A Thousand Generations

by Traci DePree

  “Did this neighbor know what hospital she was taken to?” Kate asked, filled with concern for her daughter’s friend.

  “No. I’ve been calling all the hospitals in Manhattan, but none of them has Melody listed as a patient. I’m so worried about her. What if Todd is still with her? If he hurt her and she tells the authorities, it could be really dangerous. I’m really worried, Mom. She doesn’t even answer her cell phone.”

  Kate ran a hand through her hair and rubbed her forehead as she thought. Finally she said, “Maybe you need to cast a larger net, see if she went to a hospital farther out. Or maybe she checked out already and is with another friend.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Rebecca admitted. “I’ll try some of the other hospitals. And she did give me the names of some of her friends.”

  “Could she have gone to a women’s shelter?” Kate added.

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Kate heard Rebecca’s heavy sigh. “Honey,” Kate said, then waited for her daughter to respond.

  “Yes?”

  “Know that I’ll be praying for both of you. And call me if you need anything. Okay?”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Rebecca said. “I knew I could count on you.”

  “What else are mothers for?”

  THE NEXT MORNING, Kate still hadn’t heard back from Rebecca, so she continued to pray, asking God for both safety and wisdom for her daughter to know how to handle the situation, then letting it go, trusting that he would do just that.

  “Morning,” Kate said to Phillip when she stopped by the store to see how things were going. He was rearranging a display of a 1940s-era kitchen with all the accoutrements, including a white ceramic sink and sideboards.

  Phillip looked up, obviously surprised that he hadn’t heard her enter. “Oh, Kate.” He glanced at his watch. “Can you help me figure out how to arrange this? I’m stumped.” He pointed to a wooden ironing board with the cover and an old-fashioned iron.

  “No problem.” Kate moved the board to the side and set the iron on it, along with a gingham dress from the same era that she grabbed from a rack of vintage clothes in the clothing section of the store. She lay the dress across the board so that it looked like someone had stepped away from ironing and would be back momentarily.

  “That’s perfect,” Phillip said.

  Kate laughed. “I can make it look good, but don’t ask me to actually iron! I don’t enjoy that chore.”

  She met his gaze. She’d been thinking of their conversation from Saturday and her talk with Lila, the look of defeat on the younger woman’s face. And yet she completely understood Phillip’s heart.

  “I hope I didn’t step out of bounds the other day,” she said.

  “What are you talking about?” He gave her a blank look.

  “When I asked if you’ve ever thought of dating.”

  “You were being a friend,” he said, patting her shoulder. “I understand that.” Then he chuckled and paused for a long moment before going on. “The funny thing was, after you left I remembered that Ginny had said pretty much the same thing shortly after she found out she had cancer.” He shook his head.

  “She loved you,” Kate said.

  “That’s why it’s so hard.”

  KATE HEADED TO THE LIBRARY’S computer lab that afternoon, determined to find out all she could about Roy Simmonds and any heirs he might have had. The town offered free access to a genealogical search site via the library, so Kate logged in and typed in the banker’s name.

  Several people with the name Roy Simmonds popped up, but she was able to narrow it down since she knew he wouldn’t have been born in either 1972 or 1996. She clicked on a link that pulled up the man’s obituary. The listing seemed very guarded, not mentioning any surviving family members or telling anything about his life other than indicating that he was a banker who lived in Pine Ridge. The obituary concluded with the time of services at the Pine Ridge Funeral Home and a note that interment would happen at a later date.

  Kate clicked on the next link that popped up, a scanned census form from 1932. It appeared much like the form Kate had read regarding Rory Wilcox, listing his occupation as banker, his wife as Lena Simmonds, then beneath her name two more names—his daughters, Connie Rae Simmonds and Suzanne Patricia Simmonds.

