by Gayle Hayes
"I'm real sorry about Mr. Lowe, Emma," he said.
"Thank you. He was a special person. I'll miss him a lot," Emma said.
"I won't bother you if it's a bad time, but I wondered if you might know why Ethan Taggard was in Mr. Lowe's office when he died," Deputy Knudsen asked.
"I didn't know he was. I don't think I know an Ethan Taggard. How do you know he was here?" Emma asked.
"Ethan called 9-1-1 to report Mr. Lowe was unconscious, and he thought he might be dead," the deputy said.
"Maybe he's a client," Emma said.
"I doubt that. Ethan's only eleven years old," the deputy said.
"Maybe he was selling something, you know, like Boy Scout cookies, or something." Emma remembered the scrimshaw box and was about to mention it to the deputy but found she did not know how to refer to Harold.
"Deputy Knudsen, after Mr. Lowe passed away, I found out I was his daughter."
"Wow. That's too bad. Did he know you were his daughter?"
"I found a note in his pocket from my mother. I'm not sure if he read it. Anyway, the scrimshaw has mysteriously shown up again. I'm wondering if there's some connection to Ethan Taggard," Emma said.
"That's why I'm here. We have a statement from one of his friends who broke into Billy's café. The two of them were ordered to break into Billy's and Mr. Lowe's office as part of their initiation into a local gang. If there was no reason for Ethan to be here, I'll talk to his parents about the scrimshaw. I wonder if your father found out Ethan took it or if Ethan had a change of heart and returned it," Deputy Knudsen said.
"As long as he brought it back, and especially since Ethan called 9-1-1 for my father, I would rather you didn't charge him if it comes to that," Emma said.
"I'll need to take the scrimshaw with me to check it for fingerprints. I'll let you know what I find out when I talk to Ethan and his parents. If there's anything I can do to help you out here, Emma, let me know. Are you staying long?"
"For the rest of the week. Then I'll need to go back to my job in Denver. I'm hoping I can get my father's affairs in order for the most part before then. Thank you for offering to help," Emma said.
Emma watched Deputy Knudsen walk to his vehicle and back out of the parking spot in front of Harold's office. She had not remembered how intense his blue eyes were. He was quite good looking, well spoken, and kind. She also had not remembered he was so much taller than she was. It would be nice to have her own friend in Buffalo Jump, especially someone who could help her with the heavy lifting. A slight smile formed at the corners of her mouth.
After Deputy Knudsen drove away, Emma began sorting the pile of paper and envelopes on top of her father's desk. She would need a clean work space and wanted to be sure there was nothing urgent in the stack of paper. She set the bills aside in one place, and alphabetized the letters and legal documents by client name. Then she pulled the client files and put the latest documents on top of each one. She kept two files for follow-up work and placed them on top of her father's inbox.
Emma tried the combination to her father's safe twice before it opened. He had organized it with boxes marked for Clients, Personal, and Pending. Several small manila envelopes with names on the front were in the box marked Clients. Emma opened one and found keys, jewelry, and photos. A note said her father was waiting for the family of the deceased to claim the items. The Pending envelope contained various legal documents awaiting additional signatures and/or filing with the court. Emma was most interested in the box marked Personal.
Inside the Personal box Emma found a life insurance policy and an envelope marked LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF HAROLD B. LOWE. Stapled to the outside of the will was a statement from her father. He wanted to be cremated with his ashes buried in the Buffalo Jump Cemetery next to his mother, Eloise Babineaux Lowe. He did not care about a wake, but he wanted a Mass. Carol and Phyllis knew what he liked and disliked, so he was confident they would use good judgment. Now that she knew her father's wishes regarding a funeral, Emma set the will back in the safe to read later.
Also inside the Personal box was a large manila envelope marked FRANCES. Inside, Emma found a beige envelope with COPY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF FRANCES C. FAVAGER typed across the front. Emma read the will. Emma already had the scrimshaw. Her father left a note saying Frances' ashes were scattered over the Chinese Wall via helicopter provided by a personal friend at no charge to the estate. Emma read the Memorandum Stipulating the Disposal of Assets. Frances had listed all of her assets along with the name of the investment firm handling them. At the time Frances compiled the list, the assets were valued at nearly half a million dollars. Emma found Frances' comments regarding Phyllis, Carole, and her father inside the manila envelope along with Emma's essays.
