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“I don’t know. It was so long ago.” He thought as his empty eyes looked beyond them, maybe into the past. “Her sister, Edna despised her and was jealous as all get out of her. I do remember that. Woman was mentally ill, if you ask me. Had tantrums or episodes, or whatever you’d want to call them, where she’d see and talk to people who weren’t there.” He twirled his finger near his ear. “Nutty as a bed bug.

“It was Edna who swore Emily and my kids drove away in their car. Edna who told me they were living somewhere else, that she’d been in touch with them, but Emily didn’t want me to know where. Edna who said Emily hated my guts and wanted nothing more to do with me. I never liked that stupid woman. Edna’d do anything to get what she wanted. And she wanted that house and inheritance money Emily’s parents had left. Jenny told me that over the telephone. Silly kid, yakked as much as her mother. Emily was going to sell everything. House, too. Move. Edna was the oldest and should have inherited. I bet that made her furious.”

“Anything else you recall?” Frank’s voice firm, his eyes flat. “Anything?”

There was a squinting of eyes and Brown spent a little time thinking. Then, “Ah, there was Emily’s so-called stalker.”

Abigail slid a sideward glance at Frank who said, “I asked earlier if you knew of anyone stalking her and you said you didn’t know.”

“I forgot. Just remembered.”

“The stalker?” She gently reminded Brown.

“Yeah. Someone was harassing Emily and the kids. Now that it’s coming back to me, Chris was a victim of a hit and run, had to have stitches. I remember because I had to pay the hospital bill. Jenny said she was being followed, someone was scaring her, and there was vandalism. Rocks thrown at windows, threats against them left in the mailbox. Shed behind the house was burnt down. Their cat was found hanging dead from a tree in the backyard and Emily’s car brakes were tampered with. She had an accident with the kids. Shook her up. She was really frightened.”

 
No wonder she wanted to sell the house and leave,
Abigail thought.

“She had no idea who this stalker was? No idea who was that mad at her or for what?” Frank was fidgeting, as if he wanted to get the visit over with and leave. Maybe the filth was making him sick, too.

“No, none at all. I don’t have a clue, either, even now looking back. So long ago it’s all kind of fuzzy.”

They didn’t stay much longer. A few more questions and when Brown pulled out a whiskey bottle and started pouring a drink, they wrapped it up and got out.

As they drove away Frank mumbled, “He hasn’t changed much. What a poor excuse for a human being. I don’t blame Emily for leaving him. What I can’t see is her ever being married to him. Having two kids with him. Jenny and Christopher were sweet, smart, creative children. They were nothing like their father. Emily, no matter what he said, was a good woman. Another ten minutes in there and I would have had him by the throat, sick old man or not.” He pounded the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, his anger obvious.

“So,” Abigail summed up. “We didn’t learn much, did we?”

“Not so. We learned Edna was, along with being spitefully jealous, possibly mentally unbalanced…though I’d already suspected that, as young and green as I was in those days, just from knowing her. And Emily definitely did have a serious stalker.”

“You think Brown killed them?”

“Not sure. He had reasons, and I sensed he was hiding something. He knows more than he was saying. He could just be clever, pretending to be sickly; pretending not to care. But, on the other hand, it’s rare when a father kills his own children. But who knows? Men do awful things when they’re drinking. We’ll have to look into it. Murderers can be great actors.

“He might have lied about his not driving. I checked his car as we left and it’s been driven lately by someone. Might have been him. Then again, he lives four hours away, so it’d have been difficult breaking into your house either time. But someone did. Maybe someone else for some other reason. Another mystery I don’t have an answer to.”

Abigail leaned against the seat, stretched her legs out and closed her eyes. Frank turned the radio on low and Bonnie Raitt’s husky voice filled the truck’s cab as they drove. When Abigail reopened her eyes it was dark outside. They were almost home.

“Let’s get something to eat,” Frank suggested. “There’s a truck stop up ahead that’s good.”

