Secrets Never Told Read online

  “So why did you come this time?”

  “He called me, out of the blue, and asked me to come down and send Mother’s papers to him. He set up my reservation at the inn. While I was here, I told him I wanted to see my mother.” Jean looked away and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “She had no idea who I was.”

  Enid patted Jean’s arm. “I’m so sorry. Do you have any relatives left?”

  “Just a few cousins, most of whom I haven’t met. But I’ve got a large network of friends in Memphis. I’m not alone now, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Enid pushed thoughts of her own family, most of whom were now deceased, from her mind. “Do you know why your father wanted your mother’s papers?”

  Jean shook her head. “We went through two boxes of papers together. I don’t know what he was looking for, or if he found it. Afterward, we went to that farm, and that’s when he was . . . you know, when he was killed.”

  “Why did he go to 7 Crows Farm? And why would he risk taking you with him?”

  “He said something about trying to find family members of someone who had been killed. He had a tip that the bones at the inn might be a woman named Angel. I honestly don’t think he expected anyone to be at the farm. I sat in the car and waited for him and was going to check my emails, but I dozed off. Visiting my mother just took everything out of me. The shotgun blast woke me. The man looked toward the car, but I was a bit down the driveway and the glass is tinted. Besides, I was slumped down in the seat against the window, so he didn’t see me, at least not until I drove off.”

  “You were lucky to get away. Was there only one person at the farm?”

  “A young woman was there also. Long blonde hair. She was really thin.”

  “Do you think these people were squatters?”

  Jean shrugged. “I have no idea.” She paused. “You know, I remember that place, from when I was a child.”

  “How? Had you been to the farm before?”

  “A couple of times when Mother took Angel home. I went with them.”

  “So you knew Angel?”

  Jean nodded. “We were childhood friends. The first time I ever saw Angel, she ran into the kitchen at the inn and asked Mother to hide her.”

  “From whom?”

  “I honestly don’t recall. I was just a kid, but I recognized drama even then. Angel was always running from people, it seemed. She didn’t want to go home, but Mother told her she couldn’t stay at the inn.”

  “Was Angel afraid of her family?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t understand all that was going on. And I hate to admit it, but I was jealous of Angel, so I started trying to avoid her.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Mother took her under her wing and tried to protect her, yet I was sent to live with relatives. I resented Mother for that.” Jean dabbed at her eyes again. “I realize now she did what she thought was right for me. And for Angel.”

  “Were you aware of Angel’s disappearance?”

  “I had already moved away when she went missing. And my mother had been steadily slipping into dementia. She often forgot things and got confused. She may have mentioned it. If she did, I probably dismissed it.”

  “Do you know a woman named Phyllis Long? She’s an English teacher.”

  “I don’t think so. Why?”

  “I’m the one who told Boogie that the bones at the inn might be Angel’s.”

  Jean looked confused. “How could you know that?”

  Enid told Jean about Phyllis’ visit to her office and her claims about Angel’s death. “She thinks her brother Reggie was wrongfully convicted of Angel’s murder. And she thinks that the bones are Angel’s.”

  Jean stood up and paced around the small living area a few times. “This is just so much to absorb.” She sat down again. “So how is all of this related to my parents . . . and to me?”

  “At this point, I’m not sure. But Boogie was trying to find a relative so that he could get a DNA swab. They’ve done tests on the bones, but they couldn’t match it to anything in the NamUs or FBI data banks. They’re still checking dental records. Without something to link those bones to the family, we may never know whose they are.”

  Jean held up her hand. “Wait. Let me think.” Jean stood up and paced again. “I remember something about a storage room Mother was having built at the inn. Like I said, she was starting to ramble and forget things a lot. And to make things up. At times, she would confuse the past with the present, so it was hard to know if anything she said had merit.” Jean paused. “You don’t think my mother had anything to do with Angel’s death, do you?”

  “I have no idea. That’s what we’re trying to find out.” Enid studied Jean’s face and saw nothing but kindness in her eyes. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to endure all of this in your life. But you managed to overcome it.”

  “Thanks. It was tough at times.”

  “How long did your mother continue working at the inn?”

  “The owner kept Mother on as long as he could, but she was eventually forced to leave. They gave her a generous retirement bonus. I remember something about her being upset that they wouldn’t let her finish her remodeling project—something about a storage room behind the kitchen. It used to be a small maid’s room, so she was going to shut it off and have it open to the kitchen. She hired someone to do the work, but the inn’s owner wouldn’t approve it.” Jean rubbed her temples. “It was years ago. I just can’t remember all the details.”

  “My editor, who inherited the inn from the last owner, looked for relatives but couldn’t find anyone. They seemed to have all passed away, which is how he ended up with it.” Enid saw another car drive up outside. The deputy went over to talk to the person. “I think we have visitors. Maybe we need to wrap this up for now. How long will you be in town?”

  “Until sometime after the service, and then I need to get home to my patients. You’ve got my cell number. Just call me. I’ll let you know if I think of anything else.”

  “The boxes belonging to your mother. Where are they now?”

  “At my father’s house, where I’m staying.”

