“Doubtful,” Nolan said.
“But if it’s true that Judd used dirty money—probably laundering it on top of the ugly way he got it—to build Ryder Manufacturing, maybe it’s not too late to find a way to use the money in some way to help families find some truth. What if I could find a way to clean that money after all this time?”
“I’m with you so far,” Nolan said.
“Me too,” Jillian said.
“Good.” Tucker drank more coffee. “I think I just might thaw out after all.”
“What exactly do you want us to do?” Jillian said.
“For starters, I want a real family tree. No more secrets. I’m going to have to tell my family what Grandpa Matt has told me. They’re going to be just as shocked as I am, of course. But they’re also going to be just as curious about the way he signed that second letter.”
“Born Dennis Mullins, 1932,” Jillian said.
Tucker nodded. “He had his birth parents’ names. Surely that’s something to start with.”
“It is.”
“So you’ll try?”
“I will.”
Tucker exhaled. “That’s the easy part.”
“There’s more?”
“The room. The files.”
“I don’t understand.” Jillian scrunched her face.
“I do,” Nolan said. “The drawers are full of files. Whatever information is in them is the only starting point anyone has for reconnecting what was broken in all those families.”
“Exactly,” Tucker said. “I want to pack it all up and make sure you get it, Jillian. Or you should come to Maple Turn and see for yourself if there’s anything there worth bringing back. I’ll put you on retainer to try to use any information at all to piece together the broken family lines.”
“That could be a massive job—and time-consuming.”
“I know. But you must know some other genealogists you could subcontract.”
“Yes, plenty. But we’d hit a lot of dead ends. The information is old, and under the circumstances it’s sure to be incomplete or cryptic or even some kind of code.”
“That may all be true. So just focus on the leads that are not dead ends. Will you do it?”
“Wow.” Jillian ran her hands through her hair. “I can try. Once we see the actual files, I’ll have a better idea if anything is feasible.”
“Fair enough.” Tucker turned to Nolan. “Will you help with legalities?”
“What legalities do you have in mind?”
“This might be a hard sell with my family, but I want to divest myself of my share of the ownership in Ryder Manufacturing and use the money to begin a foundation. I can’t speak for anyone else, because there are other heirs who own parts of the company. I can’t force them to give up a good chunk of their net worth. I also can’t just close the place down, because a lot of people in town depend on Ryder for employment, and we have to keep the pensions funded and all that sort of thing. And I won’t risk selling it either, and have some corporate owner decide in a year or two that it’s not profitable enough to keep open. But I can work on changing the financial structuring—at least my share in it. I can do what seems reasonable to take back out whatever ill-gotten money went into the business in the first place, with interest. Maybe I can find some way to buy out the others or convince them to contribute to the foundation. It would take some time, and I’ll have to get some serious financial advice, but that’s the general direction.”
“A foundation,” Nolan said. “I like it.”
“To reunite families,” Tucker said. “Pay for DNA testing. Travel expenses for face-to-face meetings of descendants. Help with medical expenses for any elderly stolen babies still alive. Others could be sick like my grandfather was. There might even still be a few parents, although that would be a stretch. We could find some descendants to serve on the board and help figure out what we should be doing.”
“You’ll want to protect yourself and the company from legal liability.”
“That’s why I need lawyers,” Tucker said.
“I have a couple law school classmates who are practicing in Missouri now. I can at least put you in touch.”
“I want you involved in some way,” Tucker said. “I trust you.”
“I can be an adviser,” Nolan said, “but you need people licensed with the bar in Missouri.”
“We’ll work it out then.” Tucker stood. “That’s really all I came for.”
“Do you want breakfast?” Nolan said.
Tucker shook his head. “I’m staying at a bed-and-breakfast, remember? It’s Saturday.”
“Nia’s french toast cream cheese casserole,” Jillian said.
“Right. And I don’t want to miss Laurie Beth’s face when she tastes it for the first time.”
Nolan walked Tucker to the door. Once it was closed, he turned to Jillian. “I’m sorry for how he toyed with Kris, but he seems genuinely bound to Laurie Beth.”
“I agree on both counts.” Jillian gathered the empty mugs. “Do you think any of this can really be done?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Matthew probably knew it was a long shot after all these years. But perhaps he also knew Tucker is a long-shot kind of guy, among all the members of his family.”
“If it turns out the files have any decent leads, I can call Eloise, Sally, Charlotte, and Elsa.”
“That was fast thinking.”
“They are the most dogged, determined genealogists I know.”
“Besides you.”
“Besides me.” Jillian brandished a grin.
“I need breakfast,” Nolan said, “unless we’re going to crash Nia’s dining room.”
“She’d kick you out. She’s full up this weekend.”
“Fine. I’ll make us some ordinary french toast then.”
Nolan hardly had the bread out and the eggs and milk whisked together before Jillian came out of her office with her laptop.
“Look,” she said.
Nolan squinted. “What am I looking at?”
“Census record for Alfred and Rebecca Mullins in 1930.”
“That was fast!”
“I got lucky. They could have been anywhere, or at least in any county in Missouri, before Matthew was born. But they were right there in St. Louis all this time.”
