Rekindling Trust

by Sandra Ardoin

  Walking on the edge of danger. Barrett swallowed. In his relationship with Edy all those years ago, he’d been aware he walked that line between being a respectable suitor and being someone who enjoyed the challenge of frustrating her father. Yes, he’d loved her and wanted to protect her, but there was something about the secrecy—the idea that the judge had no control over Barrett and Edy’s relationship—that had given it added excitement.

  “You said he has proof that you were there when the man was stabbed. What kind of proof?”

  “I was in shock and leaned over the man—I don’t even know his name—in order to see if he was alive. In the process, I got blood on my shirt. Asa stole it from where I buried it. He still has it.”

  “You could have denied it was yours.” Not that Barrett would encourage anyone to lie to the authorities, but with such old and scant evidence, he wondered why Tanner let that threat affect him.

  “My ma had sewn my name in it. She used to do things like that.”

  “Osbourne wanted you to steal from your employer and used the shirt as a way to coerce you. Is that why you left your employment in Indianapolis and returned here?”

  “Like I said, I’m too cowardly to commit a crime.”

  Barrett decided now was not the time to inform him he’d done so by not reporting the drifter’s murder. “What happened then?”

  “He was furious and told me the only reason he didn’t kill me was because I’d befriended him all those years ago. Other than me, he had no friends growing up.”

  What a surprise.

  “It’s why I ran from you. If he finds out I talked to anyone about him, he will kill me.”

  Mark moved a little closer. “Why stay here? Why not leave town and go somewhere he can’t find you?”

  A sad smile lined the man’s face. “Why bother? He’ll track me down if he wants me bad enough. After I’d gone to Indianapolis, he charmed my mother into telling him where to find me. Besides, she needs me...for whatever good I am to her.”

  Barrett took a moment to review the conversation. If Osbourne tried to blackmail Tanner into theft had he done the same with Dulong? Or was Barrett grasping for answers with no merit? “Are you aware of Osbourne blackmailing anyone else?”

  “He didn’t mention names but said I was the first to turn him down, that most men were greedy enough to take their share. I think in some twisted way, he admired what I did.”

  Barrett admired it too. “You work odd jobs these days so he can’t blackmail you again?”

  “If I have no access to anything Asa wants, he’ll leave me alone.”

  “You’re a braver man than you believe, Mr. Tanner.”

  “I’m hoping talking to you—confessing—will take some of the load off my conscience.”

  “We aren’t the only ones who need to hear your story.”

  “But my ma’s safety...”

  “If you tell all you know, Osbourne will have no reason to threaten either of you.” Barrett prayed he spoke the truth, and Asa Osbourne wasn’t so far gone he’d take some type of revenge before he was found.

  Tanner turned his attention north toward the sheriff’s office but said nothing for a while. Barrett let him think.

  “I suppose it is time for me to do what I can to stop him. Do you think they’ll arrest me for the death of that man?”

  “I can’t say, but let’s find you a lawyer first.”

  Tanner groaned as he stood. “You know, it’s already a relief.”

  After finding a lawyer willing to go with Harold Tanner to the sheriff’s office, Barrett and Mark walked back to the hotel.

  Mark opened the door to the lobby. “What do you think?”

  “I think Osbourne has given us a gift.”

  “In what way?”

  “Tanner mentioned there being more blackmail victims than himself. He was an accountant. Dulong was an accountant. If the Riverport police dig deeper into Dulong’s life, I’m hoping they’ll find out something that proves he was being blackmailed into stealing from his employer. At the least, they should investigate other such crimes in the state.”

  Realizing he was talking to himself, Barrett turned to find Mark standing in the middle of the lobby, his brow furrowed with whatever thoughts ran through his head. “What’s wrong?”

  “It might be nothing, but Claire lives with Roslyn Malone. She’s the wife of Gil Malone.”

  “And?”

  “From what Claire has told me, last Christmas Gil Malone embezzled money from his employer, Newland’s Department Store. He disappeared before he could be arrested.”

