Silver River Secrets Read online

  The tap of a gavel caught her attention. Marshall Tolliver, the committee’s chairman, had stepped to the lectern.

  “Meeting come to order, please,” Marshall announced.

  The crowd quieted.

  “All stand for the Pledge of Allegiance.”

  Marshall raised both hands, palms up, much as a preacher might when leading his flock.

  After they were seated again, he made a few introductory remarks and then asked for committee reports. Lacey focused on listening and taking notes. When Elton’s turn came and he left her side to approach the lectern, her nerves knotted.

  Elton cleared his throat and adjusted his bolo tie. “When Sara Hoskins had to give up writing the Sentinel’s special edition, I didn’t know who would take her place. Then Lacey Morgan came to town to help her grandmother move into Riverview. Most of you know Remy Whitfield…”

  A few people put their heads together and whispered behind their hands. Lacey clenched her teeth and clutched her tablet. She glanced at the door, wishing more than ever that she could bolt.

  Marshall tapped his gavel. “Quiet, please.”

  “We’re lucky to have Lacey,” Elton continued when the audience quieted. “She writes for the Boise Historical Society and comes well qualified. I’m sure our special edition will be one of the highlights of our celebration.” He nodded at Lacey.

  Lacey smiled and waved, but even with Elton as her champion, chose not to speak.

  Elton said a few more words about the newspaper’s special edition and then reclaimed his seat. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he whispered to Lacey. Then he added, “Okay, so there were a few rude people. Don’t pay them any mind.”

  “Thanks, Elton,” Lacey said, grateful for his support.

  After several more speakers, Rory stepped to the podium. “There’s still time to enter the classic car show,” he said. “So, spread the word.”

  Cora Trenton followed Rory. Lacey recalled her conversation with Del Ford about the Trentons. Cora’s husband, George, who’d been the town’s mayor some years ago, had died of a heart attack, and their only child, Calvin, passed away from a brain tumor.

  Wearing a stylish blue pants suit and with every gray hair sprayed into place, Cora stepped to the lectern with her head held high.

  “Plans are underway for the dedication of the Trenton building,” she said. “We’ll have a ribbon-cutting ceremony and speeches. Mayor Palmer will give the keynote, and a reception will follow.”

  Elton whispered to Lacey, “She’d rename the town after her family, if she could.”

  “And, the new Trenton Wing in the museum will be ready for a grand opening during our celebration,” Cora went on. “Isn’t that right, Del?” She looked at the museum’s director, who also sat at the table.

  Del nodded. “You betcha.”

  When the meeting ended, Elton stepped away to speak to Marshall Tolliver. No one paid Lacey any attention. Now would be a good time to leave.

  Then her gaze landed on Cora Trenton. Cora was on her list to interview. Lacey really should use this opportunity to set up an appointment. Picking up her purse and tablet, she stood and approached the woman.

  “Mrs. Trenton?”

  Cora turned. “Yes? You wanted to speak to me?”

  Her condescending tone grated. Lacey took a deep breath and in her best professional voice, said, “I’d like to interview you for the newspaper’s special edition. When can we get together?”

  “Ah, the newspaper.” Cora’s thin lips curved into a smile. “I do want to make sure our family is accurately represented. George’s ancestors were pioneers here, you know. And I have some photos I’d like to see included. Hmm.” She pressed a finger to her chin. “I suppose you could come to Wildwood.”

  Was that an invitation? Or not?

  “Wherever you want to meet is fine.”

  “Wildwood would be best. Then I won’t have to pack up the photos. I’m free tomorrow at two.”

  “So am I. I’ll see you then.”

  “Do you need directions? Probably not. Everyone knows where Wildwood is.”

  “I’m sure I can find it.”

  Cora peered over Lacey’s shoulder. “Oh, there’s Harriet Horton. I must see her about the dedication. Harriet!” She stepped around Lacey and hurried off.

  Intent on making a quick exit, Lacey pushed open the outside door and almost collided with someone. “Excuse me,” she said and looked up.

