Susannah's Garden

by Debbie Macomber

  She could certainly visit the sheriff’s office and ask a few questions. Although all of this happened more than thirty years ago, the county would have kept the records. Surely they’d be online.

  Not wanting to interrupt Carolyn at the mill, Susannah decided to use a computer at the library downtown. She left without speaking to Chrissie. Her daughter had come home late last night. Susannah hadn’t said anything about seeing Troy with someone else; she’d sit on that for a while and learn what she could about this other woman before confronting either Chrissie or Troy.

  Susannah drove to the library and logged on to the Internet. However, even with the librarian’s help, she wasn’t able to get into the Colville sheriff’s files.

  Next she logged on to the local newspaper archives and did a name search for Jake Presley and found nothing. While she was there, she tried Doug’s name; what came up was the article that reported his car accident. As she read it, tears filled her eyes.

  If she’d seen it years ago, she didn’t remember. The newspaper said Doug’s neck had been broken and he’d died instantly. She breathed a sigh of relief that the car hadn’t caught fire and burned. She hated the thought of anyone suffering that way. Self-consciously she reached for her purse and dug out a tissue.

  Thanking the librarian for her help, Susannah left a few minutes later and crossed the street to the sheriff’s office. The woman at the front desk, all too obviously watching the clock, seemed eager for her break.

  “Hello,” Susannah said as she stepped up to the counter. The clerk was young and probably didn’t remember her father, who’d retired a number of years earlier.

  The clerk looked up, glanced at the clock again, and frowned. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so. I’d like to talk to someone about any charges filed against Doug Leary back in the early 1970s.” She looked for any sign of recognition in the other woman’s eyes but saw none.

  “When exactly?” the clerk asked.

  “1973.”

  The woman shook her head, her short curls bouncing. “All paperwork before 1978 is stored in the basement.”

  “Would it be possible to have someone get it for me?”

  The clerk stared at Susannah. “You’re joking, right? We’re already short-staffed with two people on vacation.”

  “But they’ll be back soon, won’t they?” Susannah pressed.

  “No one’s got time to search through the archives unless it concerns a current investigation.”

  “This has to do with my brother. He was killed in a car accident and I recently learned that he might’ve been in some kind of trouble. I want to know what that was about.”

  Frowning, the clerk shook her head. “Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  “Greg Dalton was the sheriff in 1973, wasn’t he?” He’d been a good friend of her dad’s.

  The clerk turned toward the wall, where a row of photographs was displayed. “Looks like it. That was way before my time.”

  “Does he still live in the area?”

  The clerk nodded and stood as another woman joined her. “I believe so. I’m taking my coffee break now. If you have any other questions I can call for a deputy—if there’s one handy.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”

  All Susannah needed to do was look in her mother’s personal directory for the retired sheriff’s address. He’d played bridge with her father at least once a week for as long as Susannah could remember. She drove back to the house and, without too much difficulty, located the address—Old River Road, a couple of miles out of town.

  On the off-chance that he was home, Susannah drove there, then headed down the dirt driveway with the name Dalton printed on the rural route box. When she parked in front of the house, an older woman came to the screen door, holding it open. The house was small, the lawn green and well maintained. A creek flowed along the back of the property.

  “Mrs. Dalton?” Susannah asked as she climbed out of the car. She didn’t recall her first name.

  “Yes. Can I help you?”

  Mrs. Dalton was in her midseventies, a pleasant-looking woman with curled gray hair and a comfortably round figure.

  “I’m Susannah Leary. My married name is Nelson.”

  “Susannah, of course. It’s so good to see you! How’s your mother doing? I wanted to get into town to visit after your father died, but I swear there just aren’t enough hours in the day.”

  Susannah smiled, and they exchanged a warm handshake. “Thank you.” It was difficult to accept condolences even now; Susannah was never quite sure what to say. They exchanged pleasantries, and Mrs. Dalton invited her into the house.