“Sure. I could use a cheeseburger.” Abigail smiled, stretching.

At the restaurant over dessert, Frank asked, “How would you like to come over Saturday for a barbeque?  Kyle’s going to be home and you can meet him. Hey, we’ll make a party of it. Invite Martha, Samantha, my sister and her husband. We’ll sit around playing cards afterwards and when we get tired of that us old folk will migrate to the porch rockers. The stars are beautiful from my front porch at night.”

“Sounds like fun, Frank. Give me a time and I’ll be there.”

 They were back on the road heading home when frank asked, “Did you and Joel ever want kids, Abby?”

“We did, especially Joel. He loved kids. We tried for years. We just never got lucky.”

“You still miss him, don’t you?”

She hadn’t wanted to talk about Joel, but at that moment, darkness at the windows and an understanding ear to listen, it spilled out. “Every day. For a long time I used to pretend aliens abducted him. That when he’d been out getting cigarettes, somewhere on the road, he’d come across a spaceship and they’d taken him. Car and all. And that someday they’d bring him back to me. I just had to wait. Be patient. It kept me from going crazy. Until I’d see one of those X-File episodes that showed all the experiments aliens did on humans. Then I’d freak out and hoped he’d merely vanished or ran off with a loose woman.

“Having him found dead the way he was made it worse in a way. Made it all so final. At least before I could pretend he was still alive. Somewhere. Safe. On the other hand, finding him helped me accept things. Remember the love we’d had for each other and the good times.”

She let her voice go soft as she continued, “In the beginning people told me that maybe I hadn’t really known him. That he’d had a girlfriend and had run away with her. Maybe he had a gambling problem or a drinking problem…on and on. Trying to make me feel I was better off without him. Truth is, I did know Joel. We’d been sweethearts since high school. He was a carpenter. That’s what he did for a living. He smoked too many cigarettes, talked too much, but he was a decent man, a dreamer and a loving husband. He didn’t cheat, didn’t believe in it, didn’t drink much, and didn’t gamble. I know he loved me and wouldn’t have put me through that misery of disappearing if he could have helped it.

“Finding him dead cleared up all that uncertainty. I know now that he didn’t leave me willingly.” She leaned back against the seat and rubbed her eyes, looked out the window at the night so she didn’t have to look at Frank.

“The week Joel went missing we were getting ready to break ground to build our dream house. I kept the land for years and only sold it after Joel was…found. I used the money to buy the Summers house. Joel won’t get his dream, but that money helped me get mine.”

“Sorry, Abby. I shouldn’t have brought Joel up. I know it’s still too painful.”

“It is. But I don’t mind talking about him to you, Frank. It’s a relief. You understand because of Jolene. You know what it’s like to lose someone you really loved. I think about him, dream about him. If I talked about him more, perhaps I wouldn’t be plagued by the nightmares. Thanks.”

“Ah, you have nightmares, too, then?”

She turned her head and met his gaze for a moment. She nodded. “Sometimes. I’m always chasing him but never catching him. He runs away from me. It’s heartbreaking. I miss him in real life and in my dreams.”

Frank didn’t say anything to that but she got the feeling his dreams were pretty much like hers. It made her feel sorry for him too.

Then she switched subjects. “Are your parents alive, Frank? I’ve never heard you mention them.”

“No. My dad died about five years ago and my mom followed pretty soon after. They’d been married forever and neither one was any good without the other. They were simple, loving people. I had security and tenderness growing up. Along with Jolene, I miss them.”

“Any other sisters or brothers besides Louisa the carpet selling lady?”

“A younger brother, Warren, who moved off to California after high school. He’s one of those people who have a knack with computers and he’s happily making the big bucks in the land of the sun. I don’t see him much since our parents died.”

Then Frank wanted to know about her family. “I have a brother and two sisters spread over the country. They’re busy with their lives but we kept in touch by phone and e-mail. I see them a few times a year.” They talked families for a while longer, comfortable, as if they’d known each other for years.

