“I’ll look for you tomorrow at the bed races,” he said.
With a salute of his hand, he walked across the porch and up the path to his car. She closed the door and locked it. She turned to face the room and tried to think about the possibility that someone could still be outside watching her. Taking the cell phone from her purse, she set it on the bedside table. She took her time getting ready for bed and read until she was sleepy. Knowing it was important for her to regain confidence in the safety of the cottage, she finally turned off the lights.
For a time she listened to the noises outside and the creaking sounds in the house itself. Eventually the far off sound of the loons lulled her into sleep.
“Wow, this is quite an event,” Clare said, following the crowd of people walking toward the park. “Looks like half of Minnesota has come out for the art show.”
“The weather cooperated too,” Ruth said, cutting between the sawhorses set up to funnel people across the street from the parking lot. “There’s always a big turnout since in the North August means summer is coming to an end.”
“Now that’s a depressing thought,” Clare said as she took Ruth’s arm to help her over the curb. “The park is perfect for this. With all the trees, even as hot as it is, there’s plenty of shade.”
They wandered along the line of artists’ booths, stopping occasionally to look more closely at someone’s work. Clare was drawn to the bigger paintings, especially the local landscapes.
“I have no idea where I’d hang that one,” she said, pointing to an oil painting that was six feet square. “It’s lovely, but it would takeup a whole wall in my place.”
“I think that’s what they refer to as a sofa-size painting,” Ruth chuckled.
Clare moved back into the stream of traffic and bumped into a solid body. Looking up, she smiled as she recognized Ed Wiklander.
“I’m sorry, Ed. I wasn’t looking where I was going. How are you this morning?”
Expecting a warm greeting she was surprised that he didn’t return her smile.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Afternoon, Ed,” Ruth said, joining them. “Are you coming or going?”
“Just leaving.”
“Excuse me while I catch a friend,” Ruth said as she darted across the path to another booth.
“Any artist in particular you’d recommend?” Clare asked.
“I’m not much of an expert.”
Ed fidgeted as if anxious to get away. Curious, Clare came right to the point.
“Did I offend you somehow the other night?”
Heflushed, turning his head away for a moment before he turned back to stare down at her.
“I heard you’re a reporter. Is that true?”
“Sort of. I work for a literary magazine in Chicago. I’m here to interview Nathan Hanssen.”
“You’re also looking into the Newton murder?”
“Yes, my editor wants to do a story on it. A human-interest story about small-town crime.”
“No one in town wants the subject brought up again.” Ed’s voice was harsh. “It was a long time ago and better left forgotten.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Ed. The article will run in Chicago, so I don’t think anyone here will even see it. I was actually hoping I might interview you in order to get your take on the story.”
“Not a chance,” he practically spit out the words.
“Ididn’t mean to upset you. I’m not planning to sensationalize anything. I . . .”
“Take some advice, Clare,” Ed interrupted. “Leave it alone. Do your interview and stop digging into something that’s best left alone.”
With an abrupt nod of his head, he brushed by her. Clare turned, watching his angry figure disappear in the crowd.
“What was that all about?” Ruth asked coming back to stand beside her.
Clare smiled grimly. “Apparently the news that I’m a reporter and doing a story on the Newton murder has gotten out. Ed was just warning me to stop digging into it. When I asked if I could interview him, he almost snapped my head off.”
“My, my.” Ruth looked thoughtful. She pulled Clare out of the movement of foot traffic. “It makes sense though. Ed adored his father, who died five years ago. If you remember in the article, Big Red and Jimmy had the fight the night of the murder. I’m sure Ed doesn’t want that brought up again.”
“What an idiot I am. I forgot all about it. I just saw it as an opportunity to interview someone who was around at the time of the murder. Ed’s older than I, so I thought he might have had some impressions about what went on at the time. Or at least he’d have heard his parents talking.”
“Heprobably did and that’s why he doesn’t want it brought up again. His father was a married man and yet he was flirting with Lily Newton.”
Clare sighed. “I have to remember that other people may be more emotionally invested in this case than I am. I’m still at the stage where it’s like reading a murder mystery. I don’t feel an emotional impact. If I could remember my life back then, maybe I’d be passionate about it too.”
“It’ll come in good time.” Ruth patted her arm. “So much for trying to keep my identity a secret.”
“You look worried, but I don’t think it’s a problem that people know that you’re a reporter.”
“If that’s all they know.” Clare led Ruth across to one of the picnic tables near the concession stands. She bought two bottles of water and they sat down in the shade. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since our dinner on Thursday. So much has happened.”
Between sips of water, Clare told Ruth about her father’s wallet and chain. Then she told her about Judge Shannon’s note to Thatcher and Nate coming to the cottage while she opened the box and found the photos and the jewelry box.
“I wish I could tell you what Owen’s part in all this was. I suppose he could have arranged all the paperwork, but it still surprises me that he didn’t push Rose to tell you about your identity. He was the most honest of men,” Ruth said. “The only thing I can think of is that my brother thought he would live forever and there was plenty of time to tell you.”
“It was such a sad time when he died. I know it took Gail a long time to recover and I’m not sure her brothers ever did.”
