“I was with Ben. Right here, in this very room, until late – well – very early in the morning. He went home to sleep of course, but I stayed here until mid-morning when Mag – that’s my sister – called to tell me about the fire and that Ben and Frannie were both in hospital. I’d no idea she even knew I was in town, so don’t even ask how she knew.”
“You and Ben were still seeing each other then?” Marybeth asked.
“Well, not much anymore, but occasionally we would get together. That night we had a terrible argument though and I never saw him again, not ever.” She dabbed at her eyes.
“What was the argument about?” Tom enquired.
“It was about Frannie and Sandro Juarez.”
“Sandro? Juarez? Ben’s son, Sonny?” Tom was taken aback – yet again.
“Yes. Allesandro. He was Nichole’s daddy.”
“You must be kidding!”
“No. I’m not. That’s the terrible thing about all this. Nobody knew. When I told Ben about Nichole, about Sonny, he hit the roof. That’s when he told me the boys he adopted were his real sons. He had known almost from the beginning, from when he first heard about them. I was really shocked, partly because I’d known their mother, Katia, who was a close childhood friend but also because of Frannie and Sonny being brother… half-brother and sister. I was doubly upset because he’d never told me.”
Marilyn stopped, walked across the room to fetch a handful of tissue from a box on the dining table. “He told us, when we first met him, me ‘n Margaret, he’d lost track of Kate at the end of the war. Apparently he hadn’t known she’d had his children until the pastor of his church told him that she was in Tacoma looking for him. Poor Kate was very ill and naturally wanted Ben to look after his boys. Ben loved her so much and now she was back, but she was dying. What else could he do?
“He loved Margaret and Lisa and he loved me. And he loved Frannie too. He loved all of us. He was a tortured soul.” Almost overcome, her eyes red from weeping, she blew her nose, making it raw.
“So he made up a story and forced Margaret to adopt them,” Marybeth remarked, rather too sharply, Tom thought.
“Well, I don’t think forced is the right word to use,” Marilyn protested. “He did talk her into it though, that’s for sure. But Margaret came to love those boys like her own. They loved her maybe more than they loved Ben. I didn’t know then that they were Ben’s boys. He could be hard, you know. He wasn’t an easy man to love. I should know.”
“Did anyone else, other than the priest and his wife, know about the boys being Ben’s biological children?”
“Probably not. I didn’t.” She stood, began to pace back and forth from the fireplace to the dining area. “Anyway, back to that night… I was really upset, because now I knew Sonny and Frannie were brother and sister – well, half anyway and I didn’t know what to do! How to tell them? They had a child together for heaven’s sake!
“God, it’s so sordid! I hate even thinking about it. But it wasn’t their fault. How were they to know? If only he’d told me! I could have stopped it at the beginning!
“I know, I know what you’re thinking,” she continued. “I’ll admit our relationship – Ben’s and mine – was a bit… well, not conventional. I was really angry because Ben had kept it all from me. I mean, I thought he told me everything, you know, everything.” She paused, got more tissues to blow her poor nose before resuming.
“Ben, he was furious with Sandro. I mean, how could the poor boy have known Frannie was his sister, for God’s sake? He’d kept us all separate, away from each other all that time? What did he expect? If only he’d told us! He was so terribly angry, I couldn’t even reason with him. He seemed to think we, Frannie, Sandro and I, were doing this just to embarrass him. Can you imagine?”
“When did he leave you?”
“I don’t know, maybe about two-thirty or so.”
“Was he still upset when he left?” Tom asked.
“Oh, yes. He was. Very much so.”
“Did he tell you what happened to Kate after the boys moved in with him?” Marybeth asked.
“Yes. He told me he’d always loved her. We knew that, Margaret and me, when we first met him. He told me he was devastated when he heard she was dying. One thing I’m really proud of him for – he made sure that Kate was cared for at the last and that she saw her boys as often as possible before she died. Still, I was furious he hadn’t told Margaret and me about her. We were her closest friends during our teens and maybe if we’d known…. Oh, I don’t know…”
“I guess he felt he couldn’t tell anyone. I might not, under the circumstances.” Tom said sympathetically. “What a predicament!”
