Scroggins looked down at the floor. “My best guess—it was our next senator—Gerald Jones.”
“I WONDER if Eli knew,” Veronica said, once they’d settled back in the car.
“Probably,” Nathan said in disgust. “If not, I’d say the odds were his mother did. Alma Jones struck me as the type who’d take care of her family at all costs.”
Veronica shivered. “Do you think she’d murder for them?”
“Who knows? I’d like to talk with the Pritchards next though.”
Ten minutes later they arrived at a wooden clapboard house situated on an old country road. The house needed a paint job, and various car parts as well as an old Mustang jacked up for repairs littered the front yard.
“Far cry from the Jones’s,” Nathan said under his breath.
“You think that’s why Gerald wouldn’t marry her?” Veronica asked.
“Eighteen-year-old boy, son of a politician in the middle of a campaign, with his own goals set for office—yeah, I think that’s why.”
“That’s awful,” Veronica said. “How could Eli raise a son so shallow?”
Nathan clutched her hand in his as they made their way up the overgrown drive. “That’s the life of a politician, remember?”
“But Eli wasn’t that way,” she said.
Nathan studied her. “You really care about him, don’t you?”
“Well, he is my godfather. He wrote me all those years and helped finance my college.”
“Like I said, I have a feeling Alma Jones took care of Gerald, and Eli.”
Nathan knocked on the door. They heard a dog barking, then the door screeched open. A small, frail-looking woman wearing a black knit shawl peered at them though the mesh of the screened door. “Who is it?”
“Mrs. Pritchard, my name is Detective Dawson, and this is Veronica Miller. We’d like to talk to you.”
“’Bout what?” The woman wrapped the shawl tightly around her. “Has my husband been selling moonshine again?”
Nathan smothered a laugh. “No, ma’am. I’ll explain if you’ll just let us come in.”
The older woman took a minute to decide. “You got five minutes, buddy boy,” she said, pointing to a raggedy blue couch. Nathan and Veronica sat down, and Nathan explained briefly who he and Veronica were, skipping the details about the threats on Veronica, but focusing on the fact that she couldn’t remember her parents and was trying to piece together the past.
“We thought you might help us.” Nathan lowered his voice in sympathy. “I understand you lost your daughter twenty years ago, and that she was pregnant.”
The old woman’s gray eyes grew angry. “Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Nathan said. “But it is important to us to find out the truth. Ms. Miller may be in danger.” The lady’s eyes softened as she looked at Veronica. She started to cry. “We still miss our Susan. Joe didn’t even know about the baby.”
Veronica patted her hand. “I’m sorry you lost her, especially at such a young age.”
“That’s right. You understand about loss, don’t you, hon?” The old woman smiled at Veronica, and Nathan decided to let her continue.
“We think my father’s files might have had something to do with my parents’ murder. But the files were burned.”
“What’s that got to do with my Susan?” she asked.
Veronica’s voice softened with concern. “We suspect whoever burned the files did so because Susan went to see my father.”
“Yes, she did,” the old woman said, folding her hands together. “Susan wanted to keep the baby, but the father wanted to pay her to have an abortion.”
“So Susan went to see Mr. Miller?” Nathan asked.
“Yes, she planned to bring a paternity suit against the father.”
“Mrs. Pritchard, I know this is hard for you, but it’s important.” Veronica continued to pat the old woman’s hand. “Would you tell me who the baby’s father was?”
A worried look knitted her brows. “I reckon so. That woman can’t hurt us anymore. We’ve done lost everything.” She dabbed at her moist eyes.
“Who are you talking about?” Veronica asked.
“Alma Jones. Why, that was the meanest woman to ever walk the face of this earth. She killed my Susan and my grandbaby.”
“I don’t understand,” Veronica said.
“See, her grandson was the baby’s father.”
Nathan glanced at Veronica and saw her face tighten. “But Gerald, he was one of them ladies’ men. Thought he was God’s gift to every woman in a skirt, strung our little girl along.”
“Then she got pregnant, and he abandoned her?” Nathan asked.
