Silver River Secrets Read online

  “Giving this wing is a good memorial and very generous,” Lacey said.

  “She’s not stopping with the wing. She wants the Clapton Building renamed after the family, and also City Park. What’s wrong, I ask you, with the name ‘City Park’? But I keep my mouth shut. We’re glad to have the renovation here.”

  Lacey gazed around. A few glass cases in the middle of the room held exhibits, but most were empty. One wall had a display of historical maps. She stepped closer to examine them.

  “George’s collection,” Del said. “From the Civil War to the Westward Expansion. Some are replicas, but some are originals, too.

  “We’re still a work in progress,” he added as they strolled the room. “Stuff comes in all the time. We got a basement full of boxes and bags. You got any extra time while you’re here, I could use a hand. The ladies who usually do the sorting are busy with Silver River Days.”

  “I might have some time.” Lacey thought of her grandmother’s stored belongings. “Maybe Gram has some things she could donate. I’d have to do some arm-twisting, though. She hangs on to stuff.”

  “Lots of people do. But we’re always looking.”

  They went downstairs, where Del showed her the workroom. As he said, the tables were piled high with boxes and paper bags full of donations that needed to be sorted. Shelving held items that were identified and tagged, and several mannequins waited to be dressed with clothing hanging from racks on wheels.

  Back upstairs, Lacey stopped to make some more notes.

  Del nodded at her tablet. “One of these years that’s gonna be on display here.”

  She laughed. “At the rate technology moves, that day might come sooner than we think. So, what is the museum’s role in the celebration?”

  “Open house every day. Refreshments. Historical Society will be hosting. They’ll all be in costume. Oh, and we’re having a reenactment, too.”

  She looked up from her keypad. “A reenactment?”

  “Yeah. Lewis and Clark’s trail goes right through town.”

  “I remember learning that in school.”

  “So, they’re going to trek through here again. Sacajawea will be there, too.”

  “That sounds fabulous.”

  “It will be. You’ll see.”

  “Oh, I won’t be around then.”

  “What? Doing all this work and not staying for the celebration? Oh, right. You probably have to get back to your job in Boise.”

  Lacey nodded, not about to admit she had no job there anymore. Cutting that tie had set her adrift. She had nothing to return to there, and she couldn’t stay here. Where did she belong? Would she ever know?

  CHAPTER TEN

  “SO, WHEN AM I going to walk again?” Gram asked Dr. James Foster later that afternoon.

  Sitting beside her grandmother in an exam room at the Silver River Medical Clinic, Lacey waited for the doctor’s answer. She liked Dr. Foster. Despite being at least twenty years younger than Gram, he projected a fatherly attitude that showed a real caring for his patients.

  Dr. Foster studied his computer screen, tapped the keys and then turned to face them. “I’m afraid I can’t answer that right now. But today’s X-rays show your bones are mending well. And you said your therapist at Riverview has you exercising with your walker every day.”

  Gram nodded. “Every single day. Up and down the hall. She has me programmed like a robot.”

  “And you’re taking your supplements?”

  “No way I could forget when my aide brings them to me on the dot.”

  Dr. Foster smiled. “Riverview sounds like a good place for you. Keep up your daily therapy, and I’ll see you again in a month. If anything comes up in the meantime, give us a call.”

  In the outer office, Dr. Foster led them to a counter where a nurse monitored a computer and printer. She retrieved a newly printed sheet from the printer and handed it to the doctor, who in turn handed it to Lacey.

  “Here’s a summary of our visit today,” he said.

  “Thank you. We’ll be sure to review it at home.” Lacey tucked the paper into her purse.

  “Good you could bring your grandmother today. Right, Remy?” He patted her shoulder.

  “Lacey’s the only family I have, ’cept for my cousin Bessie. She moved away to live with her son.”

  “Well, I’m glad Lacey can be with you now.”

  Outside in the parking lot, Lacey tucked Gram in the front seat of the car and then folded and stowed her wheelchair in the trunk.

  As they left the lot, Gram said, “Will you drive us by the house on the way home?”

  Lacey froze her grip on the steering wheel. “Are you sure you want to? Seeing the place might be upsetting.”

  “Not seeing it today would be more upsetting. Please, Lacey. I can picture the house in my mind, and I can look at photos, but neither is the same as actually being there.”

  Lacey sighed. “All right.”

  She knew that “going by” did not mean merely passing by as they drove along the highway. It meant turning onto the side road that led to the house. And so, when they came to the turnoff, she swung onto the road without being asked.

  The road seemed to have even more potholes than when she’d traveled it on her last trip to Silver River. Although she wouldn’t admit it to Gram, she, too, had a constant need to visit the house, and whenever she came to town, she drove down the road at least once. She never went in the house, though; that would be too painful.

  In between dodging potholes, she shot Gram another glance. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Gram’s vague tone told Lacey she’d already stepped into the past. Just being on the property cast a spell over her.

  When they reached the house, Lacey idled the car at the path leading to the front door. She gazed at the peeling paint, the empty windows, the sagging roof and thought how sad and neglected it looked. When she had lived there as a child, her grandfather kept the house painted and the lawn mowed. Gram kept the garden weeded and full of flowers. They had all worked together to maintain the place—even Rick had joined in and shared the chores.