“Yes.” Ruth shook her head. “I had been widowed for two years when he had his heart attack. Fifty-nine is much too young. And worse yet, I wasn’t able to attend the funeral. I’d broken my leg and the doctor wouldn’t let me travel.”
“I loved your brother dearly, Ruth. He always made Rose and me feel like family.”
They sat quietly for several minutes, both caught up in their memories. Finally Ruth stirred.
“Enough sad memories. Let’s get back to your search for identity,” Ruth said. “So with the help of the pictures and the date in the wedding ring, you were able to find your parents marriage license?”
“And my birth certificate,” Clare said. “It’s strange how a simple piece of paper could give me the feeling that I really do exist.” Clare took a long swallow of the cold water. “And I went out to dinner with Nate last night.”
“So you’ve definitely been holding out on me. I sensed the night of the church supper that he was interested, although the devil child was keeping him from coming over to meet you. Don’t just sit there. Give me all the details. Hopefully there will be some salacious ones.”
“Sorry to disappoint you but it was a fairly chaste evening.”
“Ah well, there’s always next time.”
“Really, Ruth.” Clare could feel a blush rise to her cheeks. Looking across at the twinkling eyes of the older woman she found herself laughing. “Yes, it was a good evening and, yes, there appears to be some kind of connection between us.”
“Lovely. I won’t even pry anymore. I’ll just trust you’ll keep me informed.” She finished her drink and looked down at her watch. “For the moment we have to cut away from your social updates for something much more exci
ting. The bed races are about to start.”
Clare stood up. “One question before we go. Did you stop by the cottage last night?”
“No. I was too tired when I got home and, although your car was in the lot, there was only one light on so I thought you’d gone to bed early. Why?”
“Someone was in the cottage while I was at dinner with Nate.”
Ruth’s eyes widened in shock. “A breakin?”
“No. I think I left the back door unlocked.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. The papers on the counter had been gone through and other things in the bedroom had been touched. Nothing was taken, but someone clearly knows who I am.”
“Was Nate with you when you came back from dinner?”
“Yes. He thinks it was someone who was curious as to who I am.”
“Maybe so, but the mere fact whoever it was entered without permission is troublesome. I don’t like that at all, Clare.”
“Idon’t either. I’ll just have to be more careful when I leave the house.”
“If it was curiosity I don’t see that they will come back, but I still don’t like the fact it happened. Do you feel threatened at all?”
Clare thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. Since it wasn’t robbery, I can’t imagine any reason for anyone to break in. Perhaps he or she came to see me and walked in when they found the door open. I suppose I’ll never know.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“Enough of this. We don’t want to be late for the bed races,” Clare said.
Ruth led the way in a quick sprint, cutting through the park over to the main highway on the far side. They came through the crowd and walked along the street until there was a shout from one of the spectators. One of the women from the church supper was waving to Ruth.
“You remember meeting Maya Peterson,” Ruth said, as she led her over to the lovely whitehaired lady, sitting on one of the wooden benches beside the parade route. “She’s been saving us seats.”
“Thank you, Maya,” Clare said. “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since I heard about the races.”
“They’ll be coming down that hill.” Maya pointed to the long hill on the right. “It’s always great fun.”
Looking up at the top of the hill, Clare could see an old, metal bed frame with a mattress was poised on the crest. A young girl in footed pajamas with a stuffed teddy bear was holding onto the headboard. Three boys similarly attired were standing behind thebed ready to push. Beside them was another bed, made out of plywood, shaped to resemble a spaceship. A costumed alien was on thebed. A horn sounded and the racers pushed the beds, which came flying down the hill. The spaceship was well in the lead until one of the wheels hit a bump and the headboard came loose. The spaceship screeched to a halt and the alien rolled against the footboard causing the entire bed to collapse.
The crowd applauded and whistled their enjoyment as the iron bed frame crossed the finish line. Several other races were run. One of Clare’s favorite entrants was an old-fashioned porcelain bathtub, which came to a disastrous end when it veered off course and crashed into a telephone pole. Apparently the pajamaed first team made the best time as it was declared the winner.
“See what you’ve been missing in Chicago,” Maya said as the crowd began to disperse.
“What fun,” Clare said. “I can’t decide who had more laughs. The people watching or those involved in the race.”
Ruth led her back to the art show. She was amazed at the quality and variety of the displays. Although she much preferred the paintings, she really admired the bronze figures and some of the intricate pottery pieces.
“Waldo’s owner is one of the people exhibiting. His name is Jake Jorgenson. He’s a friend of mine and I’d like you to meet him.”
“I forgot to mention that I met him the first night I was here,” Clare said. “He came over to make sure Waldo wasn’t bothering me.”
“Jake is a wonderful artist. I think you’ll like his work.” Ruth pointed along the row of canvas tents to one at the end of the line. “It’s a good spot for him. Right before the turn to the food concessions.”
As they approached Jorgenson’s booth, Clare was impressed by the landscapes hanging on the canvas walls. Lake and woods were the subjects of all the pictures. The detail was meticulous but it was the use of light that she liked best. The warm reddish tones of early evening brought a glow to the paintings that she found delightful.