  “Would it be all right if I asked Mr. Dalton a few questions?” she asked.

  “Questions?” the older woman repeated.

  “I’ve recently come across some information regarding my brother. You remember Doug, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, of course. I don’t think your dear parents ever recovered from losing him.”

  Susannah swallowed hard.

  Mrs. Dalton frowned. “Susannah, I’m afraid my husband’s been ill for some time—a heart condition. I don’t want to overstress him.”

  Susannah nodded. “I’ll do my best not to.”

  Mrs. Dalton hesitated, as if gauging how much to trust her. Then she said, “Greg’s sitting out back, enjoying the sunshine. If you’d care to join him, I’ll bring us all something cool to drink.”

  Susannah followed her into the kitchen, slid open the glass door and stepped onto the patio. Greg Dalton sat with his shoulders slumped forward and his hands on his lap, facing the creek. He appeared to be napping.

  Susannah didn’t want to interfere with his rest, but when she reached for a chair, it made a slight scraping sound against the concrete. The old man’s eyes opened and he glared at her accusingly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Susannah told him. His eyes widened when she mentioned Doug’s name.

  “You remember my parents, don’t you?” she asked. “My dad was Judge Leary.”

  “’Course I do.”

  “And my brother? Doug died in a car accident many years ago.”

  Mrs. Dalton came outside carrying a tray with three glasses of pink lemonade. Susannah stood, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table.

  “Who was it you were asking about again?” Mr. Dalton demanded.

  “Doug Leary,” his wife returned. “You remember Doug, Judge Leary’s boy?”

  “I wish you people would stop repeating yourselves. Yes, I remember Doug. He died—what?—thirty-some years ago.”

  Susannah caught Mrs. Dalton’s grimace. “Would you like some lemonade, Greg?”

  Her husband shook his head and closed his eyes, apparently resuming his nap.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Dalton said, “but I was afraid this would happen. Greg naps much of the day. Perhaps I can help you.”

  Susannah wished she hadn’t come. She should’ve left this alone. “I moved Mom into an assisted-living complex,” she explained, without discussing her mother’s problems. She briefly described what she’d unearthed that had led her to believe her brother might have been in some kind of legal trouble. Although it didn’t seem possible, she explained, she wanted to check it out to be sure—if she could. “As you’ve probably guessed, all of this comes as a shock.”

  “That was so long ago,” Mrs. Dalton said uncertainly.

  Susannah agreed. “You might remember I was in France that year. I’m hoping to find out what I can about Doug and another friend I knew in high school by the name of Jake Presley.”

  Mrs. Dalton frowned sadly as she sat down next to Susannah. “I don’t remember much, but I do recall something about Doug. My goodness, my memory’s bad. It just isn’t what it used to be.”

  “I understand,” Susannah said. “Any information you have would be appreciated.”

  The old sheriff woke su
ddenly. “It was a crying shame,” he mumbled.

  “You remember what happened, Greg?” his wife asked.

  “Huh.” He scoffed at his wife. “I’m not likely to forget. Crying shame, that’s what it was. I tried to help, but there wasn’t a thing I could do. Those two young men stepped into a hornet’s nest of trouble.”

  Susannah leaned closer, afraid any question she asked would break his train of thought.

  “Doug wasn’t a bad boy. The other one, either. They got in over their heads and couldn’t get out. They were in the wrong game—hell, the wrong league—for a couple of small-town boys. One of the players was an undercover agent. The two of ’em were in Idaho at the time and managed to get away. Problem is, they ran back to Colville and in the process crossed state lines. Once they did that, it became a federal crime.”

  Susannah wasn’t clear on all the legalities. “You mean the local authorities—”

  “I mean,” Mr. Dalton said, cutting her off, “that they’d be tried in a federal court with federal prosecutors. George was upset, very upset, and we talked it over. There was nothing I could do—or him, either, for that matter.”

