by Jane Suen
“What did it have to do with your dad?”
“Lacey caught him … with her mom … having sex.”
I suddenly understood. “So that’s why she left home.”
“And Lacey had told no one until she confided in me. Dad was still married at the time and had us two kids. He was a pillar of the community, and this would have ruined him.”
“She had no idea you’d turn around and betray her.”
“I had to, he was my dad,” whined Jim. It sounded so unbecoming.
“What, he threatened to punch you too?”
His face flushed, probably with shame. “No, he threatened to cut me out of his will. And this mansion …”
Chapter 46
I WAS STILL shaking after I left the mansion. I drove to the diner, hoping my favorite table would be available. Pushing the door open, the familiar clinking of dishes and silverware and the aroma from the cooking food greeted me. I looked for Darlene, but I didn’t see her.
The new waitress, Sophie, waved when she saw me, and she pulled out a menu and a set of rolled silverware in a napkin.
“I’d like that table, please,” I said, pointing to my usual spot.
“Of course,” she said, leading the way.
I ordered quickly, my usual. “Oh, and please bring me the strongest coffee you’ve got.” As she went to collect my menu, I asked her, “Sophie, do you like working here?”
“I do,” she said enthusiastically.
I liked her. “You’re doing great,” I said.
She brought me my coffee and dinner and left me alone except to refill my cup a few times.
I pulled out my notepad and flipped the pages, reading as I ate. Everything was falling into place now. All except for one brick.
Lacey had not come to an end here. I now knew the circumstances that forced her to leave. Although not the end of her life, she had faced betrayal, pain, disfigurement, and she had been dealt a cruel and vicious blow. I opened the file folder and picked up the article—the one with her picture—the one that had taken my breath away. Her beauty had haunted me. A teardrop landed on my napkin. My brain didn’t register it was mine.
A wave of sadness washed over me. I was helpless to fight it. I couldn’t stand up, but wobbled and fell. It tossed and rolled me over. With each surge, another wave came and receded, to be followed by another and another. I lost all track of time as the water sloshed me, pushing and pulling me in the sea. I was dazed, stunned, and the water still came, relentless and strong.
The blue-green of the water suddenly mingled with a brownish tint as I was transported to the gentle gurgling of water flowing over rocks, streaming around bends of lush green grass and wild flowers, and trees with boughs bent over the stream. I stopped struggling and let it take me where it was going. To Murder Creek.
This time it was broad daylight. The sun was shining brightly, and fluffy clouds overhead floated lazily across the blue sky like enormous cotton balls. I was on my back gazing upwards, watching birds fly from treetop to treetop, cawing to each other. I heard the buzzing of insects, their wings flapping energetically. A faint rustling of the grass was a telltale sign of the little critters who moved through the verdant vegetation in the forest, scurrying and foraging for food.
The flowers bobbed their heads as the gentle wind swayed them, their heads and slender stalks flexing in the wind, along with the tall grass.
How peaceful it looked now, the night pushed away by the day. Under the warmth of the sun’s rays I felt nourished, reborn, freshly woken up.
I lost track of time. I didn’t know how long I had sat there, at my corner table, but I felt relieved knowing why I didn’t see Lacey’s images—only the visions of those men who were murdered. I realized then Lacey didn’t suffer the same fate as those murdered men. She didn’t die at Murder Creek.
I felt the peace and the promise of a new dawn.
Chapter 47
I STIRRED. MY stiff muscles protested. I flexed my arms and twirled my ankles. I clasped my fingers into a ball and unfurled them. I reached for my coffee cup. It felt light. Had I emptied it? Rings of brown inside the cup had almost dried up. I clenched it, holding the cup with both my hands, seeking out the last bit of warmth.
I looked up to catch the attention of Sophie. It was getting late and most of the customers had left. I had lost all track of time.
I saw Sophie walking toward me, a coffee carafe in her hands. One more cup before I leave, I said to myself.
“Refill?” Sophie asked.
“Yep, one for the road.”
She laughed and poured.
