“Then the joints might not be stable enough to remove a part of the wall,” Wayne said. “We don’t want to bring the house down.”
Wouldn’t the Brodarts love that? Another idea flashed into my mind. “How about I take some pictures on my cell phone? You can look at the structure and see if it would be safe.”
Wayne considered it. “That would work. What do you say, Detective?”
“It seems like our only option.” Ted handed me his cell. “Use my phone.”
Before Ted thought of a better way, I scrambled inside, snagged the letters and tucked the bundled package into my shirt, tying the hem in a knot to create a pouch. Next, I snapped some photos. I made sure to get a picture of the brick wall and angled the camera to show where the stairs started. It was hard to get a decent picture in the dark, but it should work for Wayne to decide if it was safe or not. He could always go upstairs and look down from the room.
I made my out of the space, praying the letters didn’t slip out of my shirt. “Here you go.” I handed Ted his camera.
“May I see yours?” He held out his hand.
“Are you serious?” I was afraid any movement would shift the letters or make them tumble out.
“Yes. Very.”
What was he up to? Sighing, I handed it.
“Password please.”
I tapped in the numbers.
He looked at my photo gallery then gave it back. “You all can go now.”
“You thought I also took photos on my camera.” I was a little offended.
“I was wrong, you weren’t up to something.”
I left the room before I accidentally proved I had been.
After dropping off me and Bob at their office, Wayne and Wyatt left to track down any plans that had been filed later for the house, thinking it might’ve been overlooked and they were given an original plan and not an amended one. The snow was drifting down in large fat flakes, melting when it hit the ground.
“Edward’s father was the outfit hired to lay the pipes. I’m going to check into the business,” Bob said. “You go home and wait for instruction.”
“What?”
“You should get cleaned up. I’ll send you your part of the assignment.” Bob refused to meet my gaze.
My phone pinged. I had a text. Ignoring it, I crossed my arms. “Why do I have a feeling my job will be to sit tight and not move? What’s going on?”
Bob raked his fingers through his hair. “Things are heating up. I don’t want you to get hurt. The car that almost swiped you, and an incident I was just made aware of, has me concerned for your safety. Sit tight until I tell you what to do next.”
News traveled fast from brother to brother. “I don’t need your permission to work on this case,” I said. “I was hired by Ruthann to uncover the town’s history. Good luck with what you’re working on.” I spun on my heel and headed toward my car. The package started to slip, so I threw myself into the driver’s seat, hoping to pass off the moment as a huff.
Bob leaned into the car. “We want you safe.”
I used the motion of buckling the seat belt to adjust the letters, moving them to behind me. “Wayne and Wyatt are okay to risk?”
“I don’t think they’re in danger.”
“Because they’re men.”
“Because people think they’re stupid.” Bob squatted down. “Think about it. A lot of businesses competed for that contract and yet no one tried to stop the renovations.”
“What about the lawsuit?”
“A little too late.”
“Why did they wait so long? Unless they wanted the place fixed up before they took it over.”
“That’s a good theory.”
“Or the sons didn’t know about their link to the Evertons until after Edward died.”
“And why would Edward not tell his sons before then or his wife? Why not announce it at a town hall meeting?” Bob asked.
My stomach churned. I wasn’t liking where this was going. “Because Edward suspected there was a body there and never said a word.” Ollie. I bet the body was Ollie. Edward’s competition for Georgia. If it had been Donald, Edward would’ve told the town and ensured Georgia never had another nice thought about Ollie.
He nodded. “There are three names that have popped up over and over.” Bob ticked them off on his fingers. “Edward Brodart. Ollie Harbaugh. Donald Lucas. And everyone knows the best way to keep a secret...”
“Is for only one person to know it. Edward died four months ago. Georgia thinks someone was responsible for it. But why is Hank so angry that his mom gave me something? What does he want so bad he was willing to hurt me?”
“Proof that his dad knew about a murder.”
Nineteen
Sierra was fuming when I arrived back at Scrap This. I didn’t blame her one bit. My errands took a lot longer, since I detoured to the Everton mansion for a reconnaissance mission then went home to change to cover it up. Neither of my grandmothers were at the store so it was for naught. Unless I considered that Sierra might have questioned me about my appearance, and I didn’t want that getting back to Hank. He’d make a big deal about me being at the Everton house. I was more worried about him doing so in person rather than through the court system. A judge I could handle. Hank’s temper I wasn’t so sure about.
The snow was falling steadily. Small white wisps against the darkening sky. The ground was wet and black. Once again, I tried drawing Sierra into a conversation. “I hope the roads aren’t icy. I hate driving in snow, but it’s preferable to ice. At least you get some traction.”
She ignored me, choosing instead to rearrange the packages of stickers hung on the back wall. The holiday stickers were now at the corner and the spring stickers in the center. It was a good idea to move product around on occasion. A task I’d been putting off with concentrating on the town scrapbooks and the vintage dead body.