“Shore did,” the old woman said. “And if that weren’t bad enough, his grandmama come over here offering to bribe Susan. Wanted to pay her to have an abortion and leave town.”
“But you said she killed Susan?” Veronica asked.
Mrs. Pritchard’s face crumpled. “Susan was so upset and depressed about the way Gerald done her. Told her she was a tramp and he’d never had any intentions of marrying a poor little country girl like her. Said she was dumb as dirt for even thinkin’ such a thing. Broke her heart.
“Then that woman came over here one night and kept badgering her. Susan got so upset, she got in the car and took off, driving like a maniac.”
“That’s the night she had the accident?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. ’Cause she was so upset,” the old woman said bitterly. “See, Alma Jones killed her. And I won’t never forget it.”
A few minutes later, Nathan and Veronica climbed in the car to go to her apartment. “That was a terrible thing for Mrs. Jones and Gerald to do to that girl,” Veronica said. “And I can’t help but wonder…”
“Eli might not have known,” Nathan said, reading her thoughts. “Alma Jones could have hidden the whole thing from him.”
Veronica sighed, and Nathan ran his hand along the seat and threaded it through the back of her hair. “You okay?”
“Yes.” She leaned against him. “I’m glad you’re here.” But Veronica couldn’t stop thinking about the young pregnant girl and how Alma and Gerald had been so callous toward her. She wondered if Eli had known. After all, when he’d warned her not to date Gerald, she’d sensed he didn’t want anyone to destroy his son’s reputation and career. To what lengths would Eli go?
Chapter Thirteen
As Veronica entered her apartment, thoughts of Gerald, Eli and Alma tormented her. She’d forgotten she’d left the newspaper clippings she’d received in the mail scattered across the coffee table. Nathan immediately zeroed in on them and sat down to study them. Veronica retreated to the kitchen to put the takeout Mexican food they’d bought on a tray. Part of her felt shameful; another part wondered what he thought as he looked at the pictures. He’d said he didn’t think she killed her parents, but did he think she was unstable or strange? And what would happen once he solved the case?
Since she’d met Nathan, she’d started dreaming of a future and a family—like the one she’d lost as a child. But each time she thought of having a baby of her own, fears bombarded her. Since she couldn’t remember her own mother, how would she know how to be a good one herself?
Poor Susan Pritchard hadn’t gotten the chance to find out. How many other women had found themselves in the same position with Gerald and been paid off to keep quiet or have an abortion? And if Eli had known, what kind of a man did that make him? When she’d first moved to Oakland, she’d dreamed of becoming a part of Eli’s family, but now she wasn’t sure it was the kind of family she wanted to belong to.
“Both Eli and his mother were at your parents’ funeral,” Nathan said, holding up one of the articles.
“They were friends.”
“You know, I got a different feeling from Alma Jones.” Nathan grabbed a nacho and dipped it in salsa. “I’m not sure she considered your father a friend.”
“Why not?” Veronica cut the quesadillas in half
and bit into one.
“Eli’s mother said she visited your father to tell him she was taking her business to another attorney.”
“But why? I thought Dad was the only lawyer in Oakland.”
Nathan ate his quesadilla, suddenly quiet. Veronica sensed he was hiding something. “What is it, Nathan? What aren’t you telling me?”
Nathan’s gaze met hers. “I don’t know if there’s any truth to it.”
“To what?”
When he looked away, Veronica braced herself for bad news.
“Mrs. Jones suggested your father might have been…um, less than honest.”
“My father?” She bolted off the sofa so quickly she almost knocked over the coffee table. Nathan’s glass skidded sideways and he caught it, his fingers folding tightly around the rim.
“I don’t believe it,” Veronica said angrily. “I’ve heard a lot of accusations and gossip over the past few years, but I don’t believe for a minute my dad was a crook.”
“I didn’t say it was true,” he clarified. “I only said that was what Mrs. Jones implied.”
“And I suppose she implied someone killed him because of his dishonesty.”