  Rory.

  “I need to talk to you,” he said.

  His serious tone put her on alert. “About my car? Are you having trouble getting the part?”

  “No, the part’s been shipped. This is about something else.” His brow wrinkled.

  “Can it wait? I have an interview in fifteen minutes, and then Elton and I are meeting at the newspaper office.” Lacey turned her steps toward the parking lot. She hoped he would wait. Her morning had been stressful enough.

  Rory kept up with her. “I’ll make it quick. I had lunch at The Owl…”

  “Oh?”

  “And Jorgen said you were asking questions about your mother and when she worked there.”

  Lacey’s grip on her purse tightened. “And what if I was?”

  “Why, Lacey? What are you trying to prove by digging up the past?”

  She stopped on the path and waited until several people passed by. Taking a deep breath, she said, “If you must know, I intend to prove my father’s innocence.” There, she’d finally told him.

  “What?” Rory stepped back and stared. “But that’s impossible.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I should have known you weren’t—” He looked away.

  “You thought I was staying in town because I wanted us to get back together? Oh, Rory, no. I mean, I—”

  He raised a hand. “I get the picture. But you’re wasting your time, and you’ll upset a lot of people. Let it go.” He moved to stand in front of her, blocking her way to the parking lot.

  Pushing away the doubts he’d raised, she lifted her chin. “I need to go to my appointment now. Could you call me when my car is ready?”

  Rory remained rooted to the spot a few moments longer before standing aside. “Sure, sure. You’ll be the first to know.”

  After conducting her interview, Lacey returned to the Sentinel’s office. Learning from Clio that Elton was still out, she retreated down the hall. After her troublesome morning, her office offered a comforting protection. She settled into her chair and took out her tablet.

  Her mind drifted to her confrontation with Rory. Yes, a confrontation. But, in a way, a good thing, for now her motive for staying in Silver River was out in the open. Neither of them would have any false expectations about their future.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RORY TIGHTENED THE fan belt on Jorgen Miller’s 1950 Ford and straightened up from under the hood. There, that ought to fix Jorgen’s old car just fine and allow him to join their car rally. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Man, it was hot today. Grabbing a bottle of water, he stepped outside to catch the breeze.

  A brown UPS truck pulled into the driveway and parked. After rummaging in the back, the uniformed driver, package and clipboard in hand, jumped to the ground.

  Rory went to meet him. “Hey, Marty.”

  “Rory. How’s it goin’?”

  “Good, good.” Rory took the package Marty held out. A glance at the return label confirmed it was the part for Lacey’s car.

  Marty offered a clipboard with a delivery confirmation for him to sign. “Next paycheck, I want to do some serious talking about that ’64 Olds you fixed up.”

  Rory nodded as he signed his name. “It’s at my place, waiting for you.”

  Marty left, and Rory returned to the garage. He set the package on the worktable and started an oil and lube job. The package still sat there, unopened, when Sam dropped by an hour later.

  “Whatcha got here?” Sam pointed to the package.
“The part for Lacey’s car, I bet.”

  “Right.” Rory tossed an empty oilcan into the trash.

  “Gonna let her help you install it? Like old times?”

  Rory shook his head. “Those times are best forgotten.” He picked up a knife and slit the box’s wrapping.

  “I thought you two were getting reacquainted. I know you said your association was all business, but I gotta say, I wasn’t buying it.” Sam pulled a couple of wrenches from their hooks on the wall and tossed them onto the table. “These ought to work.”

  “Turns out you were right. She’s got an agenda.” He opened the box and removed the cylinder. He turned it over in his hands, checking to make sure it was in fact the part he ordered. It was.

  “So how’d you find out?” Sam added a couple screwdrivers to the wrenches.

  “Jorgen Miller told me that when she was interviewing him she also asked a lot of questions about when her mother worked at The Owl. When I asked her why, she said she plans to prove her father’s innocence.” Rory slammed his palm on the workbench. “Can you beat that? After all these years?”

