Jill Elizabeth Nelson

by Legacy of Lies

  Nicole crossed her arms and turned away. “I’m merely going with statistics.”

  Rich stifled the impulse to tell her that he fully intended to put the Ellings under a microscope. It wouldn’t be professional to discuss the direction of his investigation with a civilian, particularly someone related to a suspect. But her remark might bear more weight than she knew. If Samuel’s death was caused by someone in that household, he wouldn’t put it past them to cover it up by staging a kidnapping. That scenario didn’t explain how the child came to be buried in the Kellers’ backyard, but it would be interesting to look into the Ellings’ financial history to verify that the ransom was actually paid.

  “Nice work,” Rich let himself say. “You’ve given me some food for thought.”

  Nicole sniffed and dug inside her purse. She pulled out the yellowed newspaper articles on the kidnapping.

  “Why don’t you read them out loud?” he said.

  She shot him a questioning look. “You probably have this information memorized by now, plus a bunch of other stuff that wasn’t released to the media.”

  “True, but a new pair of eyes can’t hurt.”

  “Okay.” She smiled. “I like a man who doesn’t think he knows it all and can figure everything out by himself.”

  Rich’s insides puddled. Appreciation of his investigative style was high praise from someone with her background.

  She started reading the first article, written the day after Samuel Elling was reported missing. The journalism was a bit more dramatic and colloquial than current practice.

  On the morning of November 5, 1957, Fern Elling stepped into her infant son Samuel’s bedroom to find his crib empty. Her screams woke the household: Fern’s father-in-law, Silas Elling, and his wife, Margaret, her husband, Simon, and her sister, Hannah. None of them reported seeing the child after he was put to bed the night before.

  Within minutes, the estate crawled with law-enforcement personnel, but no trace of the child or an intruder was found. The next day, a ransom demand was received via telephone. The police have not released the details of the demand, and the family members have declined comment at this time.

  The public is urged to report suspicious activity or strangers in the area to the local police department. A photo of Samuel accompanies this article. If the infant is spotted, report the matter to the authorities immediately.

  The article continued with a reminder of the Ellings’ prominent status in the area and a few lines of editorial-style sympathy toward the family. The piece concluded with a statement that the family was not receiving visitors and would not take phone calls from anyone other than the authorities or the kidnapper.

  Nicole continued reading from one article to the next, but most simply regurgitated the original sketchy facts. Rich had to compliment his predecessors on keeping the activities of the investigation under their hats, though his study of the case records showed they were too surface for his taste in checking out the family members. Elling clout at work again.

  “Here’s a comment from the police chief at the time,” Nicole said. “He says, ‘We are exhausting every avenue of inquiry.’ He doesn’t come right out and accuse anyone, but the next line of the article goes on to mention that all of the Ellings’ household staff has been dismissed, including a cook, a housekeeper and a groundsman.”

  She lowered the article. “Household staff are good suspects in a kidnapping, but obviously the investigation didn’t reveal enough proof to make an arrest. Maybe the child’s crying irritated a short-tempered kidnapper, and he reacted violently without thinking.”

  “Unless, of course, he meant to kill the child rather than return him.”

  “Terrible, but possible.” Frowning, Nicole’s gaze dropped. “Here’s what Samuel’s grandfather had to say. ‘We will do whatever is necessary to recover the Elling namesake, and then we will employ any measure available to track down the child’s abductor.’” She snorted. “The Elling namesake? The child? He talks about his grandson like he’s a commodity, not a person.”

  “Typical of that family. Simon spouts the same rhetoric.”

  “I noticed.”

  “Figured you would. What do you think? Any hot leads pop out at you?”

  She tugged her left earlobe. “Reinterviewing the household staff, if they’re still alive.”

  “Okay. Good. Anything else?”

  “And then the Ellings themselves. They’re such a strange bunch.”

  “No argument there, but lack of familial feeling doesn’t a murderer make.”

