Whispering winds widows, p.7
Whispering Winds Widows, page 7
Gordon Walls had remained in the Whispering Winds community. He’d had to watch the woman who was supposed to marry him grow round with another man’s child...marry that other man and build a home together.
Ward placed a steaming bowl of soup on the table in front of her. Then loaded one for himself. “I can’t argue with your reasoning,” he said as he took a seat at the table with her. “But I can tell you that me and Jacob Evans pretty much ruled out Gordon’s involvement in whatever happened to our boys.”
“Jacob Evans?” Then she remembered that was Judson Evans’s father’s name.
“Judson’s daddy. A few days after they disappeared, he and I picked up Gordon and had a little talk with him.”
Reyna could just imagine how that had gone down. “Dare I ask how that played out?”
He eyed her for a long moment. “I’m certain you’ve seen enough movies to know when a man believes someone has hurt someone he cares about, things can get ugly.”
Reyna nodded. “You might want to refrain from filling in the details.”
He chuckled. “The end result was that Jacob and I were both convinced that Gordon had nothing to do with what happened to our boys.”
Reyna picked up her spoon and took a bite of the soup. “Mmm. This really is delicious.”
“It was my mother’s favorite soup. Whenever times got tight, we lived on this soup.”
The perfect opening for moving into another territory she’d wanted to explore. “Did any of the Three or their families have any particular financial issues during the time of the disappearance?”
“Everyone has trouble now and then. Some more than others.” He shrugged. “But there was nothing out of the ordinary, to my knowledge. If the other families had any troubles—financial or otherwise—they kept them quiet.”
Reyna ate for a while. Couldn’t resist. She felt guilty for not waiting for Ben, but he’d insisted she shouldn’t.
Eventually, she resumed her questioning. “Was there anything going on with JR or the others that had you concerned? Any sort of restlessness or dissatisfaction?”
“Lucinda was all torn up about JR quitting his job in the city. Duke Fuller had been talking about selling everything and moving to Nashville—even though he’d promised to fix up the Henry place for his wife. Judson Evans was pitching some new venture to his daddy. That boy never had to worry about a job. His daddy would always take care of him. I suppose those things fall into one or both of those categories.”
Reyna agreed. She supposed that was what Father Cullen had been referring to. “The official investigation looked into the possibility of a kidnapping gone wrong.”
He nodded, pushed away his empty bowl. “Never was a ransom demand. Truth is one investigation or the other looked into most every possibility of what could have happened. But it didn’t bring them any closer to figuring it out.”
“Based on the things you mentioned were happening, did you ever feel as if the guys were on the verge of something?”
“They were young. One or the other was always on the verge of something, but what’s new? It’s the sort of thing that drives treasure hunters and scientists alike.”
Reyna hesitated a moment. She wanted to go for shocking, but she felt guilty doing so with Ward. Still, he wanted the truth. She wanted it. Why not just do it? “If you had to choose one of the Three,” she said, “who was capable of killing the other two, which one would it be?”
The shock and anger she’d expected to see didn’t come. Instead, he gazed steadily at her. “If I had to choose,” he repeated, “I would say Duke for sure. He was older and more hotheaded. But—” he stared directly at Reyna “—I would bet my life that whatever happened was not prompted or carried out by one of those boys.”
Reyna didn’t remind him that they had been men—grown men—at the time of the disappearance. She understood that he was speaking as a father who would forever see his son as his boy.
If none of the three men had precipitated the event somehow, had it been one of their wives? Or one of the parents?
“There’s plenty more,” he said, gesturing to her empty bowl.
“I’m good, thank you. It was wonderful.” Reyna studied the man who took their empty bowls to the sink. Who had wanted to hurt the Three or wanted to get rid of them badly enough to actually make it happen?
Ben arrived, and his grandfather insisted he join Reyna at the table while he ladled up his dinner.
Ben passed her keys to her. “Everything’s taken care of.”
“Thanks. I’m really glad there wasn’t more damage.”
He nodded, flashed a smile for his grandfather as he settled a bowl of soup on the table in front of him and produced a glass of iced tea.
Ben was clearly starving. Reyna occupied herself with tracing a bead of sweat down her own tea glass while he ate.
She thought of the parents of the Three who were still living. JR’s mother had passed away. Duke Fuller’s father had died, but his mother was still alive. Both Judson Evans’s parents had passed. As awful as it was to think of a parent harming an offspring, it happened. But the age group of the men when they’d disappeared put the possibility lower on the probability scale.
“Thanks, Pops—that was great.” Ben pushed aside his bowl and settled his attention on Rey. “Have you ever had any trouble with that tire?”
The question surprised her. “No. I mean, the Land Rover is old, so there are mechanical issues from time to time, but the tires are fairly new.”
“No slow air leaks? No previous repairs?”
She shook her head. “Was the tire defective?”
