by Donna McLean
A tall row of bookshelves to the left caught her eye and she wandered slowly up one side and around the corner to the other side of the row. Enclosed by two rows of tall bookcases, she felt herself drawn into the past worlds of the titles presented before her, forgetting that she was now living in the twenty first century. Impressive looking volumes drew her attention with their ancient tooled leather covers. She tilted her head to read the titles. Scottish Settlers of North Carolina, History of the State, Founding Families of Sparrow Falls.
Addie chose the latter title and leafed through the pages, casually browsing for familiar names, pausing to look at faded photos. She leaned back against the shelves and read closely the page mentioning the MacArdans, Tilda’s ancestors. Finding a page devoted to the Goss family, Addie learned that they had been the first settlers of the tiny town more than two hundred years earlier, their family origin enshrouded in the mists of ancient Scottish and Welsh history and legend. Fascinated by the story and forgetting where she was, Addie sat down on the floor to read and leaned back against the bookshelves.
A sepia toned tintype was reproduced on the page and although the woman pictured was dressed in Civil War era garb her pale skin, delicate features and dark hair startled Addie in their strong resemblance to Morwenna. She tilted the book toward the light and murmured, “Something about the eyes, their expression, is just exactly like her. It is almost as though they are the same person . . .”
Out of the corner of her eye she sensed movement but had no time to react. Someone zoomed around the corner of the bookshelf, realized a person was sitting on the floor, dropped his books, floundered with both arms, tried to stop himself from tripping, and instead crash landed on the floor at Addie’s feet. Her heart sank when she saw that it was the golden boy!
Frozen with trepidation, they both sat on the floor and stared at each other for what seemed like hours. His expression was pained and humiliated. Hers was embarrassed. Her eyes were wide and surprised, but she noticed that his eyes were a startling shade of blue.
Addie McRae scrambled up from the floor and reached for his scattered books. “I’m really sorry,” she began, but golden boy interrupted her harshly.
“Why don’t you just hit me now and get it over with? Here,” he snapped, grabbing War and Peace off the shelf and shoving it into her hands. “This book is about ten inches thick. It should finish me off nicely.”
“I don’t want to finish anybody off. I’m really, really sorry,” Addie stammered.
Golden boy stood up and knocked the lint off his jeans. His lanky frame towered over Addie. “Are you out to get the entire town, or is it just me?” He glared at her. “You’ve been trying to hit me all day!”
Addie felt her temper beginning to rise, further embarrassed by the presence of curious onlookers who were beginning to peer around corners and shelves to watch the fight. “Maybe you have been in my way all day!” she snapped.
Addie turned her back and stomped off but overheard him explaining to the spectators, “These city folk in their fancy cars come to a small town and drive like they’re still on the highway . . .”
The flustered young woman was relieved to see that Ms. Mays was now free to assist her. She hurried to escape the stares of the library patrons and hoped that the historian hadn’t witnessed the embarrassing encounter. The gracious woman turned to her with a smile that instantly made Addie feel at ease.
Ms. Auralee Mays brought to Addie’s mind the flowered fields of Queen Anne’s lace she had seen profusely scattered throughout the south. The plants were tall, slender, and graceful, their white caps of clustered tiny flowers bending and bowing gently in the breeze, fields covered with a hundred wildflowers all twirling and dipping graciously like dancers at an old fashioned southern cotillion. Auralee Mays resembled the flowers in her height, slimness and graceful movements. Her hair was cropped short and painstakingly set into tiny white Grecian curls that reminded Addie of the flower’s blooms. She wore a long, flowing dress of pale green buttoned to the neckline with tiny white orbs, a dress that enhanced the willowy quality of her appearance.
“May I help you find something?” she drawled softly as Addie approached the desk. She nodded her head with interest while Addie explained who she was and why she had come to Sparrow Falls.
“Yes, I remember when the unpleasant incident took place. Sad, very sad. We have a wonderful collection of old newspapers dating from that time. The Sparrow Falls Harbinger should be just the thing you need.”
“Harbinger?” The young writer repeated curiously. “That’s a quaint word.”
Ms. Auralee Mays smiled. “I believe a more accurate word would be archaic, but all the same it seems to suit our little town. The newspaper is still in publication today, as a matter of fact, although it’s down to three days a week now. Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday for the big issue with all the coupons and flyers. It used to be a seven day paper, but what with computers and the Internet and cable news, so many of the old newspapers are cutting back, even in an out of the way place like Sparrow Falls.”
As she talked, Ms. Mays led Addie to an oversized, clunky computer monitor circa 1990 and pushed the on button. While the screen flickered unhurriedly to life she explained that the old newspapers had been scanned and archived on the computer more than a decade ago when it was new. “It’s terribly slow, but it should make it much easier for you to search and find the specific items you’re seeking. And you may want to visit the newspaper office itself, right around the corner. There may be additional information in their archives that is not available here.”
“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” Addie withdrew a notebook and pencil from her shoulder bag and eagerly began scrolling through the archives. She went instantly to the year of the unpleasant incident, as the townsfolk liked to call it, and searched for the month of the summer picnic.
