Secrets Never Told Page 23

  “I hope you’re going to tell me about Troy’s arrest and why you haven’t mentioned it.”

  CHAPTER 61

  Jean had ignored that one storage box as long as she could. It sat in the dining room, beckoning her to return to its contents. “Alright, you win,” she said, kicking gently at the box. She sat down and pulled the journals out, spreading them across the table. Some were small, but several were crammed with photos and papers. The same dates sometimes appeared in two or more journals, so Lillian had apparently forgotten which journal she was using.

  Jean picked up the largest volume and opened it. She felt like she was invading her mother’s sanctity, but Lillian was gone. Whatever privacy she once had was now in the urn with her ashes.

  One of the first photos Jean found tucked in a journal was her own baby picture. The resemblance was unmistakable, and Lillian had penciled Jean’s full name and the date on the backside. Jean had no pictures of her younger self. Putting the photo back in the journal, she looked at the next one. A picture of her mother and Boogie had been taken a few years later, after Jean had been sent to live with her aunt. They looked like any other couple, except that Lillian was dark skinned and Boogie was white, an anomaly then and even now in some parts of the rural South. In the photo, Boogie had his arm around Lillian, holding her close. The affection between them was apparent.

  Jean looked at several other photographs of family members on her mother’s side. Thankfully, Lillian had noted their names and the dates. Jean put those in a separate stack so she could track them down, assuming any were still alive.

  The notes in the next journal she picked up were about everyday life. Lillian talked about a “secret date” with Boogie, even though they were a married couple by then. She talked about life at the inn and the pride she took in running it. This owner seemed to be merely holding onto the inn for posterity’s sake and as a placeholder for the next person who inherited it. In the owner’s stead, Lillian assumed the responsibility for maintaining the inn’s culture and history.

  Jean put that journal aside and picked up another one that had a few photos stashed in it. The names on the back didn’t mean anything to her. She didn’t know if they were relatives, friends, or just guests at the inn her mother had befriended. Jean replaced the photos in the journal, and as she did, she found another picture crammed into the binding near the back.

  Staring back at Jean was a young woman with light brown hair. She looked familiar. A wave of anticipation and dread washed through Jean, as she recognized the image. The young woman looked very much like the facial reconstruction photo. Jean flipped the photo over and read Lillian’s inscription on the back: “Angelina.” Jean dropped the photo to the table and pushed back. No one had been able to find anything on Angel. Was this an image of the young woman whose bones may have been found at the inn?

  Jean put the photo to one side and began looking for dates in the journals that coincided with Angel’s disappearance. The journal that was the smallest with the least number of pages turned out to be the one Jean was looking for. She read her mother’s entry out loud.

  “Angelina came to the inn again today. She is terrified and can’t go to the police. I’ve talked to Bernard, but he doesn’t believe her father would offer his daughter to the deputies in exchange for favors. Bernard also refuses to believe any of his deputies were involved. But, he did promise me he’d look into it. I wish I had somewhere I could send Angelina to keep her safe.”

  Jean flipped through several pages about a party at the inn until she found an entry two weeks later.

  “My heart is broken. Angelina has disappeared, and Bernard arrested her boyfriend Reggie. This is wrong. Why is Bernard not seeing that? I fear Angelina has been killed at the farm, because that’s where she was most afraid. I must find her.”

  Jean pushed the journal aside and put her head in her hands. Part of her wanted to burn these journals, so she could return to Memphis and resume her old life. But this was too important. Although her father’s reputation was at stake, so was Reggie’s. Jean wept and prayed for guidance through this mess.

  The doorbell rang and startled Jean. She wiped the tears from her face and walked to the front door. “Who is it?”

  “It’s me, Enid. Is this a bad time?”

  Jean flung the door open and almost knocked Enid over as she wrapped her arms around her. “No. This is perfect. Come in.”

  ◆◆◆

  Enid finally had to pull away from Jean. “What’s wrong. Are you okay?”

  Jean smiled slightly. “I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy. And I probably am, at least right now.”

  Enid went to the kitchen and made them a cup of tea. She put Jean’s cup in front of her. “Would you rather have coffee?”

  “What?” Jean looked at the cup. “Oh, no. This is fine. Thanks.”

  “So tell me what’s going on. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “What would you do if you found out your father may have covered up a murder? Or at least covered up the real murderer.”

  Enid glanced into the dining room and saw the box on the floor and papers and small books all over the table. “Is all of that Lillian’s?”

  Jean nodded. “I found a photo of Angel and some journal entries about my father. And about Reggie.” Jean walked into the dining room and brought back the photo and the small journal. “Here, you can see for yourself.”

  Enid looked at the photo and then pulled out her cell phone. She opened the picture of the facial reconstruction and held it beside the old photograph of Angel. “I admit, there’s a close resemblance.” She then read Lillian’s journal while Jean sat in silence, sipping her tea.

  After a few minutes, Enid closed the journal. “Well, I can see why you were upset. But, wasn’t this about the same time Lillian was slipping into dementia? She might have been mistaken. We only know one side of this story.” Enid picked up her cell phone again.