Ruth had hung back as Clare looked at the paintings, letting her view each one undisturbed. As she approached the middle of the booth, she spotted a man seated in a canvas director’s chair at the back of the tent. His head was bent over a book in his lap and she suspected he was asleep.
He reminded Clare of pictures of Ichabod Crane. Long legs, awkwardly bent, sticking out from beige shorts. A rumpled cotton jacket and shirt hung on his thin, almost gaunt body. She could see he had a sharp-edged chin but the rest of his face was in shadow. His hair was full and white, cut shaggily around his neck. Clare smiled as Ruth came up behind her.
“What kind of salesman sleeps on the job,” Ruth said, just loud enough to wake him.
He raised his head slowly, his eyes blinking as he stared up at Clare. It took him a moment to focus and then he lurched forward. He rose so quickly that he knocked over his chair. Muttering under his breath, he picked it up and set it back in place.
“Sorry for being so clumsy. I’m stiff from sitting so long.” He came forward, brushing at the creases in his jacket sheepishly as he leaned over to kiss Ruth on the cheek. “And, yes, I was asleep.”
“It’s hot in the sun,” Ruth said, then nodded at Clare. “I gather you’ve already met my renter, Jake.”
“I’m not sure you’d recognize me since it was so dark. I’m Clare Prentice. Waldo’s friend.”
She held out her hand and after a slight hesitation he gave her a quick handshake. Looking at his weather-beaten face, she suspected that he was older than she’d first suspected. Deep lines cut across his forehead and alongside his nose and mouth. His ears jutted out away from his head, freckled and leathery from too many years under the sun. He moved like an old man, yet his brown eyes had a youthful twinkle as he stared at her.
“You’re much prettier in the light of day,” he said.
“Careful, Clare, the man has a silver tongue and a soft spot for the ladies,” Ruth said, turning back to Jake. “Clare’s come up from Chicago to do an interview with Nate Hanssen. She’s also doing research on the Newton murder.”
Jake’s eyebrows raised and he gave Clare a sharp look of inspection. “That was a long time ago. Twenty years ago at least.”
“Actually it’s twenty-five years. I’m thinking of doing an anniversary piece. Trying to talk to people who might have known the Newton’s. Was Jimmy a contemporary of yours? He would have been sixty-seven if he was alive today.”
“Thanks for the compliment, but I’m seventy-three so even if I’d lived here I probably wouldn’t have known him.” He brushed his hair back with a heavily sun-spotted hand. “I’ve only been living in Grand Rapids for three years. Came here when I retired.”
“What did you do before you retired?” she asked.
“I was a graphic designer in Duluth. Used to come here to fish and eventually bought an old cabin on the lake. It’s beautiful country and there’s plenty for me to paint,” he said, waving his hand at the pictures on the walls of the booth.
“Where is the hound from hell?” Ruth asked. “I half expected Waldo to be here. “
Jake chuckled. “My plan was to bring him. First thing this morning, my neighbor Barbara Peck asked if she could take him on a picnic with her grandchildren. It seems my dog has a busier social calendar than I do.” He pulled at his earlobe as he looked sideways at Clare. “How are you enjoying the art show?”
“Very much. Although it can’t compare for excitement with the bed races.”
“Poor girl lives in Chicago,
and has never had the opportunity to see them before,” Ruth said.
“Culturally deprived obviously,” Jake said. “Minnesota is considered a trendsetter in most things.”
Ruth snorted in amusement. “Look around, Clare. I told you Jake was highly talented.”
Clare had to agree as she looked more carefully at the paintings. The brushstrokes were precise and the colors were so true to life that they almost looked like photographs. She moved around the tent impressed at the display, stopping occasionally to peer more closely. She was aware that Jake was watching her reactions, but she didn’t really know what to say to indicate her pleasure.
Shegot to the last one and turned back. Ruth had been standing at the side but shifted slightly and Clare caught a glimpse of a small picture she’d missed the first time around. There was something about the picture that drew her forward until she was standing in front of it.
It was a dark, brooding study of an old boathouse seen through the mist of a rainstorm.
Something about the picture caught her attention and held her in place. She could feel her heart beating strongly as she stared at the painting. Her gaze swept back and forth across the canvas and she could feel a tingling in her hands. It was as if she were looking at the picture through the wrong end of a telescope. What wasit about the picture that frightened her?
Her vision blurred and for a moment she thought she might faint.
S
Chapter Thirteen
“Clare.” Jake’s voice close to her ear brought her back to her senses. “Are you all right?” Embarrassed by her momentary faintness, Clare stepped back and took a deep breath.
“For some reason I’m feeling a little shaky,” she said.
She turned to face Jake. He was watching her intently, his eyes shadowed and his mouth pulled into a frown.
“It could be the heat.” Jake said. “It’s usually not this hot for the show. This year it’s pretty brutal. Would you like to sit for a minute?”
“I think I’m all right now. I was a little dizzy. Almost as if I was having a reaction to the picture.”
Conspiracy of Silence Page 17
