A Valley to Die For

by Radine Trees Nehring

  She lifted the ladder, trying to make the task of bringing it back uphill look easy, because she didn’t want him coming down to help her, at least not until she was above the area beside the bluff.

  Taylor did start down toward her, so she hurried as fast as she could, not daring to look sideways to see if the rock face was safely out of sight.

  She must have been past the spot by the time they met on the hillside, or he was too interested in what she was doing because, without so much as a glance to either side, he lifted the ladder with one hand, reached for her arm with the other, and turned toward the house. At least the fact that she was out of breath made it unnecessary to say more.

  When the ladder was safely stowed in the back of her station wagon, Carrie went up JoAnne’s front steps and sat in the wicker rocker on the sun-warmed porch. Though she was wild with curiosity about what was in the box, she also wanted to know if the men had any new information.

  “If you don’t mind, think I’ll sit and listen for the woodpecker for a few minutes,” she said.

  Don Taylor actually smiled at her. “What do they sound like?” he asked, dropping onto the porch swing.

  “Well, it’s sort of a kuck-kuck, kuck-kuck,” she replied, hoping she was close to right. As she remembered, that was the sound, but for the life of her, she couldn’t keep all the bird calls straightened out. She just hoped Taylor wasn’t trying to fool her and that he didn’t know the call of any woodpecker, let alone a pileated.

  They sat in silence for a few moments, until, unwilling to play the game any longer, and full of curiosity about what was going on inside JoAnne’s house, Carrie spoke up.

  “JoAnne’s niece and her baby are coming Wednesday. I had hoped they could stay here.”

  “Yes, it’s tough that there aren’t any motels close by,” he said, “but even when we’re through with the house, there may be legal hurdles to get over before heirs can use it. Did you check with a lawyer?”

  “Well, I’m executor, and I was going into town this afternoon to get the will out of my safe deposit box and see JoAnne’s lawyer.” She looked at her watch. “The bank’ll be closed before I can get there now. I guess I shouldn’t have taken time to come pick up the ladder.”

  He changed the subject. “How well did Mr. King and Miss Harrington know each other?”

  Startled, she replied, “Oh, not at all. They’d barely met, just saw each other on the quarry committee.”

  He was looking at her intently now. “Well, then, why would his fingerprints be in her house? Did he have a reason to call on Miss Harrington?”

  “Uh, well, about the quarry maybe.”

  “You a special friend of Mr. King’s?”

  “We, that is, he... We’re friends, that’s all.”

  Taylor was still watching her closely. “It is interesting that his fingerprints are all over this house. In every single room. Yours, too, of course.”

  Carrie gulped. “But—” She looked at Taylor, forced her mouth to grin, crossed her fingers inside her pocket, and went on, “Well, well, never know, do you! The sinful old fox. He and JoAnne... my, my.”

  After that, Carrie couldn’t get away fast enough, in spite of the fact that odd thumps and bumps were coming from inside the house. She rose and, as if they’d been enjoying a social afternoon, said she must be going.

  Taylor, acting as relaxed as if the two of them really had been having afternoon tea on the porch, promised to call by noon tomorrow to let her know if she could clean up the house for JoAnne’s family.

  As she started toward her car, he said, “And Mrs. McCrite, please do not go back in the house or tool shed again until we say it’s okay.”

  Without answering, Carrie got in her car and drove away. She couldn’t have said another word to Taylor if she’d wanted to.

  Henry and JoAnne? No! There was no way at all to explain such a relationship. JoAnne was—had been—wary of all men and specifically avoided Henry. What on earth could have been going on? Not... not, well, they just couldn’t have! He wasn’t that kind of...

  His fingerprints in every room? The picture of JoAnne with Henry was too much. Carrie would not believe it. Then another possibility rose out of her tossing thoughts. Had Henry been the one to search JoAnne’s house?

  No, not possible either! He was too careful, too meticulous, to make a mess like that. And why would he want to anyway? Well, she’d just ask him!