  “Drive around back.” Gram’s voice broke into Lacey’s thoughts. “I want to see the barn.”

  Lacey put the car in gear and continued on down the driveway to where it curved around the side of the house. Years ago, the driveway led all the way to the barn, but now the area was overgrown. Lacey pulled the car to a stop. She didn’t want to risk damaging Rory’s loaner car by hitting anything hidden by the grass.

  The barn, too, looked lost and forlorn, with faded red paint exposing raw and naked boards underneath, and the door sagging on the hinges.

  Her gaze traveled back along the overgrown driveway to the spot where Al Jr.’s shiny red sports car had been parked on that fateful day ten years ago.

  That’s my dad’s car, Rory had said when he’d brought her home from school that day. Disbelief had colored his voice. What’s he doing here?

  Later, the speculation was that Al parked behind the house so that his car wouldn’t be visible from the highway, and no one would know he was visiting Norella Morgan.

  “I was pregnant when we started building the house,” Gram mused.

  “Yes, pregnant with Mom,” Lacey said absently, still seeing Al Jr.’s red car in her mind’s eye.

  “No, not with Norella.”

  That caught Lacey’s attention. “What?”

  “I was pregnant before her,” Gram whispered, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap.

  Lacey patted Gram’s shoulder. “I never knew that.”

  “Not many people did.”

  “So, what happened? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

  “I need to talk about it, to make sure I don’t forget. I don’t remember like I used to. Sometimes, I feel my life is slipping away, piece by piece.”

  “Oh, Gram, I’m so sorry. Please, do tell me what happened.” Lacey shut off the car’s engine and gave h
er full attention to her grandmother.

  Remy leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I found out about the baby at the same time we started building the house. We were so happy because we’d already waited several years to have a child.”

  “I knew you’d been married for a few years before you had Mom.”

  “Six years. Anyway, I wanted to help build our house. But your granddad didn’t want me to. He was so protective. But I insisted. I did odd jobs, carrying boards and tools, cleaning up, besides keeping everyone fed and watered, same as the cows and chickens.” She laughed.

  That was so like Gram. She always had something cooking in the kitchen—a pot of stew on the stove, cookies or cake in the oven.

  “Anyway, one day I brought out a basket of cookies I’d baked at the tiny apartment we were living in while we waited for our house to be built. I climbed over the foundation, being very careful, as always. I stepped on what appeared to be a solid piece of flooring. But it wasn’t solid. The boards split apart, and I fell into the cellar.”

  Lacey gasped. “Oh, no. What happened then?”

  “I woke up in the hospital, your granddad at my side. He broke the news that I’d lost the baby.”

  Lacey’s eyes filled with tears. She took Gram’s hand and squeezed it.

  “Your granddad blamed himself,” Remy went on. “He couldn’t go back to work on the house. We both were torn with grief. Finally, our friends who’d been helping us coaxed him back. I wasn’t allowed there, though. When the house was finally finished, Jay made a shelf in the basement and I put a cross there, as a memorial.”

  “I think I know the shelf you mean. But I don’t remember a cross.”

  “Long before you arrived, I took the cross away. I just didn’t want to explain about it to people who might see it and not know the story. But I could imagine the cross there whenever I wanted to, and think of my lost child.”

  “I’m so sorry, Gram, that you lost your baby. That must have made you love Norella all the more.”

  Gram nodded, and her eyes misted. “It did—and then to lose her, too…”

  Lacey put her arms around Gram’s frail shoulders. Gram returned her hug, and they sat there for long moments in painful silence.

  A few minutes later, when they were on their way out, Gram’s gaze lingered on the house. Then she turned to Lacey. “Thank you for bringing me here today.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Do you understand, just a little?”

  “I do.”

  “As long as the house stands and I can visit once in a while and remember—the good and the bad—my world is complete. If it were gone, such a big part of my life would go with it that I doubt I could survive.”

  How different Gram’s view of the house was from Rory’s, Lacey thought. For Rory, the house reminded him only of pain and sadness, which would go away—or so he thought—if the place were torn down. For Gram, the house’s existence preserved both her good and bad memories.

  For Lacey, whether or not the house continued to stand was not as important as proving her father’s innocence. What would Rory say if he knew of her quest? Would he try to dissuade her? Probably. Didn’t matter, though, because she wasn’t going to tell him.

  *

  “HEY, RORY!” JORGEN MILLER waved to Rory as he entered The Owl Restaurant.

  “Jorgen. What’s today’s lunch special?”

  “We got steak tartare.”

  “Say what?” Rory laughed and slid onto a stool at the counter.

  “Something our cook wanted to try.” Jorgen poured a cup of coffee from the carafe on the hot plate and set it in front of Rory. “He went to a fancy French cooking school, ya know.”

  “Trying to give the place a little class, huh? I’ll stick to a burger. Hold the onions.”

  “You got it.”