  Scowling, Nicole pulled another article out of the short stack. “There’s one other thing. Here’s an article written several weeks after Samuel’s disappearance and after the ransom was paid with no result. Finally, the amount of the demand is printed—$5,718,000. Back then, that was an exorbitant amount, and it’s an unusual number. Was there some personal significance in the figure to the kidnapper? Maybe the motive wasn’t just greed. Maybe there’s a vendetta here.”

  Rich let out a low whistle. “You think like a first-rate investigator. Maybe you missed your calling. It’s not too late to follow in your dad’s footsteps and take up a badge.”

  A chill radiated from the woman next to him. “I don’t need that kind of stress in my life ever again, not in what I do for a living or who I let into my heart.”

  Rich’s stomach went hollow. He realized at a young age that God made him to be a cop. If ever he remarried, his new wife would have to be on board with his life.

  Nicole snuck a peak at the uniformed man seated in the chair across from her in the surgical ward waiting room. Rich stared at an open outdoorsman magazine, but he hadn’t turned a page in a while. The guy was on the case while sitting still.

  How amazing that Rich was the young teen who once rescued her from a watery death. Was some subconscious recognition behind the attraction she felt for him? If so, hopefully it would wear off now that she knew the reason for it.

  Nicole fidgeted with her purse strap. Grandma Jan had survived the flight, thankfully, and was now in surgery to relieve the pressure on her brain and remove a bone chip. An hour had crawled past with no fresh word.

  Rich laid the magazine down on a side table. “I’m going to grab a cup of coffee and check in with the office back home. Do you want anything?”

  My grandmother awake and all right. She shook her head, and Rich left. Her gaze followed his long-legged stride, and her heart did a two-step. If this attraction was going to wane, the process wasn’t off to a good start.

  Time to get her mind off a certain charismatic cop and worries for her grandmother. Neither preoccupation was productive. Nicole took her phone out of her purse. If she was forward enough to voice suspicions about the Elling family, she ought to sniff around for something to back them up…or dispel them. How awful if the little guy was killed by someone in his own family.

  After a brief Internet search, she found a site containing the history of the Ellington area. A few hundred years ago, that stretch of prairie was populated by nomadic bands of Native Americans. The area began to be occupied by nonnative settlers in the mid-1800s. In 1880, a railroad magnate by the name of Seth Elling bought up most of the farmland around a settlement that was later named after him.

  Seth fancied himself a gentleman farmer and rented out a fair bit of his land to tenants, much like an English lord. The rest of the land was run by Seth’s many sons. In fact, Seth wore out three wives to produce a dozen of them, as well as seven daughters. The man must have been obsessed with carrying on his name—an obsession that had clung through the generations. She read on in the historical narrative, sifting through a wide array of information to focus on the parts involving the Elling family.

  The original Elling patriarch passed away in 1910, secure in his illusion that his legacy was ensured. Tragically, the influenza pandemic of 1918 wiped out all but a couple of daughters, and left only one son, Silas, the youngest. The once-thriving family tree had been pruned
down to a few skimpy branches.

  Silas’s first wife suffered three miscarriages and then died in a drowning accident. Nicole lifted her eyebrows. How well was that “accident” investigated? His second wife produced two daughters in two years, then died in childbirth in the third year, along with the son she carried. Okay, then. No suspicion of foul play there…unless you counted using a woman like a broodmare. Disgust sat like a weight beneath Nicole’s breastbone.

  Finally, Silas’s third wife, Margaret, earned her keep by giving birth to Simon. However, no more offspring came of the union. At least the woman didn’t suffer any fishy accidents. No, Margaret lived to the ripe age of ninety-two, outlasting Silas by almost a decade.

  What kind of woman did it take to hold her own with an Elling man? Another page in the narrative contained photos of the town of Ellington, as well as the founding family. Nicole enlarged the photo of Silas to the limit of her screen, and suppressed a shudder. Snakes had warmer eyes. The photo of Margaret answered Nicole’s question. Her eyes were bookends of his. What sort of marriage did these two have? Nicole didn’t bother to suppress this shudder.