I sat back. As Sophie sat my cup down, her hand trembled. Coffee spilled over the rim and splattered on the table.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as I stared at her face. Her eyes transfixed on the newspaper article, Lacey’s photo in the center. “Please, let me take the cup,” I said, carefully tugging it from her hand.
Her face pale; she looked at the paper again and then at me. I pulled out the chair next to me and sat her down.
I gathered the newspaper articles, to put them away in the folder. “It’s a research project I’m doing for my class.”
Her hands stopped me. She pried my fingers off and picked up the article.
I sat while she read it slowly. “Lacey Walken,” she whispered over and over before she laid it back down on the table.
I raised my eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.
She stared at the photo again.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, that’s Lacey Walken,” I said, tapping my finger under the caption as if she couldn’t read.
She nodded. Wordlessly, she reached for the delicate chain around her neck and pulled out a gold necklace tucked inside her dress.
Chapter 48
“WHAT?” I STUTTERED.
“My mother gave it to me,” said Sophie. She opened the locket, showing me the pictures inside.
“Your mother is … Lacey Walken?” I gasped in shock, repeating it slowly, not trusting the sound of my own voice or the words. I must have stared incredulously.
Lacey’s gold necklace. Sophie had it.
“Yes, she’s my mother, but she didn’t go by Lacey Walken. She had changed it.”
I tried again. “Your mother, she’s alive?”
“No, she died,” Sophie said. Her voice broke.
“When?” I whispered.
“Two months ago. I stayed to make the funeral arrangements and to take care of things. Then I left.”
“Your mother, how did she …?”
“She fell ill and passed.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “Why did you stare at her picture?”
“Her picture.” Sophie’s voice trailed, became flat and distant. “The mother I knew looked nothing like the photo in the newspaper. I had to be sure. The tiny photo in the locket didn’t do her justice, but it was all I had of her.”
I winced, putting my hands to my cheeks. The men that did this to her, they had messed up her face, ruined her beauty. I reached out to touch Sophie’s hand, feeling the softness of youthful skin. I scrutinized her face. She didn’t look like her mother, and her hair color was different. She had dark tresses and dark brown eyes. But when I looked closely, I could see she had her mother’s exquisite nose and lips. Her chin trembled and her lips quivered, a fresh wound cutting into her mourning.
I pressed her gently. “What did she tell you?”
“My mother said to never, ever let go of this locket. It was the only personal item she left to me.”
I gulped.
She paused. “And my mother said, after she died, to go back to Carlton—to Murder Creek.”
I rubbed my eyes and blinked, taking all this in. I pushed the folder with her mother’s information toward her.
Her eyes were moist, but she held her head high. I sensed an inner strength and resilience in this young girl. I asked to see the locket again.
She pulled it out and popped it open.
&nbs
p; I squinted at the photo of the young man, the one facing a young Lacey.
“Do you know this man?” Sophie asked, her lips slightly parted.
I peered closely. It was a tiny photo, and an old one. I stared at the young man, picturing how he might have aged and what he’d look like today. My eyes widened as realization hit me. I stood up, grabbing my phone.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Sophie, and I rushed out.
Chapter 49
I FINISHED THE brief conversation, asking him to meet me at the diner, saying I’d explain everything when he got here. I had a few minutes and went back to wait.
Meanwhile, Sophie had cleared the table. I didn’t have time to explain to her, but from her excited glances my way, I knew she had sensed something was happening. She rushed to finish up with her last customer.
When the door opened, he marched straight toward me. I motioned for him to sit, facing me. His back was to the room.
“I’m so glad you came,” I gushed, barely able to contain my excitement.
He gave a throaty laugh. “What’s this surprise you mentioned?”
I held up my finger. “Have patience. You’ll soon see.” I had a view of the room behind him. Sophie was coming toward us, a glass of ice water in one hand.
Sophie sat the water in front of him.
I gestured for her to sit down in the chair beside him.
I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Sophie, please show him your gold locket.”
She pulled out the chain, fumbling at the catch on the locket.
He reached out. “May I try?”
She leaned forward, stretching the chain and holding the locket in her open hand. As she turned to face him, I watched his reaction.
