by Brynn Bonner
Afraid of being seen, but not afraid of being struck by lightning, I thought, resisting the urge to do a face palm.
“What exactly did you hear?” I asked Emma.
“Chelsea was saying it’d ‘kill her if she found out’—that I remember really clear. Those were her exact words, but the rest is sort of muddled. Something like that she didn’t care what he wanted, that he gave up his right to have a say a long time ago, after he did what he did. I thought maybe she was talking about her father, that maybe he didn’t approve of her being with Lincoln or something like that.
“Then Lincoln said something about how the truth has to come out and that it had been too many years and that some things shouldn’t stay hidden. But then Chelsea started sobbing and really yelling. She said she couldn’t do that to her, or to any of them—whoever her or them is and whatever it was she couldn’t do,” Emma said with a shrug. “Then she told him she’d never forgive him if he told anybody. Not until she had time to think things over and decide what was right. What do you think they could’ve been fighting about?”
“I have no idea, Emma,” I said, though several possibilities were flitting through my mind. “Tell me what you did after that.”
“Chelsea tried to leave but Lincoln grabbed her arm. She was really mad. They sort of tussled. Not fighting,” she said, as if fearing she’d said too much. “I mean there was no hitting or anything. He was just trying to keep her there, but it had started to rain and she pushed him away and ran back toward the hotel. He shouted but she wouldn’t come back.”
“Then what happened?” I prompted.
“He pulled out his cell phone. He was pacing back and forth and even though the rain was coming down hard by then, he didn’t seem to notice. I couldn’t hear anything he said, but I could tell he was talking into the phone.”
I tried to remember if they’d recovered Lincoln’s cell phone. At the very least they’d have gotten his phone records by now. Denny was nothing if not thorough.
“You didn’t hear anything to let you know who he was talking with?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Like I said, it was raining and there were these rumbles of thunder and the wind picked up and it was blowing the trees around until they bent over. I was getting scared and wanted to get out of there, but I still didn’t want Lincoln to see me. I was afraid he’d think I’d been spying on them, which I guess I was, but I hadn’t meant to. Anyway, I went through the woods, but I got turned around and somehow ended up down by the lake. There were people camping down there, like in somebody’s backyard. A man was scrambling to take down a tent in the wind and rain and someone else was inside a car. Course, I didn’t know then it was my cousin J.D. and I didn’t even know he had a wife. Nobody did. Don’t you think she’s beautiful?” she asked, and I could see that she was relieved to have gotten the bit about Chelsea and Lincoln’s argument behind her.
I agreed that Gabriela was lovely. “I think your aunt Lenora was really surprised at the news they were married.”
“You can say that again,” she said, and I got the first fleeting real smile of the conversation. “But happy, too. She was so annoyed when he told her they’d camped out that night. But J.D. said even though he knew Aunt Lenora would’ve been happy to pay for a room in the hotel for them, they chose to camp. Which I totally get. I’d gladly sleep in a tent if it meant I could just get away from everybody for a little while. Anyhow, I didn’t know it was them, so I just watched for a minute as he struggled to get everything back in the car. He was swearing, big-time,” Emma said with a giggle. “Aunt Lenora would’ve been shocked. I guess the tent had a rip in it and they’d gotten soaked. Eventually I figured out where I was and followed the lights back to the hotel. It was really storming by then. I was drenched and I panicked when I got to the door ’cause I thought I’d lost my key card and wouldn’t be able to get back in. I knew if I had to call Mom she’d flip out. And I didn’t dare call Chelsea, not with the mood she was in. But I found the card and went up and sneaked into the room. I changed out of my wet things and went to bed with nobody the wiser.”
“Emma, did it not occur to you that it’s not such a good idea to wander around in the dark outside a hotel? Not to mention the danger of being out in the open in bad weather.”
She shrugged. “It was dumb,” she said. “But sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating and other times I feel like nobody would miss me if I got abducted by aliens or something. I won’t do it again. The thing is, I know Chelsea didn’t hurt Lincoln or anything. She’d never do anything like that to anybody, and especially not Lincoln. She was in love with him. Like crazy in love.”
“Did she tell you that?” I asked.
Emma nodded. “I saw them kissing once. She swore me to secrecy, but I guess it doesn’t matter now. She was afraid Dinah Leigh would be upset about them getting together. I think Dinah Leigh was hoping Chelsea would end up as her daughter-in-law someday.”
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
Emma shrugged again. “I hear stuff. I’m like furniture; people hardly notice I’m in the room.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Emma,” I said. “But it may feel like it just now. We all tend to take one another for granted at times.”
“Yeah,” she said gloomily. “Don’t I know it! But anyway, I don’t want to get Chelsea in trouble. Right now she’s like sick and half-crazy she’s so upset. I don’t want to make her even sadder by clueing in the cops so they’ll ask her a bunch of stupid questions.”
“I know,” I said, and this time it was my turn to sigh. “But I think you’re going to have to talk to Detective Carlson, Emma. He needs to know what you saw and heard. You can let him decide if it’s important to ask Chelsea about it, and if it is, he’ll be kind and fair. I know him and I totally trust him.”
