Ted called Chief Moore and they were going to meet at Graves’s—Donald Lucas’s—house to bring the man in for questioning.
“When will they get here?” Gussie asked.
“Your boys?” She had called them right before we left her house, telling them to meet her at the station so they could lay eyes on the man who killed their father. I had texted Ted a warning, but I wasn’t sure he got it. If he had, I’d think he’d have seen if another officer or two could be at the station. Just in case something went down.
“No, the police and the murdering cad. I can’t believe I kept Donald’s secret all these years. Letting everyone believe he was someone else.” Gussie stalked around the room like a panther waiting to attack. Her movements were tense. Voice sharp and brittle. The one officer on duty kept skittering his worried gaze in our direction.
The door opened. Graves—Lucas—was walking between Ted and Chief Moore. They had a loose grip on his arms. Lucas ambled forward, head held high. The man looked menacing. His long gray hair was tied back in a ponytail. Scars zigzagged across his face, deep wounds that started at his left eye and reached his chin. The scars veined off, covering almost the entire left side of his face and a few streaked across his nose and upper lip to his right cheek. He had the same type of scars on both his arms. Long. Visible. Deep.
He sensed me staring at him and turned his head slightly to look at me. His left eye was cloudy. He had moved himself so he could look at me with his one good eye.
Lucas dipped his chin. “Gussie.” His voice had a low gravelly tone.
Gussie shook with rage, clenching and unclenching her hands. “Why did you kill my Ollie?”
Lucas flinched. “I’d never hurt you, Gussie.”
“I didn’t ask about me.” She strode forward, standing toe-to-toe with her man’s supposed killer. “I asked about Ollie.”
“Hurting Ollie would’ve hurt you. As I said, I’d never hurt you.”
Gussie tangled her fists in his coat, drawing him closer to her. She stared into his eyes. “You killed him. Because—” Her fury clogged the words in her throat. She shook from head to toe.
Ted pried her grip from Lucas.
“It’s okay,” he said. “She can hit me if it makes her feel better.”
“I thought Ollie ran out on me and the boys. Ollie didn’t want us so he left. Instead, you killed him. You made me think Ollie didn’t love me.” The anger started to crumble and tears cascaded down Gussie’s face.
“Ollie made you think that. That’s why I hated him,” Lucas said. “But because you loved him is why I’d never hurt him.”
“You said you came back because of Ollie.” Gussie made a move to grab Lucas. Chief Moore blocked her. “You meant you didn’t want anyone finding him. That’s why you chased kids off the property.”
“That’s not true. I did it...” He stopped talking, seeing Ted writing down what he was saying. “I have nothing more to say until my attorney gets here. I didn’t kill Ollie. Liked to have killed him because of you, Gussie. But I never would have. He was no good. He ruined you.”
“Ruined me.” Gussie reached around Chief Moore and slapped Lucas in the face. “I wasn’t ruined by a man. My boys aren’t trash.” She hit him again.
Lucas didn’t raise his hands to block the blows. “Tarnation, woman, the only worthwhile thing Ollie ever done in his life was father those two boys. He spent all your money. Ran around on you. People looked down on you because of him. He couldn’t see you were worth doing good for.”
“Ollie had some good in him.” Gussie clasped her hands together, pressing them against her stomach.
“You could’ve done better than him,” Lucas said.
“We can’t help who we fall in love with.” Gussie lifted her head, chin jutted out defiantly.
“No, we can’t.” Lucas broke eye contact with Gussie and looked at Chief Moore. “I’d like to call my attorney.”
“Name?” the chief asked.
“Steve Davis.”
Officer Mitchell’s cruiser sat in my driveway. Next stop was Donald Lucas’ house to find evidence. Ted hadn’t trusted I’d make it back to my house without any incidents, so he had Mitchell drive me. I raised my hand, jingling my keys. Mitchell stayed put. He wouldn’t leave until I was inside. Sighing, I lowered my arm, my coat caught on a split in the wooden porch rail. I’d need to fix that before I put the house on the market. I unlocked the door and entered my house.
