The Shadows We Hide

by Allen Eskens

  “Up until the second Clinton term, when I retired.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said.

  “It sounds more impressive than it was.” He moved off the subject. “So tell me again― your name is Joe Talbert?”

  I settled in and told Bob the story of my birth, at least what little I knew. Bob was a patient listener, keeping his eyes on me for most of the story, glancing away only when he seemed in need of a mental picture—like when I told him about Toke punching my mom.

  “You never met Toke?” he said after I had finished.

  “Never.”

  “And you never met Jeannie?”

  “No.”

  He pointed behind me to a picture on the wall of his office; I recognized Jeannie. Bob stood next to her, and on the other side of Jeannie, a woman, older with silver hair and a genuine smile, had her arm around Jeannie.

  “That’s her with me and my wife. Jeannie worked for me as my…well, she was my right arm, for lack of a better term. It broke my heart what happened to her.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “You know about Angel?”

  “I went to visit her this morning,” I said.

  “Any improvement?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Bob let out a heavy sigh. “It’s a goddamned shame what happened to that family. A tragedy. And here you come to add more drama to the mix.”

  “I didn’t come here to add drama,” I said. “A man who might be my father was killed, and I wanted to look into the matter. I had no idea about Jeannie or Angel. I never expected to find anything beyond some loser holed up in a run-down trailer, living off odd jobs. It wasn’t my idea to come see you, but Jeb Lewis thought you should know about me. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

  Bob stroked his beard and nodded. “I suppose that’s the case. I’m sorry for…well, being the old curmudgeon that I am. Jeannie and Angel were like family.”

  “And not Toke?”

  “No. Not Toke. No offense, but Toke was a jerk.”

  “I’ve been hearing that, and I keep asking why Jeannie stayed with him if he was such a jerk.”

  “That’s a good question. Personally, I think it started out as a screw-you to her father. Jeannie was a strong-willed girl, but she also had some deep insecurities. Then, after Angel was born and the whole custody battle—”

  “Custody battle?”

  “Yes. Hix brought an action to have Jeannie declared an unfit mother—because she stayed married to Toke, who was unquestionably an unfit father. Hix wanted to convince a judge that the mere fact of Jeannie living with Toke put Angel’s life in danger. Probably true, but try convincing a judge to take a little girl away from her mother. I tried to talk Hix out of it, but he felt he had no choice. He was desperate to get Toke out of Jeannie’s life.”

  “Were you her attorney?”

  “No, I stayed out of that one. Hix hired some big-name firm up in the Twin Cities. Jeannie managed to afford a local gal from over in Jackson. It got real ugly. When Hix lost that fight, well, that was the end of his relationship with Jeannie. I don’t think they ever spoke again.”

  “Kind of sounds like Hix got what he deserved.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hix tried to take Angel away from her mother. On top of that, I heard that Hix told Jeannie that he was cutting her out of his will, hoping that might break up her marriage. Hix comes across looking like a bit of a jerk too.”

  Several seconds passed as Bob thought this over, as if I had just presented Hix to him in a new light. Then he said, “But he didn’t though.”

  “He didn’t what?”

  “He didn’t cut her out of the will. He may have threatened it, but he couldn’t do that to his daughter.”

  “True, but…how could someone even threaten that with their own daughter?”

  “What Hix did, he did with the best of intentions. Deep down, he was a good man. Let me tell you a story about Arvin Hix. After the last recession, one of Hix’s neighbors, a guy named Ray Pyke, was going through a bad time. The man needed money, and Hix came up with a way to help Ray out without hurting the man’s pride. Hix offered to buy an option on Ray’s land. Do you know what an option contract is, Joe?”

  “Vaguely,” I said.

  “Well, Hix paid Ray twenty grand to option nearly one hundred acres. By giving Ray that money, he locked in a price on the land, and Hix had ten years to execute the contract. But the thing is, Hix never intended to execute. He was always going to let the contract expire. That way, he could give a gift of money to Ray Pyke without Ray ever knowing that it was an act of charity.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that about Hix,” I said. “It’s none of my business.”

