Trace Their Shadows (16 page)

Grace stood, the ivory skin around her eyes suddenly drawn. Brandy recognized the signal. The interview was almost over. “Did Brookfield ever tell you anything that might help the Sheriff’s Office uncover the truth?” she asked.

Grace shook her head slowly, her mouth still tense. “I can tell you this. Brookfield would never have let anything or anyone come between us.” As she moved toward the door, Brandy studied her. How did she manage to create an impression of fragility? Grace was not frail, only lean, and as tall as Brandy. Some Southern women cultivated the gift——if it was one.

Grace opened the door. “Please excuse me. I really must get to work on my column for the condominium newsletter.”

Alice picked up a stack of books on the bookcase and swished her duster under them. “You want me to turn in these library books, Mrs. Able?”

Grace shrugged. “No, I’m not quite through with my research.”

What research, Brandy wondered, would interest the reclusive Grace Able? She seemed to read Brandy’s mind. “My gardening column, you see,” she said. “It does take work.”

Brandy stepped into the hall. “The Sheriff’s Office will probably call you, but they may not spend a lot of time on this case. It was all so long ago. I plan to keep digging until I find out what happened.”

Brandy walked thoughtfully back down the hall. Did Grace realize what she had said a few minutes earlier? She had identified her husband as a possible threat to the murdered girl, said he would let nothing come between them. Had Eva tried to do just that? The two sources she had questioned, however, all agreed on the order of events. Brandy had never discussed that 1945 afternoon with Axel Blackthorne.

At the lobby desk she borrowed a Tavares telephone book to look up the developer’s office number. His secretary said her boss would be in his office until about three. Then he had an appointment at the site for manufactured homes on Lake Dora. Brandy did not give her name. She knew he would be hostile.

She filled the time gap by stopping for a sandwich to eat in the car, then parked behind the brick building that housed the Lake County Historical Museum. Her story needed more background. From a volume about Tavares pioneers, she read that Sylvania’s grandfather had come to Lake County from Georgia in the l870’s. He had ferried materials for his first house down the Oklawaha River and hauled them overland by ox teams. For the house in question, he used the recently built railroad and cut local cypress, now logged out except for a pristine patch along the Dora Canal. That fact, she thought as she closed the heavy book, probably accounted for John’s love of his trailer location.

When Brandy pulled up a little after two in front of the yellow brick building of the Blackthorne Construction Company, she reminded herself that the difference between a poor reporter and a good one was often the difference between timidity and assertiveness.

Mr. Blackthorne’s secretary turned out to be a plump, motherly soul with iron gray hair. Brandy announced flatly, “Tell your employer that I’m the person who found the skeleton on his Lake Dora boat house property, and that I need some answers.”

FIFTEEN
 

Ignoring Brandy’s abrupt comment about the skeleton on the developer’s property, Blackthorne’s secretary gave her a cordial smile. “Your name, please? I’ll let Mr. Blackthorne know you’re here.” After the woman stepped into his office, Brandy could hear his muffled bark. The secretary returned with a regretful shake of her head. “Sorry, Miss O’Bannon, is it? Mr. Blackthorne’s too busy to see you.” Brandy braced her shoulders.

“I called earlier,” she said pleasantly. “I’ll take only a few minutes of his time. It’s important for me to speak to him about a story I’m working on for the Tavares Beacon. He’ll be mentioned.” She brushed past the secretary and into his office through the open door.

The wall beside Blackthorne’s desk was covered with an architectural drawing of the new Lake Dora development——row upon row of identical little gray houses, packed together in a metallic rabbit warren. Blackthorne did not rise from behind his desk to greet her.

“I might’ve known it’d be you,” he growled. “I asked my girl to tell you I was busy.” She’d forgotten how wide the gap was between his front teeth. Under the heavy brows his eyes smoldered.

“She did tell me,” Brandy said. “But I think you owe me some explanations, Mr. Blackthorne.” She took a seat in a straight chair across from his desk and looked at him directly. “Wednesday night when John Able and I found the skeleton, I was chased across the lake by a motorboat from your pier. No mistake about that. There wasn’t another motorboat on the lake, and I saw it leave the shore.” She thrust her head forward. “And I have witnesses.” No need to tell him that she didn’t have the fishermen’s names and had no idea how to reach them. “I want to know why your boat tried to run me down.”