Numerous articles caught her attention and made her pause to read. She began to get a good idea of the people, sense of community and daily lives of the residents in and around Sparrow Falls. Birth and death notices, engagement announcements, elaborate descriptions of weddings, even birthday parties and church suppers were described in greater detail than Addie had ever seen reported by a city newspaper. Short columns here and there described such interesting events as an equinoxal storm that had carried the roof off a barn and destroyed a chicken house while leaving the residents’ large farmhouse untouched, leading Addie to assume that the unusual phrase referred to a tornado or hurricane. A few residents had been quarantined due to something described only as an outbreak of the fever, with no defining details of the illness. Addie noted the date on that as being a few weeks after the information she sought and began to scroll up to view the previous dates.
As the pages rolled by another name caught her eye. Addie read the short blurb aloud in a hushed tone suitable for a library. “Miss Frances Dowd returned home today after caring for her ailing uncle, Joseph Dowd of Pine Grove, who passed away last Wednesday. We all wish to offer our condolences on this sad passing and fond remembrances of a life well lived.”
Addie paused to check the information against her list and ticked the item off with the pencil. Then she resumed scrolling through the archived data. A picture of Deputy Garnett Simms surrounded by a group of young campers captured her attention for a moment. The caption beneath the picture stated that the deputy often volunteered his time to benefit the camper’s club and that he was well loved by all the boys. Addie reflected that he looked like a very nice man and not like the murderous type at all.
She scrolled more slowly, noting that the date on the newspaper was drawing nearer to the date of the crime. A headline jumped out at her suddenly.
TRAGEDY AT TOWN PICNIC
Mrs. Ada McRae, wife of Dr. James McRae, was found dead today at the shoreline of Ambrose Lake. She had disappeared during the annual town picnic at the lake and a group of men, led by Dr. McRae and Deputy Garnett Simms, had searched for the missing woman for appr
oximately one half hour. The body was found in shallow water at a secluded area of the lake’s shore. At first it appeared to be a drowning death, but an investigation is ongoing and Deputy Garnett Simms now confirms that they do consider the death to be the result of a homicide. No suspects were mentioned and no further information is being released at this time. Mrs. McRae leaves behind her husband and one son, the infant James McRae, Jr.
Addie leaned back in the chair, barely noticing the hard wooden splats pressing into her back. A knot clutched her stomach. Seeing the information in black and white within the emotionless confines of a news article made the whole nightmare seem real to her for the first time.
The minutes passed slowly as she pondered over the things she had learned so far. The firsthand account Tilda had given her and the few small articles from the library archives hadn’t amounted to much. Ada McRae’s short obituary only listed her surviving relatives, Addie’s father and grandfather, and shed little light upon her grandmother’s life before coming to Sparrow Falls. The young woman glanced at her watch. It was a little before three o’clock. She decided to wind things up at the library and drop in at the newspaper office before heading back to Tilda’s house. She closed her notebook with a sense that there was still a long way to go in discovering her family’s history and solving the mystery of Ada’s murder. The articles had filled in a few gaps without revealing anything she hadn’t already heard. She waved at Ms. Auralee Mays and said a cheery thank you on her way out of the library, turning right to walk a block to the newspaper office.
The downtown area was fairly busy with people strolling along wide sidewalks in a leisurely way or darting in and out of shops. Young mothers holding a child’s hand paused to chat with each other while people running errands scurried to and fro. Tourists off the beaten path stopped to window shop at a dozen tiny storefronts offering antiques, old books or home cooked meals. A hand lettered sign propped up in the window of a quaint coffee shop stated that it now had free Wi-Fi, indicating that the passage of time eventually encroached even upon a place such as Sparrow Falls.
Addie noticed that every person smiled or nodded a friendly greeting as she passed. Encouraged, she stopped a group of teens just about to enter a sandwich shop and said, “Excuse me. Can you point me toward the newspaper office and tell me the name of the editor?”
“Yes, ma’am.” One of the boys spoke up politely and the girls behind him giggled. He pointed straight ahead and said, “It’s just a couple blocks that way. Ask for Pearce Allen.” They scurried into the sandwich shop, laughing and chattering.
Addie McRae strolled at a leisurely pace along the busy sidewalk of the small town. She thought that Sparrow Falls really was a lovely, cozy little town, full of friendly people, and wondered how many of the citizens she passed had known her grandparents, perhaps been childhood friends with her Granddad, and maybe even attended the fatal picnic.
The young woman paused at the entrance to the Sparrow Falls Harbinger and studied the building with an appreciative eye. It was the tallest building on the street and constructed of light gray stone in a style evocative of the 1930’s Art Deco era. The name The Harbinger was proudly inscribed across the top of the roofline’s edifice in huge scrolling letters as though proclaiming that it would be there forever.
She pushed open the glass doors and stepped into a cool foyer made of marble. It was dimly lit. Directly ahead stood an elevator with an old fashioned demilune dial at the top, the floor numbers lit from behind, a metal arrow pointing to the number one. A reception area behind sliding glass windows was to the left, the windows pushed to one side. A young man, probably in the late teens, was the only person manning the desk. He appeared to be rolling newspapers in preparation for delivery.
