Secrets Never Told Read online

  Enid looked around to see if Cade’s car was in the parking area but didn’t see it. Cade was likely around town gathering information on Josh. But it was Theo she wanted to see today.

  “Hello, Enid. How are you?” Theo asked as he kissed her on both cheeks, Euro style. “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “I was wondering if I might spend some time in the library. I’m hoping to learn more about the inn’s history.”

  “Of course, look at whatever you like. There are some very old materials there. Fascinating history. Is there anything in particular you need?”

  Enid filled him in on her visit to Miss Murray.

  “Ah, yes. Miss Murray is one of my best customers. She is particularly fond of my asparagus cream soup for her soirees.”

  “I don’t want to keep you from anything, so I’ll just look around on the shelves and see what I can find.”

  “Do you think the bones are someone who lived or worked here?”

  “I have no idea. This search may not reveal anything, but it’s worth trying. By the way, it looks like work has resumed on the kitchen.”

  “Yes, we had some people here from the University of South Carolina anthropology department taking soil samples. I’m not sure exactly what they were looking for. And the police gathered whatever evidence they needed. Although, I understand there’s not much to go on.” He took Enid’s hands in his. “You must stay for lunch. I insist.”

  “So your kitchen is operational again?”

  “We’re making do. The county inspector gave his approval on the upgraded gas line and electrical service so we could get the inn’s kitchen operating again. They sealed off the room where the bones were found with plywood. Later, when the county sheriff’s office gives us the go-ahead, an historically appropriate wall will be constructed.”

  “What about your new stove?”

  Theo’s face lit up with a smile. “It’s been hooked up and approved for use. Jack also did a little persuading with the county inspector.” His smile faded. “If it weren’t for the sad discovery of that victim behind my kitchen, I would be thrilled.”

  ◆◆◆

  The inn’s library was impressive for a private home. It housed valuable, leather-bound first editions, as well as paperbacks guests had left behind. But Enid wasn’t interested in the literary collection. She wanted to go through the volumes of photo albums and journals some of the previous owners had kept. Cassie, Enid’s friend who had managed the inn before Theo, had been an avid journal keeper, but what Enid wanted was likely to be much older than those recent entries.

  What was even more impressive about the library was that there was no dust hiding on the shelves. Theo had insisted on hiring a husband-wife team who helped keep the place in order, leaving his time free to focus on the guests and the food. The place was always immaculate.

  For the next two hours, Enid poured through photos of the annual picnics hosted by the inn. Most of the pictures were of people standing by the lake, smiling, drinks in their hands. Notably, all the guests were white, mostly middle-aged or older. In one photo, a black man in a white jacket and dark bow tie was serving drinks on a silver tray.

  She also recognized the previous police chief, Dick Jensen, along with his niece Madelyn. Another person showed up often in the photos. His back was usually turned to the camera, but in several images, his full profile was in view. Some of the photos were old and grainy, but it was easy to recognize the portly figure of Sheriff Boogie Waters. Considering how much he enjoyed good music with free food and drink, and not particularly in that order, Enid wasn’t surprised to see him often in attendance.

  She was about to close the last album when one of the photos caught her eye. Since it wasn’t attached to a page, it appeared to have been tucked in the album later. A younger and slightly slimmer Boogie had his hand on the arm of a young woman. He seemed to be holding her at a distance, although he was smiling. She was not. But what caught Enid’s eye was the color of the young woman’s skin. She was black and not dressed in a servant’s uniform, which made her an oddity in this setting. The other two people near them appeared to be engaged in their own conversation. Except that one of the women was casting a sideways stare at Boogie and the attractive woman.

  Enid pulled out her phone and made a copy of the photo. It was probably nothing, other than just interesting. She tucked the photo back in the album and replaced it on the shelf. The smell of fresh baked bread wafted from the kitchen. Theo had wasted no time trying out his new stove.

  Cassie had once told Enid that most of the previous owners had kept journals. Each owner was expected to preserve as much history and stories of the inn as he could. It was easy to see from the journals’ contents which owners enthusiastically accepted the responsibility and which ones made only obligatory entries. Cassie had been the first female owner, having inherited the inn, and Jack was now the only person in the line of succession who owned the inn but didn’t manage it. He was also the first owner not in the family lineage.

  When Cassie passed away and left the inn to Jack, he searched extensively for more suitable heirs but found the family had virtually died out. After investing time and money toward the search to no avail, Jack succumbed to the responsibility of keeping the inn operational. He didn’t want to be the person who closed the inn after nearly a hundred years of operation. Enid made a note to talk to Theo about continuing the journaling tradition, as Jack was a hands-off owner and would have no opportunity or reason to document the inn’s activities, special guests, and events.

  A stack of journals sat on the top shelf of the bookcase. She pulled the mahogany library ladder toward her on its metal track and climbed up to retrieve the eclectic mixture of leather-bound volumes and less expensive journals. The handwriting in the older journals was ornate and articulate. As the dates progressed, the handwriting styles deteriorated, but at least they were still written in cursive. Enid mourned both the lost art of handwriting and the keeping of journals. She understood the trend, however, as she hadn’t written in her own journal for more than a year, and nowadays she was much more likely to grab her iPad instead of a notepad. What would the world be like in another fifty years? Enid shook her head to clear the thoughts and returned to her research.

