Rekindling Trust

by Sandra Ardoin

  “Why?”

  “She believes Mrs. Westin uses her time with the Widow’s Might group as an escape from the pressures she faces at home. Evidently, Judge Danby can be rather...intense.”

  Barrett laughed. “That’s one word for him. Have you met the man?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “Believe me, it’s no pleasure.”

  Mark frowned and told a tale of his mother’s immigration from Poland and the misery she’d suffered and caused. “Bitterness makes everyone miserable.”

  Did Mark aim that sage wisdom at the judge or him? True, he was bitter toward Edy’s father for what he’d done to her, as well as to Wynn. Right or wrong, he’d never deny it to himself or even to God.

  Finding Mark easy to talk to, a potential good friend, Barrett gave an abbreviated version of his past relationship with Edy and experience with the judge. “Because of him, we spent a dozen years apart. Now, he’s sent me an invitation to a reception on the seventh, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  “What did Edythe say?”

  “It’s supposed to be a surprise for her, something else I can’t comprehend. Edy despises large social gatherings.”

  “Do you think this invitation might be Danby’s way of issuing a truce?”

  “I considered it.” Barrett wanted to believe that was the case. He wanted to believe in peace between the Seatons and Judge Danby but that bitterness Mark spoke of—on both sides— generated too much doubt. “Why a sudden about-face?”

  “From what you’ve told me, I’d wonder the same thing.” Mark frowned. “I recall mentioning the businessman who refused to work with Claire in designing his building, simply because she was a woman. I’m not generally prone to pessimism, but people like that enjoy their power and control. If he sent your brother to prison to make a point, he’s already proven himself to be devious. Tread carefully.”

  The only way to learn the judge’s true motive for the invitation was to accept, but would that reveal a trap as damaging as the one set years ago for Wynn?

  ON HER WAY TO THE KITCHEN, Edythe spotted her father in the dining room. He’d awakened later than usual and was eating his breakfast a full hour after she and the children had finished. She hadn’t seen him in days, and a blessed peace had fallen over the house while he was gone.

  Now that he presented her with an opportunity to talk to him, she owed it to Barrett to keep her promise. She owed it to herself and her children to not display any weakness.

  After Sarah Jane and Timothy passed her on their way to the backyard, Edythe fought to gain control of her breathing and entered the room. “Good morning, Father.”

  “Good morning.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d returned.”

  “I arrived late last night.”

  That explained his haggard look—the deepened creases around his eyes and mouth.

  She poured herself a cup of coffee from the urn on the sideboard and sat at the opposite end of the table, the memory of her bruised arm still fresh. The cup rattled on the saucer, testifying to her nerves. With his silence, he didn’t appear to notice. “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “What is it?” The judge sliced into a piece of ham and stabbed it with his fork.

  The best attack was one from the front. Wasn’t it?

  She took a sip of coffee, and its warmth bolstered her courage to get to the point. “Before you hear it from someone else, you should know that I’ve been—”

  A high-pitched scream ruptured Edythe’s confession. She and her father stared at one another, then he bolted out of the dining room with Edythe close behind. They rushed through the kitchen and out the back door, their footsteps accompanied by two more screams.

  Sarah Jane stood in the middle of the yard, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes and her goose honking as though he were dying.

  “What is all this noise?” The judge stopped short.

  Edythe peered over his shoulder. Timothy knelt in the grass beside Sarah Jane, holding to Snowman. Someone had painted the red circles of a bullseye on the feathers of the bird’s back.

  She reached for her wailing daughter, pressing Sarah Jane against her middle to hide from her the sight of the sullied white goose. Smoothing a hand over her distraught child’s hair, Edythe fought tears of her own. Not that the mean-spirited Snowman deserved her sympathy, but she hurt for the way in which the large and crude drawing affected her children. Who would do such a horrid thing to her daughter’s pet? Why?

  “He’s hurt.” Sarah Jane pointed to the crimson line running down the side of the goose. “Snowman’s bleeding.”

  “No, sweetheart. It’s only paint.” The goose might be fine, but her father’s pale features worried her. “Someone played a joke on us. That’s all. He’s fine.”

  “If it was blood, it wouldn’t be in circles.” Despite his bold statement, Timothy pushed to his feet and latched on to Edythe’s side.

  Snowman waddled a few feet away, honking his usual disdain for all of them.

  “Don’t fret, Sarah Jane.” Edythe’s father ran a hand over the girl’s hair. The gesture was both touching and awkward.

  “What’s the matter?” The back door slammed, and Andrew ran toward them from the house. He jerked to a halt at seeing the goose, his eyes wide and troubled.

  Her father regained his composure. “Was this your doing, young man?”

  Andrew stepped back. “No, sir. I wouldn’t do something like that to my sister.” At the same time, Edythe saw panic in her son’s wide eyes. She believed his claim that he had nothing to do with painting the goose but couldn’t shake the impression that he feared more than his grandfather’s reaction.

  The judge didn’t press the accusation. Instead, he turned to her. “If Andrew didn’t do it, my guess is Seaton did.”

  “Why would you think something like that?”