  Simon’s marriage to Fern had endured to this day, and Fern was still alive. Rumor had it this latter detail was a surprise to most of the community. Fern had been at death’s door too many times to count. Samuel had been their only son. If he’d lived, would he have turned out a cold-eyed, obsessed man like his forefathers?

  Rich returned from his coffee mission with two cups. He extended one toward Nicole. “I brought you some anyway.”

  Nicole accepted the offering. “Thanks.” She blew on the steaming brew. “Do the Ellings still own most of the county?”

  Rich settled into his earlier seat. “Over the years they’ve been whittled down to a few sections of land. None of the family actively farms anymore, so they rent out every square inch for crops or pasture. Some of their homestead sites are rentals, too, but some are vacant.”

  Nicole nodded. Decaying homesteads were a common sight in the rural areas as fewer families farmed larger pieces of land. Gone were the days of a farm family on every quarter. “Thanks for the thorough answer to my question.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Nicole pursed her lips. Should she give voice to a theory that had just occurred to her? She sipped at her coffee. Guess it couldn’t hurt to bounce the idea off a pair of listening ears, especially when those ears were attached to the man who ran the investigation.

  “The county should have a record of when the land sales occurred. I’m wondering if the Ellings had to sell off chunks in order to pay that enormous ransom.”

  “Okay. I follow you.” Rich’s gaze narrowed. “Might be a strong indication that the ransom was actually paid.”

  “You think it might not have been?” Her heart lurched. “That the kidnapping was a put-on to cover up a worse crime?”

  Rich cleared his throat and looked away.

  Nicole laughed. He was cuter than ever when dismay struck. The cop in him hadn’t wanted her to know the direction of his thoughts. “Your suspicions are safe with me.”

  Rich shot her a scowl, though his eyes smiled. “It’s not a suspicion. More like a possibility to check out. But if that’s not the direction you were going with your question, care to enlighten me?”

  Nicole set her cup on a side table. “Selling off big chunks of land to pay the ransom probably sent the Ellings’ finances into a tailspin. Maybe ruining the family financially was the point of the kidnapping. That makes the crime personal, not an impersonal act of greed.”

  Rich rubbed the back of his head. “Nice theory. Bears consideration. The Ellings have stepped on a lot of people over the years. The list of suspects could be legion.”

  “The attack on my grandmother narrows the field to someone local, as well as still alive.” She hurried on in response to Rich’s frown. “If the kidnapping was carried out by strangers, then the crooks would have had no need to stick around Ellington after they got the money. Therefore, they couldn’t have responded so quickly to the discovery of the bones.”

  Rich sat forward and put his elbows on his knees. “You realize that if the assault on Jan is related to the infant’s death, we have more reason than ever to suspect one or both of your grandparents was involved. Wouldn’t you rather the attack turn out to be a random break-in?”

  A wave of dizziness washed through Nicole’s head, but she shook it away. “The truth needs to come out. I have to believe it will exonerate my family. Somebody somewhere is living a lie, and that’s simply not my grandparents’ character. Don’t character witnesses count for something in a court of law?”

  “Not as much as hard evidence.”

  “I’m betting you don’t have much of that yet, or you’d have someone in custody.”

  Rich’s solemn gaze locked with Nicole’s as a chill gripped her marrow. That someone could turn out to be her grandmother. Was she prepared to face that outcome for the sake of truth and justice? But to live indefinitely under a cloud of doubt and suspicion, wouldn’t that be many times worse?

  SEVEN

  “Jan Keller is in serious but stable condition.”

  The surgeon’s words kept running through Nicole’s head as she washed her face and hands at the hotel sink. How did she let Rich coax her into leaving the hospital and taking a hotel room, rather than bunking in a waiting room chair in case her grandmother took a turn one way or another? Dark bags under her eyes might be one reason. Sleep had been in short supply for a couple of days.

