The Puzzle (21 page)

“I was a teenager. Later, all the charges were dropped.”

“Grandpa?” I asked, waiting for his reaction.

He shot me a look, surprised by my inside knowledge, then seemed resigned. “Yeah. I needed all the help I could get at the time. It came in handy.”

“What was on your so-called rap sheet that doesn’t exist anymore?”

He leaned back in his chair in a thoughtful stare. “Let’s see. There
was
some minor vandalism, petty theft, and joy riding without the owner’s permission, you know, in that general direction. You get the idea.”

“Was there anything major?” I asked.

“No. Look, I was young, full of myself, and stupid, burning excess energy. I thought I was invincible and could do any crazy thing I felt like and get away with it.”

“Was that because of some well-placed influence?”

“Maybe that did have something to do with it. I don’t know. It was too easy to explain everything away. My grandfather gave me a way out. Of course, he also gave me hell, too, but soon forgave me and I continued on. It was the perfect set up: tempting fate.” He actually smiled slightly.

“No remorse?” I asked.

“Maybe, depended on what and who was involved.”

“Was Stephen ever caught up in any of your adventures?”

Suddenly, Ben laughed out loud. “Oh, Samantha, you can’t be serious! Stephen? Straight and narrow Stephen, who always had his head buried in some book and up to his neck in numbers? No, of course not! That’s utterly ridiculous!”

“Was he ever a target in any of your misadventures?”

He threw me such a hateful look that I flinched. “That was totally uncalled for and way out of line on your part,” he replied angrily. “I really liked Stephen and respected him.”

“I had to ask,” I said unapologetically.

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “After what Stephen went through with his foster parents dying like that. It tore me up to see him that way, so lost and desperate. I fought for him to stay, remember? I didn’t want him to run away. I found out it accomplishes nothing. I wanted my life to be so different, so I rebelled. It was too easy to pull some strings. I was finally given an ultimatum. Grow up or go to jail.”

“Did it work?” I asked simply.

“Yes. Eventually, I did. I learned the hard way to accept what you can’t change.”

I hated to admit it, but I felt as though he was telling me the truth. Or was it his version of the truth? I didn’t know anymore. Everyone was throwing me curve balls. I was waiting for one of them to throw a fastball so I could hit it out of the park. Either I was being handed a bunch of erroneous information or all of them were telling me the truth with the exception of one person.

Who?

I no longer thought the answer lay in Stephen’s accounting firm, but right here in this town, blowing whispers and lies around every corner. It appeared as though they all had an agenda, including Ben. Mine was finding out the truth.

Who killed Stephen?

Chapter 40

An Element Of Trust

“Oh, Martha, I am completely exhausted from this rearranging. Shoot me next time I suggest it.”

“Hey, it was a great idea,” she insisted. “Besides, we really didn’t have a choice in timing. We can’t just move large pieces when we’re knee-deep in tourists now, can we?”

“No, I guess not. I just wish we had the extra hands of someone to help us with these last huge armoires,” I complained, staring up at those bigger than life behemoths.

Our front door swung open.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite, two most unpredictable ladies in town!” Clay greeted.

Martha whipped around, overjoyed to see our unexpected visitor. “Why, Clay, you young rascal!” she said, as she turned toward me, smiling slyly. “Sam’s much too sensible to be turned by your flirtatious ways, but I’m not. Come on in.”

I got her message loud and clear. The bell saved us: the shop bell that is. We stood in front of Clay, our new assistant, and smiled sweetly. “It sure is great to see you,” I said.

His smile vanished instantly. Something was up. He looked from me to Martha, and then back to me, distrustful and wary, not quite as confident as a moment earlier.

If men only had a clue, thought the spider, quickly spinning her web of feminine charm.

“Why Clay, you couldn’t have come at a better time,” I said. “We were just talking about you, weren’t we Martha?”

Bless her little heart. Martha played right along. “What a coincidence, Clay! I say
,
your ears must have been ringing with all that talk going on between the two of us.”

“Yeah. Right,” he said. “Something’s up, isn’t it? Why are you two so happy to see me all of a sudden? What did I do or am about to do that brought on your, pleased to see me welcome?” He looked around the shop: finally noticing most everything was rearranged. He turned back to both of us in resignation. “Okay, I give up, what do you want me to move?”

“Come to think of it, we could use a little assistance,” I admitted innocently, trying not to express my amusement at his complete and total lack of enthusiasm.

“Guilty as charged,” Martha said, conceding the obvious. “We need someone with muscle to move these big monsters over by the front window, so we can display antiques in them. How about it, buster? You with us on this?”

An hour later, and many more pieces moved back and forth, a perspiring Clay wiped his brow with his sleeve, then held up his hands in submission. “Come on. Are we finished now? How many times can you move one piece around for crying out loud? I’m worn out.”

Martha and I exchanged glances and took pity on him, finally calling it a night. “Okay, we’re finished,” I announced. “You’re officially free.”

“Great! I’m starved. Have you two had dinner yet?” he asked, optimistically.

“No. We haven’t. No time,” Martha replied, yawning. “Myself? I’ve had it and am heading straight home to a hot bath. Sam, you go on ahead and grab a bite with Clay.”

“I think I’ll probably head home, too,” I said, looking for an easy out.

“Oh, no you won’t,” corrected Martha, shaking her head. “You were complaining how starved you were just before Clay got here. Now, both of you get going. I’ll lock up.”

