Secrets Never Told Page 14

  A knock at the door startled Jean. A nurse pushed the door open and peeped inside. “Everything alright in here? You need anything?”

  “We’re fine. Thanks.”

  The nurse studied Jean from head to toe in that protecting-my-patients way. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Jean put some ice from the Styrofoam bucket into a plastic glass and filled it with water. She pulled a flexible straw from its paper casing and stuck it in the glass. “Are you thirsty?” She put the straw to Lillian’s lips.

  When Lillian puckered her lips around the straw, Jean was overcome with joy. Then she reminded herself that as humans, we share an animal instinct for survival. Jean watched her mother drink nearly half the glass of water. When she stopped drinking, she kept her lips around the straw, so Jean gently pulled it away and set the glass on the nightstand.

  Jean patted her mother’s arm. “I’m going to let you rest now. I’ll send the nurse in, in case you need to go to the bathroom.” She leaned over and hugged Lillian and then kissed her on the cheek. “I love you. Forgive me for breaking my promise.”

  Jean gathered her purse and walked to the door to leave, trying not to cry for the loss of the woman her mother once was.

  ◆◆◆

  As Jean walked out the door, Lillian turned her head slightly to watch. Her hand shaking, Lillian tried to wave goodbye but didn’t have the strength. She laid her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER 36

  Boogie and Jean drove in silence as they left the nursing home. While Boogie focused on the road, Jean stared out the window, trying to recognize places she had not seen in decades and noting how much had changed.

  Jean was the first to speak. “Well, you told me not to expect much, and you were right. She has no recollection of me at all.” Her voice choked slightly, and she cleared her throat. “But I’m glad I saw her.”

  Boogie kept an eye on the large pickup that pulled alongside them to pass and felt his shoulders tense. As a law enforcement officer, he hated vehicles with windows shaded so dark you couldn’t see inside. The occupants could have a shotgun aimed at you, and you’d never know it—until it was too late. Once the pickup had passed and sped ahead of them, he kept one hand on the wheel and reached out to Jean with his right. “I know it’s a lot to ask. But can you ever forgive me and your mother for sending you away when you were a child?” He held onto her hand for fear she would pull away. Instead, she squeezed tightly in response.

  “If you had asked me that a few years ago, I would have told you no. But I’ve thought a lot about how difficult it must have been for you and Mother to live apart and hide your relationship, much less trying to hide a child. I’ve convinced myself that in different times, both of you would have handled it differently.”

  Boogie kept his eyes on the road and pulled her hand up to kiss it. “That’s why you’re such a great doctor. You’re smarter and wiser than me.” They rode in silence for a few minutes before either spoke. “I’m going to drop you off at the inn, and then I need to check out something.”

  Jean pulled her hand away and turned slightly in her seat. “Is it somewhere I can tag along? I really don’t feel like being alone right now.”

  “Why don’t we just get something to eat? I can take care of the other thing later.”

  “No, I don’t want you to change your plans. I can sit in the car. I’ve got to catch up on my emails anyway. That work?”

  Boogie didn’t feel good about taking Jean with him, but she rarely asked him for anything, and he wasn’t about to deny her today. “Alright. But you’ll have to stay in the car.” A few miles later, Boogie pulled off the highway and traveled down the long, single lane road that led to a neglected farm.

  Jean looked around the overgrown fields. “Is this . . .” She looked again. “Is this 7 Crows Farm? Why are we here?”

  “I just want to see if I can find out where Angel’s family is. I need to get a DNA swab. I don’t think anyone is living here, at least not the Petersons, so this is probably a wasted trip. But then again, maybe the current occupants have some information that would help me find the Peterson family.” He turned the key in the ignition and pushed the gear into park. “I won’t be long.”

  As Boogie walked up the path to the house, he felt lighter than usual. Maybe it wasn’t too late to make amends with Jean. Retirement had never seemed like an option. What would he do with himself? But now he was having second thoughts. Maybe he could move closer to her, and they could spend more time together.

  He knocked on the front door of the old house. After waiting briefly, he knocked again. When there was no response, he turned to leave. And then he heard the door open.

  “What do you want?” a young woman asked.

  Boogie pointed to the sheriff’s badge on his shirt pocket. “I’m Sheriff Bernard Waters. Do you live here?”

  The young woman stared in silence.

  “Is there anyone else here I can talk to?”

  She continued to stare.

  “I’m trying to locate someone, any family member, related to a woman who lived here once. Her name was Angel.”

  A flash of recognition seemed to register on the young woman’s face. Her eyes appeared to widen a bit.

  “Are you related to her? Or did you know her?”

  The woman seemed to be nodding toward Boogie’s car, as if she were trying to signal something to him. It was probably nothing.

  He held out a business card to her. “Here’s my number. If there’s anyone here I can talk to later, or if you want to talk, just call this direct number.”

  The woman didn’t move to take the card.

  Growing tired of this one-sided conversation, Boogie leaned down and put the card on the worn wooden porch. “I’ll just leave it here.” As he stood up, he noticed movement near the woman. He was expecting her to slam the door. Instead, a tall man in overalls pushed her aside and stood before Boogie.

