Even if she made it back safely, what kind of reception would she get? Earl hadn’t wanted her to make this trip, and now she was late.
When she arrived at the Farley house, she was surprised to see that no welcoming lights illuminated the path to the front door, nor shone from within. Dark and deserted, the house might have been returned to its ghosts: to Diana and now Gordon. She imagined his ghost hovering blimp-like and baleful within the shadowy interior. Yet perhaps his ghost had already left this “awful place with awful people,” as his mother called it. Perhaps it had sought the more hospitable clime of Provence, because in death as in life, Gordon liked his comforts.
But where was Earl? Had he grown tired of waiting and gone back to the trailer? She hurried inside, turned on the lights, and fed Amore. She was just about to telephone Earl when she heard the sound of his truck in the driveway. Thank heaven! She ran out to meet him, straight into his outstretched arms. “Sorry I’m so late,” she said breathlessly. “Did you give up on me and go home?”
“Nope. I just arrived. Let’s go in and I’ll explain.”
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Kathryn said, heading for the kitchen. “How about I make us an omelet or heat up some soup?”
“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten.”
“Oh?”
“Mill called me at work and asked if I could stop by afterward. Pete’s been having some problems at school and she wanted to talk about it. When we were finished, she invited me to stay for dinner. She’d gone to a lot of trouble making a pot roast for her and Pete only to have him call at the last minute and say he was eating at a friend’s. I called the house to see if you were back. When you didn’t answer, I figured you were still on the road and would pick up a bite on the way. I accepted.”
“Why didn’t you call me on my cell?”
“I don’t have that number.”
Of course not. She was so used to being off the grid here that it had never occurred to her to give it to him. Still, she felt a prick of annoyance that he’d had dinner with Millie instead of waiting for her. “Okay, I’ll just fix something for myself.” Opening the refrigerator, she pulled out bread and sandwich makings. Moments later, they sat down opposite each other, Kathryn wolfing down a turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise, while Earl popped the tops of two beer cans and poured the foamy brew into glasses. He took a long drink and studied her. “So what made you so late? Was it just rush hour traffic or . . .?”
“There was an accident on the Pike.”
“Must’ve been a bad one to hold you up for this amount of time.”
“It was. I left messages on the landline here and at your trailer that I’d be late. I didn’t think to try the white house.”
“Mmm . . . what kind of an accident was it?”
She started to tell him about the tractor-trailer that had turned over, but stopped when she realized he was no longer looking at her, but staring moodily into space. “Earl?”
“What?”
“Are you listening to me?”
“Course I am. You were telling me about the accident.”
“What did I say about it?”
“Something about a three-car pile-up?”
“No.”
He flashed her a rueful smile. “Guess you better repeat what you said.”
She did and this time he not only paid attention, but asked detailed questions about the accident. He went over her account so many times it almost seemed like he didn’t believe her and was trying to trip her up. Which could mean he suspected she’d been with Alan instead of stuck in traffic.
Chapter 56
After the trip to Boston, Kathryn had hoped for a quiet day, but her hopes evaporated when Cheryl called to say she needed help with Emily. The old woman had her searching all over for some old letters Cheryl couldn’t locate for the life of her. Kathryn arrived to find Emily’s house cluttered with dusty boxes, suitcases, and trunks. Cheryl was going through a collection of yellowed papers at the kitchen table, while Emily hovered. “Have you found them? Have you found them?” Emily repeated herself in a monotone like a stubborn parrot.
Kathryn took Cheryl’s place at the table, and for the next two hours went through everything again. She came up empty-handed. “Could you have put them in a safe deposit box?” she asked Emily.
“Don’t have one.”
“Did you live anywhere else before here?”
“We lived at the Whittemore estate while Walter was the caretaker,” Emily said. “But that was some time ago, and since then the house has changed hands a couple of times.”
“Do you know who the current owner is?”
“Some family from Florida, or maybe it’s Arizona? They’re only here in the summer.”
“Is anyone looking after the place while they’re away?”
“Could be. There’s a fellow named Gene Herrick who does house watching. But if I left the letters there, I’m sure they’re long gone . . . Oh dear, Aurelia’s never going to give me any peace,” Emily wailed.
Kathryn exchanged glances with Cheryl. “Still, it’s worth checking,” she said. She called Herrick, got an answering machine and left a message. “That’s the best I can do for now. Need some help putting all this stuff away?” she asked Cheryl.
“Thanks, but I can manage. You had a long day yesterday.”
Kathryn was about to ask how Cheryl knew when she realized Cheryl probably heard it on the village grapevine, and stopped. Still, there was something else she’d meant to ask Cheryl. It wasn’t a question she wanted to raise in front of Emily, however. “Can you stop by the house when you’re finished here?” she asked Cheryl.
“Sure, but . . .?” Cheryl looked at her inquiringly. A sidelong glance at Emily and a quick headshake on Kathryn’s part were enough to discourage the girl from pursuing the matter.
