by Laini Giles
“Where did you get a picnic basket?” she asked, laughing.
“That is a secret, young lady. I have a cool factor to maintain,” he said, grinning.
“It’s Linda’s, isn’t it?”
“Unpack the stuff.”
He chuckled as she set out the matching plastic dishes, cutlery, and miniature cups. As she pulled out sub sandwiches, her favorite macaroni salad from the local deli, a round of Gouda cheese, fresh strawberries, grape Nehi (which she had loved ever since she was three years old), and the makings for s’mores, she squealed. He congratulated himself on at least getting the food right. He caught himself putting his hands in his back jeans pockets, something he had always done when he was nervous. And how much more nervous could a guy be than when trying to make things right with his kid?
“S’mores, too? Dad, I can’t believe you went to all this trouble. This is so cool.” She sat down on the cement bench with her leg tucked under her, now happy to have missed the mall.
He took her hands and held them from across the table, and instead of pulling away as she often did, she looked up into his eyes to see what was going on.
“Honey, I just wanted to bring you out here to talk a little. I messed up real bad letting you and your mom go. I know that. But there was a lot going on in my head, and the one thing that seemed to make it any better was booze.”
She looked down at her lap, and he could see her hands shaking.
“I’ve been a crappy dad the last few years,” he continued, “…and I’m so very sorry. I want to try to make it up to you, if you’ll let me.”
He had never seen his loquacious daughter speechless. Here was a first.
“Wow,” she managed.
“I want to be a bigger part of your life again, Shan. Your mom was scared for a while to let you spend too much time with me, and I want to see that change. I’ve stopped drinking, and I’m hoping you can forgive me for some of the stupid stuff I did while you were growing up.” Frank had to fight the growing lump building in his throat. He hoped to at least get the last few things out that he needed to say.
His heart broke even more at the sight of his daughter’s beautiful blue eyes filling with tears. She smiled at him, wiping her face on her sleeve, which was difficult because it was a T-shirt.
“I love you, okay? You are the most important thing in my life, and I want to start acting that way. I want you to realize what a treasure you are to me.”
“I love you too, Daddy.” She darted around to his side, where she collapsed on the bench and into his arms.
He couldn’t imagine anything more comforting at that moment than burying his face in her soft hair and smelling her strawberry shampoo.
Most of the picnic items had been packed away, with only the s’mores fixings still out on the table. Frank and Shannon sat gazing over the lake, licking the last of the chocolate off their fingers. She was nestled up next to him, curled under his arm. Frank couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this close to her.
“Dad, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, honey. What is it?” he asked.
“Why the epiphany?”
“Where the heck did you learn a word like epiphany?” he asked, forgetting she was in Advanced Placement English. He looked down at her to see the satisfied smirk on her face.
“It was one of our vocabulary words last week. Cool, huh?”
“It isn’t often you can actually see your tax dollars at work.”
“Is it because of Grandma?” she said.
“Some. And part of it is this case. This lady we found had been dead seventy years. She would have been your great aunt. You asked me about her the other day, but I wasn’t ready to talk about things yet. You don’t usually have to solve your own aunt’s murder, you know?”
She nodded.
“Shan, we think she was pregnant and that it had something to do with her death. I know you’re at an age right now where you’ve got a lot of strong feelings and emotions and hormones running around in there…” He clasped her arm. “And they’re all dancing around making life a little strange for you. I understand that. We all have to go through it. But I want you to know you can always talk to your mom and me about this stuff. We’re not together anymore, but we’re still your parents and we care for you. No matter how bad you think a situation might be, we won’t be angry. I’d rather have you talk to me than not talk to me, you know?”
She smiled and blushed, and he knew she had to be thinking of Mike Thornton, an awesome senior she’d mentioned from her art class.
“If you’ve got any guys hanging around acting interested, I want you to let me meet them. I need to know who your friends are, because I love you, and I want you to be safe. I know it sounds intimidating to say your dad’s a cop, but it’s important to me.”
“Daddy, you said she was pregnant, right? Do you know what happened yet?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out. Linda’s helping me. That’s kind of how we ended up spending all this time together. She’s been wanting to write a book about the case, and it’s my job, in addition to being personal. So it’s become crucial to both of us. And now with your grandmother so sick, it’s something I need to do for her before she dies.”
“Dad, why doesn’t Grandma ever talk about her sister?”
“It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. After she’s gone.”
“What could be so awful that she can’t talk about it, though?”
“Grandma kind of went through what you did with me. But worse. She had to follow her father around and clean up after him to make sure he wasn’t drinking, see. Some people get so unhealthy from drinking that one more drink could kill them. It affects their liver that badly. Something called cirrhosis. That’s what happened to your great-grandfather.”
“Well, that’s awful, but why won’t she tell us anything about her sister?”