“May I help you?” he asked cheerfully as Addie approached the windows.
She smiled at him. “Yes. I would like to see Mr. Allen, please.”
The boy looked at her with a baffled expression creasing his youthful face. “Mr. Allen?” he asked.
Addie nodded pleasantly. “Yes, Mr. Allen. I was told he could help me with some information about a crime that took place here years ago. I’m a freelance writer.”
The boy frowned, thinking hard. He repeated the puzzling statements carefully. “Mr. Allen can help you find out about a crime? That took place here?” He stopped rolling newspapers and leaned forward to look more closely at Addie, tilting his red headed cranium to one side like a curious puppy and fastening bright eyes upon her face.
She wondered briefly if the glass windows prevented the child from hearing her clearly. “Yes,” she began, in a much louder voice, “I would like to see Mr. Allen. Will you please tell Mr. Allen that Addie McRae is here?”
“Well, I would be glad to do that for you, ma’am, but Mr. Allen doesn’t work here. In fact I don’t know anybody named Mr. Allen and I’ve worked here four years.” He waited curiously for her reaction to that bit of news.
The young woman gripped her purse tightly and began to feel a bit flustered. “I was told, just a few minutes ago, to come to this newspaper office and ask for Pearce Allen.”
“Oh, you mean Pearce Allen! Not Mr. Allen.” The boy looked at her funny.
That threw Addie a bit but she decided to take what she could get. “Okay, let’s call him Pearce Allen. I’d like to ask him some questions about a crime that happened here a long time ago. Now will you go get this Mr. Pearce Allen, please?” She crossed her arms and scowled.
“Yes, ma’am, I can do that for you. You wait right there. I’ll be back directly.” The teenager darted off, returning in a few short minutes with a tall, lanky fellow whose hair was golden brown and whose eyes were a startling shade of blue.
six
Pearce Allen stared at Addie McRae. Addie McRae stared at Pearce Allen. The boy stared at both of them. Finally Pearce Allen spoke in a tone of voice that was polite but cold.
“Gibson said you wanted to ask me some questions about a crime. Are you a reporter? A television newscaster? Something like that?”
Addie recovered her shaken composure and replied in a polite but cold tone that matched his. “I’m a freelance writer looking for information about the murder of Ada McRae in 1953. The historian at the library suggested that I talk to you about it . . .” Her voice trailed off as she noticed the shocked look that suddenly appeared on golden boy’s handsome face.
“Ms. Auralee said you should ask me about it?” he asked, incredulous.
Gibson, who had been stuffing the folded newspapers into a cardboard box while covertly listening to their discussion, froze solid and stared at Addie with his mouth hanging open.
Addie quickly reflected back upon her conversation with Auralee Mays, wondering why both men seemed so stunned at this comment. “Well, not specifically you, but she said that there may be more information here at the newspaper office than was available in the library archives.” She paused when she noticed Pearce Allen’s complexion reddening in what appeared to be anger. Then she took a deep breath and began again. “I’m specifically interested in information pertaining to the investigation by Garnett Simms. I believe he was the deputy at the time of the murder.”
Pearce Allen glared at her with unmistakable and barely contained fury. “Just what are you implying?” he asked through stiff lips.
“Rumor has it that he may have been implicated in some way and I’d like to investigate—” Addie broke off in sudden shock when Gibson dropped the box of newspapers with a thud and scooted out of sight.
Pearce Allen leaned toward Addie in a threatening manner and enunciated the words slowly, as though struggling to contain a massive explosion. “Is your sole purpose in coming here to torment me?”
The young woman blinked in stunned amazement. “What?”
“Why are you here? Who are you, anyway?”
“I’m Addie McRae. I came to Sparrow Falls looking for information about my family, that’s all. And I was told that you, Mr. Pearce Allen, would be gla
d to help me. I guess I was given some incorrect information!” She picked up her purse, slung it across her shoulder, and turned to walk out.
“That’s not the only incorrect information you’ve been given!” the golden boy yelled, craning his neck to look at her through the glass window. “Garnett Simms was never involved with that woman!”
Addie shoved the front door but it refused to budge. She spun around in a fury. “That’s funny because I heard that he may have murdered her and covered up the evidence during his investigation!” she screamed. She pushed the door again, harder, but it still declined to open.
Pearce Allen leaned across the reception desk, poked his head out of the open window, and yelled, “Get out! Get out of my office!”
She kicked the door and yelled furiously. “I am trying to get out of your office! Can’t you see that the stupid door is stuck?” The young woman pushed on it again, applying all the weight of her slight frame.
The handsome young fellow withdrew from the window and came around the corner with his head down as though pushing against the wind. He kept his gaze fastened stubbornly on the floor and refused to look at Addie as he reached past her, grabbed the door handle and yanked it open. “You are supposed to pull, not push,” he said with forced calm in his voice. He waved his arm with an exaggerated flourish, motioning her to exit the building with a mocking smirk.