“The best we could determine, the tire was cut, punctured in a way that prevented the air from seeping out until the vehicle was moving, and then it came out quickly. You’re lucky it wasn’t a rear tire, or you might have lost complete control of the vehicle. With a front tire, you still have some control with the steering wheel. Not so with a rear blowout.”
Reyna drew back as if needing distance from the words he’d uttered. “You’re saying you believe someone did this on purpose.” It wasn’t a question. Of course—that was what he’d said. But...why? How?
“Yes. I’m saying someone did this and it was on purpose—no question.”
The idea was ludicrous. “It had to have happened while I was at the church. I went to Nelson Owens’s house first, but we were on the porch the whole time with my vehicle in clear view. Then I drove to the church, and I was there maybe forty-five minutes. An hour, tops.” This was crazy...and yet her nerves were suddenly jangling.
“Did anyone know you were going to the church?”
Reyna thought about the question. “Eudora, of course. I don’t think I mentioned where I was going next to Owens.” Not that she could see either one having anything to do with her tire being damaged.
This was too much.
“Maybe,” Ben said, “going off on your own while you’re conducting these interviews isn’t such a good idea.”
“This is the way I’ve always conducted interviews and done my research.” How else was she supposed to do it? This was...disturbing. She felt violated.
“I’d feel a lot better if you would let me tag along.”
Was he serious? “Don’t you have work to do?”
“Nothing that won’t wait.”
Again, this made no sense.
“Why would you even want to do this? This tagging-along thing?” It wasn’t that she was opposed to company, but—as unkind as it sounded—she needed to be clear on his motive.
He held her gaze for a moment before answering. “My father and his two best friends went missing thirty years ago. Since that time, no less than two dozen people—some official, some not—have looked into their disappearance, and no one has ever found a damned thing.”
She nodded. “What does that have to do with your playing the part of my shadow?”
“In all that time, I’ve never heard about any of the folks doing the investigating receiving any sort of threats or being vandalized.”
His words suddenly made way too much sense.
“This tells me,” he went on before she could say anything, “someone is worried you might actually be the one to find what no one else has.”
Chapter Six
Kane Residence
Thistle Lane
Tuesday, April 23, 10:00 a.m.
Ben stood at the kitchen window, staring out over the orchard. As a kid, he’d loved running through those trees and climbing them. Despite his father disappearing when he’d been seven, he’d had a good childhood. He’d had his grandfather and his mother had been there for him. She’d been different then. Always smiling and laughing. Always baking cookies and thinking up games to play. She’d seen that he’d had all the things a kid needed. He’d never once gone without food or clothing or the usual things kids thought were necessary.
But after the disappearance something had been missing—besides his dad. Never with his grandfather, but with his mother. There had been a distance. He hadn’t recognized it in the earlier days of his youth, but as he’d grown into a teenager, it had become more and more clear. At the time he’d assumed it was the usual teenage angst that had created a gulf. But in more recent years, rather than see that gap close, it had somehow become wider.
For a long while he’d ignored it as nothing more than his mother’s way, but he saw it differently now. He’d gone through the possibilities. Maybe she was depressed. Sad. Lonely. But then he’d slowly realized it was something else. She was hiding something. The biggest visible change had started five years ago when a Chattanooga reporter had decided to do a twenty-fifth anniversary special about the Three. The dynamics between him and his mother had changed dramatically. Her connection with the other Widows—all the relationships he was aware of—had shifted.
He’d told himself that people changed when they got older. She’d been fifty-three at the time. Maybe she’d experienced a later-life crisis. Anytime he’d brought up the subject, she had bristled. Eventually she’d lowered the boom, letting him know that his questions were not appreciated and would no longer be tolerated.
“She’s here.”
Ben turned at the sound of his mother’s voice. Instead of responding to her less-than-enthusiastic announcement, he said, “I was just remembering how I loved to climb in all those apple trees. Dad used to boost me up when I was really little.”
She didn’t smile. “I remember when you fell out and broke your arm.”
That was Lucinda Kane. Always recalling the downside of the past.
By the time Reyna had climbed the steps and was just about to knock on the front door, he was there and opened it. Her fist hesitated in the air, then dropped to her side.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning.” Time would tell if it was a good one. “Come on in.”
Reyna stepped inside and looked around, her gaze lingering on the family photos on the walls.
Ben closed the door and watched for a while as she walked toward one photograph in particular. It was the largest of the framed images. The last one taken before his father had vanished. Ben had just turned seven. The photo had been shot at his grandfather’s home, down by the barn beneath Ben’s favorite tree.
He didn’t rush her, just let her look her fill. His mother would be waiting in the parlor, braced and ready for battle. The whole idea made no sense. Why couldn’t she be glad that someone was trying to find the truth? Someone, he’d decided, who was in it for more than some misplaced hope of notoriety.
Someone who, apparently, just by showing up had disturbed the thirty-year-old cloak of silence that surrounded the disappearance.
“How was your night?” he asked when her interest shifted from the photographs to him.
She smiled. He liked her smile. He gave himself a mental shake. What he really needed was to get out more.