  “Who are you calling?” Jean asked.

  “Pete, the acting police chief in Madden. He may know . . . oh, hi, Pete, it’s Enid Blackwell. Yes, I’ve missed seeing you, too. Maybe we can do lunch soon at the diner, and you can tell me how the new job is going. But right now, I have a question. Do you know the names of any of the older county deputies? Josh said most of the deputies there now are fairly new, but I need to talk to someone who worked for Sheriff Waters earlier. Maybe they’re retired and still living around here.” Enid scribbled in her notepad. “Thanks, Pete. I’ll call you later about lunch.”

  “Did he know anyone?”

  Enid held up her notepad and waved it in the air. “Yes, and he should be easy to find.”

  “Maybe I should go with you?”

  Enid put her phone and notepad in her tote. “No, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to put yourself through the wringer.”

  Driving away from Boogie’s house, Enid called the office and had Ginger find the address for Walter, the retired deputy Pete told her about. “Tell Jack where I’m going.”

  CHAPTER 62

  Enid had no trouble finding Walter’s house. It was less than a mile away from 7 Crows Farm. The yard was littered with two old pickups and a rusted boat trailer. Enid looked around before getting out of her car. She thought of the empty can of dog repellant sitting on her kitchen counter that she had left there as a reminder to buy more.

  She opened the car door and stood nearby for a few seconds. So far, no dog. But when she looked toward the house, an elderly man was standing on the porch, shotgun in hand.

  “You can turn that car around now and get out of here,” he said.

  “Are you Walter?”

  The man lowered the gun slightly. “What if I am?”

  “My name is Enid Blackwell. I’m from the Tri-County Gazette. Pete, you know, the acting Madden police chief, said you might be able to help me with an article I’m writing.”

  “You can come up on the porch.” He laid the gun on the floor.

  Enid walk
ed toward him and held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” The man took her hand in the way men do when they’re not used to dealing with women. “I won’t take much of your time.”

  Walter laughed. “Got plenty of time. In fact, that’s about all I got.” He sat down in one of the rockers and pointed to the other one, which appeared to be a little sturdier. “You can sit here.”

  Enid took out her notepad. “Do you mind if I take a few notes?”

  Walter looked concerned but didn’t protest. He made a grunting noise that Enid took for approval.

  “I’m doing an article on Sheriff Bernard Waters. I understand you worked for him.”

  Walter nodded again. “Good man. Worked for him near ‘bout thirty years.”

  “Goodness, that’s a long time. I bet you saw a lot and have a few stories to tell.”

  Walter shifted slightly, and the rocker groaned under his weight. “Been meaning to fix this rocker. Just keep putting it off. Don’t sit out here much. Not like I used to. Too many mosquitoes in warm weather, and the cold freezes my joints in the winter.”

  “What kind of sheriff was Bernard Waters?”

  “Not sure what you mean.”

  “Anything about him that bothered you?”

  Walter stared at Enid briefly before responding. “Well, he was a bit too rigid at times, if that’s what you’re getting at. He was a stickler for certain things. Expected all of us to be loyal to the uniform and to him.”

  “Do you think he was a fair man?”

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

  “I’m wondering if you heard any of the talk about the sheriff helping to convict a young man for the alleged murder of Angelina Peterson. Would you like to comment on that?”

  Walter cracked his knuckles, making a loud popping noise that made Enid’s skin crawl. “That black man killed her. No question. And you don’t need to be diggin’ up shit. You hear me?”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Enid looked at her car and wondered if she could outrun Walter if needed. Even so, she couldn’t outrun a shotgun. “But I have information that Waters may have rushed to judgment, and that others may have been involved in her disappearance.”

  Walter glared at Enid and remained silent.

  “Did you know Angel’s father?”

  Walter moved so quickly that Enid didn’t have time to react. He was standing over her pulling her up by her arm. “You can get the hell out of here now, missy.” He shoved her down the porch steps, and she landed on the ground. Walter picked up her notepad and slung it into the bushes beside the house. He then picked up her tote and threw it at her. Enid raised her arm to keep from getting hit in the face.

  As Enid got up and brushed the dirt off her clothes, Walter picked up the shotgun and pointed it at her. “You got mere seconds to get in your car and get off my property.”

  Enid picked up her tote and limped to her car, her ankle throbbing and her arm in pain. A cut on her arm was bleeding. As she got in the car, she glanced back at Walter, still aiming at her.

  CHAPTER 63

  Enid winced as Jack put ointment on the cut on her arm. “Ouch.” Ginger had left for the day, so she and Jack were the only ones in the newspaper office.

  “Hold still. You’re behaving like a three-year old with a boo-boo on her arm. Good thing we keep this first aid kit around.” He finished dressing the cut. “There. You’re good to go.”

  Enid sat in silence, knowing a lecture was coming. She and Jack had become best friends, the kind who knew in advance what the other would do or say in certain situations.

  “You need to file an assault charge against that Walter guy. I’m going to call Josh.”

  “No, don’t do that. Josh has enough to deal with now.”

  “Well, if he can’t deal with more than one thing at a time, he needs to step aside.”