  “Because he has an ax to grind against me. It’s probably his response to what happened years ago.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “You were always blinded to his character.” Before she could think of a suitable reply, he grabbed hold of the noisy goose. “Take the children inside. I’ll see if I can clean off the paint without plucking all his feathers.”

  Edythe urged the children toward the house. She glanced back as her father picked up the goose. Surprisingly, it didn’t fight him. Cradling it in his arms—almost as though he carried an infant—he disappeared behind the small barn at the rear of the property. He had treated Snowman with a care and respect she would not have anticipated him showing a bad-tempered bird. More care and respect than he often showed people.

  The sight returned to her off and on throughout the day as she attempted to console Sarah Jane and the boys. With it came the memory of the day her grandfather trapped her in the cellar and the image of her father cradling her in his arms in much the same way as he had the goose.

  AFTER A QUICK BREAKFAST in the hotel restaurant on Friday, Barrett and Mark walked into the sheriff’s office. They introduced themselves to the deputy at the front counter.

  Barrett said, “We’d like to speak with someone about a man we believe lived here not long ago.”

  “Who?”

  “It’s possible he went by the name of Alec Olesky.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Mark moved closer to the counter. “What about Asa Osbourne?”

  The young deputy shook his head, but his frown deepened the creases between his eyes. “What do you want with him?”

  “I think he might know something about a crime committed in Riverport last month.”

  They were approached by an older lawman, probably in his early fifties, about the same age as the man they sought. “Did you say Osbourne?”

  “Yes, sir. Do you know him?”

  “When I was a boy, a family named Osbourne lived about five miles outside of town. We never saw them much. Strange lot.” He rubbed his bearded
chin as he thought. “Seems to me they moved away about twenty-five or thirty years ago.”

  The family might have moved but that didn’t mean Asa hadn’t been back. “Have you seen any of them lately?”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “Will you check to be certain there’s no record of Asa Osbourne or Alec Olesky being arrested here in the last few years?”

  “You said Asa? I think I remember him. He’s not just a witness, is he?”

  “I can’t say for certain and am not accusing him of anything. At this point, I simply have questions for him.”

  “Give me a few minutes.” The man returned five minutes later. “Nothing.”

  Barrett schooled his features, trying not to show his disappointment. An arrest record might have made his job easier, especially if Osbourne—or Olesky—had been arrested for a violent crime.

  “You might talk to one of the former neighbors.”

  “That’s a long ride for a slim possibility,” said Mark. “We’re only here for the day.”

  “Then I’d start with Harold Tanner. He grew up on the farm next to the Osbourne place and returned to town about a year ago. I’ve been thinking about it, and if I remember right, he was friends with Asa. He might know where the family moved.”

  Barrett’s nails drummed the counter. It wasn’t likely Mr. Tanner and Asa Osbourne had kept in touch after so many years, but it couldn’t hurt to talk to him. “Where will we find him?”

  The deputy checked the clock on the wall. “Can’t say where he’ll be this morning, but about noon, try the saloon on Broadway and 2nd Streets. I gotta warn you. The man isn’t always in a pleasant mood these days.”

  Mark cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “He left town a few years back a respectable citizen. My understanding is he worked as an accountant for some factory in Indianapolis. About a year ago, he quit his job and come back here. He took to drinking at night and causing trouble. Now, he survives on odd jobs around town.”

  “What changed?”

  “No telling. He’s not telling, anyway. He’s spent more than one night in the hoosegow for fighting.”

  Barrett had second thoughts about leading Mark into the unpredictable situation. “You can’t think of anyone else we might talk to for information?”

  “You can always ask around at some of the businesses. Otherwise, no, sir.”

  Barrett glanced at each deputy and bobbed his head. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  When they left the building, Barrett stopped Mark. “It sounds like this man could be erratic. Why don’t you wait for me at the hotel?”

  A cloud darkened Mark’s face. “I grew up knowing how to use my fists. You might need my help.”

  “Just remember you volunteered.”

  Mark grinned. “So speaks the lawyer.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Barrett and Mark visited several of the store owners in town, along with the editor at the newspaper, and the clerks in the hotels. No one in Peru had heard of Alec Olesky, though some of the older residents said the name Osbourne sounded familiar. However, their recollection was from years past, nothing current.

  Barrett pulled out his watch. His legs ached from all the walking they had done around town. “It’s almost noon. We’re not doing much good this way. Let’s head over to the saloon and try to find Tanner.”

  They entered the building and paused by the door to look around. Electric ceiling fixtures lit the faces of the customers. All morning, Mark had scrutinized people they met or passed on the street, looking for his former boarder. Barrett turned to him now, his question unspoken.

  Mark shook his head. “No. I don’t see Olesky.”

  “I knew it couldn’t be that easy.”

  They moved farther into the room and approached the man behind the bar. “Good afternoon, sir. I was told I’d find a man named Harold Tanner here. Have you seen him?”

  The bartender poured an amber liquid into a small glass and passed it to a man standing next to Mark. “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s private business. Is he here?”

  The man paused, then tipped his head toward the back. Barrett eased around and spotted a man in worn coveralls, sitting alone at a table along the wall. He appeared clean but despondent as he stared at his empty glass.

