Jill Elizabeth Nelson

by Legacy of Lies

  Nicole instructed the excavators to keep a log of major items, such as sewing machines, they discovered in the debris. The crew chief acknowledged her request and said that Police Chief Rich Hendricks had already instructed them to run a tally in order to determine whether theft was connected to the arson.

  Rich was ahead of her again. Was he also ahead of her in finding a copy of that yearbook?

  Nicole turned away from the burned-out shop, hands in her jeans pockets. A smattering of gawkers had gathered on the sidewalk across the street as the crew began their task. The cleanup activity was as good as a circus in this small community. Gazes avoided hers, and no one approached to ask about Jan Keller. Was someone in that group angry enough to have set the fire? They all looked sufficiently uncomfortable to have been responsible. Or maybe that was because Jan Keller’s granddaughter was studying them, and they had no clue what to say.

  Sorrow dug an aching pit in Nicole’s heart. Look what damage suspicion had already done to her family. The only way to fix this was to find out what really happened half a century ago. Despite the doubts that clamored against her faith, she had to believe the truth would exonerate her grandparents.

  Darlene’s Beauty Shop caught her eye. Hadn’t the yearbooks shown Darlene to be a classmate of Grandpa Frank’s? Maybe the beautician would have a copy of their senior yearbook.

  Energized, Nicole made a beeline for the store, ignoring the regular crosswalk. If the police actually ticketed people for jaywalking around here, everybody in town would owe a mint. She found Darlene holding court on a stool behind the sales counter, while the two beauticians who worked for her tended to clients. According to Nicole’s grandmother, Darlene welcomed her midseventies with the energy of a fifty-year-old and no inclination to retire, but her legs would no longer tolerate standing for long hours. The shop owner stayed busy collecting fees, selling hair-care products and gabbing with the clients awaiting their turns in the chairs.

  The gabbing went silent as Nicole crossed the waiting area to the counter. Darlene greeted her with a big grin that faded to brow-puckered concern.

  “How is that tough old bird grandmother of yours doing?” the woman asked in her Mae West voice.

  Nicole flickered a smile. “She is a tough one. I’ll give her that. The doctor said she’s lucky she has such a hard head.”

  Darlene laughed and a few snickers chimed in from the patrons.

  “Grandma’s hanging in there.” Nicole hauled in a deep breath of beauty shop air scented with perm solution and hair spray. “I’ve got a favor to ask of you. Could we talk in private?”

  “Anything!” Darlene climbed down from her stool and picked up her cane. “Kay, you’re in charge for a little while,” she said to one of the beauticians. “We’re retiring to my mansion.” She followed the words with a throaty chuckle.

  Nicole trailed her hostess through a door at the rear of the shop and found herself in a tiny, well-lived-in apartment. The place probably hadn’t been redecorated in decades, but the clutter was more cozy than messy.

  Darlene turned, planted both hands on the top of her cane, and fixed Nicole with eagle eyes. “What can I do to help?”

  “I’m looking for a copy of my grandfather’s senior yearbook. You were classmates.”

  The beautician’s painted-on brows arched upward. “Never expected that one. I won’t ask why, though I assume it has something to do with what happened to that poor little infant.” She caned her way over to a metal bookshelf. “For the record, I don’t for a second believe Frank or Jan had a thing to do with kidnapping or hurting a child.”

  “Thanks,” Nicole said. “Neither do I.”

  “Good girl. Hang in there. This town’ll come to its senses eventually. They’re good eggs, mostly, just confused. Ah, here it is.” Darlene pulled a slim volume from one of the shelves. “I’m a sentimental old hoss. I actually leaf through these from time to time. Good for a laugh.” She shrugged and handed the book to Nicole. “If it’s anything you can check out right here, I’d prefer not to let the book off the premises.”

  “I’m not even sure what I’m looking for, but I can browse here as well as anywhere.”

  “Have a seat.” Darlene motioned toward a bulky couch sporting a plaid cover over the original upholstery. “Take your time. You know where I’ll be.” The beautician fluttered her fingers and headed out front.