  Mullen shrugged. “It might be more your business than you think. After Jeannie died, and the property passed to Toke, he sent Ray Pyke a notice of his intent to execute that option. That’s the first step in the process. Now that you may be in line to inherit that estate, Ray’s land could become yours—as if that farm wasn’t big enough already.”

  “How big is it?”

  “Before you add on the Pyke section, it’s just over seven hundred fifty acres. Prime farmland. Do you know how much good farmland is worth?”

  “I don’t have a clue.”

  “It fluctuates, but a conservative number would be around seventy-five hundred dollars per acre.”

  The digits tangled in my head as I tried to do the math. I gave up when the number grew too large. Bob did the math for me. “Just the land alone will be north of five million, probably closer to six. Add to that the house and some barns and equipment.”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Of course, if you are Toke’s son, you’d be splitting that with Angel.”

  “Of course,” I said, trying to sound calm and disinterested. He started explaining the probate process, and his words fell behind a wall of numbers and noise in my head. Six million dollars. Half of six is three. Three million dollars. Three million friggin’ dollars! Holy crap, I’m a millionaire—a multimillionaire! And Bob said he was being conservative. I tried to imagine that much money.

  “…and when we get that proof, the next step is to—”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, as the word proof pulled my attention back to the conversation. “What do you mean by proof?”

  “Well, Joe, I’m sure you understand―I’ll need more than just your story to declare you an heir. It’s just a formality, but there will need to be a DNA test.”

  “Already did one,” I said.

  “You did?”

  “Yeah, Sheriff Kimball took a sample of my DNA when I first got here. They thought I might be a suspect in Toke’s death. If I’m his son, that gives me motive and all.”

  Bob leaned back in his seat, his forehead wrinkling up. “I can see the sheriff’s point,” Bob said. “And you should know that Minnesota has a law—the slayer statute—that says that if you had any part in killing someone, you cannot inherit from them.”

  “For Pete’s sake, I didn’t kill Toke.”

  “I’m not saying you did. I’m just saying that there may be issues in probating the estate. Those questions have to be resolved. If there’s any question, nothing can be done. I’ve seen cases like this stay open for years waiting to see if the crime gets solved. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen here.”

  “Have you met Toke’s brother, Charlie, yet?”

  “Charlie.” Bob nearly spat the name to the floor. “He came here wanting me to file a petition for guardianship of Angel. I told him to get the hell out of my office.”

  “You don’t like Charlie?” I asked.

  “Jeannie didn’t like Charlie. She said that he wouldn’t have anything to do with her and Toke. Never came to visit. Never met Angel. But when Hix died, suddenly Charlie was at their door, all smiles and bullshit, wanting to borrow money against Jeannie’s estate. When that didn’t work, he tried to get Toke to go into business with him. Jeannie didn�
�t tell me all the details, but it sounded shady. She convinced Toke to say no. It wasn’t long after that that she…well, passed on.”

  “Did you ever look into Charlie?”

  “Nothing more than a cursory search. Why?”

  “There’s something wrong about him. I’m not sure, but I think it has to do with a fire some years back. Charlie’s business burned down, along with his business partner.”

  “You think it might have been arson?”

  “I don’t have anything concrete, but when I was talking to Deputy Lewis yesterday, I got the feeling that there was something there.”

  Mullen looked up at one of the photos on his wall. “You know, I still have some contacts in the FBI. I could see if they can dig up anything. I got to tell you, Joe, the thought of Charlie getting Angel breaks my heart. That’s the last person Jeannie would have wanted looking after her little girl. The man just wants her money; I’m sure of it. He’ll be able to syphon quite a bit of her inheritance away before she turns eighteen.”

  “What about social services or a foster home?”

