in here last Saturday for the book signing?”

  “Yes.”

  The frown returned. “I’m so sorry about what happened with your posters. Nothing like that has ever happened before. It’s so awful. We all felt real bad.”

  Clare nodded. “I was wondering if you still have the posters. I thought I’d take them to the police.”

  “Oh the police already saw them,” the clerk said, waving a dismissive hand. “They said we might as well throw them out. I hope that was okay,” she said anxiously, looking from Clare to Gil and back to Clare again. “I mean, we all thought you’d left town until you called the other day, but by then it was too late.”

  “Was it the deputy sheriff who came around?” Gil asked, thinking of Vince Carelli’s casual dismissal of the incident.

  “I can’t say. I wasn’t on shift then. I just heard about it.”

  Clare turned to Gil and shrugged. “Nothing we can do here, I guess. Shall we go?”

  Gil nodded.

  As Clare neared Jeff Withers, he reached out a hand to stop her. “Miss Morgan? Sorry to interrupt, but I wondered if I could ask you a few more questions sometime about your book.”

  He was really too much, she thought. “Sorry, Mr. Withers. Once burned, twice shy as the saying goes.” She followed Gil to the door.

  But Withers wasn’t taking no for an answer. He tagged along behind her, saying, “I’m sorry about that. My editor went to work on the piece to make it a bit more…well, sensational, you might say. I didn’t approve at all of some of the changes, but hey, I’m the low man on the totem pole in the newsroom. I just wanted you to know that I’ve decided to write my own book about the Rina Thomas case.”

  Clare stopped walking, half turning his way.

  Pressing his advantage, Withers continued. “Your…uh, novel has piqued my curiosity. A small-town murder that never got solved. That could mean the murderer is still around, right? So I wondered if you’d have any real memories of the case you might share with me.” He uttered a slight laugh. “As opposed to the fictional memories in your book, that is.”

  “Sorry, but I’m leaving town tomorrow.” She pushed open the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk where Gil was waiting. Puzzled by the expression on her face, moved toward her.

  The door opened again as Withers cam
e out behind her. “Maybe you could give me your phone number in New York or are you in the phone book?”

  “I said I wasn’t interested, Mr. Withers, and I’ve no intention of giving you my phone number.”

  Gil spoke up. “What’s going on here?”

  Withers turned to Gil. “And you would be—?”

  “A friend of Clare and personally, I think Clare is being far too kind even to talk to you, Mr. Withers. I suggest you leave us alone.” He linked his arm through Clare’s and pulled her away from the bookstore.

  “I’ve got a source for the book anyway. Someone who was there on the scene, so to speak,” Withers called after them. “Oh, one more thing, Miss Morgan. Have you ever asked your mother the real reason why you both left Twin Falls that summer after Rina’s murder?”

  Clare slowed down. She glanced up at Gil and murmured, “What’s he talking about now? Should I go back and find out what he means?”

  Gil shook his head. He turned around and said, in a clipped low voice that carried easily all the way to Withers, “We’ve been polite too long. Get lost.”

  Withers took a step backward. “Just ask your mother, Miss Morgan, the next time you’re talking to her. And if you change your mind, you know where to find me.” He spun around and headed along the sidewalk in the other direction.

  Clare’s legs felt too heavy to move. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I don’t know why I let that guy get to me. He really is obnoxious.”

  “Let’s go over there and sit for a minute,” Gil said, pointing to a small park across the street. Without waiting for her reply, he led her to a bench. “You okay?” he asked quietly, sitting next to her.

  She nodded.

  Gil placed his hand on top of hers. “Look, you’re not very convincing at pretending this hasn’t upset you. What was all that about your mother?”

  “I’ve no idea, Gil. I really don’t. We moved to New Jersey so Mom could be closer to me while I was at college. What worries me is this book idea he has. I wonder who the so-called source is. Who could it be?”

  “Maybe it was all a lie. A ploy to get you to talk.”

  “Perhaps.” She stared down at Gil’s hand resting lightly on hers. It felt warm and reassuring and she had no inclination at all to remove hers. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m leaving. If I encountered Withers again, I’d be afraid I’d punch him or something.”

  Gil gave a hard laugh. “If I didn’t do it first.” He looked down, too, as if realizing for the first time that his hand still covered hers. He slowly pulled his away. Clare wanted to clasp onto his fingers before they left, but lacked the nerve. How would he interpret a move like that, she wondered?

  “Listen,” Gil said, bringing the hand that seconds ago had been on hers up to his mouth, “there’s something I want to suggest to you and in light of what’s just happened, you may be interested.”

  Clare silently watched him rub his index finger along his upper lip an instant longer before dropping his hand to his side. She suddenly recalled him doing something similar years ago, the first time they’d held hands on the way home from school. Then, he’d brought her fingers up to his lips and ever so quickly kissed them before releasing her hand. She’d been so charmed by the action. Now, she was puzzled. He seemed to be sending out all kinds of mixed messages.

  “I was sorting through some stuff at my parents’ house the other day,” he went on, oblivious to her watchful stare, “and came across something that was kind of disturbing. At least, I was surprised at how bothered I was about it.”