  As soon as the door closed behind her hostess, Nicole settled onto the couch, clutching her prize in both hands. Her heart thudded erratically against her ribs. What secret would she find within these pages that was worth nearly killing an old woman to protect?

  Within a half hour, Nicole had her answer. She’d gotten so caught up in reading the sometimes funny, sometimes poignant autographs scrawled on the pages by classmates—including a brief quip by her grandfather—that she almost missed the photo embedded in a collage from that year’s prom.

  No surprise that her grandfather wasn’t posing proudly beside her grandmother under a floral archway. Grandma Jan wasn’t from Ellington. Nicole’s grandparents had met while Frank was attending college to become an accountant. But maybe Nicole had uncovered why Grandma couldn’t stand Hannah Breyer.

  Frank and Hannah had been high school sweethearts.

  Had Grandpa and his old flame picked up where they left off when he and his bride returned to Ellington? She could see how Hannah might do anything, including seduce a married man, to try to get out of that awful Elling house. Was the baby under the rose garden Grandpa’s and Hannah’s? That would mean the child wasn’t Samuel Elling like everyone assumed.

  Nicole’s pulse fluttered. She struggled between hope and horror. How awful for Grandma if Grandpa strayed. Shame on him! But at least if the child wasn’t the Elling baby, the stigma of kidnap and murder would lift.

  Maybe Hannah went away somewhere to give birth and then returned to Ellington with her little surprise for Frank. A scrap of the letter Nicole found in the trash had said “after all we’ve been to each other.” Had the missive been a demand that Frank meet his lover and child somewhere? Then what happened? Something accidental, of course. No way Grandpa Frank would hurt a baby. But if he would betray his wife and bury his love child in secret, why would he draw the line at—

  What was she thinking! Nicole slammed the yearbook shut. This whole speculative scenario stunk. None of it rang true, because it didn’t depict the man Nicole had known all her life. Maybe the photo of Hannah and Frank together didn’t mean anything. Lots of high schoolers went to prom together on a casual basis. Then why was this issue of the yearbook stolen from the Keller attic?

  Nicole flipped Darlene’s book open again and scanned pages scrawled with personal autographs. Maybe the clue wasn’t the prom photo. Maybe it was something a classmate had written in Grandpa’s book. In that case, whatever had been said might be lost forever into the hands of whoever didn’t want their sins uncovered.

  There was one person who might know how much stock Nicole should put in the prom photo. Hannah Breyer. But a chat with her meant another trip to the house on the hill. Nicole’s stomach turned. But then, she’d swim across a river infested with alligators to finally lay all these terrors and suspicions to rest.

  Rich got off the phone with the accountant who was going over the sewing shop’s books. She wasn’t done with the project by any means, but so far had found no irregularities to report. In fact, she commended whoever had kept the financial records. They were impeccable. Good for Jan Keller, but a dead end for his investigation. Not that Rich had held high hopes this avenue of inquiry would hit pay dirt. But maybe it would yet. He’d give the accountant more time. And then there was this other thing….

  He picked up the old school yearbook laying on the corner of his desk. He’d found the volume in the town library as soon as it opened this morning. If whoever took the book from Jan Keller’s attic had hoped to hide something by swiping it, they’d done a poor job. If anything, the theft had drawn attention to the
book, not away from it. Then again, the thief may have hoped the clutter in the attic would mask the missing volume, and no one would go looking for a copy.

  Rich opened the book to the prom page and stared at the photo. So Frank Keller and Hannah Breyer had attended prom together. She’d been a very pretty girl back in the day, with an impish, appealing smile. Hannah was a junior and a new kid in town that year. Rich’s research showed that Fern was guardian of her teenage sister when she married Simon and moved to Ellington. That didn’t allow Frank and Hannah a lot of time to develop a hot romance. Then again, those things could sometimes happen in a flash. Did the relationship continue over the years? If so, what bearing did the liaison have on the baby buried under Frank Keller’s rose garden? Those were burning questions. With Frank dead and Jan incapacitated, one person remained with the answers. He could add Hannah to the list of people he needed to talk to in the Elling household.