“Will she have to know it was me who told?” Emma asked, her blue eyes going dark.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But if that happens I’m sure Chelsea will understand. She won’t blame you.”
“Will my mom have to find out?” she asked.
“I don’t know about that either,” I said. “But you said it yourself, this is a really serious thing. I know you want to do anything you can to help find who killed Lincoln, right?”
“Yes,” she said, and I saw her lip tremble. “Even if nobody really cares what I think, I’m sad he’s dead, too. He was smart and he could be really, really funny when it was just the two of us. He did all these funny accents and could mimic people like spot-on. He could do Grandpa perfectly. He totally fooled me a couple of times on the phone. But it wasn’t like he was mocking him or anything. He loved Grandpa.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked the time, surprised to find we’d been here for more than an hour. “Is your mother going to be wondering what’s keeping you?” I asked.
“No,” Emma said. “I’ve got my phone on. If she gets worried she calls or texts to check on me. They’re all working on arrangements for the funeral. Lincoln’s dad is coming this afternoon.”
“Would you like me to call Detective Carlson and ask him if he can stop by and talk with you now? Get it over with?” I asked, fearful that what little Emma remembered might be lost if Denny didn’t talk to her soon.
“I guess,” Emma said with a groan of resignation. She stared off into the mid-distance as I punched in Denny’s number. She was muttering and I leaned in close to hear what she was saying. “Chelsea’s gonna hate me. She’s gonna hate me.”
six
I CRINGED WHEN I SAW the detectives’ sedan pull up with Jennifer at the wheel. Denny had said one of them would be by shortly and I’d hoped it’d be him.
Though things had been a lot better lately, there was a time when Jennifer had disliked Esme and me intensely. But after we’d helped her father by identifying the occupant of an ancient casket found buried on his land, things had been a lot better between us. She confessed that she’d been jealous of our relationship
with Denny and his habit of discussing his cases with us. Since our air-clearing she’d learned to trust us—somewhat—and vice versa, but I wasn’t sure she was best suited for questioning Emma. She’s a stickler for protocol and she’s not what you’d call touchy-feely.
Emma asked if I could stay and Jennifer allowed it. I felt all my muscles starting to bunch in anticipation of this talk going badly, but Jennifer surprised me by showing a deft and empathetic touch that elicited more from Emma than even I’d been able to get from her. She’d remembered hearing the woman in the car—whom we now knew was Gabriela—shouting to J.D., “Just let it go, he didn’t mean anything by it,” as he was wrestling with the leaky tent.
“She just said it like they were kidding around. And she was laughing. It got my attention because she has that cool accent. It wasn’t like they were arguing or mad or anything—not like Chelsea and Lincoln.” Suddenly she put her arm on the table and plopped her head down on it. “Chelsea’s never going to speak to me again.”
“Don’t know why she wouldn’t,” Jennifer said, her tone breezy. “She told us they had a fight that night.”
“She did?” Emma asked, sitting up and brushing her hair back.
“Yep,” Jennifer said, flipping her notebook shut. “But even if she hadn’t, you’d still be doing the right thing by telling us what you saw. You never know what little thing might turn out to be important. But do me a favor, Emma, don’t go wandering around the grounds alone out there anymore, okay?”
“I won’t,” she said and plucked her bag from the seat next to her. Her mood had lightened so much I half expected her to float from the chair. “I’d better get back,” she said. “I may be needed for important things like licking envelopes for the thank-you notes. Thanks”—she turned to Jennifer and dipped an actual curtsy—“both of you. I feel much better. Except sad still, about Lincoln. He was like the brother I never had.”
“But you do have a brother,” I said, which got me a smirk.
“I was being sardonic,” she said. “You know, like irony. Yeah, I’ve got Damon, but honestly it’s more like having two fathers. He doesn’t get me at all. And anyhow, he’s such a hypocrite. He’s pretending to be all torn up about what happened to Lincoln, but he didn’t even like him.”
“He didn’t?” Jennifer asked. “Huh, I thought just about everybody liked him.”
Again I had to admire Jennifer’s technique with the girl. She sounded offhand while offering up something to refute, a temptation many teens cannot resist.
“Damon definitely did not,” Emma said, lifting the strap of her crossover bag over her head. “He was jealous of Lincoln—I mean like jealous down to the bone. He’d wanted to be the one to write Grandpa’s book, but Grandpa said it wouldn’t look right for it to be a relative. And besides, he wanted Damon to spend the year studying for the bar exam.”
“Well, it hardly seems like any of that was Lincoln’s fault, now does it?” Jennifer said.
“Not at all,” Emma said. “But that didn’t matter to Damon. The thing is, Grandpa thought Lincoln was smarter than Damon. Everybody could see that. Damon knows the law, but Lincoln knew how to be with people and all that policy stuff, too. Grandpa eats that up with a spoon. If I learn enough about an issue to talk with him without sounding like a total airhead, he nearly busts his buttons he’s so proud of me. That’s what he always says, but who knows what it means. I don’t even know how or why you’d bust a button. That’s just the way Grandpa talks.