“Let’s just make her last days good. Love her and care for her, and I’ll tell you later.”
Ithaca, New York
September 1986
“Russ, it’s me, Frank,” he said, playing with a pen on his desk as he gripped the receiver in his other hand.
“Frank! How’s the investigation coming?”
“Linda and I have made a little headway, if you can believe it,” Frank said. “But we’re still hitting brick walls. I’m wondering. When we talked the other day, we discussed Libbie’s family and friends, but we didn’t mention much about Thomas Estabrook. What can you tell me about him?”
“So it is looking like he did it, then?” Russ asked.
Frank could hear the curiosity in his voice. “It’s very possible. And I’ve got a theory or two I need to check out. Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know when I find out.”
“Let’s see…” He could hear Russ’s brain firing on all cylinders as he sorted through stacks of papers on his desk. At last he found what he was looking for. “Thomas Estabrook was the son of William and Naomi Estabrook, both dead of typhoid in 1914. He had a sister Della, who was two years older. She married Raymond Beardsley, and they had two twin daughters, Frances and Dorothy.”
“And I’m figuring the sister’s dead, right?”
“Gimme a second…” Frank heard Russ rifling through papers on his desk. “Yeah. About ten years ago,” Russ clarified.
“How about the daughters? Are either of them still around?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Frank let Russ work his magic for a moment.
“Another second…” More papers being rustled on the desk. “Frances…married…”
Frank was still amazed just how much of this information Russ just knew offhand. Because of his constant interaction with the other historians and with genealogists from the area who used him for a sour
ce and then fed information back to him as they discovered their roots, Russ’s knowledge was remarkable.
“Dayheart, that’s it,” Russ said, snapping his finger. “Frances married a guy named Dayheart, and I think they ended up in Groton. His first name is escaping me, though. Dorothy married a fellow from Corning. His name was…Merton. Ralph Merton.”
“Russ, you’re a wonder.”
“Speaking of wonder, I’m wondering how I remembered this. My memory isn’t what it used to be,” he joked.
“You wouldn’t happen to have any knowledge of these folks being alive or dead, would you?” Frank asked. “You’re so on top of this stuff.”
“Sorry. Corning’s a little out of my scope of expertise. And Groton’s still in-county, but somehow I missed anything on them. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”
“Russ, I owe this entire case to you. Don’t be silly.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for. I’m looking forward to reading the book on this case when it comes out.”
“We should make this a joint effort. You, Linda, and me.”
“Funny you should mention that. I was thinking about trying to write some more local history.” So far, Russ’s published catalog included a look at Ithaca’s film industry, a biography of Ezra Cornell, and a survey of historical architecture, with the help of Janet’s amateur photo studies. “This would be a great addition. Think we’ll figure out what happened for real?”
“Keep your fingers crossed.”
“Will do. I’ll give you a ring if I remember anything else.”
Ithaca, New York
September 1986
“Could I speak to Frances Dayheart, please?” Frank took the last few bites of his sandwich, a late lunch, as he made some phone calls. Washing the last bite down with a sip of Pepsi, he waited as the person at the other end of the line went and retrieved Mrs. Dayheart. In his anticipation, he doodled on a corner of the scratch pad in front of him.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Dayheart, my name is Senior Investigator Frank Conley. I’m with the New York State Police.”
“Is everything okay? Is it my daughter Kate? What is it? What’s happened?” she asked in a panic.
“Everything is fine, ma’am. I’m calling about a very old situation that involved your uncle, Thomas Estabrook.”
“My uncle? Good gracious, my uncle disappeared off the face of the Earth seventy years ago. No one knows where he is. We figure he’s long dead. Why? What’s all this about?”
“We think he may be connected to a very old crime I’m researching.”
“He’s connected to it? Or he did it?”
“I’m afraid I still don’t know the whole story. But he may have had a part in it.”
“Sure, I’ll talk to you about Uncle Tom. My mother went to her grave broken-hearted that he just took off like that.”
“Would you have some time to speak to me in the next few days? I’d like to drive up to Groton and see what you remember.”
“Sure. I’ve got some time today. Will you be right up, then?”
“As fast as I can.”
“If you come up 34, cut over on 34B, then hang a left on 38, which becomes Peru Road. We’re off to the right. It’s a gray house with black shutters. I’ll be expecting you.”
“Great. I’ll see you in an hour or so.”
Putting his desk in order, Frank made a beeline out to the parking lot. Frances had sounded suspicious, and he didn’t blame her. It wasn’t often a person was asked to provide information for a crime that was seventy years old—one that could end up incriminating a relative. One who might or might not be alive.
The view from the road was stunning, with the distant hills visible. Lake steamers full of tourists and locals alike glided across the waves, and a few hardy swimmers braved the cold water onshore a few miles away. Instead of cutting east on 13 like he usually did and passing Pyramid Mall, he kept the car headed north, veering inland on 34, reaching Groton by mid-afternoon.