Emma left her father's will inside the safe but on top of the Personal box. She would wait until after his funeral to file a petition to probate the will with the court. Then she removed the zipped deposit bag for the Sun River Savings and Loan. She added two checks to the deposit slip her father started. These were payments received from clients and were in the unopened mail. She endorsed the back of each check with the stamp in her father's top desk drawer, sealed the deposit envelope, and placed the zipped bag in the safe. Then she closed the door and spun the combination lock clockwise.
The Sun River Savings and Loan was at the opposite end of Main Street. Emma locked the office and enjoyed the walk to the bank. A slight breeze rustled the maple leaves on trees planted at the front of the bank. Emma introduced herself as Harold Lowe's daughter. The teller said she was sorry to hear about his death and added he would be greatly missed.
Emma realized she was hungry, but she did not want to eat at Billy's. There were too many memories of eating there with her father. Instead, she chose to sit at one of the umbrella tables at the Buffalo Bistro. She ordered an iced tea and a spinach quiche and enjoyed watching sparrows forage for crumbs underneath the tables.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Emma was about half a block from her father's office when she saw two people getting into an SUV that was parked in front of it. She jogged the rest of the way and waved at the driver. He had backed out of the parking spot, saw Emma, lowered his window, and turned off his engine. He rested his left elbow on the bottom of the window opening.
"Hello. Were you looking for Mr. Lowe?" Emma asked, trying to catch her breath.
"Yes. Do you know when he'll be back?"
"Mr. Lowe passed away yesterday evening. I'm his daughter. Can I help you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. We've been preoccupied with funeral arrangements ourselves. Was it an accident?"
"He had a heart attack. Are you clients of his?" Emma asked.
"Sorry, I'm Rick Alexander. This is my wife, Lisa."
"Oh, sure. I thought you looked familiar. You're the desk clerk at Phyllis' inn," Emma said.
"We were going to ask Mr. Lowe if he'd take our case against Coach Anthony. Our son, Ryan, was hurt during a game last Saturday. He died," Rick said.
"I'd like to help you, but I have a job in Denver. I'll be going back at the end of the week. Is there another attorney in Buffalo Jump?" Emma asked.
"No. Mr. Lowe was it. He really cared about everyone here. We could probably find someone in Great Falls, but we really wanted your father," Rick said.
"I'm sorry about Ryan. It must've been a terrible shock," Emma said.
"It was. And we want to be sure it doesn't happen to anyone else. Ryan shouldn't have been playing last Saturday. Coach should've recognized something was wrong," Rick said.
"Was he hurt during practice?" Emma asked.
"We're still getting information. Our first priority is the funeral. We wanted to be sure Mr. Lowe would put us on his calendar," Rick said.
"I wish you luck finding someone. I could recommend attorneys in Denver, but I'm not much help to you here," Emma said.
"Nice meeting you, Emma. Will there be a funeral for your dad?" Rick asked. He started the engine on the
SUV.
"Wednesday morning at the church here. Nice meeting you, Rick," Emma said.
Emma stepped aside so Rick Alexander could pull ahead. After they drove off, Emma unlocked her father's office and went inside. While talking to the Alexanders, Emma remembered she had not found her father's calendar. After checking the top of his desk, she found the calendar tucked between two legal volumes between bookends. She opened it, held about half the calendar against her left thumb, and fanned the pages until she came to the current week. Then she noticed her father marked each day with a diagonal red line to show he would be out of the office. Across the top of the page he wrote: Emma Visiting This Week--No Appointments!
As she flipped the page with her index finger to check for future appointments, Emma heard a door slam and looked up to see a man coming down the sidewalk to her father's office. He was wearing a maroon jacket with a buffalo and Go Bisons on it. She got up from the desk to meet him at the door.
"Hello. I'm Emma Favager, Mr. Lowe's daughter. Can I help you?" she asked.
"Rod Anthony. I coach at the local high school. Will Harold be back soon?"
"My father passed away late yesterday."
"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. Was it an accident?" Anthony asked.