Steve. Steve was Lucas’ attorney. Did that mean Lucas was the heir? There was one way to find out. I called Steve. His voicemail clicked on. Of course, he wasn’t answering. He knew what I wanted, and he was likely at the police station advising his client.
Ol’ Yowler wound around my feet, acting like he was starving. After getting Yowler some vittles, I moved a kitchen chair in front of the cat door. It wouldn’t stop an intruder form getting in, but I’d hear if someone tried.
I went upstairs to my office and booted up the computer. I typed Donald Lucas’s name and date of birth, which Gussie offered up, into the databases I used for Bob’s cases. The man had racked up some misdemeanors while in Eden. The first one he committed ended up with him getting kicked out of the foster home he was staying at and being placed with the family fostering Ollie Harbaugh. Those poor people. They had no idea what they were getting themselves into.
Yowler jumped on the computer desk, positioning himself in front of the monitor.
“No parking,” I said, moving the bundle of fur out of my way. He immediately returned to his favorite spot. In front of the monitor.
“Cooperate with me.” I deposited him on the floor.
Not surprisingly, that arrangement didn’t last long and the boys were separated, each going to a different home near Eden. For the remainder of his high school years, Lucas bounced from house to house. Lucas joined the Marines the same year Ollie disappeared, and he served eight years before coming home and eventually making his way back to Eden.
Ol’ Yowler jumped onto the back of the office chair, flicked my head with his tail. I ignored it as long as I could before I swatted at his tail. “Quit it.”
It didn’t deter him. In fact, he seemed encouraged to put some more oomph and increase the tempo of the smack-head-with-tail game.
“I’m working.” I pushed at his tail. My fingers brushed against the necklace I wore. The one I had found hidden in the step.
Carefully, I took it off. The chain was dainty and the locket was a round shape with filigree hearts on the face. I pressed the latch on the top. There was an old faded picture. The man in the picture bore a slight resemblance to Ollie Harbaugh, same shape of nose and mouth, a hardness in the eyes, if the man’s hair was a little longer they’d pass for brothers.
With a trembling hand, I used my fingernail to lift the picture from the frame. I turned it over. Written on the back was the name Clay.
Wayne and Wyatt were descendants of the Evertons.
I replaced the photo and closed the locket.
Stealing Ollie’s inheritance was the motive for Lucas killing Ollie. Lucas must’ve believed he could use the evidence Ollie had to prove that he—instead of Ollie—was an heir of the Evertons. Lucas waited long enough so that body would be hard to identify. I had to tell Ted.
Afraid I’d lose the necklace, I clasped the chain around my neck, the locket dangling above my breastbone.
I called Ted. No answer. Of course, he wasn’t answering. He was interviewing a suspect. I texted him. I have evidence of Lucas’s motive.
Now to wait for Ted and hope he wasn’t too angry when he found out that I took the letters and necklace. I didn’t think they’d tie into the murder. I wanted to figure out the mystery of what happened to the Evertons and if Georgia was one. How was I to know the answers were the same?
I shivered at the cold-bloodedness of Lucas. Not only d
id he kill a friend, but he waited until the body was decomposed before he made his claim. He intended to get away with murder. Lucas hired Steve to make his claim more valid. No one would doubt it too much since Lucas went through the proper legal channels. And Lucas probably knew he’d need an attorney to get the property and other inheritance items back from the city. The city wouldn’t just hand it over. They had a lot to lose. No response from Ted. If he wasn’t answering his phone, he wasn’t checking text messages either. I called the dispatcher, asking for him to get a message to Detective Roget regarding evidence discovered relating to the Everton house investigation.
A few minutes later, I received a text from Ted. On my way.
I sat on the recliner near the window, watching out the window for Ted’s arrival. I didn’t want him to ring the doorbell and wake my grandmother. When he pulled into my driveway, I opened the door.