  Kate typed Suzanne’s name into the search engine first. After a couple of pages listing women by the name of Suzanne Simmonds—one in Anchorage, Alaska, with a photo of a native woman with sled dogs; another in Rhinelander, Wisconsin, who looked to be all of four years old—a listing for Suzanne Simmonds of rural Pine Ridge popped up. Kate hoped it was the same woman.

  The database listed the date and place of her birth as well as her occupation at the time of the last census: seamstress. There were no marriage certificates listed for her, but there was a full address, which Kate jotted onto a small notepad she’d retrieved from her handbag.

  As with Suzanne, there were several listings bearing the name Connie Rae Simmonds. Kate moved from page to page, searching for the one whose father was Roy. Finally the one she was looking for popped onto the screen. There was no obituary, but she noted that a marriage license had been filed in 1931 to a Jose Manuel of Memphis.

  Kate typed in Connie Rae’s married name. A death certificate surfaced, though it was that of Jose, Connie Rae’s husband. Under that was a listing for another marriage certificate; this time Connie married a man named Harry Loggins of Cookeville in 1964. There were no marriage, divorce, or death certificates listed after that, so Kate searched for Connie Rae Loggins, using her second husband’s name. Up popped an address in rural Pine Ridge, not far from where Suzanne lived.

  Kate stretched and lifted her face to the clock on the wall. It was past closing time! How had she lost track of the day?

  When she came downstairs, Livvy lifted her face from the computer screen at the front desk and chuckled.

  “Engrossed in your work, eh?” she asked.

  “I had no idea what time it was,” Kate said.

  “I’d have booted you out sooner or later.” Livvy laughed.

  AS SOON AS KATE GOT HOME and had deposited her car keys and handbag on the kitchen counter, she picked up the phone to dial Rebecca. She’d been thinking of her and Melody all day long and needed to find out what had happened.

  Rebecca’s phone rang several times before she answered, sounding slightly sleepy.

  “I forgot to call you!” Rebecca said as soon as she realized it was her mother.

  “That’s okay,” Kate assured. “Did you find Melody?”

  “I did,” she said, joy ringing in her voice. “It took me all night too.”

  Kate could hear someone talking to Rebecca in the background, then Rebecca’s muffled voice answering, “It’s my mom.”

  “She’s here right now, actually,” Rebecca said. “She was at a shelter just like you thought. I found her at five this morning and brought her to my place.”

  “I’m so glad,” Kate said. “Was she in the hospital for long?”

  “No, but that louse broke her arm.” Kate winced at the thought. “She’s going to stay with me for a while,” Rebecca added. “I have some guy friends who’ve already agreed to go to her apartment and pack up her stuff for her just in case Todd comes snooping around.”

  “That sounds very wise,” Kate agreed. “Todd doesn’t happen to know where you live, does he?”

  “I don’t know how he would. I’ve only met the guy once, and I didn’t exactly hand out my address.”

  “Okay,” Kate said tentatively, though she couldn’t help but worry that the man might come to Rebecca’s apartment. “You just be careful, okay?”

  “I will,” Rebecca said before hanging up. “I promise. I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do.”

  That worried Kate even more.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When Kate knocked on Suzanne Simmonds’ door Tuesday morning, the elderly woman gave her a suspicious look. “I’m not buyin’ anything,”
she said through the screen door.

  “I’m not a salesperson,” Kate assured with a smile she hoped conveyed warmth.

  “They all say that,” Suzanne muttered. She had sleek white hair that was tied back in a thick ponytail that hung to her shoulders. “So, who are you, then?”

  Kate thought she would offer a hand to shake, but Suzanne had yet to open the door. So Kate introduced herself instead, then added, “I saw a book at the historical society that your father wrote on Jack Leonetti, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to discuss it with me.”

  “Lots of people have read that book,” Suzanne said, her eyes narrowing. “It’s ancient history.”

  Though it sounded like she was dismissing her, Kate remained in place.

  “Let’s just say I’ve found out some things about your father,” Kate added, hoping to spark the least bit of interest in the woman.