  “The courts tend to place children with relatives. Charlie has the pole position in that race.” As Bob looked at me, the sadness behind his eyes lifted away. “But if there were another relative…like—say—a brother.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “I have an autistic brother, and I’m his guardian already. I couldn’t possibly take on another sibling.” My phone jingled, and I apologized to Bob as I pulled it from my pocket. It was Lila. I let it go to voice mail. I’d call her back when I finished with Attorney Mullen.

  “Really? You’ve been through a guardianship process?”

  “Yes, and it was not pretty. My mother and I haven’t spoken since.”

  “You have a job?”

  “I’m a reporter for the Associated Press.”

  “Married?”

  “Girlfriend.”

  “You’d have a good shot at knocking Charlie out of the running.”

  “I’m sorry, Bob. I can’t do it. I don’t even know Angel.”

  “Just think about it. That’s all I ask.”

  My phone buzzed again, indicating a text message. “Excuse me,” I said. “I need to check this.” I looked at the message. It was from Lila. I clicked on it.

  Jeremy’s been hurt. I need you to come home right away.

  I looked up at Bob. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

  Chapter 20

  I left St. Paul yesterday morning pushed by a tailwind—a tempest—that hurled me south and west and into the heart of farm country. I felt pulled there by thoughts of my father and at the same time driven there by the hope that a change of scenery would undo some of the problems at my back. But since arriving in Buckley, I had managed to make things worse. I had hung up on Lila and took a leave of absence from my job. These developments weighed on me now as I headed back to St. Paul.

  Yet, despite the tempest, I couldn’t help singing along to almost every song that played on the radio. I smiled and tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel, unable to get my conversation with Bob Mullen out of my head. I might be in line to collect three million dollars, and that, I thought, would go a long way to smoothing down all those rough patches.

  I walked into the apartment to find Jeremy sitting on the couch, alone, the door to our bedroom shut, where I assumed I would find Lila sitting in the middle of her books. Jeremy had an ace bandage wrapped around his left wrist, and he held that arm tightly against his stomach. He was reading a book that lay open on his lap, using the fingers on his right hand to press the pages down.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said quietly, not wanting to summon Lila from the bedroom just yet. I sat down beside Jeremy and looked at his arm. “Does it hurt?”

  “I think it does,” he said. “Maybe I sprained it.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  Jeremy turned his eyes back to his book, Dumbo, and didn’t answer my question. I didn’t push it, knowing that I would hear the full story from Lila.

  “What’s your book about?” I asked.

  “Maybe they locked Mrs. Jumbo up in the prison wagon,” he said.

  I looked at the book and saw the picture of the mother elephant and baby Dumbo reaching out to touch their trunks together through a barred window, a big tear sliding down the cheek of the little elephant. I looked at Jeremy’s expressionless eyes and wondered how much of the story remained after he turned each page. He rarely spoke of the past, and when he did, those memories seemed blissfully void of any emotion. He talked about the night of the big fight—the night that I kicked Larry in the knee, but he never hinted that he felt one way or another about leaving our mother’s apartment—his home. And, I guess, I never asked.

  “Is Lila in the bedroom?”

  “Maybe she is in your room,” he said.

  “I’ll be back in a bit.” I stood and walked to the bedroom, knocking lightly before I entered.

  Lila floated in a sea of papers and books, a lone survivor battered by the debris of a sinking ship. “How goes the studying?” I asked, ignoring all of the harsh words that had passed between us.

  Lila also seemed willing to overlook our recent trouble and said, “I can’t think straight. I read words and try to pound them into my head, and an hour later I can’t remember a thing.” She put her book down.

  “You worry too much. Try to relax. You’ll do fine.”

  “Telling me to relax does not help me relax.” There was a sharpness in her tone that told me to move on.

  “What happened to Jeremy’s arm?” I asked.

  “He fell,” she said. “According to Bruce, he was mopping the floor, and he slipped down some stairs.”