  “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “Apparently, my parents kept all these newspaper clippings about the murder. Especially the ones about my being questioned. If you recall, I was never actually named in the papers but everyone in town knew who the local boy under investigation was.” He stopped for a moment, staring off into space.

  “The clippings were with some anonymous letters that my parents must have received at the time.” He grimaced.

  “Nasty, crude notes advising my parents to leave town, et cetera. You can imagine the contents and the mentality of the people who sent them.”

  She could, but what really struck her was the vulnerability in his face. “That must have been awful for your parents,” she whispered.

  “I’m sure. I just don’t understand why they kept them. I’d have burnt everything.”

  “Maybe they expected to find out who’d written them someday. Or maybe they just wanted to keep you from finding out about them and hid them away, then forgot about them,” she added. She wasn’t sure if she believed any of those scenarios, but knew she had to say something.

  Gil shrugged. “Maybe. I guess there’s no point trying to come up with a reason now. But there is something I can do.”

  “What?”

  “I know I said the other day that I’ve put this mess behind me and for the most part, I have, but when I found that stuff, I realized for the first time the impact it must have had on my parents. How it must have affected their everyday lives in a way I never imagined. I was so caught up in my own part in everything and going off to college and so on, that I just didn’t think about them.”

  Clare wondered if she’d been part of that “so on” he’d mentioned. Their breakup had happened just after his release from questioning. She kept her eyes on his, sensing that to look away would be cowardly. The pain he must have experienced then still glimmered there. Not knowing what to say, she kept silent.

  After a long moment, he said, “I’ve decided to do some investigating into the case myself.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had he lost his mind? Clare felt her lips move soundlessly.

  “I know.” He rushed on to say, “It sounds crazy, but I spent a lot of time last night going over this. I’m never going to really get rid of this particular demon unless I face it head-on. And I want to do it for my parents. I want to publicly prove to everyone in Twin Falls who remembers the case or any of the creeps who wrote those letters to know who really killed Rina Thomas.”

  “I—I don’t know how you expect to find that out, Gil. I mean, it’s been seventeen years. And you’re not a police officer or a private detective or anything like that. How would you go about this?”

  “I’ll start by doing some research, then asking a lot of questions. You’re right. I don’t know anything about police work, but I sure as hell know how to ask questions. I called my office this morning and extended my leave. The closing date on the house isn’t for another month so I’ve got a place to stay.” He stretched out a hand to hers again. “This is what I want to know—are you interested in helping me out with this?”

  “Me?” Clare heard herself sputtering.

  “You must have some unresolved feelings about this case.”

  “I…what kind of feelings?”

  “Curiosity, for one. Maybe some anger.”

  “Anger? About what?”

  He hesitated, as if uncertain whether he ought to say what was on his mind. “Maybe anger because Rina’s death was the end of a lot of other things, too. The pall over graduation itself was bad enough, but there was no grad prom, remember? And then there was…well, what happened to us.”

  Clare turned her face aside. Here it comes, she was thinking. The hurtful rebuke. The pent-up anger. “I’m not following you, Gil,” she finally said, looking back at him.

  “Do you think we’d still have split up if Rina Thomas hadn’t been killed?”

  Yes, I do. Because I saw the two of you very cozy together on the football field that day. The urge to get up and leave was overwhelming, but Clare forced herself to maintain eye contact. She took a deep breath but still her voice quavered when she answered. “There’s no point speculating about what might have happened back then, Gil. It’s too late.”

  He pulled back as if she’d struck him. After a moment, he said, “Too late for us, perhaps. But never too late to find out the truth. And I mean to do just that
.” He stood up. “I should go. If you want a ride back to Dave’s place…”

  Clare shook her head. “No, I’ll walk from here. Thanks for coming with me this morning.”

  He paused a moment longer. “If you decide you’re interested after all, let me know,” he said and walked across the street.

  She watched him disappear down the street toward his parked car and waited until she felt able to navigate on legs that felt very rubbery. On the walk to Dave and Laura’s, Clare made two decisions. First, that she would not postpone her plans to leave Twin Falls in the morning. And second, that she would phone her mother. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew she couldn’t wait until she got back to New York to find out what Jeff Withers had been insinuating.

  “HI, MOM.”

  “Clare? This is a surprise. Is anything wrong? Where are you calling from?”

  “I’m still at Laura and Dave’s place, in Twin Falls.”

  “How was the christening? And the baby? Is she adorable?”

  “Very. And it all went well.”

  “I thought you were only staying for the weekend. Why are you still there?”

  “Last Monday, when I was doing the book signing in Hartford, Dave fell off a ladder and broke his leg. He’s okay, but Laura needed someone to help her out and stay with Emma when she was at the hospital.”

  “Good heavens! And that person was you?”

  Clare pictured the expression on her mother’s face. “I know, as incredible as that seems.”

  “So how did it go? Make you want to reconsider having children?”

  “Not at all. In fact, I needed help myself.”

  “What about Laura’s parents? Are they still around?”

  “Gone to Florida for the winter.”

  “I see. So when do your duties wrap up there?”

  “I plan to leave tomorrow. But there’s one thing, Mom. Last weekend I was interviewed by a reporter for the Spectator—”

  “How nice!”

  “Not really. The guy made a big deal of the similarities between my book and the Rina Thomas murder.”