 “Oh, by the way,” Frank finally said, “I took more snapshots of my dogs on the porch. Shows the front of the cabin clearer than the last batch I gave you. They’re in the glove compartment.”

Abigail opened it and retrieved them as
Frank turned off the highway and onto her two-lane road. They were getting close to her house and she was glad. It’d been a long day and her home and cat were calling to her…and so were the ghosts that lived in the graves beneath the tree house. They were like her family now.

Emily and her children were becoming more real each day and Abigail wondered if they were becoming too real. She could see their faces, hear their voices; almost feel their pain. Too real. And more than ever she wanted to know what had happened to them.

“Almost home, Abby,” Frank’s tired voice announced.

Yes, almost home,
she thought as she smiled at him in the dim light.
Home.

Chapter 11

It was a hot day and Abigail craved ice cream. She’d come into town for her weekly shopping, but the prospect of facing Mason with that puppy dog smile of his had sent her into Ice Cream & Sweets first. She was a coward.

“Banana split,” Abigail ordered at the counter. “With lots of whipped cream and nuts.”

The girl waiting on her was a typical teenager working a summer job. Her heart wasn’t in it but she was courteous. Pretty, with bored blue eyes, she’d opted to go for the porcupine look, her head a ball of spiky blond tips. Abigail couldn’t keep her eyes off the girl’s head. Call her crazy, but by the time she got her ice cream she’d begun to like the look.

Going over to a round table before the front window, Abigail watched the people pass by outside, musing over where they were going, doing and what they were thinking. Another story on the Summers’ murder mystery had hit the streets that morning. She was hiding. A copy was on the table next to her beside an empty sundae dish, photos of the graves and the tree house center front page in glorious color stared back at her.
Who killed the Summers Family?
She didn’t need to read the story again. She’d devoured her copy three times. Readers were probably crying over their coffee or lunch even now.

Abigail looked up and spied Martha outside the window waving at her and heading her way. She came in and flopped down in the chair across from her. “That split looks scrumptious.” Then she cocked her head and hollered at the porcupine girl, “Another banana split over here, please. With everything and don’t scrimp on the chocolate syrup. Thank you.”

There was a grunt from behind them to acknowledge the order.

 “It’s hot enough to melt a penny out there.” Martha was in a suit, nylons and low heels. She set her brief case on the floor at her feet and, using a handkerchief, dabbed at her face.

“How are things, Martha?” Abigail kept eating. Her ice cream was overflowing the dish and she had to spoon quickly.

“Fine and dandy. Showing the old Fern house to a prospective buyer in fifteen minutes. When I saw you, thought I’d stop in and chat for a sec. Get something cold and creamy. I was dissolving out there. And I wanted to talk about the story. Samantha says the newspapers are flying off the shelves. Everyone’s talking about the murder mystery. That’s all they’re talking about. Such a tragedy, but so…absorbing.”

Great, Abigail thought, won’t be able to go anywhere without people pestering me about it.

 “Read in the newspaper you found Jenny’s diary in the tree house that day. You didn’t tell me, hey? And I thought we were friends. Was there anything juicy in it?” Martha already had her banana split and was digging into it.

“The usual stuff a little girl would put in a diary.” Abigail hadn’t told anyone but Frank much about what she’d discovered in those pages, not even to Samantha for the story. “As the story reported I don’t have the diary anymore. Someone waltzed into my house–again–and snatched it, along with the crayon messages from the kids.” She hadn’t divulged the ledger’s existence to the newspaper, either. Frank’s idea. And she positively wasn’t going to mention the ledger to blabbermouth Martha.

“At least you got to read the diary before that happened,” her friend quipped.

“Yes, that I did.” Abigail fell silent. Frank thought it best if she kept the diary’s contents low key, too, for a while. It might be safer for her.

“What would anyone want with a kid’s old diary, anyway?” Martha couldn’t help but pry.