  “That’s a long shot, all right.”

  “A long shot? It’s impossible. A jury convicted him. It’s a done deal.”

  “True enough. But he wouldn’t be the first person to be sent up for a crime he didn’t do.”

  “Okay, but he was guilty. You saw the trial.”

  “I did. And the evidence was convincing. But Lacey must have some reason for believing he was innocent. Maybe she’s uncovered some new evidence.”

  Rory folded his arms. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  After Sam left, Rory picked up the new switch assembly and the screwdrivers and wrenches. Time to get to work.

  As he ducked under the Camaro’s hood to disconnect the battery, part of his mind lingered on Sam’s suggestion that he find out if Lacey had uncovered any evidence of her father’s innocence.

  But even if she did, would she trust him enough to share it?

  *

  LACEY DROVE THROUGH the open wrought-iron gate marking the entrance to Wildwood and continued along a winding road to a beautifully landscaped lawn. A circular driveway led to the home’s front door. She parked and turned off the engine.

  Instead of getting out, she sat there anticipating what she might face once she was admitted to the house. Although Cora was receptive to being interviewed about her family, of which she obviously was proud, what if she had heard about Lacey’s interest in the past? Jorgen had told Rory, and perhaps the word had reached Cora’s ears, as well. Lacey would have to be on guard while still pursuing her purpose.

  She took a deep breath, grabbed her purse and stepped from the car. Overhead, branches of the tall pine trees swayed in the breeze, casting wavy shadows on the ground.

  She gazed at the two-story house, an elegant structure with peaked roofs, bay windows and ivy climbing up the side. Then she approached the double doors and rang the doorbell. Inside, chimes resonated.

  She expected a servant to open the door, but instead Cora appeared. Her long skirt and a wraparound top in shades of violet gave her a casual look, rather than the businesslike demeanor she’d presented at yesterday’s meeting.

  “Come in, Lacey.”

  Cora’s smile appeared genuine, and as Lacey stepped inside, some of her tension eased. Not all, though. There was something intimidating about Cora that kept her nerves thrumming.

  Lacey turned her attention to the home’s interior. The two-story-high ceiling, from which a clear glass chandelier hung, gave the place a spacious feeling. Directly ahead, a circular stairway climbed to a balcony with doors leading to second floor rooms.

  “I want to show you some things first,” Cora said, not wasting any time on small talk, “and then we’ll have tea.”

  Cora led Lacey past the stairs and down two carpeted steps to a sunken living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows faced a stone patio and a swimming pool.

  “Your home is lovely,” Lacey remarked as she gazed around.

  Cora nodded. “The original house was remodeled and renovated so many times over the years, by George’s parents and his grandfather before them, that we finally decided to start over. Oscar Fields was our architect. You’ve heard of him?”

  “Yes, I have. Didn’t he design the governor’s home?”

  “Very good,” Cora said. “Oscar and George went to school together. Another of George’s schoolmates, Harry Leonard, became an artist. He painted this portrait of George.” She gestured at the picture hanging over the stone fireplace.

  Lacey stepped closer and gazed up at the painting. With his piercing blue eyes, unsmiling lips and rigid pose, George Trenton looked like a man who took himself and his job seriously. She’d bet he and his wife had made a good team.

  “I remember when he was mayor,” Lacey said.

  “Two terms.” Cora held up two fingers. “He would’ve had a third term, if he’d lived. He was the best mayor this town ever had. But come, I have so much more to show you. We’ll go upstairs.”

  The second-floor room they entered might have been one of the museum’s rooms. Photographs lined the wall, shelves were stocked with books and glass cases displayed various objects.

  “We’ll start here with our family portrait.” Cora pointed to a photograph of her and George and their son, Calvin, who appeared to be in his early twenties.

  In contrast to his parents, who both stood tall and unsmiling, Calvin had a slouch and a sly grin on his face.