Nathan nodded.
“Well, she’s wrong.” Veronica crossed her arms and paced across the room. “If anybody was shady, it would have been her. After all, look how she treated that Pritchard girl.”
“I agree,” he said calmly. “Although I found a couple of excerpts in the papers that suggest the same theory.”
“Nosy reporters,” Veronica said. “They’d do anything for a story. I wonder why they didn’t catch wind of that Pritchard girl’s accident and splatter the fact that she was pregnant all over the papers.”
“You’re right,” Nathan said. “I imagine somebody got paid off along the way.”
She stared out the window at the fading sunlight as it formed shadows on the lawn and sidewalk. Just like in her nightmares, she thought she saw the dark shadow of a man lurking behind every tree. She was more certain every day that the visions in her dreams were visions of the man who’d killed her parents. And if she could just remember that night and see his face, she could make him pay for destroying her life and murdering her family. Did Eli’s family have something to do with it?
“Veronica?” Nathan’s calm voice broke into her thoughts. She pivoted and saw him watching her, concern darkening his eyes. “I have a theory. You want to hear?”
She nodded.
“Suppose Susan goes to your father for help. She wants to file a paternity suit. Mrs. Jones and Gerald wanted to hide the fact that Susan Pritchard was pregnant.”
“And?”
“Then Gerald or Alma go to your dad to try and talk him out of it.”
“Or to buy him off,” Veronica said, her heart pounding at the scenario. It made perfect sense.
“Right. And suppose your father wouldn’t go along. They were worried about Gerald’s reputation and about Eli’s campaign.”
Veronica sank into the chair, her heart racing. “Then Gerald or Alma killed my father to keep him quiet.” Veronica hesitated. “But why kill my mom?”
“She must have come in and seen the whole thing. So they killed your mom and made it look like a murder-suicide.”
“Oh, no,” Veronica muttered under her breath. “Do you think Eli knew?”
Nathan shook his head. “I doubt it. His mother said he was out of town the day your parents were killed. When he got word, he rushed back.” He hesitated. “Of course, they could have lied about him being out of town. It’s been so long ago I’m not sure if we can find out for sure.”
“He came to see me at the hospital.” Veronica felt a chill creep up her spine. “He couldn’t have known, Nathan. He just couldn’t have. He’s been so kind to me.”
Nathan started to go to her, but the phone rang and Veronica picked it up. “Hello.”
“Veronica, darling, it’s Eli.”
“Eli.” Veronica’s legs folded beneath her. Nathan helped her sit down.
“Yes. Tessa said she enjoyed having lunch with you.”
“Yes,” Veronica croaked.
“That’s great. I’m calling to invite you and a date, of course, to my house for a private dinner party tomorrow night. Can you make it?”
Veronica searched Nathan’s face for support. “I thought you didn’t want me becoming close to your family.”
“Veronica, honey, listen. That was a misunderstanding.” Eli’s breathing became labored.
“Are you all right, Eli?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you to be upset. Please, I really want you to come.”
Veronica hesitated. “Just a minute, Eli.” She whispered an explanation to Nathan and he nodded.
“Fine, Eli. I’ll be there.”
“Good. It means a lot to me. Cocktails are at seven.”
“See you then.” When she hung up the phone, her hands were trembling.
“A family get-together?”
“I suppose.”
“That should be interesting.” Nathan took her hand in his and stroked it. “Maybe we can find out more about Gerald and Mrs. Jones.”
“Yeah.” Veronica squeezed his fingers. “But first I have to do something.”
“What?”
“I have to go back to the old house.” Once again, she looked to Nathan for support. His amber eyes glowed with understanding, and what looked like admiration. “Last time it didn’t jog my memory, but maybe if I go inside it will, and I’ll finally remember what happened.” Then she looked at Nathan and voiced another worry. “But if it is Eli’s mother or his son, how will I ever tell him?”
Nathan put his hand on her back. “I don’t know sweetheart, but I’ll go with you.”