Ted stepped inside. “I’m afraid to ask where you found the evidence.”
I unlatched the locket from around my neck and held it out. “I didn’t know it was evidence when I found it. This is Lucas’s motive. He’s trying to steal the Buford’s rightful claim to the Everton estate. Lucas isn’t an Everton. Wayne and Wyatt are.”
He took the locket and opened it. “I have to say there is a strong resemblance between Harbaugh and this guy.”
“Clay Clayton. He’s one of the bank robbers the younger two Everton daughters ran off with. Mabel took up with him. I have letters she wrote to Esther. In one of them, she talked of her son Rupert and how it wasn’t fair that Esther’s baby died.”
“This might help us. Right now we don’t have anything to hold him.”
“Gussie told you he hated Ollie. He’s the one who killed him.”
“Faith, you of all people know what a person feels about someone’s involvement in a murder isn’t enough. We need solid evidence.”
“The necklace and letters are it. Lucas had some type of proof that he was related to the Evertons to get Steve to file the lawsuit.”
“Actually, he filed it on behalf of the Buford brothers.”
“That makes no sense.” What was Steve up to? “Wayne and Wyatt had no idea. They wouldn’t have —” Snuck out items.
“Wouldn’t have what?” A smile played at Ted’s lips.
“Been upset about the lawsuit. I just don’t think the Bufords knew about it. How could Steve file a lawsuit on behalf of two people who didn’t know about it? Can the suit even be valid when Graves doesn’t even exist?”
Ted smiled. “I have no idea, but the prosecuting attorney might. I’ll give her a call. What I need is to connect Lucas to the knowledge about the Buford’s rightful claim.”
“Or the Brodarts. Edward believed his wife was an Everton heir because of a diary he found in a trunk passed down to his wife. There was another one of Esther’s diary in a box that was in the storage unit.”
“There’s no chain of custody I can use. It’ll be your word, and Davis will fight against it.”
That he would. “What if there was something else? I bid on the locker because I found a receipt for it in Esther’s diary. Ruthann has to know who rented it. She wouldn’t tell me, but she’d tell you.”
Giving me the side-eye on my last comment, Ted shook his head. “Already talked to her. She said the person paid in cash. Every month, she slipped the bill under the storage unit door and every month the person paid in cash by putting the payment in the drop box. She said he was a long-haul trucker and couldn’t get there during office hours.”
“The box left at Scrap This.” I jumped up and ran over to the cabinet where I placed the box. “Maybe the diary with the receipt tucked in came from that box and not one of the ones from the mansion. I still have that box.”
“Faith...” It was a first time in a month Ted said my name like it was a warning. It still grated on my nerves.
“It hadn’t come from the Everton house or the locker, so I didn’t think you’d need it. People are always leaving stuff at our back door for me because of the town scrapbook project.” I pulled out a small pocket calendar.
Ted took it from me.
I pulled out a wad of paper, smoothing them out.
“I don’t think you should be touching any of this.” Ted’s voice was gruff.
“My fingerprints are already on the stuff,” I said. “I dug through it earlier.”
“This calendar belonged to Edward. I need you to stop touching my evidence.”
“Fine. I’ll sit on the couch and look at the Odessa-approved wedding invitations.”
“You don’t have to use a design she likes. I’d prefer you and Claudia make them. It’s special that way.”
My attitude thawed. “I know your mom wants to have a role in the wedding. I don’t mind her helping out, but she wants to take control over the areas that are in my and grandmothers wheelhouse.”
“Pick something you don’t mind her doing.”
“We can let her find a DJ or a band for the reception. She can also help my grandmothers plan out the decorations for the reception area.”
“I’ll let her know.” Ted tipped my chin up, feathering a kiss across my lips. “Thank you.”