  She stacked the journals on the library table in chronological order. The oldest journal was dated 1900, and the inn had been built sometime around 1885, just twenty years after the Civil War ended. She made a note to ask Theo if he had seen any earlier ones. Without knowing the age of the bones that were found, it was hard to narrow her search. Cassie had once mentioned to Enid there was a lot of “stuff” in the inn’s huge attic that she had intended to go through but never got around to. There were several time gaps between journals, which Enid noted. Perhaps those journals never existed or had been destroyed or were stuck in a chest in someone’s home. Most of the journal entries were about parties, weddings, births at the inn or in the owner’s family, and other events. A few entries noted the growing debt at the inn and the difficulty of staying afloat. But nothing that would help identify the bones found in the secret room behind the kitchen. Enid pushed the older volumes aside and focused on the newer ones.

  She randomly started reading entries from about forty years ago. Renovations and rising operational costs were frequently mentioned. In most of the newer journals, the entries were monthly or even less frequent. While these owners were honoring the tradition, their entries lacked the insights the earlier ones revealed. Because of the infrequent postings, many of the volumes covered several years. The entries got shorter as time progressed, and Enid was tempted to abandon the idea of looking at the journals. She had gotten nothing for her efforts other than a dull headache. But she flipped through the pages and then went to the next journal.

  The next book was one of the bigger volumes. The leather cover was a more modern design, and the quality wasn’t as good as the older editions. The reddish-brown leather was dull and cracked from age. Instead o
f the traditional stitched binding, this one was glued and coming apart. Some of the pages had detached from the spine. The handwriting was written in a hybrid version of print and cursive. Different people appeared to have made the entries. Perhaps husband-wife owners had alternated this chore. This particular journal contained multiple entries about the Jensen family, who had, until a few years ago, been the most revered family in the area. A few years earlier, Enid had several encounters with then Police Chief Dick Jensen and witnessed firsthand the power of the Jensen dynasty.

  As Enid flipped through the pages, references to a “trial” kept popping up. She turned back the previous pages until she found the beginning of these entries. Approximately ten years ago, someone had been on trial in Bowman County for murder. She began making notes.

  A knock on the library door startled Enid. “Oh, Theo, it’s you.”

  “Sorry to interrupt you, but lunch is being served if you’d like to join us.”

  Enid whiffed the smells coming from the kitchen. “I’m starved, but I think I’ll keep working.”

  Theo looked disappointed. “I’ll make you a container to take home. It’ll be on the kitchen counter in case I’m busy when you leave.”

  Before Enid could thank Theo, he had left the room. As tempting as it was to stop and eat Theo’s delicious meal with the inn’s guests, she resumed taking notes. Her reporter’s instincts had kicked in. Perhaps this trial had nothing to do with the bones, but one thing had jumped out in the journal. The body of the missing person had never been found.

  CHAPTER 9

  By the time Enid returned home, her eyes were dry and irritated from staring at journals all day, and her neck ached from leaning over the library table at the inn. She needed a hot shower.

  Her phone rang just as she was about to step into the warm spray of water. Jack’s name and cell number appeared on her screen. She was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but not only was he her best friend, he was also her boss.

  “Hey, Jack. Sorry I’ve been out of touch today.”

  “I was worried about you. Did you check your messages?”

  Enid had been so absorbed in her research at the inn that she had ignored any distractions. “No. Sorry. Why didn’t you text me? Is everything okay?”

  “You know I hate texting. But how about I answer that in person? I’ve got a great pinot grigio chilled. I’ll stick it in the cooler along with some smoked salmon.”

  Enid hesitated briefly. All she really wanted was to shower and crash. “Sure, that sounds good.”

  “Be there about thirty minutes?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. And, Jack, while you’re here, can we talk about what I found at the inn?”

  “Of course. After all, I am the owner of the place where the bones were found, although I don’t think of myself in that role, except when the repair, insurance, and tax bills are due.” Jack sighed. “Oh, and don’t forget you’ve got an article due tomorrow morning.”

  Enid groaned. “No, I didn’t forget. See you soon.”

  ☐ ☐ ☐

  Enid and Jack sat at the small table on her screened back porch that overlooked a small pond. Tea candles sat around the framing of the porch, casting flickering shadows.

  “I really love this place,” Jack said. “You’ve fixed it up nice.”

  “With a lot of help from my friends.”

  Jack raised his glass. “To Enid, a talented reporter and dear friend. May your life always be filled with love and laughter.”

  Enid tipped her wineglass to his and they laughed together. Not for the first time, she noted how comfortable she was with Jack. Over the past couple of years, they had settled into a comfortable relationship built on mutual respect and a common mission: finding the truth. She and Cade had once been that way.

  While Jack talked about the possibility of selling his horse ranch, Enid’s thoughts drifted to Josh. Where did he fit into all this? Or did he fit at all? Not too long ago, she had fantasized about their life together. But the realities of keeping boundaries between the local law enforcement and the local news had proved to be challenging. And now Cade’s investigation was making their lives even more complicated. She wanted to believe Cade, just as she wanted to believe Josh. But she would keep an open mind on both men.