  Suzanne raised an eyebrow. Finally she opened the door to let Kate in. “This’d better be good,” she said.

  The home was small and dark. Shades were drawn against the spring day, allowing little light in, and there were no lamps lit save for a lone fixture over the cluttered Formica table in the center of the kitchen. Suzanne pulled out a chair for Kate, and the two women sat.

  “You aren’t a distant relative of Jack Leonetti’s, are you?”

  The question surprised Kate. “No, I’m not related. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason.” From the depths of the clutter, the older woman pulled out a package of cigarettes and tapped the side until one emerged. “You want one?” She held the pack of Camels out to Kate.

  “No, thank you.”

  “So...?” Suzanne said. “What’s this you’ve discovered long after my dad’s death? You want to turn that book into a movie?”

  “No.” Kate smiled at the suggestion, considering the irony that filming a movie was exactly how Jack Leonetti had managed to con the bank employees. “A...friend of mine found a mannequin in a copper mine south of town.”

  The woman’s face fell for a fraction of an instant, then returned to an expressionless facade. She lit the end of her cigarette and took in a deep drag.

  “A mannequin? What does that have to do with my dad’s book?” Smoke plumed from her mouth, and Kate fought the urge to fan it away.

  “There was an article in the Chronicle about it...Maybe you read it?” Kate said.

  “I only read Better Homes and Gardens,” she said.

  Kate smiled, seriously doubting the truth of the comment.

  “Well, since your dad was at the famous robbery in Pine Ridge, I thought you might remember details...anything that could shed light on the connection between the robbery and the mannequin. It had the words Hanlon’s Boutique engraved on its foot. Did he tell you what happened that day at the bank?”

  The woman took another draw on her cigarette.

  “Let’s see. What can I tell you? Well, I was pretty small, about four when all that happened. I don’t recall much.”

  “Did your family ever talk about it?”

  Suzanne laughed. “Why would we talk about it? It was one day in our lives...”

  “But it had something to do with your father’s indictment on tax-evasion charges, right?” Kate ventured.

  “How did you know about that?” Her voice rose, and she exhaled a column of smoke.

  “It was in the papers back then.”

  “He was found innocent.” She shifted in her seat, as nonplussed as ever. “That jury didn’t convict.”

  “Do you know anyone with the initials W.M.?”

  Suzanne started coughing. It went on for a while, and she reached for a tissue to cover her mouth. Finally it abated.

  “Chronic bronchitis,” she explained as she blew her nose.

  Kate decided to change topics, “What did your father do with the latter part of his life? I’m assuming he retired before his death...in what year?”

  “1984,” Suzanne supplied. “He retired in the 1940s. He’d always been good at investing, so he bought up a bunch of shares after the stock-market crash...”

  “That’s pretty young to retire,” Kate observed. “What was he, in his forties?”

  Suzanne nodded.

  “He wrote another book then, right?” Kate asked. “One called Robbing Peter to Pay Paul: How Criminals Use Foreign Investments to Hide Their Wealth. How would he know so much about that topic?”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to get at here, but he was interested in the subject,” Suzanne said, leaning toward Kate in a threatening pose. She tucked a stray strand of white hair behind her ear. “He lived through that bank robbery, and it piqued his curiosity to know how the other side lived. That’s all. And that’s all you need to know.”

  KATE REFLECTED on her conversation with Suzanne as she drove up the long dirt driveway back to the road. While Suzanne didn’t exactly give anything away, her body language definitely said that something wasn’t right—the way her face fell for an instant when Kate had told her of Eli finding the mannequin, the way she started coughing when Kate mentioned W.M. She knew more than she was letting on.

  There was definitely more worth looking into when it came to the Simmonds’ family. Hopefully Suzanne’s sister Connie Rae would offer up more information.