"A heart attack. Can I help you?" Emma asked.
"Not unless you're a lawyer." Anthony laughed as if it was out of the question.
"Well, I am, but I won't be staying on after this week. I work in Denver," Emma said.
"Oh." Rod Anthony looked embarrassed. He took off his ball cap and pushed the fingers of his right hand through his hair. "Geez. I assumed Harold would be here. I don't know anyone in Great Falls. I don't suppose you heard. One of my players died last Saturday. His parents were all over me after the game. I think I'll be needing a lawyer," Anthony said.
"Do they have some reason to be angry with you?" Emma asked.
"They think I forced Ryan to play. They heard he was acting kind of strange before the game. They think I knew he was sick and made him play anyway," Anthony said.
"How was he acting?" Emma asked.
Anthony hesitated. "Oh, kind of distracted, I guess. Not paying attention. He was more clumsy than usual. I figured he'd been up too late the night before. It's not unusual for teenagers to get easily distracted, you know?" Anthony said.
"Was it unusual for him?" Emma asked.
"Well, yes, it was. But like I said, I figured he had a late night. I was irritated with him," Anthony said.
"Did Ryan get hurt during practice last week?" Emma asked.
"No. He told me he had a bad headache during practice Thursday, so I took it easy on him. He could make the plays in his sleep, so he didn't really need to practice." Anthony had tears in his eyes and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. "I feel terrible about this. I loved that kid like my own. I never would've hurt him. Now, I may be sued on top of it. I could lose my job. I feel like my whole life is crashing around me," Anthony said.
"I hope you find someone in Great Falls who can advise you. I'm very sorry for you and Ryan's parents. This kind of thing can divide a small town like Buffalo Jump. I hope you and his parents can find an equitable resolution," Emma said.
"Thank you, Miss…"
"Emma. Nice to have met you." Emma said. She extended her hand and shook his.
"Are you having a funeral for your father?"
"Wednesday morning at the church. Around ten, I think," she said.
"Thanks, Emma. I'll be there. Harold was a really great guy," Anthony said.
"I know. I'm sorry I didn't have more time with him," Emma said.
Once Coach Anthony left, Emma spent the afternoon checking her father's calendar and making calls to people whose name and number were written in it. She advised his clients she would be around until the weekend to make copies of anything they might need from their files. She suggested they begin looking for other representation. Fortunately, her father scheduled only one trial for the following month.
The afternoon went by quickly. Emma was satisfied with all she accomplished. She locked the office after flipping the sign on the door to CLOSED and walked to the nearby Buffalo Jump Mercantile for a few items she had forgotten. Emma was doing her best to resist buying a candy bar. She had a weakness for anything chocolate. She could use some comfort food. She chose a bar of dark chocolate. She'd heard it was supposed to be better for one's health than milk chocolate. She took a step backwards and almost tripped over a boy who was stocking a shelf with chips, pretzels, and nuts.
"Oops, I'm sorry. My fault," Emma said.
"That's okay."
He stood up to get more chips off his cart, and Emma saw that he was several inches taller than she was. Emma sensed something familiar about him. It reminded her of the photo of Ryan Alexander the previous Saturday. Emma knew she had seen the boy before.
"I'm sorry, have we met?" Emma asked.
"I don't think so. Maybe you've seen me in here," he said.
"I haven't shopped in here before," Emma said. She was still trying to place him.
"Well, it's a pretty small town. After a while everyone knows everyone else," he said.
"I'm sure. Well, I'll remember you the next time I see you…Sean," Emma said, while checking his nametag.
"Yes, Ma'am. Have a nice day," Sean said.
Emma stopped by the registration desk at the inn to check for messages and found Phyllis had invited her for dinner that evening on the deck. Emma wrote that she would look forward to dinner and handed the message to the clerk. Then she went to her room to shower and change. She felt as if she was returning home at the end of a long work day. Emma dressed in lime green capris with a sheer sleeveless ivory blouse. After blow drying her hair, she applied lip gloss, grabbed her handbag, and headed for the deck.