*****
It was starting to get dark when Kathryn returned from her errands in Great Barrington, which had included a massage. She’d no sooner pulled into the driveway than she spotted Cheryl’s car. Damn. Relaxed by the massage, she’d completely forgotten about asking Cheryl to stop by. She hoped she hadn’t kept the young woman waiting too long.
Cheryl was curled up on the couch in the shadowy living room, apparently asleep.
“Diana?” she said in a groggy voice, as Kathryn walked over to her.
The dead woman’s name jarred Kathryn. “No, it’s me, Kathryn,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Sorry. I must’ve dozed off.” Cheryl sat up and brushed cobweb fine hair out of her face “Must’ve been dreaming, too.”
“About Diana? Is that why you mistook me for her?”
“No, but I was thinking about her before I dozed off.”
“What were you thinking?”
Cheryl shrugged. “Stuff.”
Kathryn came to the point. “You were here the night she died.”
Cheryl stiffened and a wary look came into her eyes. “How d’you know?”
“Brandy said you answered the phone when she called the house.”
“Yeah, well, Diana and I were friends so we visited back and forth.”
“Were you surprised to find her car parked outside, but no sign of her?”
“No, I knew she sometimes went for walks at night.”
“Where did you think she’d gone?”
“I dunno. Down the road. Into the woods.”
“Did she often go into the woods after dark?”
“Occasionally.”
“To meet Earl?”
“They might’ve met there a few times.” Cheryl’s eyes skittered away. When her gaze returned to Kathryn, her face had a set, determined cast. “But not that night. Earl was at the Stag that night. Diana went into the woods to find Brian Russo after his mom called.”
Cheryl appeared flustered. “That’s right. I got confused. Diana must have found out he was there some other way.”
Obviously, but how? Kathryn thought back to what she’d been told about that night, first by Millie, then Brandy. Brandy hadn’t shed any light on this, but Millie had. “Did you hear music?” she asked.
“Music?” Cheryl gave her a blank look.
“According to Millie, Brian blasted the woods with rock music that night.”
“Oh, that music.”
“You heard it?”
“I . . . um . . . think so. If Millie said there was music, I must of; heard it loud and clear the first time.” Cheryl shifted position on the couch, as if the place where she’d been sitting had suddenly become uncomfortable.
Her uncertainty gave Kathryn pause. Of course, there were reasons having to do with timing why she might not have heard the music. Still, the fact that Cheryl wasn’t sure bothered her. So did something else about Cheryl’s account. “Getting back to Earl, how did you know he was at the Stag that night?”
“He and the other men said so.”
“Afterwards. But at the time how did you know he was at the Stag?”
“I figured he’d go there after—” Cheryl broke off, worrying a strand of hair.
“After what?” Kathryn asked quietly.
Cheryl stood. “I have to go. Suzy’s watching Derek, but I need to get home and give him dinner.”
Kathryn rose, too. “Please. You figured Earl would go to the Stag because?”
The hair twisting became more pronounced. “All right,” Cheryl said finally, “I’ll tell you: him and Diana had a bit of a spat the night before.”
Kathryn’s spine prickled. No wonder Cheryl had been reluctant to tell her. “How do you know?”
“Millie heard some of it.”
“What was this spat about?”
“I dunno, some silly thing.”
Although Cheryl tried to downplay the seriousness of it, Kathryn sensed that more than a minor squabble had been involved. Why else would Earl have chosen to spend the night at the Stag rather than with his lover?
Cheryl looked her squarely in the eye. “Just because they had a spat doesn’t mean—”
“Of course not.” She wanted desperately to believe this, and even hoped Cheryl could tell her something that would point the finger elsewhere. “Anything else happen while you were at the house?”
“Gordon called.”
“What did he want?”
“He said he was spending the night in the city on account of his business taking longer than expected. Told me to write down the message in case I left before Diana came back.”
“Did you?”
“No. I fell asleep. The next thing I knew Earl and Hank were calling my name and shaking me.”
“You must have been really zonked.”
Cheryl’s eyes shied away from Kathryn’s. “I took some pills I found in the medicine cabinet. I didn’t realize how strong they were.”
Or you did realize and decided it would be a painless way out of an abusive marriage.
As if she guessed Kathryn’s thoughts, Cheryl said, “Things were bad between me n’ Garth. We had a fight. He was mad because somebody’d swiped his gun. I told ’im he should’ve kept his gun locked up like his dad and his brothers were always telling ’im. Said to keep my nose out of it and yelled at me for not getting home sooner to fire up the stove and fix dinner. Threw things and hit me. Then he stormed out. I knew he’d go to the Stag and come home drunk and meaner than ever. I’d had enough. I came here.”
“The Stag seems to be a favorite cooling-off place for guys after they’ve—”
“No!” Cheryl turned on her with sudden fury. “It wasn’t like that with Earl. Sure, he and Diana had their differences, but he never laid a hand on her like Garth did me. And they always made up afterward. They would’ve done so if she hadn’t been killed. He’s a good man, Kathryn. And if anyone tells you otherwise, don’t believe ’em.”
She spoke with such fervor that Kathryn didn’t have the heart to disagree. Earl might not be the paragon Cheryl thought, but compared to Garth, he probably looked pretty good. “I won’t.”