  Kate reached for her cell phone and punched in the number she’d gotten off of the Internet for Connie Rae Loggins. The address had been a post-office box, so she couldn’t just show up at her door as she had Suzanne’s. The line rang and rang, but there was no answer, only a faint voice on an answering machine. Kate left a brief message and then headed home. She had a stained-glass window to work on.

  CONNIE RAE STILL hadn’t returned Kate’s call by Thursday, which would have discouraged Kate more, except that she was able to get more work done on her stained-glass piece than she had expected. Still, Kate wondered if Suzanne had warned her older sister and advised her not to talk to Kate.

  That morning, Kate arrived at Phillip’s store with the almost-completed stained-glass window in her hands. It was large and difficult to maneuver, so Kate was thankful when Phillip rushed to open the door for her.

  “You finished it?” he said, motioning to the window that was wrapped in brown paper.

  Kate carefully set it on the antique oak table near the front door. “Hi, Ellie,” she said.

  The Presbyterian pastor’s wife gave a quick wave.

  “No. I’m not completely done,” she said, pointing to the transom. “I wanted to make sure it was going to fit properly before framing it.”

  “Okay...,” Phillip said, sounding distracted.

  Kate turned to look at him. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted. “Really. Just things on my mind.”

  She looked at him for a moment longer before turning to unwrap the simple window with the word Antiques in several shades of orange that would cast pumpkin-colored shadows across the shop. Ellie moved alongside Phillip and oohed over the piece.

  “You’re really talented, Kate!” Ellie said. “Wow!”

  “What do you think?” Kate asked Phillip.

  “It’s nice, Kate,” he said, nodding. “Very nice.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Ellie said to Phillip, placing a hand on her chest. “That’s beautiful. I wish I could do something like that.” Phillip shrugged, unaffected by her criticism.

  Kate thanked her and held the window up to catch the full effect of the sunlight, but Phillip had gone into his office, away from the stained glass and, Kate thought, away from the tangible reminder that Ginny wouldn’t be making any new windows.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kate was just about to head to the refrigerator the following Tuesday evening to get supper started, when her phone rang. She glanced at the display before hitting the Talk button. It was Steve Smith.

  “Kate, good news,” Steve said. “I started digging into that wall yesterday...I’d have started sooner but I’ve been busy.�
�� He had a baritone voice when he spoke and a hint of Tennessee twang.

  “Yes?”

  “It looks like your assumption was right.”

  “What did you find?” Her curiosity kicked in.

  “It’s hollow behind the door frame. There’s a room or something back there. I realized you might want to join me to take a look, since you’re the one who realized it might be something of interest.”

  Kate promised to come right over. She called Paul, who was out and about, to let him know what was going on, and then drove to the store. Smith Street Gifts was closed for the day, though Kate noticed its lights were still on, presumably because she was coming over.

  “This is kind of exciting,” Steve said to Kate when he opened the front door for her. “I can’t imagine what’s down there.”

  Kate smiled at his enthusiasm. “I guess we’ll see.”

  Steve led the way down the basement steps, with Kate following. The area had been cleared since Kate’s prior visit to make room for the task. A shovel and a pickax rested against the wall where the wooden frame was, and empty five-gallon pails were stacked off to the side.

  Steve pointed to the wall where he’d dug the rocks and mortar out of the frame. “See that?” he said.

  Kate saw the dark void through the small frame. As they moved to look inside, Kate’s cell phone rang in her pocket. It was Paul. He said he was upstairs, standing in front of the locked front door.

  “I don’t want to miss this,” he told his wife, who went up to let him in.

  When they returned, Steve handed Kate and Paul flashlights. She took a deep breath and met her husband’s eyes, her heart pounding in anticipation.

  “Here goes...,” she said.

  They shone the lights into the space, and what Kate saw there took her breath away.

  “I don’t believe it,” Steve murmured as he moved into the room.

  The sight that greeted them was like something from a science-fiction novel. Before them stood mannequins like ancient sarcophagi, a row of five carved figures.