  Susannah shifted toward him. “You remember all this?”

  “Like it was yesterday,” the older man concurred. “Your brother made a foolish mistake. His friend, too. Trouble like this wasn’t just going to disappear. With the federal government involved, there wasn’t much chance he’d escape prosecution, despite his father being a judge.”

  Greg Dalton stared into the distance. “I was the first one at the accident scene. He was already dead. Rammed into the tree. Smoke and steam coming from the engine. I pried open the driver’s door and the boy slumped out, into my arms.” The old man shook his head as if to say he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

  “Greg went to plenty of accident scenes over the years,” Mrs. Dalton said in a low voice. “But Doug was the son of a good friend. He phoned me. In all his years of working as sheriff, that was the only time I’ve seen my husband that distraught. He asked me to go and sit with Vivian while George identified the body.”

  A lump formed in Susannah’s throat.

  “I think it nearly killed George to bury his only son,” Mrs. Dalton added.

  “I know,” Susannah whispered. She stared down at her drink. She hadn’t taken so much as a sip and doubted she could swallow if she did.

  “Out of respect for George and his position in the community, my husband did what he could to keep the federal charges out of the paper. The entire matter was as hush-hush as possible. Only a few people were aware of it.”

  “Do you know what happened to Jake Presley?”

  Mrs. Dalton shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat and answered without opening his eyes. “He got away. Got clean away,” he muttered.

  This was what Susannah had suspected all along. She set down her glass.

  “Did I help you get the answers you need?” the sheriff asked.

  “Yes, you were most helpful.”

  “Good.” He dropped his chin against his chest, eyes still closed.

  “Thank you for your time,” Susannah said and got to her feet. “If I have any other questions, can I phone you?”

  Mrs. Dalton nodded. “We’ll do whatever we can.”

  “Thank you.” Susannah walked out to her car, surprised to find tears gathering in her eyes. She had the answers she needed, but they certainly weren’t the ones she wanted.

  CHAPTER 34

  Chrissie wasn’t home when Susannah arrived, which was just as well. Her head was full of what she’d learned and the idea of dealing with Chrissie right now overwhelmed her.

  Although it’d been hard to keep quiet, Susannah hadn’t mentioned that she’d seen Troy with another woman. It was doubtful that her daughter would believe her, anyway—and definitely not without proof. Chrissie made her feel a sense of powerlessness that bordered on desperation.

  The house was warm. After opening the front and back doors to create a breeze, she sat down in a garden chair and closed her eyes, trying to think everything through carefully.

  She found herself drifting off to sleep under the shade of a pine. It was little wonder, considering that she was functioning on less than four hours from the night before and even less the night before that. Her mind was clouded with worries. What was wrong with her, anyway? She’d always been levelheaded and sensible. It’d all started last year, after her father died, but she’d refused to believe Joe’s theory that her depression was connected to his death. She was no longer sure of anything. Once she was home again, she hoped her life would return to normal.

  Normal.

  Normal meant that the way things seemed to be was also the way they were. No massive deceptions, no ugly secrets.

  Normal would be a relief, despite her listlessness and her loss of enthusiasm.

  Head back, eyes closed, Susannah could so easily picture the Jake of thirty years ago, dressed in his black leather jacket. Her heart sped up at that memory alone. As a girl, she’d risked everything to be with him. Her parents would’ve grounded her for life had they known how often she slipped out in the middle of the night. The garden was their favorite spot, hers and Jake’s, especially the small rose arbor with its bench, hidden as it was from the house. He’d called it Susannah’s garden.

  As sure as she drew breath, she’d believed he loved her as deeply as she loved him. What he felt for her had been fleeting, however; she knew that now, and it stung. She’d believed in him and the power of their love, which had felt invincible, especially that last night before she’d flown to France.

  Susannah had pleaded with her father, begged him not to send her away. She’d wept and shrieked, but he’d turned a deaf ear and insisted that one day she’d thank him.

