The Secrets of Rosa Lee

by Jodi Thomas

  The old man looked Sloan straight in the eyes. “Maybe she did.”

  Sloan thanked Oates and backed to the open door of his pickup. Micah did the same. When they were far enough away from the house to be safe, Sloan punched in a number on his cell.

  “Sidney,” he said with a snap. “Have you seen Dr. Eastland’s widow yet?”

  He listened then added, “Try to get a copy of the death certificate.”

  He clicked the phone closed without saying goodbye.

  “What is it?” Micah asked as he braced himself for the bumps Sloan took at top speed.

  Sloan rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know, more a feeling than anything, but I got the idea that maybe Henry didn’t die when everyone thinks he did. Luther knows more than he’s telling. Maybe there was no funeral in 1950 because Henry didn’t die then. You said you found a record listing his death in 1964.”

  “But it must have been wrong. Why would a man fake his own death?”

  “Maybe he didn’t. Maybe Rosa Lee did?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Lora Whitman and Sidney Dickerson waited in the tiny front room of Dr. Eastland’s widow’s home. The room could be called nothing else but a sitting room, just like the ones Sidney had seen in museums. In the fifties, families had tried to revive them, calling them formal living rooms, but their usefulness was gone, thanks probably to telephones. There was no need for guests to arrive and wait until someone was ready to receive them—they could simply call first.

  When Mrs. Eastland walked in, or more accurately shuffled in, she looked as if she belonged in sitting-room surroundings. The dress she wore could have been bought thirty or more years ago. “Welcome.” Her smile was framed by a thousand wrinkles. “How may I help you, Dr. Dickerson? I read your articles in the paper so I feel we are already friends.”

  She offered her hand to Sidney then turned to Lora. “Hello, child.” Her tiny hand patted Lora’s. “You’ve grown up to be a real lady. I know your parents must be proud. I saw where you graduated from the University of Texas a few years back.”

  Lora smiled and thanked her. Mrs. Eastland might be one of the town’s oldest residents but her mind was still razor sharp.

  “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, Mrs. Eastland,” Lora said, knowing that Sidney was dying to get to the questions but Mrs. Eastland would expect conversation first.

  So, Lora asked about the grandchildren and Mrs. Eastland showed pictures of the great-grandchildren, taking the time to point out the parents of each child. Then Sidney mentioned the committee she chaired and Mrs. Eastland inquired who was on it and how the meetings were going.

  Finally, after twenty minutes, she turned to Sidney and asked how she could help.

  Sidney reached for her notes and glasses. “First, we’d like to ask if you still have Dr. Eastland’s records available, and a copy of Henry Altman’s death certificate?”

  “Of course I do,” she said. “His office was next door for almost fifty years.” Mrs. Eastland led them down an enclosed passageway leading from her home into her husband’s offices.

  The office looked exactly as it must have twenty years before. Sidney wasn’t surprised.

  “The doctor kept detailed files. I was his office manager when we first met and helped out here now and then even after the children came.” She crossed the room to an old filing cabinet. “The records are closed except to family, but I think the committee would qualify. I rented out this office to the new doctors when they first came to Clifton Creek, but last year they finally got a new place. I kept the files of patients who’d passed on. Active files were moved to the new doctor’s office.”

  Lora glanced at Sidney. The professor was fighting to keep from reaching across the old lady and grabbing the records.

  “Here is Rosa Lee’s.” Mrs. Eastland pulled out a thin folder. “She was healthy, but given to depression, I think, for my husband sent medicine to her place every month, but he never talked about it with me. Dr. Eastland prided himself in keeping confidences, but now I guess it no longer matters.” She handed the folder to Sidney. “I’ll have to go out to storage for Henry’s file. Will you excuse me, please?”

  Lora offered to help, but Mrs. Eastland insisted they wait. When she was gone, Sidney opened Rosa Lee’s file. An orderly telling of her life spread before them. The doctors changed from time to time, recording all illnesses. The flu, pneumonia, a twisted ankle X-rayed in the sixties, pills for high blood pressure in the eighties, pills for sleeping in the nineties.