  “Let me guess. He was an accountant.”

  “The head man.”

  BARRETT SAT ON A LOG on the bank of the Wabash River, one foot propped on the fallen tree trunk. The other rested on the ground. He dropped his line in the water and relaxed, enjoying the smell of the approaching autumn—the hint of dying leaves mixed with river water and damp soil. The sun shone bright, a vestige of the fading summer warmth. The bobber on his fishing line floated with the current.

  Whether or not he caught anything this afternoon didn’t matter. Being here gave him time to think.

  After spending much of Friday afternoon helping Harold Tanner locate a lawyer, he and Mark stayed a second night in Peru before returning to Riverport yesterday.

  Barrett was disappointed over not finding a solid lead in locating Osbourne, but Tanner’s story gave him added reason to believe Jeremiah.

  It didn’t seem a stretch. If Asa Osbourne killed a man with a knife at fourteen, threatened his boyhood friend, and coerced others into committing crimes, it wasn’t illogical to believe he had stabbed Dulong. Barrett’s job now was to find a connection between Osbourne and Dulong. Even if they never found Osbourne, it might help to persuade a jury of reasonable doubt in Jeremiah’s case...if the presiding judge allowed it to be presented.

  Lots of “ifs.”

  Something rustled the brush behind Barrett. He swiveled on the log as a large, familiar dog loped through the grass ahead of Andy and his siblings. Mr. Peters jumped up and placed his big paws on Barrett’s leg, leaving both brown hairs and large, dirty prints on his pants. The dog’s tongue dripped like a leaking hand pump.

  He pushed the animal off him and patted his monstrous head. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  Andy carried a fishing pole and a tin can holding what Barrett assumed were worms for bait. “Hello, Mr. B. J. Catch anything?”

  The Westin boys plopped onto the ground nearby. Sarah Jane settled on the log beside him. A cloud seemed to hang over all three of them.

  “Not yet. Does your mother know you’re here, Andy?” Barrett glanced behind him, hoping she’d accompanied her children.

  Andy grimaced. “Timothy and Sarah Jane are supposed to make sure I don’t get into trouble. But I told Mama I thought you’d be here, so how could I?”

  In less than ten seconds, Barrett had gone from lawyer to nursemaid. He didn’t mind this time. If he and Edy were to have a future, it would include her children, so he might as well get used to having them around. Besides, they were more entertaining than watching a drifting bobber while pondering murders.

  Another “if” to add to the list that kept growing.

  After the boys baited their hooks, they cast their lines into the water. Barrett turned his attention to Sarah Jane. Her shoulders dragged and her mouth drooped. Mr. Peters laid his head in the child’s lap and released a long, canine groan.

  “What’s wrong, Sarah Jane?”

  A tear ran down the cheek facing him. “Someone bad hurt Snowman.”

  Snowman? Barrett searched his memory, trying to recall which of Sarah Jane’s animals had that name.

  “Her goose.” Timothy shot his sister a sympathetic look.

  Someone hurt that nasty bird? Out of self-defense, most likely. “How did they hurt him?”

  Timmy dropped his pole and shuffled over to the log. “They painted a sign on his back.”

  �
��A sign?”

  “A red bullseye.”

  Barrett leaned back, his fishing line and Jeremiah’s case forgotten.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Barrett stared at Timothy with indignation rising inside him like magma in a volcano. “Someone painted a bullseye on the goose’s back?”

  Maybe the bird attacked someone who, rather than talk to the owner, decided to give fair warning of the consequences of it happening again.

  “Grandfather says it was a prank.” Sarah Jane swiped at her wet face.

  Barrett fumbled for a response. When the little girl’s tears continued, he pulled her to his side in an awkward side-arm hug that relaxed as her sobs resided. “It’ll be all right.” But who would deliberately upset a child like that?