I sat on the couch, curling my legs underneath me, and gathered up my mail. I tossed bills and junk mail back onto the table. There were two large manila envelopes. One was postmarked from Florida, and the other had no return address or postmark though my name and address was written on it in a sloppy handwriting. There were three stamps on it. Someone had placed it in my mailbox, trying to make it look like the mailperson delivered it.
The envelope felt empty. I opened it. There was a sealed business sized envelope inside. “Toss” was stamped on the front. I tore open the envelope. There were pages from a book inside. I pulled them out. Diary pages. The words on the diary pages swam in front of my gaze.
Dear Diary,
I try to write through the pain, hoping that would ease it. Vanish it. I will have no choice but to tell my parents the truth. I am with child. The child is coming. Too soon.
Clifford and I should have had months more. Tomorrow he was to come and ask Father for my hand in marriage.
The handwriting changed. It was Clifford writing the next entry that was torn from the diary.
Dear Diary of Esther,
You were her comfort and confidante for so many years, and now I find myself using you as well. There is no one else to turn to as everyone who was my friend now looks away. They see me as having taken advantage of a young woman and besmirching my Margaret’s memory. The baby that is coming too soon is evident of our sin. It is our punishment. The agony in my chest makes it so hard to breathe.
Was it our deception that has caused this? We had wanted more time from my Margaret’s passing before we married. We planned to return from our extended honeymoon with our bundle, telling all he or she was big for its age. Now our baby will die because it is too small to live outside of my beloved Esther’s womb.
Dear Esther’s Diary,
Heaven has arrived. And just as silently as she entered she left. My Esther is shattered. She cannot weep. I fear I will lose her also. How much heartache can be heaped on one man?
“The Brodarts aren’t heirs of the Evertons. Esther lost her baby.” I handed the letters to Ted.
“Where did you find these?”
“In my mail.” I held out the envelope to him. He frowned. “Who tore these out of the diary?”
“I’m more interested in who mailed them to you. And why.”
Twenty-Two
My hopes of it being a better day vanished with the rising of the sun. The Eden Daily Tribune’s lead story was the news about the body at the Everton mansion being identified as Ollie Harbaugh, and one of his sons dug him up. I was a little shocked at the tone of Karen’s article. She was usually more straightforward and not as sen
sational.
Cheryl received a call from Gussie telling her about Ollie and Graves and informing my grandmother that I had kept information from her about Ollie’s jacket. Right now, before I had my coffee, I was receiving a lecture from my grandmother.
“How could you keep that from her?” Cheryl evil-eyed me.
“Wyatt didn’t want to tell his mom until he knew.”
“Knew that his father was definitely the one buried?”
“Knew that his dad wasn’t the one who buried someone.”
Cheryl’s eyes widened. “He thought his father killed someone?”
“He knew his father left town without a word. When the body was uncovered, it made sense to him that the only reason a guy would leave his mom was for him to either have been killed or to have killed someone.”
Cheryl’s expression softened. “I can see how Wyatt came to his conclusion. But Gussie should’ve been warned.”
“I promised Wyatt I wouldn’t say anything.”
“Gussie is very hurt.”
My heart ached at that. I had wanted to protect her. “I’ll apologize to her.”
“If I was you, I’d wait a bit. She’s at the furious stage. Let her work down to highly annoyed.”
The doorbell sang. I looked out the peephole. Wyatt. He twisted a baseball cap, muttering under his breath. I opened the door.
“May I come in?” He was being formal, which meant he had been practicing what he planned on saying.
Not good.
“Good morning, young man.” Cheryl narrowed her eyes on him.
He dipped his head. “Mrs. Greyfield, how are you?”
“Been better.” She tsked. “Keeping secrets from your mother.”
He heaved out a heavy sigh. “I had thought it was best, ma’am. No need to upset her with ugliness. It was just a rumor in my head. I apologize for getting your granddaughter involved in my tomfooleries.”
He was on an apology tour. No wonder he was muttering outside my door. He was practicing what to say because his mother was likely going to ask for a word for word replay from me and Cheryl.
Altered to Death Page 21