  “Any record of a child?” Lora whispered.

  “No. But 1934 was the year she had pneumonia. It says the doctor left orders for a nurse to check on her twice a week until she recovered. The dates of the house calls are listed with initials beside them.”

  Lora leaned close. “M.J.”

  “Minnie Jefferson. My grandmother was there. The dates are the months before my mother’s birth. But there is no record of Rosa Lee giving birth. Maybe my grandmother just had my mother early but wanted to record her birth in Chicago. We still have no proof.”

  Lora didn’t answer. She knew neither of them believed that. “We may never know the truth if the doctor didn’t record it in his files.”

  Sidney shook her head. “I don’t know why it matters. They are all dead anyway. If Rosa Lee was my grandmother, she must not have loved my mother or me. She never tried to keep in touch. Maybe the notes someone keeps sending me are right. Maybe the committee should just let the house fall and forget the past. If Rosa Lee had been my grandmother wouldn’t it make sense that she would have kept in touch?”

  “I found Henry Altman’s file,” Mrs. Eastland said as she moved slowly back into the room. “It’s a little dusty I’m afraid. Probably no one has opened it since he died.”

  “Do you remember when he died?”

  Mrs. Eastland nodded. “I was busy with little ones then, but I remember. My husband had been over at the house several times. He said he’d tried everything to get Henry to go to the hospital, but the old man wouldn’t hear of it. They didn’t have a funeral, which everyone thought was unusual, but Rosa Lee was so shy. She likely wasn’t up to having one.”

  Lora nodded as the old lady continued, “Henry died in 1950 and Rosa Lee took over the running of the ranch. Just in time from what I heard. The place was losing money. She had to sell off pieces of it to live and if the old man had been alive he never would have allowed that. They would have lost everything if she hadn’t cut back and saved what she could.”

  “She must have felt so alone after her father died.” Sidney knew what it was like to lose all relatives.

  “Her father had a few good friends. Luther Oates and Earl Hamm, I believe. As long as Rosa Lee was alive, they checked on her now and then.”

  Mrs. Eastland turned through the pages of the file to the end. “This is strange,” she said as she pulled out two documents.

  “What?”

  “Henry Altman has two death certificates.”

  “Copies?”

  Mrs. Eastland shook her head. “No, one is dated November 1950. The other is October of 1964. There must be some mistake,” Mrs. Eastland whispered. “But I never knew my husband to be careless. He took pride in always having his files in order.”

  Lora looked at the two death certificates. The one in 1950 had been filed and notarized. The one in 1964 had been filled out by the same hand, but not stamped. Her imagination went wild. “Maybe this explains why there was no funeral.”

  “Why?” Sidney studied the documents.

  “Because, Henry was listed as dead in 1950 but didn’t really die until 1964. Maybe he faked his own death.”

  “Whatever for?”

  Lora shook her head. “I have no idea, but if the doctor and Rosa Lee knew about it, so did others.”

  “What if he faked his death and continued to live in the old house?” Sidney guessed.

  “But, why?” Mrs. Eastland questioned.

  “Insurance money
?” Lora guessed.

  Mrs. Eastland shook her head. “If Rosa Lee had gotten money, she wouldn’t have had to sell land.”

  The phone Sloan had given Sidney jingled in her pocket. She answered it, said a few words and hung up.

  Sidney was pale as she faced Lora. “You may be right,” she whispered. “Sloan just told me to bring copies of the death certificate. He also has a question about when Henry died.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Micah left Sloan, promising to meet everyone at the Main Street Café at four. He drove straight to Randi’s bar knowing he had to talk to her before he allowed any more time to slip by. He parked in the empty lot and fought the wind as he walked to the front door.

  The hairy old biker who acted as bartender stood behind the bar. Micah swore the man growled at him when he fought to close the door against the cold.