  Rory wasn’t one of The Owl’s regular customers. Not that the place didn’t have good food. The main reason he’d stayed away was because the restaurant reeked of bad memories, which had always made enjoying his meal difficult. His father had come here frequently, and his grandfather, too. So had Lacey’s father, Rick Morgan. This was where Norella Morgan worked at the time of her death.

  After the tragedy, The Owl became known as the place where “they” met. “They” being Lacey’s mother and Rory’s father. The illegal card room that Jorgen had allowed had been exposed, and he’d almost lost the place. Rory wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t, but he suspected his grandfather, who owned the building and knew people in high places, had something to do with that.

  Now, ten years later, the restaurant thrived. Jorgen had painted the walls, recovered the booths and stools, and put down new flooring. He’d quit doing the cooking and hired the French-trained cook.

  The ghosts lingered, though—at least in Rory’s mind they did.

  He sipped his coffee, his thoughts jumping to the times he’d spent recently with Lacey, especially the ride they’d taken to their special spot. Although the evening had ended on a sour note, he’d enjoyed her companionship and especially the kiss they’d shared. For the last ten years she’d popped in and out of town, never staying more than a few days. They’d done no more than nod or say a curt “hello” when their paths crossed.

  Why on this visit had they started talking to each other again? Okay, her assignment for Elton and then her car trouble necessitated communication. Still, a long-closed door had edged open. But did that mean anything? Or would the door slam shut once again when she finally returned to Boise?

  Jorgen reappeared, coffee carafe in hand. He refilled Rory’s cup. “You gettin’ your classic car show organized?”

  “I sure am. You gonna join us?”

  “Thinkin’ ’bout it.” Jorgen poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip. “If I can get that old Ford to run long enough to get there.”

  “Bring it by. We’ll give it a tune-up.”

  They talked about the upcoming festival, and then, after a pause, Jorgen slanted him a look and said, “Lacey Morgan was here the other day.”

  “That right?”

  “Never expected her to be hanging around town. She’s usually in and out in a coupla days.”

  Rory nodded. “This time, she’s helping her grandmother move into Riverview and doing a job for Elton at the newspaper.”

  “Right. But there’s more to her hanging around than that.”

  Rory frowned. Was Jorgen referring to him and Lacey being seen around town together? No surprise that word had reached his ears. “What do you mean?” he asked, and braced himself for questions.

  Jorgen turned away to replace the coffee carafe on the hot plate, and for a moment Rory thought he planned to ignore his question.

  But then he faced Rory again, his brows knit into a frown. “Okay, she came around to interview me. Fine. I’m all for contributing to the newspaper Elton wants to publish. And so she and I talked about the history of the restaurant, the owl on the stump and the one over the front door. You know the stories.”

  He’d heard them often enough from his father and his grandfather. “I do. Great stories.”

  “But then she starts on the past, the time her mother worked here. Who Norella knew, who she was seen with.” Indignation edged Jorgen’s voice.

  Rory sat up straight. “She’s not going to write about my dad’s murder, is she?”

  Jorgen’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I don’t know. But I don’t want to drag out that stuff again. Nobody does. The town wants to forget that awful time. We’ve moved on.”

  “We have,” Rory agreed. Well, sort of. Except for the house.

  “Then why can’t she leave it alone?”

  “I don’t know.” Rory set his jaw. “But I intend to find out.”

  *

  LACEY STOOD AT the doorway of City Hall’s conference room and peered in. Today was a meeting of all those involved in planning the Silver River Days celebration. Not wanting to call attention to herself, whe
n Elton had invited her to attend, she’d declined. He’d insisted, though, and so here she was. Her stomach churned at the thought of mingling with the townspeople. What would those who believed her father to be a murderer think about her involvement with their celebration?

  The room was set up with a head table facing rows of folding chairs. The American flag and the Idaho flag occupied one corner. On a counter along one wall sat coffee urns and water pitchers, cups and glasses. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Some attendees stood chatting in small groups while others had already claimed seats.

  A few people passed her on their way in, but no one paid her any special attention. Still, she didn’t want to be there. If she left now…

  She turned to find Elton behind her.

  “Hello, Lacey. Good timing. The meeting’s just about to start.”

  “I can’t stay, Elton. Gram—”

  “—is playing bridge this afternoon. I know that because my sis-in-law’s in the group. Come on, I need you to be here.”

  Her stomach still protesting, Lacey followed Elton into the room. They stopped at the coffee urn, and he poured them both mugs of coffee. Then he led them to the table.

  “Can’t I sit in the audience?” she asked.

  “No, because you’re part of the planning committee. We sit up front.”

  “I won’t have to say anything, will I?”

  “Not unless you want to. I’ll introduce you, though. So be prepared at least to wave.”

  He pulled out a chair for her and one for himself, and they sat. A man Lacey didn’t know approached, and while he and Elton conversed, she sipped her coffee and took out her tablet.

  She looked up to see Rory enter the room and felt her heart skip a beat. She hadn’t expected him to be here. And yet why not? As organizer of the classic car show, he, too, would be involved in the planning.

  His gaze roved the room, zeroing in on her. He nodded and headed her way. She expected him to take one of the empty seats on her other side, but instead, he sat at the far end of the table. Not surprising, considering how their ride the other night had ended.