  “Are you safe there with the killer still at large?” Enid asked.

  “They’ve got deputies assigned to protect me. I imagine that man is long gone by now.”

  “May I get the boxes from you? I’ll return them and even ship them back if you leave before I finish going through them. Maybe I’ll see something that’s helpful.”

  “Of course.”

  “Let’s get out of here. Come on, we’ll go out the back way.”

  ◆◆◆

  After Enid picked up the two boxes from Jean, the ones that contained her mother’s papers, Enid called Cade.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked. “When you call, it’s usually not good news. What’s going on?”

  “I’m fine, but I need something from you.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Josh?”

  Enid caught herself before saying something she would likely regret. “No, it’s not. It’s about Sheriff Waters’ murder.”

  “I saw something about that on the wire. Wasn’t much info.”

  “If I give you the details, can you run a story on his daughter? She was there when Boogie was killed. I just met with her, and she wants a reputable reporter to cover it.”

  “What? How did you . . .? Never mind. I should know better by now than to question how you get this stuff. Where is she?”

  “Here, staying at the sheriff’s place. But she’ll probably return to Memphis soon. She’s a physician at St. Jude’s. I’ve got a recorded interview and notes—enough for an initial story. And I can get more if needed. She trusts me, and I told her I’d talk to you about running it.” Enid was prepared for Cade to refuse her, as this wasn’t his kind of story.

  “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?” Enid held her breath.

  “I’ll write it with you.”

  “
I . . .” She stopped to gather her thoughts. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to clear that with the paper, with Jack.”

  “Of course, but you know he’ll support you. Talk to Jack and then send me what you’ve got. I gotta run.”

  CHAPTER 39

  When Jack walked into the newspaper’s conference room, Enid had papers spread out across the big table. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you left me a message about working with Cade on an article, and I wanted to respond in person.”

  Enid put the papers in her hand on a stack and sat in one of the old metal chairs. “You don’t want me to do it, do you?”

  Jack sat down beside her. “I always want what’s best for you, and for the paper. If you do this, the story will go national and be headlines for at least a news cycle. Is she prepared for all the attention this story will focus on her?”

  “I’ve run all those questions and more through my mind. Jean, Dr. Waters, doesn’t want to hide any longer. She regrets the years she didn’t get to spend with her father, even though she doesn’t blame him. She also thinks this story will get out anyway, so she wants to manage it, as much as she can. Besides she hopes the story will help catch her father’s killer.”

  “Your motivations may be pure, but do you trust that Cade’s are?”

  Enid stiffened. “You’ve always told me what a great guy Cade is. Why would you question his motives? Besides, I’m the one who approached him about doing the story.”

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck. It was hard for him to manage Enid the same way he managed the other reporters and employees at the paper. As much as he tried, he couldn’t deny it. “Look, you’ve always said I try too hard to fix things. And I know I’m overly protective of you at times.” He laughed. “Why, I don’t know, because you certainly don’t need help from me.”

  “Forget it’s me. If one of your other reporters were making this request, what would you say?”

  Jack sat down and looked into Enid’s eyes. “I’d say, ‘It’s a great opportunity. Go for it.’ Jean deserves to have her story told by the best person—and that’s you.”

  Unexpectedly, Enid leaned over and kissed Jack on the cheek.

  “That was totally unprofessional, Ms. Blackwell.” He grinned and walked out the door.

  ◆◆◆

  Cade and Enid’s story about Sheriff Waters’ murder ran on the wire and was picked up by many of the larger newspapers, including those in Tennessee, where Jean lived. In the AP article, Cade wanted to focus on the murder, because that was the bigger story. Enid insisted that they also tell the story of Dr. Jean, her dedication to treating pediatric cancer patients, and the loss of her father, whom she had not known due to years of racial prejudice. Dr. Jean also begged the public to come forward if they knew anything about who had killed her father.

  Jean had called Enid immediately when the story ran, thanking her for the “raw honesty” of it. Cade had been forced to call in a few favors, as his editor wanted more about the murder and less about Jean. In the end, the editor admitted it was a good piece.

  The Tri-County Gazette ran another article written by Enid. Boogie was one of their own citizens, and the county was still in mourning over his loss. Even those who didn’t like him or his policing methods admitted he had been good for the area. Enid’s article focused on finding the killer, or killers, who might still be in the area. The 7 Crows Farm was under 24-7 surveillance, but Enid withheld that and other information that might impede the investigation.

  Now that the story was out, Enid could return her attention to the boxes of paperwork in the conference room. The hospital had offered Jean personal leave time to attend to her father’s estate, for which she was the sole beneficiary. Jean had reluctantly accepted the offer and was readying the house for sale, under the watchful eyes of the deputies assigned to protect her.

  When Enid had pressed Jean to describe the man who shot Boogie, Jean could give only a vague description: not too tall, but not short; light brown hair; not fat, but not thin either. Jean had only glanced at the man briefly. The woman who handed the gun to the killer was equally non-descript, based on Jean’s recollection: tall, thin, blonde. The woman appeared to be younger than the man, but Jean wasn’t sure how old the man was. He was muscular. She remembered that. Based on these vague descriptions, the killers weren’t likely to worry about being identified from the article.