“But anyhow, Damon is my brother and I love him, so I shouldn’t be talking trash about him even if he is being a hypocrite.” She gave a little wave before trotting off toward the parking lot.
“Interesting,” Jennifer mused, once she was out of earshot.
“May not mean anything,” I said.
“May not,” Jennifer said, still staring after Emma. “But still interesting. I wonder just how deep that animus ran.”
I was wondering how far our détente had come and decided to test it. “Did Chelsea really tell you about the argument?” I asked.
“Yep,” Jennifer answered. “First thing. She was distraught and feeling guilty and morose about her last encounter with Lincoln being a fight. She made it sound more civilized than the girl described. But Emma doesn’t need to know that. She feels guilty enough about ratting on a friend.”
“Did Chelsea tell you what they were arguing about?”
Jennifer nodded. “Same rules as with Denny, right? Confidential?”
“Yes,” I said, though I thought by now that should be understood.
“She says Lincoln wanted to announce their engagement and she wasn’t ready. He was eager to get on with marriage plans, but she couldn’t see her way clear to leaving Ms. Dodd just yet.”
I frowned and thought back over what Emma had told me. It jibed, for the most part. Dinah Leigh probably would be heartbroken if Chelsea left. She seemed dependent on her professionally and fond of her personally.
“Seems like she’s trapped for the foreseeable future if that’s the way she feels,” I mused.
“Yep,” Jennifer said, standing and adjusting her jacket to hide her holster. “I need to go. Thanks for the heads-up with the girl,” she said and gave me a smile—a phenomenon I was still getting used to.
* * *
“How’d it go?” Esme asked. She was dressed for church, which was a notch up from her everyday chic, and I glanced at my watch. She’d have to leave soon or she’d be late. She was straightening and arranging a series of sticky notes on a whiteboard, her chosen method for organizing tidbits of information.
“It went okay,” I said, “thanks to Jennifer.”
“Do tell,” Esme said with only the slightest whiff of rancor. Although we’d established a truce, Esme still wasn’t ready to fully embrace Jennifer. “What got her involved?”
I told her about the conversation and about how Jennifer had handled Emma and put an end to the girl’s guilt trip.
“Well, good on her,” Esme said. “I suppose she didn’t have to share that with Emma, and it must have taken a load off the girl’s shoulders. But I’m so sorry to hear that about Chelsea. I know just how she’s feeling. My last conversation with Roland was a brutal argument. I said some harsh things. They were all true, but nonetheless over all these years I’ve wished to heaven I could call them back.”
I knew Esme didn’t like to talk about her husband or the brief, troubled marriage that had left her a young widow, so I let this go by without comment.
“What have you been up to?” I asked, bending to squint at the whiteboard.
“Spinnin’ my wheels,” she said. “Called Marydale’s cousin this morning. Her daddy came into the sheriff’s office much later than our time period and she didn’t know much about the fire except what she’s read and heard over the years. But you know how one thing leads to another.”
“Story of our lives. Please tell me that one led somewhere,” I said.
“Indeed it did. The cousin put me in touch with the granddaughter of James Ogdon, who was the Quinn County sheriff in nineteen forty-seven, the year of the fire. And she would very much like to talk with us about that old case. She still lives in Quinn County, but as it happens, she’ll be in Durham tomorrow for a doctor’s appointment. We’re having lunch. Want to come along?”
From the look on Esme’s face, I knew there was more than she was letting on. “You know I would,” I answered. “What does she know?”
“Well, I told you something was niggling at me—”
“You’ve heard from someone?” I cut her off.
“No,” Esme said, “not that kind of niggling, just a hunch there’s something off with this case. I know what Senator Stan and Lenora both said and I know they’re convinced beyond a doubt that their brother died in that fire, but I’m beginning to see why the parents weren’t ready to accept the findings. This isn’t just a bunch of crackpots spouting off grassy knoll theories. This was either such a badly bungled case
it was worthy of the Keystone Cops, or something else was going on. The rulings were changed and changed back again and there are a number of conflicts in the official reports. The sheriff’s granddaughter, Nancy Collier, told me a few things that are just plain weird.”
“So you’re saying you think the baby was kidnapped?” I asked.
“No, no, I’m not saying that,” Esme said firmly. “Not at all. I think the baby probably died in the fire just as they ruled. But I can see why the parents latched onto hope and wouldn’t let go. I might have done the same in their situation. It’s a mess. And we’ve landed right in the middle of it.”
“Have you heard anything new about Lincoln’s case?”
“I talked to Denny earlier,” she said, “but there are no new developments. He’s gonna stop by for lunch after church. And Lenora called—poor woman is so torn up. She’s worried sick about what this is doing to the senator. Apparently they hope to release Lincoln’s body tomorrow. His father is coming in later today to escort the body back to Quinn County for the funeral. She asked if we could stop by later to pick up the testimonials and telegrams that came in on Saturday to add to the scrapbooks, but you can tell her heart’s not in it anymore. I told her one of us would be by this afternoon.”