“He never told my sister any of this, either. I know our relationship was important to him. I know he loved me… maybe more than he loved Margaret even, because he asked me not to tell her,” Marilyn wept, trying to convince herself.
“Anyway, that’s what happened the night before the fire. We went, Frannie and I, back to Victoria right after Nichole died. Frannie was in terrible shape. She wanted to see her Dad – Ben – but I wouldn’t let her. She wanted to be with Sonny, Sandro, but I told her he was gone, had left the area and no one knew where he was. She wouldn’t speak to me for a long time after. It was a real tragedy, you know. Not just for Ben. I couldn’t bring myself to speak to my sister, to visit her. I rarely saw her before she died.”
“How is Frannie now?” Tom asked. “Did she know Ben was her dad?”
“Yes. She knew him. She loved him. He was good to her. They spent time together, before the fire. She’s happily married now to a really nice man and has two gorgeous children. We never talk about Ben or Sandro, and never Nichole.”
“Do you have any idea who might have started that fire? Do you think maybe Sonny did?”
“Absolutely not. He was the sweetest boy in the world. A gentle soul. He loved Frannie and the baby; they intended to marry as soon as he got settled. He was at college then, becoming a teacher and as far as I know he wasn’t even in town that night.”
“So who do you think might have been responsible?”
“Why ask me? How would I know?” Marilyn responded curtly.
“Do you think it might have been Ben?”
Marilyn didn’t answer right away. Pouring herself another coffee, she offered them a refill, which they refused. Then she said, frowning, “I don’t really believe he did, but to tell the truth, it did cross my mind. He’s dead now so what’s the point of pursuing it? Anyway, have you talked to Wayne Howard?”
“The Fire Marshal? He’s on our list. Do you know if he’s still alive?”
“I believe he is. Nasty character. You should talk to him. You really should.”
“Do you think maybe he started the fire?”
“I don’t know. You should talk to him.”
Tom and Marybeth left her then, asking if she’d mind talking to them again if necessary. They couldn’t force her to stay in town, but hoped she’d be available should they need more information.
Chapter 11
Allesandro
Later that day Marybeth was standing in the lobby of the Leffler Police Station, talking to the receptionist, when a tall, dark man entered.
“You’re Marybeth Laughlin, aren’t you?” he said as he approached. “I understand you’ve been looking for me.”
“That’s right. How did you know?”
“I’m Allesandro Juarez. My great aunt, Agnes William, told me that you’ve been looking for my brother Carmine and me.”
“I meant, how did you know it was me?
“She described you. ‘Tall, blonde, nice looking.’ Only lady in the police force here, she said.”
Just then Tom came in from the street, walked over and joined them.
“You know Allesandro Juarez, Tom? He’s come to talk to us.”
“Did you get that light fixed okay?” Tom asked.
“Yes. Thanks. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“Of course. We can talk here. Or maybe you’d prefer we went somewhere we can get a good coffee? I’m hoping.”
“As long as it’s private.” Sonny replied.
“Let’s walk over to the coffee shop. There’s a private spot near their fireplace, with easy chairs,” Marybeth suggested. “Nice and comfortable. Okay, Tom?”
“Sure. Why not?”
They found the coffee shop virtually empty. After they’d removed their coats and ordered, Sonny asked them, “What is it you want to know?”
“We understand you’re a teacher. Where do you work?” Marybeth asked him.
“At the Waldorf School for the Deaf over in Black Rock. I’ve been there for 15 years.”
“What do you teach?”
“The usual range of subjects. Mostly sign language. Also lip reading and some Braille, although Braille is more for the blind. Some of our students are nearly blind so provide some courses in that as well.”