A FEW MINUTES LATER, Nathan had his hands clenched around the steering wheel as he drove Veronica to her childhood home. He wanted to find out who was threatening her and see them rot in jail, and the detective in him wanted to find it out at any cost.
But the man in him, the person who cared about Veronica, didn’t want her to suffer in order to find the answers. He wanted to protect her. If she relived the horrid memory she’d blocked out twenty years ago, what kind of an effect would it have on her mentally? Would she be able to handle the truth?
Should he call a doctor to go with them?
He reached over and covered her hand with his. “You don’t have to do this now.”
“Yes, I do.” She raised her delicate chin and he recognized strength and courage in her profile. Yet fear shaped her dark brown eyes into pools of liquid chocolate. “I never came back here after they died. My grandmother took me away as soon as I left the hospital.”
“I can understand that. I’d probably have done the same thing.” When he parked the car in front of the overgrown yard and saw Veronica bite down on her lip, he stroked the column of her neck and kissed her gently on the cheek. “You may not remember anything, even when you go inside.”
“I know. But I have to try.” She opened the car door and climbed out. Nathan followed her, letting her set the pace as he mentally prepared himself for whatever might happen. He needed to step back and to become invisible inside the house in order to let her concentrate. But if she struggled with her memory or became too frightened, he’d have to step in. He’d never be able to stand by and watch her in distress.
She looked cautious and thoughtful as she made her way past the weed-filled patch that had once been a flower garden. She paused and glanced at a magnolia tree in the yard, and he wondered if she had any recollection of it. Of course it had to have been tiny when she lived in the house.
Gingerly, she reached out and wiped spiderwebs from the boarded doorframe. Nathan pulled the rotting boards loose, then tore the boards from the windows. Sighing deeply, she gave him a slow smile before she opened the door.
AS SOON AS THE DOOR squeaked open, Veronica thought she heard music playing. The familiar tune “Somewhere over the Rainbow” drifted into her mind, but inste
ad of the comforting, beautiful melody, the screeching gyrations grated on her nerves, consuming the space in the room and sucking the air from her lungs with the haunting clarity of impending doom. Her heart pounded, blood running hot through her veins and roaring in her ears.
The musty odor was a swift reminder that the house was devoid of life, empty of love and laughter. A cloud of dust and cobwebs streaked the outdated Early American style furniture. The avocado and gold colors made Veronica painfully aware she’d truly stepped back in time. Thick rust-colored shag carpet covered the floors, and a magazine rack filled with old Life and Time magazines overflowed the wooden holder. These were her parents’ old things. The faded gold couch with the flowers, the ruffled pea green chair, the worn vinyl recliner.
Immediately her eyes were drawn to the ugly words vandals had painted on the yellowed walls. A mouse skittered out from the sofa and darted into the corner. A brown clay ashtray in the center of the table surprised Veronica because as far as she’d known, neither of her parents smoked, then she noticed the ashtray had been made of clay. It was a child’s art project. She must have made it for her parents. Why hadn’t her grandmother taken it from the house and put it with the other memorabilia?
She bypassed the table and paused to wipe the thick dust from a book on the pine end table. An old copy of Dickens. Was it her mother’s or father’s? Or maybe they’d read it together. A musty smell filled her nostrils as she opened it and read the inscription. “For my darling wife. With all my love on our wedding day.” Veronica’s vision blurred as she read her father’s name.
She clutched the book in her hands and walked slowly toward the kitchen. The strong scent of mildew lingered in the air and she stopped to stare at the rusty porcelain sink. Mouse droppings littered the floor. Something seemed familiar about the room—the yellow gingham curtains, the dingy white appliances. The kitchen was supposed to be the heart of the home. Had her family cooked and had nice, cozy family dinners in here? Had she thrown baby food on the floor or helped her mother make cookies for preschool?
Closing her eyes, she hugged the book to her chest and conjured up a vision of her parents. She could imagine them standing in the kitchen, her mother baking biscuits, her father sipping juice and reading the morning paper. Or maybe her father had cooked and her mother had read the morning paper?
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