He frowned, struggling with the clasp, his large hands a contrast to the delicate chain and the small locket.
I wriggled in my seat. I couldn’t wait for him to pop it open.
When he finally got it opened, he stared at the photos inside. “Where did you get this?” he said hoarsely. His face ashen, he looked up at Sophie and then turned toward me.
I nudged Sophie. “Meet your dad, Jeremy.”
She gave me a bewildered look, eyes questioning. “My dad … I have a father?”
I turned to Jeremy. “This is your daughter, Sophie.”
“Sophie?” said Jeremy in a shaky voice that turned husky. He had the look of someone shell shocked. “I had no idea. This locket … I had given it to Lacey Walken.”
“She was my mother,” whispered Sophie with a shy smile. “So this is why my mother sent me to Carlton.”
“Was?” said Jeremy, a wail escaping from his lips.
I excused myself for a few minutes to give them some privacy, heading toward the women’s washroom to dry my own tears.
They were catching up when I returned.
“Mom had kept this secret from me all these years until she was dying, when she gave me this locket. She told me the photos are of her and my dad.” Sophie said, rushing her words.
“Why did she keep it a secret?” said Jeremy.
“Mom said it wasn’t safe for her to go home to Carlton.”
“Did she say why?”
I explained, filling in the parts I knew about Jeremy’s father and Lacey’s mother. The words tumbled out as I talked about the betrayal and what happened that night at Murder Creek.
Jeremy was clenching his jaw hard. His face turned red, livid with rage. He was furious. Both his father and brother had kept this from him. When I got to the part about Lacey and what they did to her face, he cried out; bawling uncontrollably and sobbing hysterically, his pain and anguish etched on every line of his face.
Sophie was the one to calm him, touching his arm, soothing him.
“You were in love with her,” I said softly.
“After she moved out, I helped her. But I didn’t tell my father everything. We got to know each other. We fell deeply in love. Lacey mentioned at one time she wasn’t sure who to trust.”
“Your brother, wasn’t he in love with her too?” I had to ask.
“They were friends in school and close, but she wasn’t in love with Jim. She said they never took the next step. He wanted to, but she held back.” He added, growling, “My brother betrayed her.”
“But she was in love with you?”
“Yes. We had our photos taken. I had given Lacey the gold locket.” He paused. “I told you I talked to Lacey that day before she went missing,” said Jeremy. “She …”
I waited, holding my breath.
“We became lovers that morning, for the first time. The only time.”
Epilogue
I GAVE MARK Sewell my notes. He wrote the story and gave me credit on the byline. The local newspaper published it with the photos of Sophie and her dad front center. The national papers picked it up, and it quickly went global. As for Clint Madden, he got his photo in the newspapers again, much to his delight. Only this time, it was for his donation of five hundred dollars to a women’s crime victim fund.
James Madison confessed to giving the anonymous hush money to Clint and fingered Sheriff Ray Moore for the brutal attack on Lacey that disfigured her. I found out later Moore was the anonymous caller who had threatened me. And James Madison? Well, he got what was coming to him, as did the sheriff.
I finished writing my term paper and turned it in to Professor Reynolds. He called me back a few days later. He was a man of few words. But on that day, he praised me. Three little words. To this day, when life throws me a curve ball, I always remember what he said. “You did good.”
Oh, and in case anyone is wondering, I got an A-plus on my report.
I no longer have nightmares about Murder Creek. I still go there to visit occasionally. Drawn to the big tree with its heavy limbs bowing over the creek, I could almost swear there was fresh moisture on the bark, like it had been crying. But it was different now … the tears of relief and peace. And where the drops fell and joined the flowing waters of the creek, the muddied waters now run clear.
I said a prayer for those murdered men. That day on the bridge their tormented souls cried out. Without their deaths, there would be no sign. Without Murder Creek, Lacey would have remained a cold case. As I looked out over the slow-moving peaceful waters, I thanked these men in a silent prayer. They can rest in peace now. I owed it to them for Lacey: for getting her what she deserved to have—truth and justice.
