The General's Secretary

by Debby Giusti

  The previous night, after Lillie had gone to bed, Mr. McKinney had talked openly about Irene Beaumont’s death and his concern for his daughter. The McKinneys had taken her in as a terrorized four-year-old. When her mother’s body had been unearthed, the middle-school-aged Lillie had suffered a setback, and both parents worried about her emotional health.

  The prosecutor had talked to Lillie’s foster father about Granger’s trial. Mr. McKinney had been forthcoming with Dawson concerning his own fear that Granger’s guilt had been too quickly decided.

  At the time, the McKinneys had been focused on Lillie. They wanted to ensure their daughter didn’t experience another setback or more pain than what she had already suffered. In an effort to insulate her from the wagging tongues in town, Mrs. McKinney had decided to homeschool Lillie. In hindsight, they wondered if they had protected her too much.

  All in the name of love.

  Love was a word Dawson rarely used. Never in conjunction with his mother or his missing father. Hearing it associated with Lillie’s name gave him pause. Surely, the way he felt about the pretty secretary wasn’t love. Or was it? He thought of her kiss and the way she had molded into his embrace.

  As much as he enjoyed kissing her, he didn’t like the turmoil of emotion that welled up within him today. Plus, Lillie had pulled away from him last night, so she must be equally confused.

  More than anything, she needed closure, which Dawson hoped would come when all the facts about her mother’s death were brought to light.

  Dawson hadn’t told Mr. McKinney about his own personal involvement in the case. Eventually, the two men who cared about Lillie would have another heart-to-heart talk. Although after learning the truth, Mr. McKinney might not want to ever see Dawson again.

  His phone rang. He grabbed the cell off the kitchen counter and smiled when he saw Lillie’s name on the caller ID.

  “I’m sorry about what my father said this morning,” she said in greeting.

  “It’s okay, Lillie.”

  “He’s really a good man, who thinks the best of people. That’s why I’m not sure where that comment came from.”

  “He’s worried about you. We shared a pot of decaf last night after you went to bed.”

  “Oh? Then maybe fatigue was playing into the mix this morning.”

  Dawson laughed, although when he thought of the cozy farmhouse and her loving parents, he had a pang of regret. Lillie would soon be going to church with her parents. He wanted to be sitting next to her in the pew.

  “Something’s troubling you,” Lillie said as if she could sense his mood. “It’s more than my father’s comment. You haven’t been yourself since you visited the prison yesterday.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I’m sure seeing where Granger had been incarcerated made everything real.”

  “It was real before, Lillie.”

  “But you hadn’t experienced it firsthand.”

  He leaned against the counter in the kitchen. “I’ve been in jails before.”

  “You came face-to-face with who he was, or who you thought he was, and it hit you. Hard. Then my father’s comment this morning drove home the point even more so.”

  She was right, although he wasn’t ready to admit the way his gut had twisted when the door to the cell block closed behind them. Stepping into the prison where his father had lived for fifteen years had affected him, and not in a good way.

  “As you told Karl Nelson,” Lillie continued, “your father’s trial was a sham. He wasn’t guilty.”

  “All we know is that the blood on the shirt wasn’t his, Lillie. That’s different than being completely exonerated.”

  “But if Granger had been guilty, he wouldn’t have come back to Freemont.”

  “Perpetrators often return to the scene of their crime.”

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “Granger was searching for information and was murdered because of what he uncovered.”

  Dawson nodded. “You’re right.”

  “Of course I am. You and I saw the videos. We heard his voice and watched as he looked over his shoulder, fearful that the killer was after him.”

  “We don’t know who was after him,” Dawson corrected her. “Granger could have made enemies in prison who sought him out once he was released. Cons have friends on the outside who do their bidding. The only thing we do know for sure is that my father was released from prison, and someone came after him. Besides, Lillie, I was more upset about the prison per se, not that my father had been held there.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The four walls seemed to crowd me in.”

  “You told me you didn’t like confined spaces.”

  He wanted to change the subject, but Lillie refused to let it drop.

  She pulled in a sharp breath. “Did...did something happen? Your mother—”

  Sensing her concern, he held up his hand as if she could see his nonverbal gesture. “Nothing like that. No abuse. No locked closets with me inside, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  As much as he didn’t want to tell her, Lillie deserved to know. “I worked summer construction jobs during high school.”

  “Following in your father’s footsteps.”

  Intuitively he knew she was right, but he couldn’t admit the truth. “I worked construction because it provided good money. Not because of Granger Ford.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure.” He pulled away from the counter and stepped toward the window. The sun was hidden from view by a line of clouds. “I was on the job late, finishing a ditch. Must have been seven or eight feet deep and just wide enough for the main sewer pipe. The earth started to crumble. Before I could get out, the sides collapsed, trapping me under a huge mound of dirt.”

  The memory of being buried alive swept over him again. He was surrounded by the cloying scent of the Georgia clay that blocked the daylight and sucked air from his lungs.