Blackthorne leaned back in the swivel chair, his fleshy hands toying with a pen on his desk. “I wanted you to leave Sylvania Langdon alone,” he said at last. “No secret about that. She’d come to a decision and you were making it hard for her. You had no business on her property either night. I don’t mind saying I left orders with my night watchman to stop your prowling, especially while she was gone.”

Brandy’s eyebrows lifted. “Stop me? Drown me is more like it!”

“My man may have been overly enthusiastic.”

“Just like the night he turned the dogs on me.”

Blackthorne did get up then, walked over to the window, and stood looking out, hands clasped behind him, a bulky silhouette against the early afternoon sunlight. She waited.

“I’m going to retire when this Lake Dora job is done,” he said, more subdued. “I’m turning the business over to a nephew. I’d like to buy Sylvania’s lot before I leave. It will help us both.”

Brandy took her note pad out of her bag. “Surely the best thing for her would be for the publicity to end. And that will happen when we know the truth about Eva Stone’s last afternoon.” She caught his eye and he looked away. “I’ve talked to almost everyone who was at the weekend party when she disappeared. The bones have been identified as hers, so we know she didn’t drown.

Or if she did, who buried her? I’m trying to find out as honestly as I can what went on that afternoon.”

Blackthorne walked back to his desk, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I wonder who constituted you to represent the law?”

“I’m not representing the law, Mr. Blackthorne. I’ve no doubt the Sheriff’s Office will ask the same questions. But I’m writing a story about the house, and I’ve come to care very much about what happened to Eva Stone. If people who were there will talk, maybe Sylvania can finally put the tragedy behind her.”

He ran his hand through the thin hairs above his forehead, either trying to remember or trying to decide how much to tell. Finally he made his decision. “Sylvania called me the day before the party, very much upset. She asked me if I’d be there because she needed at least one friend she could depend on. I was surprised. I thought she was being courted by the young man Brookfield had brought home on a visit the year before.”

He looked out the window again.

“But you did go for the weekend,” Brandy prompted.

“Oh, yes. I went. Eva Stone came along at the last minute, too, but I didn’t see much of her. I guess you know by now that all the fellows were after Eva, especially Ace Langdon. I think Syl found out that Ace had seen Eva on the sly, maybe even asked her to come. That’s probably why Syl wanted me there. Someone she knew would show her some attention.”

He slumped back in his chair and picked up the pen again. When Eva Stone disappeared, Ace turned back to Syl and made up with her.” A sigh escaped through the space between his front teeth.

“I’m trying to find out where people were that afternoon,” Brandy said gently. “I understand you went hunting with the other men.”

“Sure, I wanted to be one of the guys, not like Ace Langdon. He hung around to prey on the girls. I didn’t bag anything, as I remember.” His face twisted in a smile. “I don’t know if Ace did. I went in a pick–up truck with Brookfield. I wasn’t as close a friend of his as I was of Syl’s, but he did ask me to ride with him. He started home early, said he had an appointment and he had to get back to the house, so I got out and walked through a field west of the Ables’ place, trying to scare up some quail. I wanted something to show for the afternoon’s hunt. He drove on alone.”

“So he got back to the house before you did?”

“Well, I guess he did. When I got there, everyone was looking for Eva Stone.”

“Did you see Grace Southerland’s car when she left?”

“She passed me on the road as I was walking in. I didn’t say anything to her. I didn’t know at the time there was any problem, and I guess she didn’t either.”

“And did you go into the water to hunt for Eva yourself?”

“Oh, yeah. Almost all of us did. Syl had been the first one in. Just like her. She was the best swimmer of us all. Brookfield was ahead of me. None of us could find a trace of the girl.”

A possibility suddenly occurred to Brandy. “Later on, did Brookfield or Sylvania have an interest in your construction business?”

He looked at her sharply. “That’s a matter of record,” he said after a short pause. “Brookfield invested in my company when I got it started about a year later. I’d been working off and on since high school for a construction company in Leesburg. I knew the business, and my work in the Seabees during the war helped. The investment certainly rewarded Brookfield well. The years right after the war were prosperous for builders. Did Syl have an interest in it? No. It was strictly Brookfield’s money, and he sold his interest long before his death.”