“Beats me. A souvenir? Some people are strange.” Abigail acted innocent.

“Creepy, if you ask me. Breaking in a person’s home, taking worthless mementos like that.

“You know,” Martha remarked, off handedly. “When the old sheriff was brought up in this last installment it got me thinking. Cal Brewster
was
batty over Emily. Some say he shadowed her in his squad car for awhile because she wouldn’t give him the time of day. Stopped her every chance he got and flirted with her. And Cal Brewster was married with three kids. I vaguely remember him from when I was a kid. I always thought he was fat and sloppy. But he had a reputation as a woman chaser and as having a really bad temper. Some cops do. It goes hand in hand sometimes with the ego it takes to be a cop.

“And he liked pretty women, but he liked younger girls as well. I know, I used to stay out of his way because he made me uncomfortable. I knew someone once who was a friend with Cal Brewster’s children, lived next door to them, and overheard Cal’s boy talking about his father’s women and how Cal’s infatuation with Emily drove his mom insane with jealousy. Maybe he was Emily’s secret boyfriend? Ever thought of that?”

Hmm, and maybe Cal Brewster or his wife had been Emily’s stalker,
Abigail speculated. Samantha had also written about Emily’s stalker in the last story and was hoping to get feedback. Maybe someone who knew something would come forward.

“Emily was beautiful,” Martha went on, “but it gave her more grief sometimes than not. An abusive ex-husband, a crazy jealous boyfriend, a sister who envied her and a town that didn’t accept her…
and
a stalker. Sounds like a movie of the week. I don’t blame her for wanting to leave. Shame she didn’t make it.”

 “Anyone else who hated Emily–that you can recall?” Abigail mulled over who else could have been Emily’s tormentor. For some reason she asked, “Was Mason married back then? You said he was to someone called Norma, right?” She’d remembered Mason might have been one of Emily’s admirers. If the sheriff’s wife was a possible suspect, then Mason’s wife could be too.

“Why would you ask about Mason’s ex-wife? Anyway, I don’t think they were married yet in 1970. They were only engaged, I believe. Weren’t married until later.”

“Just curious. How long have they been divorced?”

“A couple of years, I guess. She was a loner, aloft and knew how to spend money all right; nearly bankrupted him. She kept ordering things over the phone from catalogs. But, heck, it was her money. I can’t believe they stayed married as long as they did. He was no prize, mind you, but Norma was wacko. The last decade of their marriage she wouldn’t leave the house, was petrified of everything. She used to send people hate mail out of the blue. He finally had enough of it. The divorce was his idea. There’d been rumors he beat her and that’s why she never went out. Rumors he only married her to get the store and daddy’s money. Once he had her he couldn’t stomach it. Who knows? Marriage. Glad I’m not handcuffed to anyone any more. Life is too short to be miserable, I say.”

Martha’s eyes had a sly shine. “Hey, you’re not interested in Mason romantically, are you?” There was open disbelief in her voice. “He’s way too old for you.”

Abigail nearly choked. “God no, I’m not interested. Just curious. I’ve heard people talking. And he is way too old.”

“Good. Besides I happen to know that Frank–who is an excellent catch–is nuts about you. Who’d want old moldy hamburger when they could have filet mignon?”

Abigail glared at her. She knew Frank liked her. She wasn’t naïve. But having him nuts about her was something she hadn’t seen coming. “Frank and I are just friends, I keep telling you. Friends. I don’t want any man right now. All right?”

“Whatever you say. But you can’t grieve a dead husband forever, Abigail.”

Martha, having finished her ice cream, got up and collected her briefcase. “Got to run and show a house. Hope the boys I hired to clean it out did their job. The last owner left a mess. I couldn’t wade through the trash and empty beer cans. The mice were having a party. Yeck.”

Abigail remembered Frank’s party. “Are you coming Saturday night to Frank’s barbeque?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. It’s the social highlight of my month. Music, food, good company. A card game. I love cards. And I might be bringing someone.”