  He shuddered, trying to shake off the memory.

  Don’t look back, an interior voice warned.

  Sweat dampened his neck.

  Lillie’s voice came to him like a warm touch on a cold day. “You survived, Dawson.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed ruefully. “Thanks to the men who dug me out.”

  “Did your dad know what happened?”

  “Of course not.”

  She sighed. “Ironic that neither of us knew our fathers.”

  “But it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

  “I never knew my birth father. My foster father was a good man. He filled the empty role.”

  “What about your foster mother?”

  “I...I always held something back, which was probably a self-protective measure, because I didn’t want to be hurt again.”

  Lillie’s voice was almost devoid of emotion. He imagined the firm set of her jaw and her braced shoulders. She had her own painful memories from the past, maybe more than she was willing to admit.

  Silence filled the line until she finally spoke again. “I...I found something when I was online this morning. It probably doesn’t have any bearing on this case, but you said sometimes the smallest item can be important.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I searched for missing women in the surrounding small towns. I only looked at the month of January.”

  “What’d you find?”

  “Valerie Taylor went missing ten years ago and was last seen on Saturday of the MLK weekend that year. Roseanne Manning disappeared the same weekend.”

  “Lots of women go missing, Lillie.”

  “Roseanne was from Millsville, Georgia, which isn’t far from Freemont.”

  “And Valerie?”

  “She lived in Culpepper.”

&nbs
p; Dawson pursed his lips. “Interesting.”

  “But probably doesn’t mean anything.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Don’t you have to get ready for church?”

  Lillie laughed. “Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  After they hung up, Dawson kept thinking about Lillie’s foster family. Being with her parents had made him realize the hole in his own heart and the desire he’d always had to live the kind of life she had known.

  Both he and Lillie approached relationships with caution, as if they lived under a yellow stoplight. Most folks rode through life on green, going full steam ahead and never glancing over their shoulders. In comparison, Lillie and Dawson weighed where they were going in relation to where they had been.

  He envisioned her sitting in the pew at church and then at the potluck lunch after the service. In his mind’s eye, he saw a line of farm boys, bulked up from baling hay, falling over themselves to refill her sweet tea or bring her another slice of Mrs. McKinney’s chocolate cake.

  Dawson let out a ragged breath. He was being irrational, but no matter how much he tried to focus on other things, he kept thinking about her emerald eyes and full lips, lips he had kissed last night and wanted to kiss again.

  He changed into his running clothes and hit the trails around Fort Rickman. The fresh air cleared his mind and pushed aside the crazy thoughts about the country suitors. As soon as he was back at his apartment, he showered and changed and headed through the main gate and back to Lillie’s house.

  He had good reason to return, he kept telling himself, even as he stood on her porch and saw the surprised look on her face when she opened the front door.

  “I decided to visit the town of Millsville, where Roseanne Manning was last seen before she disappeared. I wondered if you felt like taking a drive.”

  “I’ll get my purse and tell my mother we’ll be back later.”

  With Lillie sitting next to him, Dawson’s mood lightened. “How was the potluck?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been thinking about it nonstop.

  “I ate too much.” She laughed. “And ran into a lot of folks I hadn’t seen in a while.”

  “Some of the local farmers?”

  She nodded. “Mainly I talked to my mother’s friends. The folks my age have moved away from the area.”

  “Probably a few single guys hanging around.” As much as he didn’t want to seem needy, the words sprang from his mouth.

  “No one of interest.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course Jermaine Daniels was there. We had cake and ice cream together.”

  Dawson’s optimism plummeted. “Nice guy?”

  “One of the best.” Her lips twitched and her eyes twinkled with the laughter she tried to contain.

  “What’s so funny?” He felt as if he’d missed the punch line of a joke.

  “Jermaine is ten years old and the cutest kid in the area.” She poked Dawson in the ribs.

  He grabbed her hand and laughed. “Okay, so I was thinking about all the men hovering around your table.”

  “You sound jealous.”

  “Of course not.” But when he looked at her, he knew he was easy to read. “You’re right. I was jealous.”

  “Jermaine’s the only one you need to worry about, and I think you can handle a ten-year-old.”

  He continued to smile, enjoying her playful banter and the sun that peeked out from behind the clouds.

  Their Sunday drive ended when they pulled into Millsville, a sleepy crossroads that appeared to be in hibernation.

  The only cars were those parked on the grass around the AME church, where a cluster of men stood talking. The women gathered to the side, dressed in their Sunday finest, including large-brimmed hats in deep russets and reds that accentuated their dark skin.

  Dawson helped Lillie from the car. “You talk to the ladies, and I’ll see what the gentlemen remember.”

  The men were friendly and grateful someone was looking into the case of the missing eighteen-year-old. “Roseanne was an attractive child with a wandering spirit. She claimed Atlanta was where she was meant to live.”

  “Do folks think she left town on her own?”