  Barrett glanced at Andy. The boy sat on the bank with his back to them as if he hadn’t heard the conversation. His bobber disappeared under the water and the pole bent, but he did nothing to reel in whatever he’d hooked on the line. “You have a fish, Andy.”

  He jumped and cranked the reel, bringing in a small carp that fought like one twice its size.

  Andy’s catch failed to provide the excitement Barrett expected from the boy. He gave his pole to Timmy. “Watch this for me, will you?”

  After congratulating Andy on the catch, Barrett pulled the boy aside and lowered his voice. “What do you know about what happened to Sarah Jane’s goose?”

  “Why does everyone think I know anything?”

  “Because guilt is written all over your face.” Andy tried to walk away, but Barrett stopped him. Somehow, he had to get through to the boy, even if it took blunt words. “Either someone has a nasty sense of humor or he sent a message. What if it’s the latter and he tries something worse next time? Maybe against your mother or siblings?” Barrett didn’t add the judge. He figured there was no point, given the strained relationship between grandfather and grandson.

  Andy’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t say that.”

  “Then tell me what you know now, son. Maybe I can help.”

  The boy hung his head. A moment later he lifted it. His jaw tightened. “I think it was the Larson brothers. Probably Tad.”

  “Those are the boys I saw on the other side of the river the first time we met?” The same ones who had watched from the back of the Danby property.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What makes you think it was them? Why paint a target on Snowman’s back?” Barrett waited, but Andy said nothing. “Were they warning you about something?”

  A quick bob of the boy’s head confirmed Barrett’s suspicions.

  He dug deeper with no basis for his thoughts other than common sense. “Does this have anything to do with the incident at the Stark place?”

  The boy’s bony shoulder rose and fell in answer.

  “I can see you’re afraid of them—”

  “I am not!” Andy frowned and lowered his voice. “I’m not afraid for me.”

  “For your family?”

  Andy turned toward his sister. “Sarah Jane is just a little girl.”

  Barrett could remind the eleven-year-old he wasn’t much older than his siblings. “Why would they want to frighten you and threaten your sister?”

  Andy studied the ground and toed the mud, which stuck to the tip of his shoe.

  Barrett scrounged for anything to get through to the boy. “You helped the Larson brothers start the fire.”

  “No. I told you I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Then why?”

  “They made me promise I wouldn’t say they were there.”

  “And if you did?”

  Andy turned sad eyes to Sarah Jane. “Somebody would pay.”

  This was too much like the conversation with Tanner.

  After taking a moment to gain hold of his outrage, Barrett crouched to the boy’s eye level. “Andy, those kinds of promises have no honor. By protecting one who commits a crime, you’re considered no better than they are. Your silence tells that person that he’s free to do it again, or to do something even more vile. Don’t you think it’s time that the police knew the truth...if not for your sake, for that of your family and others they might hurt in the future?”

  Andy raised his chin in a show of defiance. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  Once they had gone over the incident and Barrett asked various questions to clarify the details, he pointed to the boy’s fishing pole. “Get your things together. We’ll take Timmy and Sarah Jane home, then talk to your mother and—”

  “Mother went to her Widow’s Might meeting and won’t be back until four o’clock.”

  Barrett pulled out his pocket watch. That was close to an hour. “Then we’ll wait. In the meantime, you might as well go ahead and fish.” He patted the boy on the back. “You’ll be doing the right thing by talking to the police.”

  “Will I go to that reform school?”

  Based on the boy’s reaction to the threat against Sarah Jane, Barrett believed Andy’s story and vowed to fight hard to see that he was deemed a hero and not a villain. “We’ll explain that you had nothing to do with the fire but wanted to protect your family and so kept quiet about what really happened.”

  EDYTHE RETURNED HOME to find Barrett sitting in a chair on the front porch with Andy occupying the one beside him. Her steps stuttered at the grave expressions on their faces. She climbed the steps. “What’s going on?”

  Barrett looked at Andy and tipped his head. “You tell her.”