  And then there was the rest of the doctor’s message. “We need to keep her in a coma for a while—until the brain swelling goes down. Could be a week or more. Then we’ll ease her off the medication and let her wake up in her own time.”

  In her own time? Nicole snickered as she dried her hands. Yes, Grandma Jan always did things in her own time and her own way.

  The doctor had been noncommittal on a prognosis for full recovery. “We’ll see what she’s like when she wakes up,” he said.

  Nicole tossed the towel onto the counter. She’d have to live with that vague pronouncement. No one could promise anything, but waiting to find out was so hard. At least Grandma remained among the living. Nicole ran a brush through her tousled hair, and semi-tamed the thick waves that touched her shoulders.

  There was one thing to look forward to this evening. Rich was going to pick her up shortly for a quiet meal out. He’d decided to get a room, too, rather than head straight back to Ellington. He planned to visit the MBCA office in the morning and pick the agents’ brains about handling a cold case.

  Nicole straightened her blouse and checked her clothing. Wrinkled, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d only brought one extra set of street clothes, and that was for tomorrow. What did she care anyway? This wasn’t a date, just a pair of acquaintances keeping each other company over a little necessary sustenance. The flutters in her tummy were merely the residue of worry over her grandmother. Of course they were.

  A knock sounded on the door, and she clutched her middle. The butterflies had multiplied.

  Nicole opened the door to find Rich standing in the hallway with his hands in the pockets of a pair of brown slacks. His striped shirt looked neat and crisp, and his grin sent Nicole’s tummy butterflies into somersaults.

  She cleared her throat. “You lost your uniform. Did you go shopping?”

  Rich shuddered. “Me? Shopping?” He laughed. “If not for my daughter, I’d be a bum. I always keep a change of clothes in a zipper bag in the back of my unit.”

  “A prepared man.” She was the one who resembled a bum—a sleep-deprived one at that. “Let me get my purse.” Nicole retrieved it from the chest of drawers, and they proceeded up the hallway toward the elevator. “Don’t forget our agreement to go Dutch.”

  Rich smiled. “I promise to rein in my gallantry.”

  She chuckled and some of her nervousness subsided. A few minutes later, they studied the menus in the hotel dining room.


  Rich lowered his. “Here’s my part of the supper pact. No shop talk. We give ourselves permission to relax.”

  “Deal.” Nicole closed her menu and laid it on the table.

  She glanced around the moderately busy restaurant. The decor featured paintings of colorful Victorian scenes and gingerbread trim on the woodwork. Savory smells had her salivating. When had she eaten last? Oh, yes. Early breakfast this morning with her grandmother—an aeon ago.

  A waiter brought beverages and then took their orders. Rich began talking about his farm upbringing and had her laughing over anecdotes involving runaway cows and tractors stuck up to their axles in mud.

  Their meals came, and Nicole spread her cloth napkin on her lap. “So why didn’t you become a farmer?”

  Rich pursed his lips as he cut his steak. “I liked the farm just fine. Great place to grow up. But farming was my brother’s passion. I let him step into my dad’s shoes. I always wanted to be a cop, so here I am.”

  Nicole sampled a bite of her garlic mashed potatoes. “My dad was that way, too. He lived for the badge. Never shirked when duty called.”

  “Hazard of the trade.” Rich nodded. “But farming can be that way, too. Absorbing. Sometimes hard on family life.”

  “My mom coped pretty well. She was my role model when I married Glen. And I adored my dad. He was doing what he loved when he collapsed of a heart attack on duty. Too many donuts? Too many days and nights of burning the candle at both ends?” She shrugged. “I was a senior in high school. My mom never remarried, and then she was killed in a car accident a few years later.”

  “You’ve suffered a lot of loss over the years.” His steady look searched hers.

  Nicole dropped her gaze and sipped at her water. “You’ve had a big loss, too.”

  “My wife fought a good fight. I’m glad for those final months we had together, even though they were rough with treatments and all. But then she went to a better place. I can be sad for me, but not for her.”