  Rich punched the number into the phone on his desk. Simon answered.

  “This is Police Chief Rich Hendricks. I’m coming up there to talk to Fern, Mason and Hannah, and I’m not taking any excuses.”

  “Excuses?” Simon chuckled. “Just bad timing on your part before. Hannah? What do you want with her?”

  “That’s between her and me.”

  “Suit yourself. Come ahead. We’re eager to cooperate with the police.”

  Sure, you are. “I’ll be right there.”

  Within a few minutes, Rich was ushered by a too-smug Simon into a massive living room with a vaulted ceiling. The area was sparsely filled with worn, but high-quality furniture.

  Mason slumped on one end of a claw-footed couch, bleary gaze betraying a hangover. Rail-thin Fern perched on the other end of the couch, dressed in a dark-colored skirt and blouse, ankles crossed, hands folded in her lap. Across from Fern, Melody lounged cross-legged in a high-backed easy chair. She was clad in her usual designer elegance, and her hothouse-flower perfume clashed with her mother’s rose scent. Melody sported a yellowed bruise high on her right cheekbone that heavy makeup couldn’t quite conceal. Had Daddy reached the end of his rope with her expenditures? Knowing Simon, it was a short rope.

  Plump Hannah sat, shoulders bowed and head lowered, in the matching chair on the other end of the grouping. From a padded footstool near Hannah’s chair Nicole gazed up at him, a becoming flush on her cheeks.

  “You beat me here,” he said. Her presence wasn’t a complete surprise. Her car was parked out front. He might have known she’d pick up on the same clue about the yearbook as he had and decide to talk to the same person—Hannah.

  She shrugged and sent him a rueful smile. “Just barely.”

  Rich looked toward Simon. “Is there someplace I can visit with people individually?”

  The man crossed his arms. “We’re a family. If the child that was found really is Samuel, we’re the victims here. Whatever you have to say and whatever questions you have should be open to all of us.”

  Nicole bit her lip. She looked as frustrated as he felt. Simon seemed to be maneuvering them both out of the opportunity for private interviews. Rich didn’t want what anyone said to be colored by what others in the room might think. Hannah didn’t look prepared to utter a sound in this setting. However, he’d learned to play the hand he was dealt. Maybe something would come of this family chat.

  “Mason, can you account for your whereabouts the evening Jan’s Sewing Room was torched and the early morning of the fire at Ellington Implement?”

  The young man scowled and reddened. “Don’t try to pin that stuff on me. I’m no firebug. I don’t have an alibi if that’s what you mean. I was alone and minding my own business both times.” His lifted chin dared Rich to prove otherwise.

  “Do you know the whereabouts of Ralph Reinert?”

  Mason sneered. “That loser? I’m just glad he hasn’t been trying to hang out with me and my buddies the past couple of days.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “No, I have no idea where Ralph Reinert is. Don’t care, either.”

  That went well. Rich shifted focus. “Hannah? Would you look at me, please?” No response.

  “It’s okay.” Nicole touched the woman’s knee.

  Hannah’s head slowly lifted. Her gaze was distant, vacant. Not auspicious for getting straight answers.

  “How well did you know Frank Keller?” Rich plunged ahead anyway.

  “Wh-who?” She blinked at him.

  “My grandfather, Frank Keller,” Nicole inserted.

  Hannah’s gaze fell to Nicole, and her posture marginally softened. “You have his eyebrows.”

  “You knew him well, then?” Nicole’s tone edged on husky.

  Rich’s heart twisted. This must be a highly emotional moment for her.

  Hannah stared down at her lap and picked at imaginary lint on her poodle skirt. “He was my friend.”

  “That’s all? Just a friend?” Nicole leaned toward the other woman, knuckles white where her fingers gripped the edges of the footstool.

  Hannah’s nod was barely perceptible. “And then he left me.”

  The desperation in her tone, the hint of a wail, set Rich’s teeth on edge. There was much more to this story than was going to emerge the way Simon had so deliberately set the scene.