  “Tell me what?” She gripped the porch post, preparing herself for more bad news. She should have known better than to let Andrew leave the property today. “What is it?”

  Her son stood before her. “I know who started the fire.”

  Edythe fought to calm her racing heart. She had been wrong. This was good news, wasn’t it? “Who?”

  He told her about two boys named Larson—the youngest around Andrew’s age and the older boy about thirteen.

  Larson? Edythe searched her memory but couldn’t recall having heard the name among her son’s friends.

  After describing what happened to Mr. Stark and the probability that the boys marked Snowman’s back, he said, “Mr. B. J. says I need to tell the police.”

  “Yes, you must. This is wonderful, Andy.” Only after hugging her son did she realize she’d called him Andy. From now on, she would return to calling him the more familiar name, the one he wanted to be called, not the formal name her father insisted upon. She turned to Barrett, who now stood beside her, and threw her arms around him, not caring if the neighbors saw. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet.”

  She drew back. “But surely, this means we no longer have anything to worry about.”

  “Let’s see what the police say.”

  Edythe’s elation withered at the uncertainty in his response.

  When they reached the police station, Barrett asked for Officer Brennan. A few minutes later, the policeman escorted them to a private room barely large enough for the four of them to crowd around the table.

  “Now,”—the officer addressed her son—“I understand you have something to tell me.”

  “Yes, sir.” Andy’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  “Speak up.”

  “Yes, sir.” Encouraged by Barrett’s nod, Andy sat straight in his chair and faced Brennan. “I know who set the fire to Mr. Stark’s shed.”

  Officer Brennan stared at Andy, a stare that caused Edythe’s nerves to jump. “Go ahead.”

  “It was one of the Larson brothers.”

  Brennan wrote the name in a notebook. “How do you know this?”

  “I saw it.”

  “You were with them?”

  “Not with them...exactly. I started to cut through the property and saw them.”

  The officer nodded. “Tell me what happened.”

  Captivated by Andy’s account, Edythe listened to every word, her anger against the Larson boys growing stronger with each mention o
f their names.

  The moment Andy saw the two boys near the shed on the Stark property, smoke curling from their cigarettes, he’d turned to leave. Unfortunately, they caught sight of him.

  “Tad tried to get me to smoke one of his cigarettes, but I told him no, that it made me sick the last time. Mr. Stark came out of the house. Then, the shed was burning, so I started to run off. I looked back and saw Mr. Stark on the ground and the Larson boys running away.”

  “You were caught on the property. Why didn’t you run off too?”

  Andy told Officer Brennan the same thing he’d told Edythe when proclaiming innocence weeks ago—he’d wanted to check on Mr. Stark but fear held him back. Before he could convince himself to move, others exited the house, so he hid among the bushes.

  Edythe shook her head. If she’d been a better mother, more concerned about her children than her father, this situation might never have happened. Andy would not have sought company with two such cruel ruffians who showed no guilt in injuring a man. Mr. Stark might never have been hurt. All this was her fault.

  Evidently, Barrett sensed her self-recrimination, because he squeezed her fisted hand. Physically, she relaxed under the affection and strength of his touch, but regret still swirled inside her.

  Once her son finished speaking and Officer Brennan ran out of questions, the policeman closed his notebook. “I’ll pay a visit to these Larson boys and talk to Mr. Stark again. Perhaps he’s gained a better recollection of the incident.”

  “There’s something else you should know,” said Barrett. “Andy fears the boys painted a bullseye on his sister’s pet goose as a warning for him to keep quiet.”

  Edythe’s hand—the hand he still held—curled once more. Were her children not safe until those miniature criminals received their punishment?

  “I witnessed them watching the house.”

  She glanced at Barrett. “When?”

  “The day you and your father argued.”

  Officer Brennan eyed Andy. “Is that true?”

  “They were there. I saw them from my bedroom window.”

  She spun in her seat toward her son. “You never said anything. Do you realize the seriousness of your silence?”