“Oh my. And this place where Tucker lives? Maple Turn?”
“Not more than thirty miles.”
Nolan set down his spatula, stabbed with fresh heartache. “Very daring. To take a child and keep him so close. Suppose he grew up looking just like his birth father and was recognized. If Judd and Alyce wanted a child for themselves, why not keep one from farther away?”
Jillian shrugged. “Perhaps there were special circumstances?”
“More unanswered questions.”
“They had other children, Dad. Older children who were born before 1930 and are listed in the census. Three girls.”
“Still alive?”
“That’s what I’ll have to find out. They’d all be in their nineties. But they could be alive.”
CHAPTER THIRTY–THREE
Nia and Leo must have risked leaving their brand-new employee in charge of the inn for a couple of hours, because they were both in church on Sunday morning. Jillian sat wedged between Nia and her father, doing her best to pay attention to the morning’s order of service. Instrumentation relied on an accomplished pianist, a couple of guitars, a bass player, and rotating other musicians. Today there was a flute and violin, which Jillian especially liked. Musical selections blended hymns and contemporary choices in an effort to have something for everyone. Prayers and scripture readings were interspersed with the music as the service moved toward the sermon.
Nia leaned over and whispered, “That’s the second time your phone has vibrated.”
“I didn’t hear it.” Jillian reached into the purse she only carried on Sundays and special occasions, and pulled the phone from a side pouch. Sure enough, a tiny icon showed two missed calls
. If the caller hadn’t even left a voice mail, how urgent could it be? Jillian tucked the phone back in place.
The music ended, and the children’s sermon began. Twenty kids under the age of ten ran, paraded, or straggled to the front of the sanctuary to see what interactive lesson a children’s ministry leader had in store this week. Sometimes this was Jillian’s favorite part of the service, and she was sure she wasn’t alone.
Five minutes later, her phone was at it again.
On the other side of Nia, Leo leaned forward and pushed his glasses on top of his head as he stared at Jillian. She grabbed her phone and swiftly declined the call. This time she also fiddled with other settings so her phone wouldn’t audibly vibrate.
The children were dismissed from their message, and the congregation stood to sing a short song before settling in for the main sermon. Ten minutes in, the phone flashed signals of an incoming call despite being silenced.
“Why did you do that?” Nolan whispered.
“I didn’t realize I had.” Jillian grabbed the phone again. At least the song covered the commotion.
“Maybe you’d better just take the call,” Nia muttered.
“Please,” Nolan mumbled.
Jillian snatched her purse, excused herself past the others in the pew, and hustled out to the narthex. By then the call had expired—again without a voice mail. Jillian looked at her recent call history. All four calls during the worship service came from the same unfamiliar number. Her phone was sure to ring again if she didn’t try to reach the caller now.
She tapped the number to call it back.
“This is Jillian Parisi-Duffy,” she said when a woman answered. “I’ve received several calls from this number in the last few minutes.”
“Thanks for calling back. I tried to leave a message, but your voice mail box is full. I thought if I kept calling you might pick up.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware. I’ll take care of that. May I ask who’s calling?”
“My name is Flor Childers. I understand you’re looking for me on a personal matter.”
Flor Childers. Jillian’s brain indexed the lists of names she’d pored over the day before in various birth, death, and marriage records. Flor. Flora.
Flora, youngest child of Teresa Mullins Watts. She hadn’t yet connected the name Childers to the thread. It must be a married name. Male lines with the family name would have been so much easier to track, but the Mullins family had three daughters, all born before 1930. If they’d married in the midcentury, it would have been long before women keeping their own names was in vogue, so it was unlikely there were any Mullinses to track directly through that name. Mullins was hardly a distinctive name anyway. She’d spent hours combing records, trying to find connections in and around St. Louis that might be right, knowing all along that the odds were that most of the family had dispersed from the region.
“Hello? Are you there?” Flor said.
“Yes!” Jillian said. “Sorry. I’m just so surprised to hear from you.”
“I don’t usually return messages that come to me through the hospital. If this is about a patient, I probably cannot help you directly.”
“No, it’s something else. Was your mother Teresa Mullins?”
“That’s right. How did you find me? And why were you even looking for me?”
Jillian wandered away from the speakers that carried the pastor’s voice into the narthex and sank into a high-backed upholstered chair. “I’m a genealogist. It’s a long story.”
Flor was silent for a few seconds and then said, “A genealogist. Do you find lost family members and things like that?”
“Yes. I do.”
Jillian heard the breath leave Flor’s chest.
“Is this about Dennis?” Flor said.
Jillian’s heart pounded. “Yes.”
Three heavy breaths. “You’d better tell me then. The family has been waiting a long time for a call like this. I never imagined I’d be the one. Not after all these years.”
For once in her life, Jillian was glad she had a purse. Somewhere in its caverns were a pen and a small notebook, and if she could remember to write things down during this conversation, she wouldn’t have to trust her memory later while relating what she learned to Tucker and Laurie Beth.
She told what she knew, which was far less than what she learned. Still, she knew that the notes she scribbled were only the beginning.