  “Enid, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “I’m sorry. Too much on my mind tonight. Thanks for bringing the food and wine. It’s delicious, and just what I needed.”

  “You said you wanted to talk about what you found today. Or would you rather get a good night’s sleep and wait until you’re up to it?”

  Enid sipped the last bit of wine from her glass. “I’m fine. It’s just that . . .”

  “I haven’t said anything about Cade being in town, but that must be upsetting, or at the least confusing, for you.”

  Jack’s sympathetic tone brought tears to Enid’s eyes. “Are you aware that he’s investigating Josh?”

  Jack rubbed his neck. His telltale sign of anxiety.

  “Never mind,” said Enid. “Of course you know. I keep forgetting there are no secrets in Madden.”

  “I’ve known Cade for a long time. As you know, we worked together on a couple of reporting gigs back in the day.” Jack laughed. “He can be a self-righteous prick at times. But he’s a good reporter.” He paused. “And a decent guy, as far as I can tell. I think we can take him at his word until we learn anything to the contrary. Life has a way of thumbing its nose at us sometimes. Keeps us humble.” Jack pushed his chair back slightly. “Now tell me what you learned today. I need to know. The rest of this stuff will work itself out.”

  Enid filled Jack in on her search at the inn, finishing with her discovery of the trial. “What do you know about the trial?”

  “I remember reading about it. Happened here in Bowman County, as I recall. The victim was white, as I recall, and her boyfriend was black. That didn’t go over too well around here. Anyway, I don’t know anything other than her boyfriend was tried for her murder. Supposedly, he killed her because she was pregnant. What made the trial newsworthy was that the body was never found. I remember being surprised that the county prosecutor would try to convict someone without a body or more substantial evidence. But it worked.”

  “So the boyfriend was convicted?”

  Jack nodded. “Life sentence, as I recall.”

  The fatigue that had debilitated Enid earlier had vanished. “Do you think the Madden news archives would have any information?”

  “Maybe. We can look tomorrow. It would still be paper archives in storage. Local newspapers weren’t too sophisticated about data storage. The Madden Gazette skipped right over microfilm and went from paper to digital. Besides, ten year ago, the fine citizens of Madden didn’t care much about anything outside the town, so the story might not have even been carried here. Or it might have been a short paragraph or two. The State would be more likely to have good records on it.”

  “I’ll check with them first.”

  Jack cocked his head slightly to the side. “Are you thinking this trial might be connected to the bones found at the inn?”

  Enid put her napkin on the table and pushed back her chair. “Right now, all I know is that I need a good night’s rest.” Even as she said it, Enid knew sleep would be elusive.

  CHAPTER 10

  Since the Glitter Lake Inn was not actually in Madden, but on its outskirts, and far more private than Sarah’s Tea Shoppe, Josh had agreed to meet Cade there. When Josh pulled into the gravel parking area beside the old mansion, he saw a nondescript four-door car with a black and green Enterprise logo on the bumper. Since it was probably Cade’s car, Josh made a note of the make, model, and license plate number. Just in case he needed it later.

  Josh flipped his notepad shut and put it back in his pocket. Time to get this little chat over with.

  In the inn’s entrance hall, Josh was met by the wife of the caretaker team. “Mr. Linard sends his regrets that he couldn’t be here
to greet you, but I’ll be taking care of you and Mr. Blackwell during your meeting.” She gestured toward the open library door. “You can meet privately in there. Mr. Blackwell is waiting, and I’ve put out coffee and muffins. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Thanks. That’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” She walked so lightly that she appeared to float down the hallway.

  Cade was sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, its hide mellowed with age, as only fine saddle leather can pull off. He stood to greet Josh and held out his hand. “Thanks for coming. I know you’re a busy man. Please, have a seat.” Cade returned to his chair and Josh sat across from him in a wing chair upholstered in a hunter green velvet. “Coffee?”

  “No, I’m good,” Josh said. “Thanks.”

  “I know this is awkward for both of us. I’ll be as brief, and as fair, as possible.”

  “Thanks,” Josh said. “Enid speaks highly of your integrity.”

  “I typically record interviews. Is that okay with you?”

  “Actually, I’d prefer that you not. But you are welcome to take notes.”

  “Sure, no problem.” Cade slipped the small recorder back into his large canvas backpack. “I know Enid has filled you in on why I’m here, but I’d like to be sure you understand my motivation.”

  For now at least, Josh didn’t think of Cade as the enemy, but things could change. Josh needed to know as much about Cade as Cade needed to know about him, so the two men were cautiously studying each other.

  “A couple months ago, my senior editor at the Associated Press asked me to do an article on police vigilantism. I focused primarily on white cops strong-arming black or brown suspects, mostly gangbangers, dealers, and pimps who had managed to escape punishment. When the system failed to punish, the local police had their own code of justice. I gathered enough cases and information to write volumes of articles.”

  “I’ve never punished drug dealers and such by taking the law into my own hands.”