Brandy rose. “If you think of anything else that might help us learn the truth about Eva Stone’s death, I hope you’ll call me or the Sheriff’s Office. John and I never meant to hurt Sylvania.”

He looked up at her, bristly brows drawn into a scowl. “You could fool me,” he said. “What you’ve done so far has made her life almost unbearable. She’s certainly never been hauled into the Sheriff’s Office before.”

He shifted papers from the out–basket to his desk and tapped them. “This is the contract for Sylvania’s house. Just as soon as the Sheriff’s through digging, Syl will sign it. Then she’ll finally be rid of the house and all that goes with it. And another thing,” he added, his words measured, “if your news story even suggests that I knew anything about that skeleton or Eva Stone’s death, I’ll sue you and your paper for slander.”

Brandy had meant to shake his hand, but that no longer seemed appropriate. “I don’t intend to slander anyone,” she said. “But I do intend to go on talking to people. Tomorrow I’ll see the woman who watched Eva Stone walk out into the lake. And maybe I’ll be able to interview Mrs. Stone, too. She’s still alive. I do intend to find out what happened to Eva Stone.”

As Brandy stepped into the reception room, Blackthorne’s secretary moved behind her and closed the developer’s open door. “Before you leave, Miss O’Bannon,” she said quietly, “you need some background information I’ll tell you that Axel won’t.”

Brandy paused, intrigued.

“Don’t judge Axel from those threats until you know the whole story. He’s my cousin. After my husband died, he helped by giving me this job. I’ve known him all my life, he and Sylvania.”

Her expression softened. “Down through the years Axel watched that woman suffer. In school kids made fun of him because he was too fat and Sylvania for being too tall. It was the two of them against the world. Their misery made them close friends and they stayed close. Then along came Ace Langdon. He had glamour. He’d been a bomber pilot during the war, and the girls always went for pilots. Axel had sweated out the war in construction on islands in the Pacific. And Ace was good–looking. All the other girls thought he was a real catch. When he proposed to Sylvania, that must’ve been sweet revenge.”

The secretary eased back around her desk and sat down, but she wasn’t finished. “Sylvania’s folks were all for the marriage. Mr. Able probably thought he had an old maid on his hands. And Ace was supposed to come from a fine family up North. Blackthorne’s father operated a shoe repair shop on Main Street. That should tell you something. After a few years, Axel married, too, but it didn’t last. His heart wasn’t in it. Neither had any children. It was hushed up, but several years after her disastrous marriage, a cleaning woman went in early one day and found Sylvania with her head in the oven. Axel vowed then never to let her reach that level of despair again. If she wants to sell her house, he’ll see that she can, and for a hefty price.”

She gave Brandy a warm smile. “Don’t leave thinking Axel Blackthorne wants that property just to make money. He may not even get his investment back. Sylvania’s always been too proud to accept help, but now Axel can see that she lives comfortably the rest of her life. That’s the reason he has tried so hard to get her to sell to him. He’d do almost anything for Sylvania. When you write your story, these facts should make you see Axel in a different light. I believe they call it ‘deep background.’”

She’s given me the dignity of an experienced journalist, Brandy thought. Clever. As she thanked the secretary and vowed to be discreet, she felt more sympathy for Blackthorne than she ever thought she could, in spite of his ugly houses and his threats. At least he was capable of a devotion she had not suspected.

Thoughtfully, she drove through a rising wind to a fast food window and bought a hamburger and a coke. She had seen Sylvania in her role as Woman of Steel, she had never seen her as suicidal. Her one–sided love for a hotshot philanderer may have given her reason. Was a guilty conscience another? On that long–ago weekend, could she have rid herself of a troublesome rival? And if Blackthorne would do anything for Sylvania, could it include eliminating that rival?

There was only one place Brandy really wanted to go, and under gathering clouds her car raced there almost on its own. Just don’t let me run into the exemplary Sharon, she thought as she finished her lunch in the hospital parking lot.

SIXTEEN