  Around town, the squatter theory was now accepted as that’s-what-happened. Squatters had become common, moving onto the farms when families moved on or put them up for sale. Getting the squatters out wasn’t always easy. Some were armed; most were belligerent and stood their ground. At Sarah’s diner, the breakfast crowd, mostly older men, talked of arming themselves and forming a militia to protect the farms from squatters. Enid was pleasantly surprised that these men were sympathetic to Boogie’s daughter, Jean. A few grumbled about the problems caused by interracial marriages, but those who had met Jean at the diner seemed to be impressed with her warmth, as well as her credentials. Many of the county’s citizens felt betrayed by Boogie’s decades of deception about his marriage and daughter, while others said the sheriff’s personal life was of no concern to them.

  Enid walked into the diner to get a cup of tea to go, as the electric tea kettle at the newspaper office had shorted out with a display of fireworks. When she walked in, most of the men turned to look at her. A few greeted Enid with a smile or a head nod before they returned to their conversations.

  “Good article, Ms. Blackwell,” someone called out from the rear booth. She couldn’t see his face, so she walked toward him.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  When the man in the back booth swung his legs out to stand up, she nearly fainted. “Josh, oh my, it’s you.” She ran to him. Applause broke out in the diner when Josh held her in his arms.

  “Hello, Enid. I’ve missed you.”

  CHAPTER 40

  With everything that was going on, Enid had almost forgotten about the papers in the conference room. Ginger, the office manager, stopped Enid in the hallway. “I need that table. When are you planning on getting those papers out of there?”

  “Sorry. I’ll get them out today. It’s just been—”

  Ginger interrupted her. “Yeah, I know, you’re a famous reporter now and your man is back in town.” Ginger looked at Enid. “But I really do need that space.” Enid took no offense, as Ginger was just being Ginger.

  “I’m going now.” Enid headed toward the conference room, but her mind wasn’t on her work. It was on Josh. He was only in town for a few days before he had to return to New Mexico.

  When Enid opened the door to the conference room, she was taken aback by the stacks of paper. A few days ago, they seemed fewer and shorter. She pulled out a chair and methodically began going through Lillian Waters’ papers. The problem was that Enid wasn’t sure what she was looking for.

  Two hours later, Enid was ready to give up. She needed to pack all this stuff away and return it to Jean. She had no idea what Boogie could have been looking for.

  Enid sat back and closed her eyes, both to rest them and to think about what Jean had told her. The storage room had been closed off when the inn’s owner ended Lillian’s project, so the only people who knew about the “secret” room were the owner, Lillian, and the construction person or crew who worked on it. Of course, they may have also told others.

  Enid looked for the stack of receipts. Lillian had apparently been fond of paying in cash. Most of the purchases were food; a few were prescription drugs. Near the bottom of the stack of receipts was a handwritten note where she had paid Tom’s Construction Company to do work on the inn’s kitchen. Surely the inn’s owner didn’t make Lillian pay for it herself. Or maybe they reimbursed her. Enid straightened the folds in the paper and took a photo of the receipt with her phone.

  As she arranged the paperwork back into the two boxes, Enid thought about Lillian Waters sitting in the nursing home, her life reduced to several boxes
of old papers and a few photographs.

  ◆◆◆

  Finding Tom’s Construction Company in a nearby town was easy. Small companies like his depended on word-of-mouth advertising to keep them going, so they were well known to locals. As is the case with most small-town businesses, they are family owned and passed down through generations. Tom’s grandfather started the business doing custom carpentry work, and then his son, Tom’s father, continued the business. By the time Tom inherited the small company, custom carpentry had given way to installing mass-produced cabinets and thermoplastic moldings. Few locals wanted, or could afford, custom woodworking these days, but Tom’s business was seeing an increase in construction and remodeling activity due to the influx of new people in the area.

  The door to Tom’s workshop was open when Enid arrived, so she peeped inside. “Hello, Tom?”

  From the back of the shop, she heard a man’s voice. “Be there in a minute.”

  While waiting for Tom, she glanced around the work area. Everything was meticulously arranged, and the floor was spotless: the signs of someone who took pride in their work.

  A large man in overalls emerged from the back of the shop. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Tom.” He held out his hand, which was worn and calloused from years of handling wood and tools.

  “I’m Enid Blackwell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Enid waived her arm as she gestured around the shop. “Nice set-up here. I’m impressed.”

  Tom shrugged. “It’s what I do. Been at it my whole life, although the work is a bit different these days.” He pointed to what looked like a large bench against the wall. “This guy moved into the area and wants to build a tiny house. I guess that’s a thing nowadays.” He pointed toward a large piece of furniture being built. “That there is going to be a sofa, bed, and storage cabinet.” He ran his hand through his mostly silver hair. “Actually, it’s pretty clever. At least it’s more creative than some of my work.” He motioned to a small office at the back of the shop. “Let’s go sit down in there. You said you had some questions about a past job.”