  As soon as she got home, she walked straight through her house, out the back door, and started down the hillside as fast as the rocky terrain would allow. She couldn’t wait any longer to see what was in that box.

  Then she heard voices and the sound of crunching feet coming from JoAnne’s end of the hollow. She stopped, listening and thinking. They probably were searching the entire area between the house and where JoAnne was found. She tried to decide what reason she’d have for being out roaming around in the hollow if they saw her. She couldn’t risk being caught with JoAnne’s box.

  If they’d seen signs of disturbance along the bluff face, they’d be wondering what made them, and Taylor knew she’d been down there. He’d probably tell them to search the area even more carefully, especially if they found the little cave in the bluff and scuff marks where she’d slid the box. He knew, of course, that she had been carrying nothing but a ladder when he first saw her. He might wonder, though, if she’d taken something away to hide.

  She had to get that box safely inside as soon as possible. Her hiding place wouldn’t withstand a thorough search. They’d find the box for sure.

  She hurried back to the house and located FatCat, who was napping in her basket by the window. She got JoAnne’s large pet carrier out of the garage, put the cat’s down pillow and a scrap of blanket inside, and pushed the cat in after them. As she headed out of the house, she could hear FatCat grumbling about her impromptu ride.

  “We’re on a secret mission,” Carrie told the cat softly, speaking in what she hoped was a soothing manner, “and it’s going to take the two of us to manage it.”

  She was still hurrying but kept as quiet as she could and looked around carefully after each step, until she reached the tipped-up tree and the hidden box.

  She couldn’t see anyone, though the noises were closer. She hurriedly dug up the metal box, wrapped it in the blanket, and shoved it through the door of the carrier past the pillow and protesting cat.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but we must do this.”

  She had climbed about ten yards up the slope when Leon Faraday appeared on the hillside. Thank goodness it wasn’t Taylor. She wasn’t sure she could bluff through a second hillside escapade with him.

  “JoAnne’s cat,” she said, puffing, genuinely out of breath. “It got out. I finally caught it. The cat isn’t used to being outside but got past me when I came home and opened the door. Had quite a tussle catching it.” She pointed back to the disturbed area where the box had been hidden. “It was hiding there. If I’d known you were out, I’d have asked for help. Guess you’re searching for JoAnne’s hat and coat?”

  “Among other things,” Faraday said. “Here, I’ll carry that up for you. You’re out of breath.”

  She couldn’t think of any reason not to give him the carrier. “How nice,” she said, handing it to him carefully. “But don’t let it tilt or sway. The poor thing gets seasick.”

  “Sure is a heavy cat,” Faraday replied as he started back up the hill, and FatCat began to yowl. At least there could be no question in Faraday’s mind that there was a cat inside.

  “Yes,” Carrie said, hoping the pillow would keep the box from sliding.

  She opened the back door, indicated where Faraday could put the carrier on the rug, thanked him, and shut the door.

  “We did it!” she told the cat as she let her out and gave her a pat. “Special treats for you when I can go to the store.” Then she lifted the metal box into her arms.

  When the box was sitting safely on her kitchen table, Carrie star
ed at it in dismay. She hadn’t thought about a key. The box was obviously locked, and a lock obviously needed a key. JoAnne had never mentioned a key, and the thing was probably somewhere in her house, possibly on the key board by the back door, probably right next to where Carrie had found the key to the tool shed!

  She considered. The lock didn’t look too sturdy. Maybe she could break it.

  One screwdriver and two minutes later she had easily popped the lock open. So much for security. But then, JoAnne had only needed protection from gnawing critters.

  Carrie looked at the plastic-wrapped parcels inside the box, concentrating so intently she didn’t notice that FatCat was up on the table staring into the box with her. When she started to lay out the contents, she bumped into a cat.

  Her reaction was immediate. She flailed her arms, sweeping the cat off and catching the box just in time. FatCat yowled, but obviously only her dignity was hurt, and she stared at Carrie malevolently from the floor.