Cheryl smiled for the first time since Kathryn’s arrival. Changing the subject, she asked, “Have you heard back from Gene Herrick yet?”
Kathryn shook her head.
“Well, I hope you do. Also hope he can find those letters at the old Whittemore house. Because Em’s not going to give us any peace until she gets them.”
“You can say that again.” Kathryn gave Cheryl a wry smile.
*****
That evening Gene Herrick returned her call. He said he checked the Whittemore house once a week, and since he’d just come from there, he wasn’t eager to go back right away. But after Kathryn explained about Emily’s giving her and Cheryl a hard time until certain letters she might have left there were found, he promised to have a look the next morning.
Chapter 57
True to his word, Herrick searched the former caretaker’s house, now used as a guest house. He found a metal box containing some old letters stashed in the back of a closet, and delivered it to Kathryn a little before noon the following day.
When Kathryn arrived at Emily’s, the old woman was sitting in the kitchen eating her lunch while Cheryl looked on. Kathryn deposited the metal box on the table. “Here are the letters you wanted, I think.”
Emily gasped and pushed her chair back with a horrified expression. She acted as if Kathryn had placed a ticking bomb in front of her. “Get that away from me!” she cried. “I never wanted those letters. Aurelia was the one who said I had to give ’em to you. And now that you’ve got ’em, take ’em and go.
“Don’t you at least want to have a look?” Kathryn asked.
“No!” Emily pounded a gnarled fist on the table for emphasis. “I already know what’s in ’em.”
Kathryn exchanged puzzled glances with Cheryl, then picked up the box. “All right, have it your way.”
Back at the Farley house, Kathryn settled on the living room couch and opened the box. Inside was a stack of blue envelopes tied with a faded yellow ribbon. The envelope on top was addressed to Mrs. Aurelia Judd on Rattlesnake Hill Road in New Nottingham. The return address identified the sender as Kathryn’s ancestor, Jared Cutter, writing from a boarding house in Los Angeles. So he hadn’t broken off with everyone from his past life, after all. He’d kept in touch with Aurelia, his dead wife’s close friend. Kathryn’s fingers quivered with excitement as she opened the first letter, dated October 24, 1855.
Dear Aurelia,
I have been in the City of Angels long enough to make me wonder if I made a serious error in leaving New Nottingham and coming here. Had I remained there, I could at least have visited poor Marguerite’s grave and looked upon dear Leonora’s face. I continue to think of her as my daughter, although you assure me that in all likelihood that awful Barker man is her father. Yet in those first weeks after Marguerite was so cruelly murdered by him, I could not bear to stay in a place where at every turn I would be reminded of all I had lost with Marguerite’s death.
Reading these lines, Kathryn imagined the silver-haired gentleman she knew from old photographs speaking to her, a deep sadness in his voice. He didn’t sound like the merciless killer Emily described. Emily, who based her account on what Aurelia told her, which had come from Clyde. Here, at last, was Jared Cutter’s side of story. As she re-read the last sentence, an alternate scenario took shape in her mind. Perhaps Marguerite had second thoughts about running away with Clyde and tried to go back. They quarreled, he shot her, then turned the gun on himself, blinding rather than killing himself.
She read on:
I am strongly tempted
to return at once, but better judgment tells me to at least get a foothold here. When I am settled and in such a position to provide a suitable home for Leonora, I will journey east to claim her. In the meantime, I am comforted by the knowledge that the dear little girl is safe in your care. I enclose a bank draft for the amount of fifteen dollars to help you provide for said care.
The letters that followed spanned a period of five years. Kathryn was struck by Cutter’s concern for the child who might not be his daughter, as well as his oft expressed desire to return for her. She was also struck by Aurelia’s apparent efforts to persuade him to postpone this.
In your last letter, you propose that I wait until she is older before coming to fetch her—that were I to come now, it would be like pushing a baby bird from the nest before it is ready to fly, that if I, a total stranger to her, removed her from the only home and family she has ever known, it would cause her great distress. Now, I do not claim to know children as well as you, but what I have observed suggests they are more adaptable than some believe. However, I am willing to wait yet awhile longer if you deem it in her best interests.
Finally, however, he decided he could wait no longer.
Perhaps you will say I am selfish, but I have come to the conclusion I have missed too much of my darling’s growing up, and can never be happy until she is by my side. I have therefore booked passage on the Arabella, which is due to arrive in Boston on the 20th of next month. To help prepare her for my arrival, I am sending by a private carrier, which is fully insured, the ring I gave Marguerite when we became engaged. I want her to have something of value from her father.
Kathryn stared at the ring on her finger. That strange afternoon when Emily had given it to her, the old woman had never explained how she’d gotten it. Now Kathryn knew her ancestor had sent the ring to Aurelia to give to Leonora. Leonora, in turn, must have passed it down to her daughter, Emily’s mother, who gave it to Emily. In that case, Leonora must have remained in New Nottingham. Did that mean Jared Cutter hadn’t come for her after all? Or perhaps he’d come and Leonora had refused to leave with him. She opened the final letter with anticipation, but also a certain dread.
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