“I have to go to work,” Flor finally said. “I had no idea what I was getting into when I called or I would have made arrangements, but I’m the charge nurse and they need me.”
“I’ll email you about setting up a time to Skype.” Jillian flipped her notebook closed just as the sanctuary doors opened and the first worshippers exited.
“At the very first opportunity,” Flor said.
Nia, Leo, and Nolan set their sights on her. Jillian put her things away in the unfamiliar bag that had rescued her with its supplies.
“I found someone!” she said.
Her father’s eyes widened.
“Since yesterday?” Nia said. “I didn’t even know you were that good.”
“Neither did I.” Jillian stood and straightened her shirt. “I made a lot of wild guesses yesterday and threw a lot of stuff at the wall to see what might stick. Honestly, I didn’t think anything would—not this fast. Cold calls hardly ever pay off so quickly.”
“Well done!” Nolan said. “I suspect your wild guesses were actually years of practiced intuition.”
“With a little help from the Holy Spirit,” Jillian said. “Tucker really needs this. Where is he today?”
“Not skiing,” Nia said, “but he and Laurie Beth went for a long drive. Meandering, they called it. She’s in love with our mountains.”
“Who can blame her?” Nolan said.
“We gave them a key,” Leo said. “They might not be back until very late.”
“Then I’ll have to call.” Jillian reached for her phone. “This can’t wait.”
Nolan put a hand on her arm. “It’ll have to wait. They need this time together. Let them soak up some Colorado beauty and have this day together before they go back to what they have to deal with.”
Jillian met his gaze and drew a deep breath. “Okay, but first thing tomorrow.”
“Come for breakfast,” Nia said.
“I will. But don’t tell him! I want to do it.”
Nia turned up her palms. “What would I tell him? You haven’t even told me.”
Nolan, of course, pumped her for information over homemade tomato soup and four-cheese grilled sandwiches at the granite breakfast bar at home. The news caused him to let loose with the “Se Il Mio Nome Saper Voi Bramate” aria from Rossini’s Barber of Seville. He hadn’t sung that one in years, but he still knew the words. This father of hers was full of surprises. It was an appropriate choice for the engaged couple who would hear the news tomorrow. “A heart I give to you, a loving soul, that loyally and constantly for you only sighs like this from dawn till the end of day.”
Jillian was at the Inn at Hidden Run before Tucker and Laurie Beth came downstairs in the morning—even before Nia finished putting out the breakfast buffet for the handful of guests who hadn’t checked out by Sunday afternoon. Nia always gave herself an easy morning on Mondays after going full-tilt on the weekends, so the menu featured assorted pastries from Ben’s Bakery, whole fruit to reduce both effort and waste, and scrambled eggs, which Joelle had been trained to make with a dash of water—no milk—and Nia’s signature splash of vanilla. Although the long dining room table wouldn’t be full, Nia had gone to extra lengths to set a separate small table in one corner of the dining room with three places—and the good china and crystal.
“Nia,” Jillian said, “it’s lovely.”
“It’s a celebration,” Nia said. “I know just how you all like your eggs, so I’ll make them myself.”
“Then I guess I’ll wait.”
“Well, there you have it.”
<
br /> Jillian chose a chair, tapped her toes, fiddled with her phone, reviewed the notes she’d scribbled, went over the family tree she’d been able to fill in so far—especially after talking to Flor—and generally tried not to disturb the splendor of Nia’s table with her impatience.
Tucker and Laurie Beth entered the dining room together, the last of the guests to come downstairs. Their mountain meandering must have kept them out late enough to use Leo’s key the night before. The guests at the main table buzzed with their own conversation as the pair came in hand in hand.
“Jillian!” Laurie Beth cried. “What’s all this?”
“Come sit down,” Jillian said. “I have news.”
Tucker held Laurie Beth’s chair, something Jillian couldn’t remember seeing him do for Kris, now that she thought about it. They took the cloth napkins and spread them in their laps.
“This is a fancy table for breakfast,” Tucker said.
“This is a fancy day,” Jillian said. “I spoke to someone yesterday who is very eager to meet you.”
“Who?”
“Already?” Laurie Beth said.
“Let me back up just a little. Your grandfather had three older sisters, all born in the late 1920s.”
“Are any of them still alive?” Hope suffused Tucker’s face.
“I’m afraid not,” Jillian said, “but they all had children and grandchildren. There’s quite a bountiful family. I spoke to a woman name Flora Childers, who is Matthew’s niece.”
“My mother’s cousin,” Tucker said. “She always wished she had cousins on Grandpa Matt’s side.”
“She has quite a few, actually. Between the three sisters, Flor says there were eleven grandchildren.”
“And Grandpa Matt had three. That’s fourteen cousins.”
“And two generations after that.” Jillian pulled a sheet of paper from a folder. “This may be the fastest family tree I’ve ever put together. All the birth dates are not there, but Flor gave me everyone’s names. Tucker, someday I’d love to help you with the Kintzler question too, but right now we have the answers about your grandfather’s biological family.”
In the Cradle Lies Page 25