“Oh,” Abigail gave back the same as she’d gotten. “Someone you’re interested in?”

“Oh, he’s interested. Don’t know if I am yet. You’ll meet him Saturday. Name’s Ryan.”

“What are you bringing? I’m baking fudge brownies.”

“Potato salad deluxe. Brownies sound fattening, but bring ‘em on, I say. The more desserts the better. My hips won’t thank you, but, hey, who’s asking them? See you there.”

Abigail watched as Martha walked out of the ice cream shop and down the sidewalk, heat shimmering around her, and knew she couldn’t put off getting groceries any longer. Her cupboards and refrigerator were bare. A girl had to eat. She could go to the supermarket the next town over, but she needed to go to Mason’s. Between her commissions, she’d been painting watercolors of the town, sections of Main Street, and wanted to display them in his store to sell. She had to face the store owner to do it.

Why was she finding that so difficult? Just because he’d been one of Emily’s boyfriends all those years ago and he’d lied to Abigail point blank about it? Lied about even knowing them. Why would he have done that? Or was it because Mason so obviously liked her? So what if he was twice as old as her. Lots of older man liked younger women. But he still made her uncomfortable and she still needed to deal with him. Her physical and financial survival won out and she returned to her car, unloaded the framed watercolors, and lugged them into Mason’s store.

He met her at the door. “Here, let me help you.” His hand brushed her shoulder as he took the pictures and she inwardly cringed.

“Well, if it isn’t our town’s celebrity sleuth. I’ve read every word of those stories on the Summers’ murders and I’m as intrigued as the rest of the town. I can’t wait until the next episode. See what else you’ve unearthed. Any idea, yourself, who killed them? Any hot suspects?” he pried in a nonchalant voice.

She hadn’t caught any sarcasm or underlying meanings and then chided herself for the way she was behaving. She was getting paranoid. He was just a lonely old man who was trying to be friendly with his customers.

“No, none so far.” She played it dumb, Frank’s advice whispering in her head. “It was so long ago. The whole newspaper thing has gotten out of hand. You know reporters? Samantha simply wants to sell papers. Everything’s fodder for her stories.” She shrugged. “We’ll probably never know what really happened to them.”

Mason laid the stack of watercolors on a counter, but avoided her eyes. “Probably not.”

She asked before she realized what she was doing, “Did you know Emily?” Then it was too late to take back the words. Stupid, stupid.

An awkward pause. “No. Like I told you.” He seemed to rethink something and added, “Oh, I saw her and her kids around town. I knew who she was. That was about it.”

Abigail guarded her expression so he wouldn’t know that she knew he’d lied again. Last time, she was sure of it, he’d said Emily and the kids were before his time. Why was he lying at all unless he was hiding something?

He’d spread the pictures on the counter and then studied each one at arm’s length. “These are lovely. Excellent.” His mocking gaze met hers. “You have an eye for details most people don’t see. I love your use of colors. You are truly an artist, my girl.”

“Thanks. Do you have room for me to display them?”

“I’ll make room.” He was observing her in that peculiar manner of his. Or it could have been her imagination.

She tried envisioning what he’d looked like thirty years ago. He might have been a heart breaker, might have been handsome, but his looks had matured into an old man’s. Behind his constant charming smile, Abigail saw hints of discontent and disappointment. She couldn’t see now what any woman might have seen in him then. But time changed everything and everyone. No one stayed young and good-looking forever. People got old. Their bodies and minds aged.

“I might buy one myself,” Mason was saying, bringing her out of her reverie. “This one that has my store in the corner of it.” He’d tapped one of the pictures. “I love the way you used the lights of the sunset to bathe the store fronts. Delightful. And the price is more than fair. All the prices are and I’ll put them out today. They’ll sell. And you said you weren’t that good.” His words were flattering and he was staring at her again. “You underestimate your own talent, Abigail. Underestimate yourself.” He smiled and he was almost nice looking…for a moment or two.