  “Thank you.”

  Barrett and Mark weaved through the tables filled with patrons and stopped in front of their quarry. “Mr. Tanner?”

  “Yes.” His bloodshot eyes narrowed. “What can I do for you?” His speech, at odds with his appearance, confirmed the deputy’s description of Tanner being an educated man.

  “We’re looking for someone named Asa Osbourne,” said Barrett.

  The man paled.

  “I understand you were neigh—”

  Tanner bolted from his seat and sprinted toward the door, shoving people out of his way. Caught off guard, he and Mark were slow to respond.

  “Interesting.” Mark moved first, excusing himself to every customer he shoved as he darted across the room.

  Barrett caught up to his friend, and they burst onto the sidewalk, looking both ways. He pointed to the corner. “There.”

  Dodging traffic, they pursued Tanner across the street and down an alley, catching up to him in an empty lot a block away. Barrett grabbed the sleeve of the man’s shirt and yanked, ripping the material at the shoulder, but he maintained his grip and jerked Tanner to a stop.

  Tanner breathed hard while he struggled to free himself from Barrett’s hold. “Let go. Never heard of anyone named Osbourne.”

  “The fact that you ran tells me a different story.”

  Mark stood in front of the man, blocking his escape.

  “I’ve nothing to say to you.”

  Barrett let Tanner go, prepared to pursue the man should he flee again. Tanner simply wilted.

  After introducing himself and Mark, Barrett got down to business, not sure when the man might choose to run again. “We were told you grew up with Osbourne.”

  “That was a long time ago.” The answer came out on a whine. “Now, leave me alone.”

  “But you’ve seen him lately.” A guess, but one that fit Tanner’s reaction. Barrett thought over what they had been told by the deputy. “Maybe a year ago?”

  The tendons in Tanner’s neck tightened when he clamped his mouth shut.

  “A man’s future—his life—is at stake. It’s possible Asa Osbourne has information that can help me defend my client.”

  The answer came first as a shrill laugh. “Help you? You have no idea who you’re dealing with, mister.”

  What was Osbourne like that he instilled such alarm in others? “Tell me.”

  A far-off look filled the man’s eyes, as though he were seeing something from the past. “Osbourne ruined my life. I once thought he was a friend, and he ruined me.”

  Barrett exchanged a confused glance with Mark. “How?”

  After several mild and disregarded threats by Barrett, Mark finally spoke up. “I believe Osbourne rented a room from my mother under a different name. Olesky. Does that sound familiar?”

  Tanner shook his head.

  “Look, I had to live with the man for a while.” Mark’s voice took on an urgency. “If he’s anywhere around Riverport, I want to know who I’m dealing with if he shows up at my home again. My mother’s safety is paramount to me.”

  With a slow glance in Mark’s direction, Harold Tanner whispered, “Keep away from him. Keep your mother away from him.”

  Everything the man had said thus far had proven to Barrett the value of this trip. “Why? What did he do to you?”

  A moan broke free. “Every day I go to that saloon and consider the worthlessness of my life. Nearly every day, I go in there to forget how I got to this point. At night, I think I’ll be safe if I get drunk enough to be taken to jail. The trouble is, I’m out in the morning and it starts over again. I’m too cowardly to do anything serious to land me in prison.” A strident laug
h pierced the air. “If I wasn’t, I’d have ended this torture years ago.”

  “What did Osbourne do that has you so shaken you wish to spend time in jail?” Barrett softened his voice. “If we know what he’s capable of, it might help us to find him.”

  The man had covered his face, muffling his words. “I doubt it. He’s a ghost.”

  “Take it from me, man, you’ll never have peace unless you help us find him.” Mark laid a hand on Tanner’s shoulder. “Let Mr. Seaton see to it Osbourne doesn’t bother you again.”

  Barrett opened his mouth to tell Mark he couldn’t guarantee anything of the kind, but he decided to wait for Tanner’s answer.

  The man stared at Mark a moment, then shifted his watery gaze to Barrett. “Blackmail. He threatened to reveal something that happened when we were young and blame me if I didn’t steal for him from my employer.” A mirthless chuckle escaped. “The thing is, I didn’t do what he would have accused me of. He did.” His eyes glossed over with tears. “But I was there. I saw it. He has proof.”

  “What happened back then? A man’s life might depend on what you tell us.”

  Tanner lowered his hands. “Asa killed someone, a drifter—a down-on-his-luck old man no one would miss.”

  Mark sucked in a breath.

  “Asa showed no anger, no regret, no emotion whatsoever. The boy was cold, the man colder. That day, he ended a life with no more regard than someone putting his shoes on in the morning. One minute he’s tormenting the man.” Tanner jabbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as if he jabbed at a barbaric vision. “The next he shoves a knife in his belly.”

  A knife to the belly. Had Osbourne done the same to Dulong?

  Barrett pressed his lips together to keep from asking more questions while he waited for Harold Tanner to continue. It was a short wait.

  “We were fourteen. I wish I’d understood how evil Asa was back then. Instead, I followed him around like a faithful mutt. Part of me sensed the danger. Part of me enjoyed walking on the edge of it.” He looked up. “Do you understand?”