  “Boy, I’ve got to break you of a lot of bad habits,” Carrie told the cat, then turned back to the box, leaving FatCat to nurse her wounded pride.

  She pulled open the seal on the first bag and lifted out the contents. Baby things! A pair of pink booties. A delicate gown with lace. A hospital bracelet that said, in pink letters on tiny white beads, “Harrington.”

  “Oh, dear God.”

  A second package was flatter. Papers. Legal looking. A birth certificate for Susan Elizabeth. Mother: JoAnne Elizabeth Harrington. Father: Henry Jensen King.

  It was several minutes before Carrie set the birth certificate aside and picked up the next document. At first it looked almost like a will, but it only took a glance at the words to tell Carrie it was anything but.

  There were the “whereas” prefixes and stiff wording—a lawyer document. As she read, Carrie’s heart twisted at the implications of what was being set forth in this paper. Henry Jensen King was renouncing any right or claim to the child, Susan Elizabeth Harrington, as his issue. He, under penalty of law, was forbidden to make any contact with this person as child or adult, or to in any way reveal his identity to her.

  Furthermore, Henry Jensen King would have no legal responsibility for this Susan Elizabeth Harrington, either financially or as a parent or guardian. Nor was he to have any future contact with the child’s actual mother, JoAnne Elizabeth Harrington, or with parents who would adopt the child.

  Would such a document hold up in court? Surely not, but to Henry, it wouldn’t matter. There was obviously a lot she didn’t know about Henry King, but she knew him well enough to realize he’d never break this compact. He was honorable to a fault. But, then, then... Wouldn’t he hate JoAnne? She, not Irena, must have been the one he was talking about, the one who had caused him so much pain.

  Forgiving the earlier indignity, FatCat jumped into Carrie’s lap, leaned against her warm body, and looked up. Absently, Carrie’s hand rubbed down the cat’s back, over and over.

  There was one more thing in the box. A small envelope.

  “The contents of this box must never be revealed unless there is an absolute medical necessity. Susan Elizabeth has no right to know and, I hope, will never need to know who her birth parents are.”

  Carrie understood instantly. One evening last summer when she had been at JoAnne’s house, they watched a special nature program on public television. After the show, a teaser for the next program had been run. It was about adopted children who were trying to locate their natural parents. Carrie was surprised when JoAnne left the program on and intently watched it all.

  One of the reasons for seeking birth parents that had been covered during the program was in the instance when family medical history, or even organ donations, were needed. JoAnne hadn’t commented, but it was so unlike her to care about anything on television other than the nature programs that Carrie clearly remembered the evening. And it was only a few days later when JoAnne told her about the hidden box.

  As she sat staring out the window, Carrie said aloud, “Dear God, JoAnne, dear God. This is too much for me. Why did you do it? I don’t want to know this! I don’t want to carry this secret. Not now. Especially not now.”

  FatCat trod a few careful steps on the soft lap, then curled up in cinnamon-roll fashion and shut her eyes, filling the room with a loud purr. Carrie didn’t notice. She folded her arms on the table and put her head down on them. Like the cat, she shut her eyes, but Carrie made no sound.

  She didn’t cry, but if the pain inside had formed into tears, there would have been a lot of them.

  Chapter X

  “Amos never turned against you, never lied, never wanted to make you suffer.”

  Carrie could still hear the anguish in Henry’s voice.

  She had supposed his emotion was the result of something Irena had done. Now she was sure it was not Irena, but JoAnne, who had been the cause.

  Henry was alone, and Susan’s adoptive parents were dead. It would be natural for him to want to be united with his daughter, but JoAnne and the document she and her family had him sign, as well as Henry’s own stiff integrity, stood in the way.

  Carrie tried to picture his thoughts and actions. He must have moved to the area for one of two reasons. Either he was still in love with JoAnne, which she just could not believe, or he hoped that being close to JoAnne would give him a chance to convince her Susan should now be told who her natural parents were.