  He’d been wrong. She’d never forgiven him for what he’d done.

  A car door slammed, and Susannah opened her eyes, her tranquility destroyed. She went to the front door as her daughter pranced toward the house, wearing tight blue jeans and a tighter top. Defiance flashed from her eyes. “You aren’t stopping me, Mom.”

  “From what?” Susannah asked wearily, rubbing a hand across her eyes.

  “From moving to Colville. I already talked it over with Grandma and she wants me here. She said she’d pay for my expenses until I can find a job. She needs me and I want to be here for her.”

  “Were we still discussing that?”

  Her daughter cast her a furious look. “You talked to Dad, didn’t you? That’s why he’s on my case now.”

  “Yes. Did you want to tell him yourself? I hope I didn’t ruin the surprise.” She could be as sarcastic as her daughter when the occasion called for it.

  Chrissie placed one hand on her hip and scowled. “Nothing’s changed.”

  Susannah sighed audibly. “I didn’t expect it would. So you’re determined to do this, despite…” She let her voice trail off.

  “Despite what?”

  “The fact that you aren’t the only woman in Troy Nance’s life.” She was unable to stop herself. And once she started, she had to continue. “I saw Troy in the park with someone else.”

  Chrissie’s eyes narrowed. “That is so lame.”

  Susannah raised her shoulders in an elaborate shrug. “Think what you want, but I know what I saw.”

  “You’d do just about anything to keep me from seeing Troy, but I didn’t realize you’d lie.”

  “Ask him yourself,” Susannah suggested, gesturing toward the kitchen phone.

  Chrissie hesitated for a moment. “Fine, I will.” She marched off with a righteousness fueled by certainty—or at least the pretense of certainty.

  Susannah followed her, curious to hear what Jake’s son would say. And yes, she’d reconciled herself to the truth of Sharon’s claim that Jake was her son’s father.

  Her back to the wall, Chrissie sat on the linoleum floor. She rested her face against her knees as she held the receiver to he
r ear. When Susannah entered the room, Chrissie raised her eyes, sparking with indignation.

  “Hi,” she said when Troy answered.

  Susannah sat at the kitchen table and folded her arms, patiently waiting. Not for a second did she believe Troy Nance would tell the truth.

  “You weren’t with someone else yesterday afternoon, were you?” Chrissie asked, purring the question.

  He took his time responding. Chrissie kept her eyes lowered, then something he said made her look up suddenly and glare at Susannah.

  “At the park,” she said repeating his words. “Jenny Sandberg met you there.”

  Susannah’s stomach tensed.

  “She’s an old friend. Uh, huh. A good friend from high school. Uh, huh. You hadn’t seen her in a while.” Chrissie was echoing his responses for her mother’s benefit, and Susannah sighed at her daughter’s naiveté. Chrissie sounded so triumphant.

  From the way Troy and this Jenny had been going at it, they were very good friends.

  “Mom saw you and wondered,” Chrissie said next. “She said you’d lie to me and I said you wouldn’t.”

  Not a word of that was true. All Susannah had suggested was that Chrissie ask Troy herself. She felt disturbed by the fact that these two were lying to each other, Chrissie no less than Troy.

  “Of course I believe you,” she insisted, continuing to glare at Susannah.

  Unwilling to listen any longer, Susannah turned her back and walked out of the kitchen.

  “Why would I mind?” Chrissie was saying. She lowered her voice. “Yes, I told her.”

  This apparently had to do with her daughter’s moving.

  “She doesn’t have any choice but to accept it,” Chrissie said more loudly. “I make my own decisions.”

  Susannah felt sick to her stomach. She went into the living room and sat down in the one remaining chair. A few minutes later, Chrissie left the kitchen, and started down the hallway to the bedrooms.

  “When did you talk to Dad?” Susannah asked her. “What did he say?”