The Dayhearts’ home was typical for the area. Built in an indeterminate year, it was closer to history than to the present, as so many houses in the Finger Lakes were. Frank imagined it being constructed as a tiny farmhouse and expanded over the years until it had reached its current footprint. The car braked over the rough driveway to stop at an L-shaped house. A narrow front porch wrapped around the entirety and boasted several plastic chairs for enjoying evening breezes. He expected the dove gray siding and charcoal shutters might have been somewhat dreary-looking not long ago, but the addition of several late-season red peony bushes in full bloom lent the place a festive air. Off to the sides of the property, though, wildflowers and weeds encroached on what looked to have been once well-tended rosebushes.
He had no sooner heard the crunch of gravel under his tires when the front door opened and a woman he assumed was Frances stepped out on the porch. She was a farm wife, with the utilitarian short haircut that so many had. Her hair was a rapidly graying brown, and her eyes were a deep greenish-gold, but her out of control brows lent her face a cluttered look, like an office that needed straightening. She wore a pair of knit pants and a pink T-shirt with one of the Care Bears on it that said “World’s Best Grandma.”
As he stepped out of the car and approached her, she held out her hand, unsure of the protocol.
“Hello,” she said.
“Mrs. Dayheart, it’s nice to meet you. I wish it were under better circumstances.”
She ushered him into a living room, and her gait suggested she had seen much time on horses. The stale smell of cigarettes combined with the cheery bouquet of a recent spritz of Renuzit, which he imagined was used when company visited. The living room was of negligible size, with a tufted gold velvet sofa, gold patterned occasional chairs, and beige carpeting that should have been replaced about ten years before. The connecting dining room was small, with almost no room for the cheap dinette set that had been placed there. White wallpaper with a gold filigree pattern was battered and peeling and needed replacing. On a battered coffee table in front of him, she had set an old photo album and opened it to the first page.
“So what is it that you need to know, Investigator Conley?
“Please. Call me Frank.”
“Okay, Frank. If I can help, I will.”
“A few weeks ago, a hiker found some bones up at Buttermilk Falls. We have reason to believe they belong to a woman who dated your Uncle Tom years ago.”
“Yes, Mom mentioned he had to leave town very fast.” She reached into the back of the album. “She was so hurt, but she still saved this.”
Out of a pocket in the back of the album, she pulled one of the same articles from the Ithaca paper that Frank had copied weeks before.
“I need to know everything you can tell me about your uncle. Anything your mother might have told you. Anything you yourself might recall about him. I know he left when you were very young.”
She paused a moment to think.
“There was a picnic of some kind when Dorothy and I were maybe three or four, and I remember my mother saying, ‘Come see your Uncle Tom.’ He was a dark-haired man, and he played with us.”
“Is your sister still living? I had trouble locating her.”
“No,” Frances said. “She had cancer. Passed away just this past February.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Frank felt almost a physical blow to his gut. All he could think about was Maude in her bed and her eventual fate.
“It was hard,” she said. “We were very close. You know. Bein’ twins and all. Jasper and I still keep tabs on her husband, Ralph. I go over from time to time and help him with the housecleaning or make him a big pot of stew or a roast.”
“That’s very kind of you. I’m sure he appreciates that.”
“Oh, he does,” she chuckled. “We had a double wedding, you see. Back in 1933.”
“I bet you made lovely brides,” Frank said, being sociable.
“We sure did. Dorothy and I were lookers back in our day. In fact...” She opened the photo album to a page close to the front, and Frank saw two younger versions of the woman speaking to him. They wore mid-calf-length white dresses and beaded cloche caps and carried bouquets of roses. Their grooms attempted to look solemn as befitted such a serious occasion, but their eyes twinkled with mirth.
“What a beautiful photograph,” he said.
“It was in Ithaca, at the Episcopal Church,” she said. “Then, we had a reception at the Daughters of the American Revolution Hall. Just punch and cake. We spent most of our money on the dresses!” she chuckled.
Frank cleared his throat. “Not to change the subject, but back to your uncle. He just disappeared? Just like that? He didn’t contact you guys before he left town or anything? Do you remember your mother saying anything about his departure?”
“I believe my mother told me Uncle Tom came up missing just after the big Newfield church picnic. The police searched the city for him. My father and mother had driven into Ithaca to look for him, but his landlady said he was gone. She’d seen him helping a drunk friend get home late that night, and then he just turned up missing the next day. My parents left their information with the landlady, but she never contacted them. It turned out that she cleaned out his possessions a few days later and gave them to the police. But they showed her a picture of that girl that disappeared, and she told them that she’d seen her at the rooming house looking for my uncle.”
Frank had once again pulled out his notebook and scribbled down what Frances Dayheart told him.