  “I need to see Randi,” Micah said.

  Frankie shrugged.

  Micah put his hand on the pass-through opening. “Maybe I should say I’m going to see Randi.” He guessed the bartender would make about double his own weight and, from the tattoos and scars, the man could probably flatten him with his breath, but Micah had to try. “Are you going to try and stop me?”

  Frankie shook his head. “Not me, but she will. You’re getting too close, Preacher, and Randi don’t let no one close.”

  Micah stepped behind the bar and opened the office door. “Thanks for the warning.”

  Randi sat at the desk, a pencil stuck behind one ear and papers scattered everywhere. When she looked up, she smiled. “Micah. Is something wrong?”

  He closed the door and moved around the desk. “Nothing’s wrong.” He took her hand and led her to the hallway behind her office. “I just didn’t want to wait any longer to do this.”

  He leaned against her, cupping her face with his hands, and kissed her.

  For a moment, he felt surprise, shock, hesitance, then he felt surrender. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight as their world began to spin. He kissed her long and hard and hungry as he’d ached to do since she’d first touched him.

  He’d lied to himself thinking friendship would be enough, or holding her while they danced was all he needed. He needed Randi, all of her.

  When neither of them could breathe, they broke the kiss laughing, but their hands still moved over one another, learning every part of the other.

  “We better go upstairs, Micah,” she whispered. “The hallway’s really not a good place to do what I plan to do with you.”

  He whispered in her ear as his hand gripped her hip. “I think you’re right.” He kissed her lightly. “I need you so much.”

  “It took you long enough to figure that out.” She laughed. “You could have had me that first night after we put the sisters to bed.”

  He held her tight, closed his eyes and took a long breath. If she kept talking, kept melting against him, it was going to be hard to say all he’d come to say. “No, Randi, I need you with me. All the time.”

  “We could keep it like it is. You could come by at night. We could spend time every night.”

  He pulled an inch away. “No, Randi. If we’re going to be together, we’re together in daylight and darkness.”

  He felt her pull away even though he knew she hadn’t moved. “You don’t know what that would be like, Micah. It could be the end of your job. People would talk. People always talk.”

  “Then we’d face them together.”

  She shook her head, her wild hair brushing the side of his face. “I can’t.”

  He wasn’t ready to give up. He held her tighter. “Randi. I need you, not just in my bed, but by my side. Randi, stand with me.”

  “No,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  He kissed her long and tender then, and she let him, but she no longer kissed him back.

  When he pulled away, he said, “Today I realized love slammed into me when I met you. I wasn’t looking for it. I’m not even sure I know how to react to it. But I know that life with you has got to be better than life without you.” He dug his fists into her hair. “I love you.”

  A tear rolled down her cheek. “I love you, too,” she answered.

  “Then walk with me, Randi. Walk out of here and let’s go for coffee, or just stroll down the street together. I don’t want to hide what I feel for you. If you want me, you got to take all of me, just like I want all of you. I’m not a man who can come to you in pieces, so step out on my arm and we’ll face the town.”

  “I can’t.”

  He straightened, afraid if he said more he’d be begging her to love him. She said the words, but she didn’t mean them. She wasn’t willing to take a chance and the sad thing was, he knew her well enough to understand why. She’d been broken too many times to believe.

  “Love doesn’t slam into a person more than once in a lifetime. We need to hold on to it.”

  “I can’t.” She turned away hugging herself. “I won’t.”

  “I never took you for a coward,” he whispered. He straightened, memorizing the lines of her face as he moved away and stepped out the back door.

  Micah didn’t notice the cold as he walked. The years of running had left him with a sense of where things were in the town. Before he knew it, he’d walked to the back of Cemetery Road where his shoes began to slip on the icy snow. He’d been so angry, so confused, so afraid that he couldn’t survive more pain in his life, that he hadn’t thought of the cold or where he’d been heading.