  “It’s been a while, Boogie. Maybe you forgot me.”

  Boogie wished he could have forgotten that face, with its perpetual snarl. “Hey, Fred. Long time. Could you come out on the porch so we could talk a minute?”

  Fred motioned for the woman to leave. “Sure thing.”

  Boogie glanced toward his car. Jean must have leaned against the window to take a nap. He could barely see the top of her head. “I don’t have long but I was wondering if you had heard about the bones they found at the inn?”

  Fred smiled. “I don’t follow the news much.”

  Out of his peripheral vision, Boogie saw the young woman from the house approaching them. Her hands were behind her back, and her long, flowered skirt flared out in the breeze.

  “Come on. Over here,” Fred called out to her.

  Boogie was ready to go. Seeing Fred again after all these years was unnerving. “I’m going to leave now, but if you’re staying back here at the farm, I’ll catch up with you later.”

  “You can’t run from the past,” Fred said.

  Boogie watched uneasily as the young woman, moving as if in slow motion, handed Fred the shotgun she had concealed behind her.

  “Go to hell, Boogie. Angel’s there waiting on you.”

  ◆◆◆

  The explosive shot jarred Jean from her nap. She bolted upright in her seat. Up the driveway near the house, a tall man and a younger woman were staring down at the porch floor, at Boogie’s lifeless body, his crisp shirt now crimson red.

  Jean’s hand flew to her mouth. Had they seen her? She glanced at the ignition. The keys were still there. The man was dragging Boogie down the front steps by his arms toward the barn to the right of the house. The young woman kept her eyes on them.

  Jean crouched lower in the seat and swung her left leg over the center console. Then she managed to get into the driver’s seat and pull her other leg over. She slumped down as far as she could, while keeping an eye on the man and woman. When they dragged Boogie into the barn, Jean, raised by her
Catholic aunt, crossed herself and turned the key. Please, please let it start.

  As the engine roared to life, she sat up and slammed the gear into reverse to turn around. The man came running out and fired at the car. She heard buckshot hitting metal.

  Dust, gravel, and tears flew everywhere as Jean gunned the accelerator. In the rear mirror, she could see the man still standing there, shotgun in hand. She managed to hit every pothole in the narrow road before she reached the main road. She turned so sharply, she almost lost control, but she held on with trembling hands.

  She got up to nearly ninety miles per hour before she felt safe enough to look in the rearview mirror. So far, nothing behind her. Just ahead, she saw a BP gas station. She turned in and ran inside, leaving the car parked in the middle of the parking area, motor still running.

  “Help me, please. Someone shot my father.”

  CHAPTER 37

  News of Boogie’s death traveled quickly throughout the county. Emotions ran high: shock, sadness, anger. Who would kill him and why?

  Around Madden, everyone assumed the 7 Crows Farm had been abandoned years ago. Concerned citizens speculated that squatters had taken up residence and killed Boogie when he tried to run them off. Deputies swarmed the farm but found no one, other than Boogie’s body in the barn. The state police were called in to help and set up roadblocks.

  Enid quickly drafted a news article for a special edition of the Tri-County Gazette. With few facts at this point, she focused instead on Boogie’s life, a third-generation sheriff who devoted his life to law and order. The State and the other South Carolina daily newspapers would be all over the killing of a county sheriff, so Jack agreed they should get something out quickly.

  As speculation, fear, and rumors swirled around Madden, one bit of information caught Enid’s attention: the bi-racial woman who reported the murder. The manager of the gas station said the woman had claimed to be Boogie’s daughter. Theo had told Enid this morning that the woman had been a guest at the inn, and that Boogie had visited her. The woman had checked out, leaving a note for Theo and a check that included a generous tip. She included her cell number in case he needed to contact her. Her note stated she would be staying at a relative’s house for the time being.

  Boogie’s murder was being handled by the Bowman County sheriff’s office with assistance from SLED. In the middle of typing this information, Enid stopped suddenly. She needed to notify Josh in case Pete had not called him yet. She didn’t want Josh to hear it on the news first.

  She was relieved when Josh answered. She didn’t want to leave this news in a message.

  “It’s good to hear your voice,” Josh said.

  “Same here.” Enid’s hand trembled. “Josh, there’s some bad news here. Have you talked with Pete?”

  “I was just about to call him. He left a message that he needed to tell me something. What’s going on?”

  There was no easy way to say it. “Sheriff Boogie Waters has been shot. He’s dead.”

  Josh made a grunting noise, like someone had hit him. “Oh, God, no. When? Who? How?”

  Those were the same questions everyone was asking. “We don’t know all the details. Looks like he might have walked in on some squatters at the old 7 Crows Farm.”

  “I’ve heard of that place. It’s a ways out from Madden, as I recall. Did they catch them?”

  “Not yet, as least not that I’ve heard.” Enid glanced at the half-written article on her screen. “Look, I’ve got to finish this story. I just wanted you to know, since you and Boogie were close.”

  “Thanks for calling. I’d much rather hear it from you, but I’ll call Pete now.” A brief pause, then, “I’m trying to wrap things up here. I’ll be home in a few days.” Another pause. “Enid, be careful until whoever did this is behind bars. Love you.”