Marybeth noticed he watched their faces closely as they spoke and ‘signed’ as he talked. He’s lip reading.
“That sounds like a rewarding career,” she said, finding herself enunciating more carefully while still trying to speak normally. It was almost instinctive to talk loudly when conversing with a deaf person and she didn’t want to seem insensitive. She wished she could interpret the sign language. I’d love to learn that. Wonder where I can take a course?
“Yes, it is. I love teaching and as I’m slightly deaf myself...”
“We’re investigating that fire in 1968, when your daughter was rescued? It’s an old case, for sure, but we need to find the person responsible for setting it.” Tom said in a normal voice.
“My daughter? Who told you that baby was my daughter?” the young man demanded, suddenly angry, his face turning dark red.
“Marilyn deJean. She also told us that you and Frannie deJean were engaged to be married.”
Allesandro sat for a long minute saying nothing, deciding not to talk to them after all. Leaving his coffee untouched, he stood, lifted his jacket from the back of the chair and walked towards the door. Just as he was about to walk out, he turned around and came back to the table.
“I wasn’t in Leffler at the time of that fire. I was away at University in Corvallis – that’s in Oregon – studying for exams the next day.” Turning away he walked out, this time for good.
“Well, that was short and not so sweet,” Tom remarked. “Now what?”
“I’d guess he didn’t want to discuss his relationship with Frannie,” Marybeth replied. “It must be ‘iffy’ for him.”
“Can’t exactly say I blame him. He falls in love with a girl, gets her pregnant, then finds out she’s his sister. That would be slightly traumatic, don’t you think?”
“They were likely heartbroken. Both by the death of their daughter and by learning they were brother and sister. Then losing each other. We probably shouldn’t have asked him about it.”
“What else were we going to ask him?”
“Like, maybe where did he and his brother go, after they left home and what did they do? We should have asked him that first.” Tom said.
“Why’d you have to mention Nichole anyway? That’s what put him off.”
“I don’t know. Well, I guess we’ll have to go up and see him at home. Later today maybe.” He stood up, and began putting on his coat.
“Maybe we should give him a little more time before we try to talk to him again, don’t you think? Let’s get outta here.” Marybeth rose, put on her jacket and followed Tom out of the café.
* * *
Arriving home in The Falls after his meeting with Marybeth and Tom, Allesandro Juarez found his beautiful wife, Valerie, standing in front of the kitchen sink preparing vegetables for supper. He came up behind her, encircled her waist with his arms, then nuzzled into her neck to give her a kiss.
“Hi, babe,” she said, her hands busy with the potatoes. “How was the meeting? I didn’t expect you home so soon.”
“I walked out on them,” he replied, morosely,
“Oh, Sandro, why?” she asked, turning to him, putting her arms around his waist.
“They asked me about Frannie and Nichole. I couldn’t talk about that, Val, I just couldn’t.”
“That was pretty insensitive of them,” Val answered.
“I don’t suppose they thought it was insensitive. They’re cops. Maybe I’m too thin-skinned anyway. It was a long time ago. I should have gotten over it by now.”
“Sandro, something like what happened to you and Frannie you don’t get over in a hurry. I don’t think either of you will ever truly forget it.”
“They’re going to want to talk to me again, I just know it. I think they wanted more information about the fire. They told Agnes and Nick they’ve reopened that case. I told them I was in Corvallis studying for exams.”
“Well, you were. You weren’t lying. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I know. But I’m still anxious. I guess I just don’t want to talk about all that stuff that happened back then.”
“That’s understandable. But, if they want to speak to you again, get them to come up here so I can be with you. You just need a little moral support. You’ll be fine.”
Valerie Young had been Sandro’s brother’s girlfriend, before he left for Vietnam. Beautiful, petite, with long shiny black hair, ivory skin and twinkling brown eyes, she was the only daughter of a prominent local Indian family. Very popular at school, her friends had called her ‘The Princess’.