“Thankfully uneventful. Birdie showed me dozens of photo albums. Vintage photos of the town and the folks who live here.” Reyna gave a nod. “I’m reasonably confident I know most of your secrets now.”
If Birdie Jewel was doing the talking, Ben would bet Reyna knew plenty for sure.
“Let’s head into the parlor. My mom’s waiting there.”
Lucinda Kane stood in front of the pink chair that had been her favorite for as long as Ben could remember. Each time the fabric grew worn, she had it recovered. She always insisted there was something to be said for good furniture.
“Mom, this is Reyna Hart,” he announced when she at last looked up and acknowledged their presence. Deep down he hoped her reasons for always being so stubborn about this subject were genuine and not because she was hiding some secret he really didn’t want to learn.
Reyna approached his mother, extended her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kane. I appreciate your time.”
His mother reached out and grasped Reyna’s hand ever so briefly before drawing away. “I’m certain my son told you that I’m only doing this to appease him.”
“He did,” Reyna said. “This is a difficult subject for you, so I can understand your hesitation.”
Lucinda gestured to the sofa. “Please, sit. Ben, would you get our guest coffee or water?”
“Not necessary,” Reyna hastened to say. “I filled up on coffee at breakfast. Birdie makes the best coffee.”
“I’m sure you’re finding her B and B welcoming.” Lucinda settled into her chair.
“I am,” Reyna confirmed. “She’s an interesting lady—well versed in the history of Whispering Winds. She’s had me enthralled since I arrived.”
His mother cocked her head and eyed Reyna for a moment. “You can’t always believe everything you hear, Ms. Hart, not even from Birdie Jewel.”
Reyna smiled. “We all have our own way of remembering,” she agreed. “We tell our memories from our own perspective, so what might feel like an error or oversight is more often simply the way a person remembers.”
Ben looked from his mother to Reyna. “Interesting way of seeing things.”
Frankly, he’d never thought of it that way, but it made sense. Maybe this was the problem with his and his mother’s way of seeing the past. Definitely something to consider.
“My son says you have questions for me,” Lucinda said, clearly ready to move on.
“I think we should just rip the Band-Aid off and start with the hard questions first,” Reyna suggested.
Ben braced for his mother’s rebuttal.
“Very well,” she said instead.
Surprised but grateful, he relaxed marginally.
“Why did you change your mind about wanting to marry Gordon Walls?”
Even Ben was a little put off by the question. His attention swung to his mother, expecting to see anger and shock. Instead he saw a face clean of emotion and intently focused on the woman asking the questions.
“I was young. Gordon had all these big plans for getting out of Whispering Winds, and I wanted that very much. His Army uniform was impressive. It seemed like the perfect plan for getting away. I imagined traveling the world with him in the military.” She sighed. “I was just a foolish girl with silly dreams.”
Never once had he heard this version of his mother’s decision. Strangely, it made a great deal of sense.
“But then you met JR,” Reyna went on. “You knew him before, I’m guessing.”
“We both grew up right here in Whispering Winds, so of course I knew him. But he’d just come back from college, and...he’d changed. Matured. He was very different from Gordon. Far more handsome, but also kinder, more deeply passionate about everything. As they say, he swept me off my feet.”
“How did Gordon react to this?” Reyna asked the next logical question.
Ben held his breath. This was the aspect of her history that his mother most often refused to speak about.
“I think he was relieved.”
Ben did a double take. Had she really just said that to basically a stranger?
“He put up a bit of a fuss to save face, but I personally believe he already had other plans and my decision gave him the out he needed.”
“Why have you never said that before?” The question was out before Ben could tamp it back.
Lucinda smiled in his direction. “Because it was embarrassing. I didn’t want to admit that Gordon had likely outgrown his brief infatuation with me.” She sent him a pointed look. “Why don’t you find those family photo albums from back then and show them to Reyna? She might find them interesting.”
“I’d love to see them,” Reyna agreed.
Ben pushed to his feet, his brain wobbling with disbelief. Who was this impostor, and where was his mother?
Evans Residence
Blackberry Trail
12:25 p.m.
DEIDRE FULLER HAD refused to meet with Reyna. She wasn’t so surprised. Frankly, she’d been shocked that Ben’s mom and now Ms. Evans had agreed to an interview. Ben, on the other hand, seemed completely surprised by Fuller’s decision.
He parked his truck next to Rey’s Land Rover. When he opened his door to get out, she did the same. The Evans home was typical of the area and not unlike the homes of the other two widows: farmhouse, two stories, well maintained. There were many houses of this style in the area, but what continued to amaze Reyna was the idea that these women had lived in the same ones for all these years. None had ever remarried, and none had sold the homes purchased by their husbands. Reyna would have thought that at least one of the Widows would have moved on by now, particularly since two had no children with the spouses who had disappeared.
Why stay in that same place with the same memories and no forward momentum during all this time?
On top of all that, the houses were very short distances apart. They were all on different roads on the fringes of Whispering Winds, but they were only a mile or so from each other.