When she reached the lobby, Emma saw Phyllis and Carole chatting near the registration desk. They wrapped her up in their arms for a welcoming hug. Emma was touched. Her eyes were moist with tears. The two friends of her father had become her extended family. She had become used to not having parents. Now, she needed to get used to losing her real parents. She knew she had not yet wrapped her mind around it. There was too much to do now. Life had taught her that the most painful circumstances become bearable over time.
"We thought it might be a good idea to go by Babe's house tonight and make sure everything's all right. What do you think?" Phyllis asked.
"Sounds great. I've been preoccupied with the office, so I didn't think about his house. Did you want to go after dinner?" Emma asked.
"Oh, yes. I'm starved. How about you?" Carole asked.
"Unfortunately, I can always eat," Emma laughed.
"And you should. You certainly aren't overweight," Carole said.
"I'm used to working out at the gym. All I've done is sleep and eat since I got here. I think I'll run in the morning," Emma said.
Phyllis led the way to the deck. Only one table was occupied with a couple who appeared to be newlyweds. They were clearly more interested in each other than in the food. Emma could not even remember the last time she felt that way about anyone.
After dinner, Phyllis drove to Harold's house. Emma opened the front door with her father's key. The door squeaked a little. The light outside was fading, and the living room was cast in somber shadow. There was something very lonesome about entering her father's house without him. She was there only once on the previous Saturday evening, but the memory was vivid.
Harold furnished his home some fifty years earlier. Then, he moved from a studio apartment in Helena, the state capital. He was a clerk at the Montana Supreme Court since graduating from the law school at the University of Montana in 1960. He passed the bar on the first try, and juggled the clerkship with his duties campaigning for John F. Kennedy.
The furniture had never been replaced with the exception of Harold's bed. For the most part, he worked long days in Buffalo Jump and rarely sat on his living room furniture. He had replaced the appliances onc
e in fifty years, so the entire kitchen was done in almond and somewhat bland.
A gas fireplace in the living room was flanked with a loveseat and two wing chairs on either side of an oak coffee table. The loveseat was leather and wine colored, and the chairs were a matching fabric with a sedate print. The dining room was shelved with books on three walls with a newer plasma television and stand on the fourth wall. In the middle of the room was a recliner next to an occasional table. The floor was hardwood with an oval area rug in blues and reds. This was Harold's library and theater. Harold's bedroom was small. A double bed with a brass headboard and an oak night table and one dresser both with a dark stain were the only furnishings. The closet was crammed with clothes Harold should have parted with thirty years ago. Emma saw this area as presenting little challenge. The local thrift shop would be glad to get the clothes even though they were out of style. Harold's one bathroom was small, and the fixtures were outdated turquoise. The kitchen was colorless but uncluttered. Harold's freezer was filled with microwave meals. In the center of the kitchen was a small drop leaf table in oak with two matching chairs.
When Emma commented on the fact the home was very clean for a bachelor's quarters, Phyllis said Harold paid a cleaning lady to come in once a week. Although he fretted about the cost of a clean home, Harold did not want to clean it himself and enjoyed a tidy home at the end of a stressful day.
Harold preferred to unwind by working in his garden. The kitchen door opened to a small backyard secluded with a fence six feet high. Virginia Creeper covered the fence, which was a weathered gray but still functional. A hammock stretched between two elms. Harold had installed automatic sprinklers because he found the duty to be drudgery. He enjoyed growing flowers and presenting his friends with bouquets of roses, daffodils, columbine, phlox, daisies, and iris. Alongside the flowers, Harold planted tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, romaine, sweet onions, snow peas, green beans and scallions. He had no patience with fruit trees, but he cultivated two chokecherry bushes and made syrup each fall from his mother's recipe. The sweet scent of chokecherry blossoms belied the tartness of the fruit and saturated the air. The only structure in the garden was a small potting shed with a work bench, miscellaneous pots, tools, fertilizer, seeds, wheelbarrow, and other garden implements. Ponderosa pine formed a small grove next to the shed and along a path leading over a footbridge to the opposite bank of Buffalo Creek, which meandered through the property. Chickadees, American goldfinches, quail, robins, flickers and downy woodpeckers jockeyed for position on various feeders and signaled to each other about the intruders in Harold's garden. A neighbor's peacock joined in with a raucous squawk of its own.