Ten minutes later, we were facing each other at the diner in a corner booth, our orders already taken. I still wasn’t sure how much I could trust Clay yet, but figured I had nothing to lose by asking him a few more questions about Stephen. I needed to assemble more of my puzzle.

So far, many of the pieces had similar shapes and seemed to fit, but then quickly became displaced as new details emerged. I knew some views were biased, which constantly prevented me from ever getting a clear-cut picture of what actually happened. Clay must have been reading my thoughts, and beat me to the subject.

“I heard through the grapevine you’ve been visiting several people around town. It seems you’ve been one extremely busy lady, Sam, especially when you include working in that store of yours,” he said with an easy smile that gave nothing away.

“Those tendrils on that vine are mighty long indeed and, I must say, quite accurate,” I admitted, treading cautiously. “I’ve been talking to a few individuals here and there.” I was trying to measure which path this line of conversation was taking.

“Find anything out of the ordinary?” he asked, and then paused while our food was served. After the waitress left, he resumed talking. “That is, if you don’t mind me asking.”

I needed to deflect this line of questioning temporarily to first ask him something that had been bothering me ever since my last visit to Jack’s. “No…not at all,” I replied. “But first, would you mind me asking you some questions?”

“No, go right ahead,” replied Clay, grabbing his sandwich.

“For starters, what is your opinion of Barbara, Jack’s girlfriend? Don’t you think it’s an odd match up, the two of them? I’d really appreciate your perspective on this.”

Clay paused for a second, thinking. “…Barbara and Jack have an unusual alliance.”

“Why is that? Is she anything like his former wife?” I asked, biting into my sandwich.

“Yes and no.”

“What exactly was that supposed to mean?”

“She’s different because Jack’s wife was older; around his age.” Clay paused, giving further emphasis to his next words. “She’s similar …because Barbara is Anna’s younger sister.”

Now, that puzzle piece hit me square between the eyes. “You’re joking, right?”

He eyed me steadily. “No. It was about time you knew some of their history.”

“I never would have guessed,” I said, still digesting his words.

“I knew Jack would never admit it,” said Clay, “because he’s very protective of Barbara.”

“What do you mean? Why would he be protecting Barbara?”

“You see, Barbara and Jack had an affair when she was sixteen. As soon as her family found out, they threatened him with jail if he didn’t stay away. Then they shipped Barbara off to a private girl’s school in another state. When Jack found out he was devastated and angry.

“Anna, wild and fifteen years older than Barbara, finally caught up with Jack at a party. She found him drunk and inconsolable over losing Barbara. Anna shamelessly threw herself at him and you can guess the rest. She became pregnant from that one encounter, but told no one, not even Jack.

“Months later, Anna ran away. No one heard from her until a year later, when she returned home to her parents, remorseful and without the baby. She made a point of meeting up with Jack, confessing to giving birth and admitting she gave their son up for adoption. Jack went crazy, saying he would have married her to set things right. Anna said it wasn’t too late to see his son if they got married. In due time she’d tell him. If he didn’t marry her, she would tell Barbara.

 
“He knew when Barbara found out she would never have anything to do with him again. But in consolation, he had a son. Reluctantly, he agreed to the offensive arrangement. Unfortunately, Anna didn’t keep up with her half of the agreement. She kept postponing, time and again when she would tell him, making and breaking her promise. Well, Jack, who drinking
again,
was not a saint and she ended up pregnant once more, but this time around, she lost the baby and her life at the same time in a miscarriage. Jack never found out who or where his son was. He made inquiries, searched records and visited adoption homes, but got nowhere. He became an emotionally, broken man.”

“Clay, how dreadful!” I thought of the unimaginable uncertainty still suspended over their past. “But how did he end up with Barbara the second time?”

“You know how small towns are. Word eventually filtered back to her when she came back home. Her life had included, getting her degree, then a Masters, a marriage to a doctor and then becoming a widow at a young age. She tried to stay away as long as she could, hurt by how fate had treated her.

“But once she heard the true story about her sister from her parents, she approached Jack, and of course, over time, they came to an understanding and eventually a loving relationship once again. She finally agreed to live with him, but not get married. She said that wasn’t important anymore, as long as they were together.”

“What about the whereabouts of his son? What about her parents?” I asked.

“They didn’t know. Jack still searched though, always looking and asking.”

“Is that why he took the four of you teenagers under his wing? Because of the son he never found?” I asked, but quickly realized, I already knew the answer to that one.

“What do you think?” Clay asked. “He would have been a wonderful father.”

“What a tragic story.” I reflected on how many people’s lives were still affected by it, even to this day, and how fluid and unpredictable their future was, including mine.

“That’s why Jack was so devastated when Stephen left so unexpectedly,” explained Clay. “He probably always hoped that Stephen was his, because of his background where parentage was in question. Unfortunately, Jack never could get the elusive paperwork to legally document it, though.”

“Why not?” I asked, but suddenly understood the answer to that one too.

“The abandonment issue,” said Clay. “Notes pinned to a baby aren’t legal documents and don’t stipulate parentage, I’m afraid.”

“Does anyone still have that note?” I asked, hoping for something positive.

“Not that I know of. Have you gone through Stephen’s personal effects, you know, records, files or journals?” Clay prompted.

Since he had been so forthcoming with me, I figured I owed him the same favor in return. I leaned back, exhaling a sigh of disappointment. “Stephen didn’t leave anything. After his death, I found nothing when I systematically searched his office.”

“What about pictures, albums and all that?” Clay pressed. “He did have foster parents until he was eighteen years old, you know. There must be something to pursue.”