Silver River Secrets

I’m learning. Bonnie showed me how to get tips, mostly from the men. But she says to be careful not to give the wrong impression. Last night I brought home $30, just from a few smiles and a little extra attention. Sometimes, I see Jorgen giving me a look, but he hasn’t said anything. No one has complained about me—that I know of.

Farther on:

I’m making a lot of new friends. Okay, they’re mostly men, but they’re customers. Rick definitely doesn’t like my working there. He says he doesn’t care about the money, but he didn’t turn down the $50 I stuck in his shirt pocket.

I like working! I’m important. Jorgen said so. He’s protective, though. Like Dad used to be. I told him I can take care of myself.

One of my customers asked me if I wanted to have a bite to eat with him after I got off my shift. I said no, but I really wanted to. He’s nice. I’m not going to write his name here, in case someone reads this. But he’s very handsome. I feel he’s interested in knowing the real me. Whoever that is. Ha, ha.

Was her mother referring to Rory’s father, Al Dalton Jr.? Was this the beginning of their affair? Did they have an affair? No one had ever proven that, one way or the other.

Lacey read on, but found nothing more about the mysterious man. Then:

Oh, my, have I gotten myself into trouble? Jorgen says I’m too friendly with the men customers and someone complained. He won’t say who, just that I’m “too friendly” and should back off.

Someone followed me home last night. When I turned in the drive, the car went on by. I’m not sure who it was, but I think I know.

The next entry:

Today I said to ______, “Did you follow me home last night?” and he said yes.

The entry after that:

Something awful happened today. I lost my necklace. The one Dad gave me with the amethyst stones that I wear almost every day. I don’t think Rick took it, although he’s asked me more than once how much it’s worth. “It’s priceless,” I always say, “and will never be sold to pay your gambling debts.”

The clasp was loose, but I wore the necklace to work yesterday, anyway. I noticed the necklace was missing just before closing. After closing, I looked everywhere. Bonnie helped, and Jorgen gave me a flashlight so I could search the parking lot. I didn’t find it. I am sick! Daddy gave me the necklace on my sixteenth birthday. It belonged to his mother, my grandmother Ella, and was designed especially for her. I promised to pass it on to my daughter, if I ever had one. Which I did. And it will be Lacey’s someday.

I must find the necklace!

Two days later:

Someone found my necklace! I’ve been home from work with a bad cold. Things are not good at work. Two nights ago, someone followed me home again.

Anyway, the one who found my necklace wants to bring it to me here at home. What to do? I’m better now. I don’t want to go back to work, though—but I want my necklace.

Was that the last entry? Holding her breath, Lacey turned the page. Ah, good, there was more. Not much, though. Lacey stared at the date, and her heart skipped a beat. The day of the tragedy. The last day of Al Jr.’s life and the last day of her mother’s conscious life. Under the date was written:

I’m waiting, scared but excited, too.

This visit promises something new.

Will I be happy? Will I be blue?

I don’t know, but I’m waiting.

The remaining pages were blank. Those words were the last her mother wrote before she slipped into a coma from which she never awakened.

A lump rose in Lacey’s throat, and tears burned her eyes. Reading the journal revealed a mother she had never known. She felt sorrow for her mother, for a life not fully lived. Norella yearned for more, not only from others but also from herself. Those yearnings were never fulfilled.

Lacey closed the book. She gazed idly out the window into the dark night, her thoughts focused on the last entry. Where had the book been when her mother’s visitor had arrived? The visitor must have been Al Dalton Jr. He must have been the person who’d found her necklace and was returning it.

Nothing was said about a necklace at her father’s trial. The prosecutor’s contention was that Al Jr. had come to the house because he and Norella were having an affair. Rick came home unexpectedly and caught them. He shot Al in the back from the upstairs bedroom as he ran from the house to his car. Then he ran, too, only to be apprehended later.

Gram came home from a bridge game and discovered Al’s dead body in the yard and Norella lying unconscious on the floor of her bedroom. She’d hit her head on the fireplace’s raised hearth. The prosecutor theorized that in trying to escape Rick’s wrath, she either had tripped and fallen, or he had pushed her. Neither theory could be proven, but that didn’t keep the jury from declaring Rick guilty of Al’s murder.

But what had happened to the necklace Al was supposed to have been returning? Had Gram known about that? The next time she had the opportunity, she would ask her some questions. It was time for the truth to be known.

* * *

LACEY PARKED HER car in front of the Silver River Sentinel’s Main Street office at exactly nine thirty the following morning. Curiosity had kept her nerves humming since she’d arisen and prepared for this meeting. Why did Elton Watts want to talk to her?

As Lacey entered the office, she spotted Clio Bertram at the desk behind the counter. In her forties, Clio was Elton’s only child and main employee.

Clio looked up, and a smile lit her round face. “Hello, Lacey.” Then she turned to the hallway leading to the office’s back rooms and called, “Dad! Lacey’s here!”

“Coming!”

Elton Watts appeared. Hand outstretched, he approached Lacey. “Lacey, by golly, good to see you.”

“You, too, Mr. Watts.” His friendliness eased her tension, and she relaxed as she shook his hand.

He grinned. “Cut the mister stuff and call me Elton.”

“All right... Elton.”

Elton Watts hadn’t changed much in the past ten years. A little more stoop-shouldered, maybe, and hair more gray than brown. He still favored jeans, a plaid shirt and a bolo tie. The tie ornament was a cowboy hat, and the braided strings had leather tips.

Clio left her desk and joined them at the counter.

“You remember Clio, don’t you?” Elton gestured to his daughter.

Clio was shorter and heavier than her father but shared his intelligent eyes and wide smile. In contrast to his Western look, her dress, made of a gauzy green fabric, seemed more appropriate for the dance floor than a newspaper office.

“I do remember you,” Lacey said.

“I was busy raising kids when you lived here before.” Clio absently straightened a stack of newspapers on the counter. “Now they’re old enough to be on their own while I help Dad.”

Elton turned back to Lacey. “Well, Lacey, I’ll cut to the chase. I’ve got a job for you.”

Lacey widened her eyes. “A job? But I already have a job—in Boise.”

“I know, but I’m hoping your boss will loan you to us for a while. We really need you.”

Lacey shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

“Come on back to my office, and I’ll explain.” He gestured toward the hallway.

“I’ll bring you some coffee,” Clio said and headed for the cart holding the coffeemaker.