  “Bruce,” I said half under my breath. Jeremy’s coach was supposed to prevent things like this from happening, shepherd him through processes, and watch over him. “Where was Bruce when Jeremy fell?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. He called at about ten this morning and said that he found Jeremy at the bottom of some stairs. I had to go to the school and take Jeremy to the hospital. It’s only a sprain, but Joe, we spent three hours in Urgent Care. I feel like I’ve been gone all day.” She pointed at her books. “The bar exam’s in four days. I need every minute I can spare on this. I don’t have time…”

  “I know,” I said absently. “It’ll be okay.”

  “No, Joe. It won’t be okay. Jeremy can’t go to work until his arm heals. Are you going to stay here with him? I need to study. I’m freaking out. I can’t screw up this test. I can’t.”

  I leaned toward Lila and put my hand on her knee. “You don’t have to stress out,” I said, with a stupid grin on my face. “We are going to be millionaires.”

  “I’m being serious here, Joe.”

  “So am I,” I said. “My father was rich—sort of.”

  I moved some books out of the way so that I could face her as I told her the story of Toke and Jeannie and the tangled thread of how seven hundred and fifty acres of farmland was about to become mine—or at least half mine. I ended with a flourish sure to wow her. “The attorney told me that my share is worth…three million dollars.”

  Lila looked stunned and a bit confused. Swept up in the excitement of the moment, I foolishly continued. “All that pressure you’ve been putting on yourself—to pass the bar—you don’t have to worry about that now.”

  She looked at me as if she couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of my mouth. “You understand that my taking the bar—becoming an attorney—has never been about the money.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to have all that pressure.”

  “And you don’t have any of this money yet. God knows when you’ll see it, or if you’ll see it at all.” Lila paused to take a breath. “Joe, I’m happy, I really am. If this money exists, it’ll be great. But it’s not your money yet. Too many things can go wrong.”

  “As I see it, the only thing that can go wrong is that my mother got pr
egnant by someone else and blamed Toke Talbert.”

  “And is it all that far-fetched?”

  “All my life she’s been telling me that I’m the bastard son of a no-good son of a bitch named Joe Talbert. Why would she make that up?”

  “I’m not saying that she made it up. I’m saying that until everything is signed, sealed, and delivered, that money is a bird in the bush.”

  “Three million birds,” I said, again with the grin.

  That made her smile. “I’m glad you’re home,” she said, laying her hand on mine. “I really need help with Jeremy. I didn’t get any studying done today.”

  “Yeah, about that…”

  “What?” She let go of my hand.

  “I need to go back to Buckley.”

  “Jeremy has to stay home until his wrist heals,” she said. “You need to stay here and take care of him.”

  “I can take him with me.” The words shot out of my mouth as if that had been my plan all along. I hadn’t thought it through, but ran with it anyway. “I can take him to Buckley for a couple days and—”

  “A couple days? What about your job. What’s Allison going to say?”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing; I’m kind of unemployed right now.”

  Lila’s eyes went wide. “They fired you?”

  “No, but they strongly encouraged me to take some time off—a leave of absence. My attorney said that they were on the fence about firing me, and this might take some of the heat off.”

  “Oh, Joe.” Lila looked stunned.

  “It’s just until this thing with Senator Dobbins gets resolved.”

  “That could take months.”

  “But I don’t need that job—not if I’m Toke’s son. Don’t you see?”

  “And what do we live on in the meantime? We’re barely scraping by.”

  “That’s why I need to go back to Buckley. I can help with the investigation. The sooner Toke’s murder gets solved, the sooner they can probate the estate.”

  “Don’t they have professionals who investigate crimes down there? How can you help?”

  “The sheriff is convinced that this kid named Moody Lynch killed Toke. I think I can get Moody to turn himself in, or at least give me a statement. I’m a reporter. People love talking to reporters. If I can flush this kid out of hiding, the case might get solved faster.”