  One of the men shook his head and tsked. “We don’t know. Most think something happened to her. Something bad. Her mama died of a broken heart not long after the child disappeared. She never had a daddy, at least not one that stayed around.”

  Dawson felt his own gut tighten. He could relate.

  “When was Roseanne last seen?”

  “Martin Luther King Day, ten years ago. She was hanging around some red-haired man from a neighboring town.”

  The lazy Sunday turned sour. “Anyone recall the guy’s name, or do you remember what he looked like? Anything that would make him stand out from the crowd?”

  “His hair,” one man said, causing the others to nod in agreement. “And the scar on his right cheek.”

  “What about Valerie Taylor, from Culpepper, south of here. Does her name sound familiar?”

  An older man rubbed his jaw and nodded. “Matter a fact, Val and Roseanne were friends. The girls did everything together.”

  Lillie and Dawson met up at the car. Her eyes were wide as she climbed inside. “I’ve got something.”

  Dawson waved goodbye to the church folks before he pulled onto the roadway. “Okay, what?”

  “Roseanne had been seeing a boy from Freemont.”

  “Red hair?” Dawson asked.

  Lillie pointed to her own face. “He had a scar on his right cheek and his name was Everett.”

  “What’s that tell you?”

  “Billy Everett may be our killer.”

  “Guess who Roseanne’s good friend was?”

  Lillie dropped her jaw. “Valerie Taylor?”

  “You got that right.”

  Heading back to the McKinney farm, Dawson felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Billy Everett seemed to be in the middle of this case no matter where they turned. Finally something was paying off. Plus, Dawson planned to clear the air completely with the McKinneys and tell them who his father really was.

  A car Lillie didn’t recognize was parked in the driveway when Dawson pulled to a stop in front of the farmhouse. He followed her inside and helped her with her coat, which she hung in the hall closet.

  Motioning him forward, she headed through the living room with Dawson close behind. “Mother? Dad?”

  “We’re in the kitchen, dear.” Her mother’s voice.

  As Dawson entered the airy room, a man sitting with Walter and Sarah shoved his chair back from the table.

  “Nice to see you again, Agent Timmons.” Sergeant Ron Pritchard rose to his feet. “I was talking to the McKinneys about what’s been happening in Freemont. Seems you didn’t tell them everything about the murder case.”

  Lillie took a step forward. “Officer Pritchard, please.”

  Mr. McKinney stared at Dawson. “Granger Ford caused Lillie enough pain. I don’t want her to be hurt again.”

  “Sir, I can explain everything.” Dawson turned to Pritchard. “Why did you come here?”

  “I wanted to know if Granger had contacted them.” Pritchard smiled at Lillie’s parents. “Nice talking to you folks. I’ll see myself out.”

  Dawson opened the front door for the cop and followed him onto the porch. “You’ve got bad timing.”

  Pritchard raised his brow. “At least I tell the truth.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You weren’t forthright, Agent Timmons. Why didn’t you tell me Granger Ford was your father? We contacted the prison to see if he had any family. He had listed you as his next of kin.”

  Pritchard wa
lked toward his car, then, pausing to glance at Dawson, he nodded. “Have a nice day.”

  Dawson turned to go back into the house. Mr. McKinney stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed, his mouth pulled into a tight line.

  “Maybe you should leave now, young man.”

  “Sir, I need to ensure Lillie’s all right.”

  “I can take care of my daughter. You head back to Fort Rickman and don’t come around here again.”

  “Sir—”

  The door closed and the lock slid into place.

  Dawson stood on the porch for a long moment before he hustled back to his car. Mr. McKinney was right. Lillie didn’t need an ex-con’s son in her life. Especially an ex-con who might have killed her biological mother. How could he and Lillie have a future together when their pasts revolved around a murder?

  Now a killer was on the loose.

  Although Dawson was committed to keeping Lillie safe, her father—with his arsenal of guns and his awards for marksmanship—would have to protect her tonight.

  THIRTEEN

  “I’m sorry, Dawson.”

  Lillie sat next to him as he drove her back to Fort Rickman the next morning. He had called last night and arranged to pick her up bright and early.

  “My father reacted without thinking,” she said. “He’s a good man but extremely protective. Plus, he’s worried about me.”

  She tugged at a wayward strand of hair. “Which is exactly why I didn’t want either my mother or father to know about Granger’s death.”

  Dawson tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “In my opinion, Pritchard is a jerk.”

  “He questioned them about my birth mother’s death and the trial. He also wanted to know how they heard about me after my mother disappeared.”

  “What did they tell him?”

  “One of the men from church mentioned a child in need. My mother was a retired schoolteacher. It didn’t take long before they were awarded custody.”

  “Do you know anything about when you first arrived at their house?”

  “Only that I didn’t talk for a number of weeks. When I finally did speak, I refused to mention my birth mother. They soon realized I had blacked out everything, except the memory of that night in the storm.”