  Enid brushed dirt off her pants leg. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”

  Jack took Enid’s hands in his. “I know, and I’m sorry. It just that it makes me crazy when you get yourself in these situations. I worry about you.”

  Enid squeezed his hands and then pulled away. “We’ve got to find Angel’s father. Is he still alive?”

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know, but you’re right.”

  “You know, I feel really sorry for Jean. What if we find out her father was involved in something illegal or covered up for someone else? Or something even worse.”

  “We’re in a tough business. Of all people, we have to stay above personal feelings. It’s hard at times, and we may end up hurting people we care about. But it’s what we do. It’s who we are.”

  Enid stood up. “Thanks for the lecture on journalist ethics. I’m going to my office to get started with the search. Can you help me?”

  Jack smiled. “Of course.”

  Half an hour later, Enid was tracing the whereabouts of the Peterson patriarch, Clyde. She couldn’t find an obituary, but neither could she find anything that might prove he was still alive. The county records showed his last address as the 7 Crows Farm, but that was more than ten years ago. She was deep in thought when her cell rang, startling her. It was Josh.

  “Hey, are we still on for tonight?”

  “Yes, I guess so,” Enid said.

  “You sound . . . Are you alright?”

  “Just having a bad day. I’ll see you around seven o’clock, if that’s okay.”

  “Sure. Oh, I forgot to tell you. Fred Peterson regained consciousness. I’m going to take a statement from him.”

  “If there’s anything you can tell me, you know, anything you would ordinarily tell the press, I’d appreciate a head start on the bigger papers.”

  Josh sighed. “Of course. I’ll fill you in on what I can tonight.”

  As soon as she hung up, Jack ran into her office. “I found him.”

  “Who?” Enid asked.

  “Clyde Peterson. He’s living not far from here.”

  “How did you find him? Wait, did you find him or did Rachel?”

  Jack’s face reddened slightly. “She might have helped a bit. But legally.” He waved his notepad in the air. “She just knows how to search better than we do and has access to, let’s just say, different resources. She found an old county document filed online. Anyway, here’s what we’ve got.”

  Enid listened to Jack’s newly discovered information. “I wish we could hire her as a research assistant. I’m sure SLED or the county investigators will find this information also, if they haven’t already.” She reached for her tote.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Jack asked. “I hope you’re not even thinking about going out there.”

  “I was thinking maybe we could go see him. Come on.”

  “Only if you tell Josh first.”

  Enid turned around to face Jack. “So now you think Josh is a savior. Which way do you want it?”

  Jack took a step back. “Whoa. Sorry.”

  Enid sighed. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But if I wasn’t in a relationship with Josh, you wouldn’t ask me to call him.”

  Jack pulled out his cell phone. “Fair enough. Just checking to make sure I’ve got enough charge left to call 911 if we need help.”

  CHAPTER 64

  While Jack and Enid rode in silence, he kept his attention on the road and all the potholes. Enid stared out the window, catching the occasional glance of rural life in the poorest part of the county. Rusted car shells and mobile homes reflected the economic reality for these residents, many of whom were once farmers.

  “According to the GPS coordinates Rachel gave me, we’re getting close.”

  Enid checked her cell phone. She had one bar on the signal strength. Maybe she should have called Josh. Dinner! She nearly forgot she was soon due at Josh’s. He would be worried if she didn’t call or show up.

  Jack pulled off the side of the road. “I’m not going up that driveway, or we might get trapped. I wish there was
room to turn around here so we’d be headed back out in case we need to leave quickly.”

  “The road ahead looks okay. I’m sure there’s a place not too far ahead where we can turn if we need to.” Enid looked at her phone again. No signal.

  “Come on, let’s go before it starts getting dark. I don’t want to be here too long.”

  Jack parked on the shoulder of the road, and they walked up the dirt drive for about a hundred yards. The drive was just two ruts with tall grass growing in the middle and on each side. There were fresh tire tracks in the dirt.

  “There’s the house.” Jack pointed to a small, one-story house with peeling white siding. “There’s a pickup beside it. I think someone’s home.”

  “But there’re no lights.” Enid checked her phone. At least she had one bar of signal again. She held her phone up toward a clearing in the surrounding woods. “I’ve got two bars. I’m going to call Josh like you suggested, so he won’t worry. I’m supposed to meet him tonight.”

  “Good. I’d feel much better if he knows where we are.” Jack walked to the side of the woods to look at what appeared to be a rotted carcass of something dead.

  When she got Josh’s voice message, she spoke as quietly as she could. “Josh, I may be late tonight. Jack and I found Clyde Peterson’s address and we’re here to interview him. The coordinates are . . .” The sound from behind her silenced her.

  An elderly man held Jack by the arm. He had a shotgun in the other hand. Shotguns seemed to be the weapon of choice in these parts.

  “You lookin’ for anything in particular?” the man asked. He shoved Jack to the ground and stepped back, raising his shotgun toward Enid.

  “Wait, we’re just here to interview Clyde Peterson,” she said. “Is that you?”

  “Interview? About what?” The man looked down at Jack. “You just stay right there, mister. Don’t move.”