Sierra’s phone rang. She snagged it from her back pocket. Phones weren’t supposed to be on our person while we were working, but as we had no customers, and I been out of the store for most of the day, I let it go. Sometimes it was better to let minor infractions go.
Especially when your co-worker could end up owning the building your store was in.
“I’ll be home soon. I know I’m late. It’s not my fault.” Sierra sent an evil look in my direction.
I looked away, not wanting her to think I was eavesdropping.
“Gee, who do you think they got that from,” Sierra snapped. Her face whitened and she dipped her head. “I’m sorry. Yes, that was uncalled for.” She nodded a few times, fighting back tears.
I really, really disliked Hank.
She placed the phone in her pocket. “Is it all right if I leave?”
“Are you okay?” I placed a hand on her shoulder.
Wincing, she shrugged off my touch and spun toward the hallway. “Of course.”
I turned her around to face me. She refused to meet my gaze. “You don’t look okay.”
“It’s been a long day. I’m going home.”
“Will you be in tomorrow?”
“I’m assuming so since you’re never here. Too busy spreading rumors instead of working.”
“I’m worried about you. Hank—”
“Is under a lot of stress. The job we counted on is on hold. He needs to find something to prove something.”
“Find what? Prove what?”
“It’s not your business.” She trudged toward the lounge and muttered under breath. I swore she said “or mine.”
“Your husband is keeping secrets from you?”
“Stop asking questions!” Sierra shrieked.
The tone of her voice shocked me. It was high-pitched. Frightened. “Something is wrong. Please tell me.”
“Leave everything alone.” She fled down the hallwa
y.
I couldn’t leave it alone.
There was one person Hank was likely to listen to—his legal counsel. I dialed Steve’s cell number.
“I need your help,” I whispered, going to the register to put as much distance between me and Sierra as possible. I didn’t want her overhearing the conversation.
“Where are you? Are you okay?” Panic laced his words.
“I’m fine. It’s not about me. I’m worried about Sierra.” I filled him in on my concerns.
He let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Faith. There’s nothing I can do. I’m not a prosecutor anymore.”
“He’s your client.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Hank is your client. The secret heir.”
“Hank’s not my client.”
“Yes, he is. He’s part of the et. al claiming they’re the descendants of the Evertons.”
“The Brodarts didn’t hire me.”
I was fuming. “Don’t lie to me. Matthew Brodart told me the Everton house is theirs. There were papers filed. You filed papers.”
“Do you know what Matthew Brodart does for a living?”
My stomach did a little free fall. “No.”
“He’s an attorney.”
There was a sound behind me. I pressed the power button.
Sierra’s hard gaze was centered on me. Slowly, she walked toward me, trembling from head to toe with her hands clenched. “Stop telling people my husband abuses me.”
“I’m—”
She jabbed a finger in my face. “I don’t need a savior.”
The red burn mark around her wrist told me otherwise.
In my quest to help Sierra, I hurt her. Made matters worse. I plopped onto my couch. What was Hank hiding from her? Did it have anything to do with their claim of being Evertons? And who was Steve’s client? Unless, he was lying to me. No. Steve might’ve withheld information from me, but he’d never lie.
I tugged on the pink fraying ribbon around the letters. Would I find the answer here?
The handwriting was sharper, masculine. My breath hitched in my throat. It was a letter from Clifford to Esther.
My dearest one,
Of course, I shall meet your sister at our spot. You know I cannot deny you any request. While I am a little troubled you’ve shared our escape, I understand why you felt the need to do so. Love must be nurtured.
I hope this man Mabel loves is as worthy as she believes. I have heard stories of this man. Stories are sometimes true and sometimes false. And as of yet, I have not come to learn which it is.
I shall be disappointed tonight as it will not be you clinging to me as I ride, but I take joy in knowing I am doing a bidding of your heart.
Your beloved,
C
Carefully, I returned the letter to the envelope and read the next.
My beloved,
Do not let your sympathy and want to win Mabel’s love allow her to manipulate you and steal our time together. This is the second time your sister has come in your place, and now she talks of Laura and her love being kept apart by your father. Come live with me. You will be safe here. Loved and cherished.
My son and his wife’s opinion on our love matters naught to me. Margaret adored you and would wish you a life of happiness and love. I want it for myself. I want it for you. I want it for us. Why do you wish it away?
The next letter had me holding my breath. It wasn’t from Clifford, it was from Mabel.
Dearest Sister,
The road will be long and hard for us, but there is no other choice. I am no longer happy with just existing in this world. I want to live in it with the man I love. I am sorry for what we are about to do. You have your escape. Now, we are grabbing onto ours.
I read on, feeling a kinship but also sadness for Mabel. I had once longed for more than what I had, realizing later more wasn’t necessary better. Adventure had as much potential to crush one’s spirit as it did to make it soar.