  The strength of JoAnne’s dislike for Henry was puzzling. It had been too intense, even for someone who didn’t like men in general, and cops in particular. He was, after all, father of the child she adored. And, at one time, she surely must have loved him!

  Henry’s attitude toward JoAnne was easier to figure out. He must have been unhappy with her because of the forced separation from Susan. Carrie thought back over the few times she had seen Henry and JoAnne together—always as part of a larger group. He had been cool, polite, stiffly proper. But, was there fire behind that ice? She squirmed, thinking about Saturday night at the tourist center. Until now, those few moments had seemed very special, a caring closeness she wanted to treasure, even if she and Henry could never be more than good friends. Irena made no difference to that friendship, nor did Amos; they were in the past. But, JoAnne and Susan—especially Susan and what her existence proved—did make a difference.

  What Carrie really wanted to do was phone Henry and say, “I know all about Susan, so tell me the whole story. Just exactly what happened?”

  But that was childish and would probably turn Henry against her, shutting him away, burying him deeper inside his own thoughts.

  Or would it simply infuriate him? Was there a temper buried there?

  She needed to think clearly, more clearly than she ever had in her life! She needed the wisdom of Solomon if she was to help Henry... help everyone.

  “Please, God, I don’t know what to do.”

  She just didn’t know enough yet. Was it possible Henry didn’t really care about Susan?

  If he didn’t care, why did he move here? Thirty years could have given him enough time to wipe Susan out of his memories. How much did he care today?

  And did he care enough to kill? What would JoAnne’s murder gain for him? Carrie couldn’t see any gain, unless...

  Think, oh think!

  Henry must have asked JoAnne to tell Susan about her past.

  JoAnne would have refused. Now, JoAnne was dead.

  There were the fingerprints in JoAnne’s house. Henry must be involved. Was he angry, and had he...

  Carrie rubbed her forehead with two fingers and tried to picture what could have happened. He’d shown no signs of an uncontrollable temper but, under the circumstances, maybe he would have, could have... NO!

  If she’d only known about Susan earlier. She’d have convinced JoAnne. JoAnne was a proud women, but Carrie would have convinced her to acknowledge Susan as a daughter.

  But wait. JoAnne already had Susan. As niece and aunt, the two women were very close, es
pecially now that JoAnne’s sister was dead. So JoAnne really had nothing to gain if her secret was revealed. And, keeping the secret meant she didn’t have to share Susan with Henry!

  So just Henry was left out. There would be no way to bring father and daughter together unless the role of the birth mother was revealed. And that, Carrie saw now, was something as unlikely as Ozarks snow in July.

  JoAnne was proud of being an example of strong womanhood for Susan, she’d said that often enough. She disdained sexual attraction and believed in a strong moral code. She never would have admitted she was Susan’s unwed mother.

  Henry probably thought he could eventually win JoAnne over. Without JoAnne, did he have any proof he was Susan’s father? Was the only proof right here in the box?

  There would be records in Kansas City... no, the birth certificate was from some maternity home in New York State.

  The records could have been traced, especially if Henry had any idea where Susan was born. But why would he know? It was unlikely JoAnne or her parents had told him.

  And, even if Susan knew she was adopted, there was still no guarantee she’d want anything to do with a father who, she might assume—or perhaps had been told—abandoned both child and mother. Only JoAnne could tell her the truth about that.

  JoAnne wouldn’t. And now, JoAnne couldn’t.

  JoAnne’s death, as Henry must see it, had put an impassable barrier between him and his daughter. No wonder he had shed tears!

  And naturally, he couldn’t have killed JoAnne.

  Carrie realized with a start that he must have searched JoAnne’s house to look for the very papers she had in front of her. It would have been like JoAnne to taunt him by telling him she had the papers here in Arkansas, using them as her own personal form of punishment for what had happened long ago, but was, until Saturday, very fresh in the minds of at least two people. And now only one of those people was left.

  Carrie’s thoughts were leaping wildly.