  “He left you?” Nicole sank back on her seat. “What do you mean?” Her gaze devoured Hannah, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

  “It’s okay, Nicole.” Rich measured his tone to be soothing but firm.

  Her head whipped toward him, and their eyes held for long seconds. Emotions wrestled one another across her face—hope and fear, dread and anticipation. Then her shoulders relaxed, and she inclined her head. Good girl. The Elling patriarch wasn’t going to get the last laugh. Rich would make sure of that. But for right now, he and Nicole needed to exercise patience. Maybe even caution. Rich had the strangest sense that the family would do anything to keep their dark secrets.

  “Isn’t anyone going to ask me any questions?” A petulant voice entered the conversation.

  Rich focused on Simon’s wife. The woman’s lower lip pouted. Indignation washed her gaze as if she’d been slighted. If Fern had ever been attractive, years of chronic illness had leached away the beauty, leaving a shell of mottled skin and bony angles.

  “I’d like you to tell me what you remember about the night your son disappeared,” Rich said.

  Fern stared somewhere beyond Rich’s shoulder. “Sammy woke up crying in the night. That wasn’t unusual for him, and he was teething. I went to him and soothed him and put him back in his crib. Then the next morning, when he didn’t wake up at his usual time, I went in to check on him, and he was gone.”

  The words came out in a near monotone, as if she was reciting a lesson learned by rote. In fact, what she said was almost verbatim the quote contained in the old police report.

  Rich frowned. “You don’t remember anyone showing unusual attention to your son around the time of the kidnapping…someone you met around town, someone who came in to visit, a repair person?”

  “Everyone was always fawning over Sammy. He was a beautiful baby.” A wild-eyed glare accompanied Fern’s statement, as if she was indignant about the question.

  Or maybe she was jealous about all the attention shown her child. Could any mother resent her offspring for stealing the limelight? This household was so twisted, anything was possible. He was also getting nowhere fast, except for some very bad vibes.

  “If you think of anything else, be sure to call me,” he told Fern. Like that would happen, but he too could spout stock statements. “Nicole, shall we be going?”

  “But—”

  “I’ll walk you out to your car.”

  She gave him a disgusted look, but stood up. She’d had some success getting Hannah to cooperate a few days ago, but Simon wasn’t about to allow a repeat. Besides, his gut said he should get Nicole out of this house. Now.

  “Do not darken our doorway again, Mrs. Mattson.” Simon
’s tone could have frozen a penguin. “Members of your family are not welcome in this house anymore.”

  Nicole’s eyes widened. “Surely, you don’t think my grandparents had anything to do with—”

  “The more I think about the situation, the more I do think exactly that. Any reasonable person would come to that conclusion, and I pray that Frank and Jan will rot in—”

  “That’ll be enough!” Rich took a step toward the Elling patriarch.

  The man glared at him, face a mottled purple. Quite likely no one, with the possible exception of his father, Seth, had ever told Simon to hold his tongue. Their gazes held, and Rich fully intended to take whatever action necessary to stop this man from inflicting one more ounce of pain on Nicole. Simon must have read Rich’s resolve, because his chin lowered, and he clamped his lips shut.

  Nicole scurried from the room, shoulders hunched and tears in her eyes. Rich sent Simon one more warning look and stalked out behind her. She charged ahead through the front door, but he caught up with her as she started to open her car door and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  She didn’t turn and look at him. “Thank you for that small mercy.”

  “Anytime. Let me know if anyone at all bothers you about what might or might not have happened all those years ago.”

  “You can’t control what people think.” She whirled, gaze fierce. “They’re going to say things, give me looks, and you can’t arrest them over it.”

  “I’d like to, if that means anything.”

  Her expression softened. “It does.”

  “Then you need to trust me.” Would she? She had to!

  Nicole’s lower lip quivered, but she said nothing.

  “We need to talk. Call me. But don’t wait too long.”

  She dipped her head and nodded then got into her car and drove away. They were close to something about this case busting wide open. He could feel it. And yet one wrong decision by anyone involved could compound the tragedy.