I know the burden and shame you are carrying, for I have the same. I have heard your morning sickness as I have fought mine. That is why I must leave and leave now. My beau is not as strong as yours. He cannot withstand any lies Father would wish to speak of him. The town would believe and destroy him. And me. And our one yet to come. I know you and Clifford feel Clay and his brother are men seeking danger and who crave fortune so much they will create trouble to gain it. I have heard your counsel. Laura has innocent thinking, blinded by her man’s charm and handsome face. I have not been so. I accept Clay as he is.
If you do not think Clifford will stand up for you, then come with me and Laura. There is always room for a sister.
Clay Clayton was the name of the oldest bank robbing brother, the men always rumored as having kidnapped, or spirited away, Mabel and Laura. I picked up the next letter. It was brittle and looked as if it had opened and folded hundreds of times.
My dear sister,
You were right to stay. I can never return home. Not ever. It’s not the shame but my grief that is too great. Laura has passed from this world. Along with her husband. The law caught up to us. We split up. I believe we were spared because of the babe tied to my back. They ignored us and chased Laura and Aggie. We heard the shots. Saw them fall. My only regret is Rupert. This life of running isn’t suitable for a baby. I so wish I could package Rupert and mail him to you. I want to wish for the situation to have been different, reversed, that yours should’ve lived and mine…no, I can’t even write it.
This is my last letter. I fear Father will find them, coerce them from you, and share the information with the sheriff. I am dead to him and Mother in their hearts, and now he wishes the same for this life.
A life of adventure. Why had I ever wished for such a thing?
Esther’s baby had died. Georgia wasn’t an Everton. Where had her family gotten the diary? Had Edward stolen it and concocted a hoax he hoped would get his family the Everton property? Or had he stumbled upon it and believed finding the diary in his wife’s family trunk meant they were an Everton? Had Esther hidden her diary in her beloved’s house so her father didn’t find it?
My phone rang. I let out a startled squeak. Ted’s ringtone. I placed the letters on my bed and ran downstairs. Third ring. Fourth ring. I grabbed it. “Hello.”
“Are you okay? You sound out of breath.”
“I left my phone downstairs.”
“You should keep it with you at all times.” I could hear his frown.
“I hadn’t planned on being up there long, but I got caught up in what I was reading.”
“You can tell me about when I get there.”
“You’re coming over? Tonight?”
“Yes. I don’t like the idea of you being home alone.”
“Cheryl is coming over. It’s Friday. Dinner and crafting night. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“Hank.”
“Won’t show up here,” I said.
“You don’t know that. Hank is not a happy man. He says you’re lying, and with no witnesses, it’s your word against his. If you press charges, he’ll fight it but I think it’s something you should seriously consider.”
“Press charges?” My stomach churned. Sierra. Her boys. Hank had no right to push and grab me, but was it so bad he should go to jail? There were two witnesses. Would Sierra or Henry tell the truth or lie? Would Hank expect them to lie? Did I want to put a child through that? “I don’t know if that’s necessary.”
“Then I’ll stay with you just in case Hank decides he needs to chat with you.”
“All right, but I’m not changing any of my plans. Cheryl is coming over for a home cooked dinner and then for some crafting time with her granddaughter.”
“I’d love a home cooked meal.”
My guilty complex twinged to life. I
should have Ted over every night for dinner, in preparation for our upcoming time of being husband and wife, and the fact his job had him coming and going so much that his dinner was whatever he heated up in the microwave. “And don’t forget the scrapbooking. Grandma unearthed some pictures from my childhood and wants to see if I wanted any of them for the town scrapbook.”
“I promise I’ll be ready to get my crafting on. I’ll be there after I wrap up a few things at the office, probably take an hour, then I’ll swing by my place to pack a few things.”
“For what?”
“To stay with you. I don’t think we should chance someone breaking in to come after you.”
The only person who’d be at risk was Ted from my grandmother. She did not believe in overnight visits between unmarried men and women. “I don’t—”
Ted hung up.
Taking a metal skewer, I poked a potato. Done. Maybe I’d forego the mixer and use the old-fashioned potato masher, a good way to release some of my ire before Ted walked in. The man needed to realize I could take care of myself. Just because I brought a problem or concern to him didn’t mean I wanted him to fix it.
The front door opened. My muscles tightened for a second, the skewer tight in my grasp.
“Why isn’t your door locked?” Ted’s annoyed voiced echoed from the living room.
Breath rushed out from me. Great. Ted’s mother-henning made me paranoid. “Because you said you’d be arriving around this time.” I removed the boiling pot from the stove, carried it over to the sink, and dumped the potatoes and hot water into the strainer I placed in the sink.
“What if I was delayed?” Ted appeared in the entryway of the kitchen. He leaned against the wall, scowling at me. A stack of mail was in his hands.
“Then I’d be calling you in a few minutes asking what was taking you so long.” I transferred the potatoes to a glass bowl. “I’m sure Mrs. Barlow has been staking out my house since Wyatt and you were here yesterday. It’s her hobby.”
Altered to Death Page 19