When Carmine left home in 1957, Valerie had gone to her parents, asking if they might help Cal find work and someplace to live, so he wouldn’t have to leave the Leffler area. Valerie’s father, who owned a chain of upscale furniture stores, was impressed with the young, Indian man her daughter had brought home. He found him a job in a logging camp not too far from town, where he could live and work (and stay in his daughter’s life).
* * *
The two young police officers did want to talk to Sonny again. They made an appointment to see him and Val at their little home late the following afternoon, after they returned from work. Tom and Marybeth decided to be a bit more circumspect in their questioning methods, realizing that Allesandro still sensitive about the death of his daughter, even after twenty years. They wanted to question him further about what he’d been doing during the time of the fire, to establish he had, in fact, been away at university. They were also curious about his relationship with his father and why he’d left home.
When they knocked at the door of the small house in the village of The Falls, a dog started barking. A lovely young woman opened the door, accompanied by a beautiful, small, black poodle.
“I’m Valerie,” she said, extending her hand. “And this noisy young man here is Nikko. He’s saying hello, too.” As soon as she spoke, the dog stopped barking. She led them into the small living room where Sonny sat waiting for them in a large easy chair, next to the burning fireplace. Decorated in southwest colours. Indian wall hangings and hand-woven Navajo rugs on the hardwood floors, the room was very interesting and comfortable.
Val had arranged a tray of snacks and had tea and coffee ready. As soon as they sat down in the little living room, Nikko jumped up beside Marybeth and asked to be petted. “What a lovely dog!” she remarked, rubbing his ears. “He’s not at all shy, is he? What is he?”
“He’s a poodle-terrier cross, as far as we know.” Val told them. “He’s about two years old and we’ve only had him for about six months. We got lucky. Sometimes when you adopt an older pet, you get nothing but problems.
“Would you like tea or coffee?”
They talked about dogs while they sipped their coffee. Marybeth told them she’d like to find a dog like Nikko to adopt one day.
“When you’re ready, let me know. I know of several groups that rescue neglected animals. That’s how we found Nikko.”
Wishing to come to of what she knew was the point of their visit, she said
, “We understand you’ve opened that old arson case. The one where Ben George rescued his daughter, Frannie.”
“That’s right, Valerie,” Marybeth replied, happy the subject was now out in the open. She knows Frannie was Ben’s daughter. Well, of course she would.
“Val. Please call me Val. What is it you want from us?”
“We’ve been rattling around trying to figure out who might have started that fire. We came upon a statement, something Ben George wrote sometime before his death, in which he states he suspected you, Sonny, of starting a fire at a mall, back in 1958.”
“Me? Hey, I never started any fire, anyplace, anytime! What is this shit?” Marybeth noticed he wasn’t ‘signing’.
“Calm down, Sandro,” his wife told him. She sat on the arm of his chair and tried to take his hand, but he wasn’t having any of it.
“You’ve got some nerve!” he exclaimed, speaking to both Marybeth and Tom. Nikko, obviously upset by his tone of voice, jumped down from beside Marybeth and went to stand near Sonny’s chair, looking up at him with pleading eyes.
“I’m sorry, Sonny. We aren’t actually accusing you of anything.” Tom said. “We wanted to tell you about this so-called letter, what was said in it. We just want to get your ‘take’ on it. It was a long time ago,” he added.
“Okay. But call me Sandro. My name is Allesandro and I don’t want to be called Sonny. That’s what that as…, what Ben George called me. My name is Allesandro Juarez; that’s what my birth certificate says and that’s what I want to be called.”
“Okay, Sandro, it is, then.” Tom acquiesced. “According to this document, which incidentally, we don’t place complete faith in, you had left home right at the time of the apartment fire. Could you tell us where you went when you left?”
“I don’t think I have to tell you that. Do I?” Sonny asked his wife.
“Sandro,” Val told him, “you have nothing to hide, remember?”
“Can I see this so-called accusation?”
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