  The first love in his life had come so easily, it had never occurred to Micah that love might be hard to give. No matter what their problems were, they could work them out together. But, Randi had been hurt one too many times in her life. She didn’t believe in love, in him. Micah couldn’t figure out if he was being naive in believing they could work, or if she was being cynical.

  The weak sun he’d seen earlier was gone and the cloudy air now hung thick with moisture. He wished he had his running shoes, or better yet, his boots. Climbing up the incline folks in town laughingly called “the hill” had been easy, but now, with the half-melted snow freezing, it became treacherous.

  Micah checked his watch. It was almost time to pick Logan up. Today was his day to do the carpool. He couldn’t be late. He’d have just enough time to see everyone home safely, get Logan settled with Mrs. Mac, and make it back to the café for the meeting. He would have had just enough time, if he were standing by his car right now, and not at the top of the hill on Cemetery Road.

  With quick steps, he started down the hill. Just as the sight of Randi’s place came into view, a piece of ice gave way and his foot slipped. Micah fell, rolling into the ditch, landing against one of the barbed-wire poles that ran along the border of the cemetery.

  The pain in his knee was crippling. Micah lay in the mud for a few minutes wondering how he could have been such a fool. All his life he’d been a careful runner. One of those people who always stretched before he ran, made sure his shoes were right, checked for traffic patterns. In the past week, he’d become an idiot.

  He tried to get up, but found he couldn’t put very much pressure on the knee. It’s not broken, he told himself, only twisted. He’d twisted his ankle a few times. He knew what to do.

  Micah almost laughed as he said out loud, “Put ice on it.”

  He stretched in the mud and tried to relax. Maybe if he let it relax a few minutes it would feel better. The only problem was, the back of his jacket that had been wet from the water in the ditch was now freezing solid. He held to the pole and pulled himself to his feet. Or foot. Maybe he could hop along the fence line for a while. Surely, someone would come along soon.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  “I say we go over and start looking without him. We said we’d all meet here at four and go on to the Altman house,” Ada May said. “Everyone is here but the preacher.”

  “We’ll have another cup of coffee and give him a few more minutes. He has to pick up his son. Maybe som
ething is delaying him.” Sidney picked up the papers she’d spread across the table. They’d all looked at the two death certificates, but no one had come up with an answer, except that this might be the secret of Rosa Lee.

  Sidney didn’t think so. Why would her granny Minnie write a note on the back of a card that concerned when a man had died? What did it matter to anyone except maybe Rosa Lee and Henry Altman?

  Sloan stood beside Sidney’s chair. “I left Micah at his car right out front. He said he had to make a stop before he picked up his son.” Sloan was thinking out loud and pretty much talking to himself. “It would probably be the store, or the church. I’ll run over there and look for him. Maybe he’s had car trouble. If I’m not back soon take the others and go on over to the Altman Place.”

  Sidney agreed. “We’ll go inside and start the search.”

  After Sloan left, everyone had another cup of coffee, but no one settled down. Sidney felt the same. She wanted one last look at the house before the vote. Even if she found no answers, she planned to take the time memorizing all she could of the old place.

  At ten till five, she collected the cups and told everyone to bundle up. They all marched out into thick fog. Billy rode with Lora. Sidney rode with the sisters. Everyone had flashlights.

  When they pulled up in front of the house, Sheriff Granger Farrington was waiting for them.

  She didn’t miss the worried look the sheriff gave her. While the others went inside, she asked Granger, “You think something may have happened to Micah?” The memory of Billy’s beaten body flashed in her thoughts.

  Granger nodded once. “Sloan’s already called me. Micah is probably fine, but just to be safe, I’ll make a few calls and get back to you. He shouldn’t be too hard to find.” He tried to smile.

  Sidney followed the others into the house. They needed to look before it got dark, but with the cold no one would want to stay long.

  Once inside, she organized everyone into search groups. “Look everywhere for a wooden rose.”