  “This was taken just after Cal graduated from Yale,” Cora said. “We sent him to the best schools. He was to carry on the family name, but that didn’t happen.” Her voice cracked, and she glanced away.

  “I remember hearing about his illness a few years ago when I was in town visiting Gram.”

  “Glioblastoma,” Cora said. “A brain tumor of the worst kind.”

  “I’m so sorry. He never married, did he?”

  Cora shook her head. “No. I always hoped he would. I would’ve loved to have grandchildren. But he never found anyone suitable.”

  Lacey wondered who exactly was in charge of determining suitability, Cal or his mother. She’d put her money on Cora.

  Cora moved on to the next photo. “Here, look at the rest of the Trentons. I’ve traced the line all the way back to the Mayflower. Such a prestigious family.”

  “Agnes and Jed Trenton came here by covered wagon, didn’t they?” Lacey said.

  Cora’s eyebrows peaked. “Ah, you’ve done your homework.”

  “I have. Elton has quite a library, and so does the museum.”

  As they perused the glass display cases, Cora told Lacey more stories about the family. When they finished they went back downstairs. Cora settled Lacey on the patio and went to get their tea.

  Lacey sat back in her chair, admiring the well-kept grounds and the view of the mountains in the distance. She congratulated herself on the way the interview was progressing. So far, although not overly friendly, Cora had not been hostile, either. But then, the focus had been on the Trentons, clearly a subject dear to her heart.

  Cora returned with a tray holding a pitcher of iced tea and ice-filled glasses. She set the tray on a glass-topped table and poured their tea.

  “What about your own family?” Lacey asked, realizing she hadn’t heard anything about Cora’s origin.

  Cora handed Lacey her tea. “My father died when I was seven. I had three brothers and two sisters. My mother worked hard to raise us and keep our family together.”

  “How did you meet George?”

  Cora slipped into a chair across from Lacey. “He came into the place where I was working… You’re not going to put that in your story, are you?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. I’m just gathering information now.”

  “Well, don’t.” Her voice was sharp. “I want the story you write to focus on the Trentons and how important they’ve been
to this town. I want their legacy carried on.”

  “But you are a Trenton,” Lacey pointed out.

  Cora drew herself up. “Yes, I am. But how I came to be one isn’t important.”

  Cora filled the rest of the interview with more stories about George and his side of the family. Lacey listened politely, asking questions and taking notes.

  “I could go on all day,” Cora said after a half hour had passed, “but I’m sure you have other things to do.”

  Taking the hint, Lacey nodded. “This assignment is keeping me busy.”

  Cora stood. “Del tells me you volunteered to help sort donations at the museum.”

  “Yes, I thought I would.” Lacey turned off her tablet and tape recorder and tucked them into her purse.

  “I’ll be bringing in some things for the Trenton wing.”

  “I’ll look forward to that.” Seizing the opportunity, she added, “My grandmother might have some donations, too. Some things she’s kept of my mother’s.”

  She slanted Cora a glance, but she had turned away to pick up their empty glasses. Lacey waited a second or two and then added, “You knew my parents, didn’t you?”

  “Knew them? Hardly. We knew who they were, especially after…” The glasses clinked together as she set them on the tray.

  Lacey squeezed her purse strap. “Oh. I thought Calvin also played cards at The Owl.”

  Cora’s lips thinned. “Why would Calvin be gambling at The Owl? Card rooms were illegal.”

  “I know, but Jorgen allowed the game, anyway. My mother worked there then.”

  “You’re not planning to write anything about that…that unfortunate incident involving your father, are you?”

  “For the special edition? No, although—”

  Cora waved a hand, cutting her off. “Good. That was a time best forgotten. Focus on the people who’ve done good deeds, like—”

  “—the Trentons,” Lacey finished.

  Cora smiled. “Yes, like the Trentons.”

  *

  “WE’LL ADD YOUR grandmother’s donations to the rest of the stuff that needs sorting.” Del Ford put the cardboard box on the table in the museum’s basement workroom. “Nice of her to think of us,” he added.