  Enid held onto her cell phone, unwilling to let Josh go, even after he hung up. “Love you, too,” she whispered to herself.

  ◆◆◆

  After uploading the article on Boogie’s murder for Jack to edit, Enid turned her attention to finding the woman who reported the shooting. The State newspaper would have reporters looking, too, so she had to act fast. At first, Theo had been reluctant to give Enid the woman’s cell number. But Enid assured him she would respect the woman’s privacy and tread carefully.

  As expected, she got the woman’s voice mail when she called. What was unexpected was the recorded greeting: “You’ve reached Dr. Jean Waters. If this is an emergency, please call my office number, as I am out of town attending to family matters. Otherwise, leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”

  “Dr. Waters, this is Enid Blackwell. I’m with the Tri-County Gazette. I’d like to talk with you to confirm some information for an article I’m writing on Sheriff Bernard Waters’ killing. Please call me back at this number.”

  In less than a minute, her phone rang. “Hello.”

  “This is Jean Waters. Meet me at the inn in an hour. Theo’s set up a place for us to talk.” The call ended abruptly.

  CHAPTER 38

  To protect their privacy, Theo set up Enid and Jean to meet in his personal quarters, a small cottage on a dirt road, about five hundred feet from the inn. He had the housekeeper prepare tea and muffins, which were placed on a small serving tray on the table in the living area. The sofa faced the window, so they could see if anyone approached the house.

  Enid arrived first, and Jean drove up shortly afterward, a police car close behind her.

  Jean extended her hand to Enid. “I’m Jean Waters, but obviously you know that.” Jean sat in one of the chairs beside the sofa. “As you can tell, I’m a bit nervous. The sheriff’s office insisted they provide protection until . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Until they catch the man who killed my father.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Enid said. “I didn’t know Sheriff Waters that well, but I must confess that while we were doing some research, my editor and I learned of your existence. No one seemed to be aware that he had a daughter.”

  “It’s complicated.” Jean glanced out the window. “I’ve been getting calls from reporters since this happened. I’ve ignored them, but I know your work, so I wanted to talk to you. Theo told me I could trust you.”

  “Thank you, I value your trust. Are you willing to do an interview, or do you want to talk off the record?”

  “I know I can’t contain this story, but if you write it first, then maybe we can manage the gossipy parts, at least.”

  “I have a good contact at the Associated Press. I’ll see if we can get him to run this and get ahead of the pack.”

  Jean smiled slightly. “Thank you.” She reached for the teapot. “Theo is a great innkeeper. He prepared my favorite.” She poured a cup and handed it to Enid.

  Enid pulled her notepad and pen from her leather tote. She also put her iPhone on the table. “May I record this? I can stop it at any time you feel uncomfortable. I just want to make sure the details are correct.”

  “Of course.”

  “Why don’t you start by telling me about yourself and then what happened.”

  Jean took a sip of tea before speaking. Enid noticed Jean’s hands were shaking slightly.

  “I’m a pediatric oncologist at St. Jude’s Hospital in Memphis. Until recent years, my father and I had barely spoken to each other. We weren’t exactly mad at each other. We just weren’t close.” She paused to sip her tea.

  “Is your mother still alive?”

  “She’s in a nursing home near here, an Alzheimer’s patient.”

  Enid looked in her folder and pulled out the photo she had copied from the inn, showing Boogie and a black woman together. “Is that your mother?”

  Jean took the photo and smiled as she ran her hand gently across the images. “Yes, that’s her.”

  “I can imagine a mixed-race relationship around here must have been difficult at that time.”

  Jean nodded. “They tried to keep it a secret, my m
other especially. She didn’t want my father to lose his sheriff’s position.”

  “Were you raised around here?”

  “In my early years, yes. Then my parents sent me to be raised by an aunt who lived over in the next town. She’d drop me off at the inn sometimes, and I was able to visit with my mother. When that aunt died, Mother sent me to Philadelphia to stay with another aunt.”

  “During that time, did you have any contact with your father?”

  “Gifts at Christmas and on my birthday. He usually left them with Mother, though. I saw him a couple of times.” Jean smiled. “I thought he was a superhero in that uniform.”

  “It must have been hard for you, the fact that he didn’t publicly acknowledge you.”

  “It was. A notary public married them when she got pregnant. She didn’t have to keep working, but she loved the inn and stayed in the caretaker’s cottage. Mostly, she was afraid that people, especially her close friends and family, would think she was a kept woman. She wanted to earn her own money.”

  “So the relationship wasn’t really a secret.”

  “The black community was well aware of my mother and father’s relationship. When her pregnancy became obvious to the inn’s owner, he was supportive and allowed her to work until she delivered. But she never told him who the father was. During my freshman year of college in Philadelphia, my second aunt died.” Jean smiled. “I thought she was barely making ends meet, but she left me a generous trust fund that paid for my college. I’m sure my father contributed to that fund also.”

  “Did you just recently reconnect with your father?”

  “About ten years ago, we started talking on the phone once or twice a year. He always promised to come see me, and he did a couple of times. He didn’t think it was wise for me to come down here.”