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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.
“Mister, ah, Elton,” Lacey said, “I really don’t want to waste your time...”
“You’re not. Quit worrying.”
Lacey bit her lip. “Well...all right. I admit I am curious.”
He grinned. “I figured you would be.”
Elton led her to a windowless room with florescent ceiling lights, where a desk and computer shared space with file cabinets and shelves overflowing with books and papers. Sitting behind his desk, he motioned Lacey into a side chair.
“Here’s the deal,” he began. “For this year’s Silver River Days celebration, we’re publishing a special edition of the Sentinel, with articles about the history of the town and—”
“Here we are.” Clio bustled in carrying a tray holding the coffee, and the next few moments were spent with Lacey saying no, thank you to creamer and sugar, and Elton doctoring his with both.
After Clio left, Elton continued, “Sara Hoskins started the project. She’s one of our freelancers. Then her husband had major heart surgery, and she had to quit and take care of him.”
“That’s too bad, but—”
Elton held up a hand. “There’s more. The job also includes writing some articles for our regular issue about the Silver River Days activities.”
“The assignment sounds interesting, but I can’t do it. I won’t be in town that long.”
“Can’t you get time off from your job? You’d be doing us a huge favor. Plus, I know your grandmother would like to have you here longer.”
Lacey shook her head. “My boss has already granted me some extra time for this trip.”
“Think about it. Maybe you’ll find a way.”
“I don’t want to keep you from asking someone else.”
“There is no one else. Not with your experience. At least say you’ll give my proposal some thought.” He plucked a business card from a holder on the desk and handed it to her.
Lacey tucked the card into her purse. “All right. I’ll think about it overnight and give you a final answer tomorrow.”
* * *
RORY DROVE DOWN Main Street on his way to Dalton Properties. He usually worked afternoons, but this morning A.J. wanted him to attend a meeting with potential buyers for several houses they’d acquired at auction. He’d rather be at the shop, of course, but for now, he juggled both jobs. One of these days, though...
While waiting at a red light, he idly looked around. Lots of people out and about already. His gaze landed on a familiar car parked in front of the Silver River Sentinel’s office. A white Camaro convertible. Lacey’s car. Had to be. There wouldn’t be two cars like that in town.
Just then, she stepped out the office door. Behind her was Elton Watts. They stood talking for a moment, and then Lacey turned away and approached her car. At the same time, the light changed, and Rory drove through the intersection.
He wondered what business she had with Elton. Probably placing an ad to sell some of her grandmother’s stuff. Or maybe she’d just stopped in to say hello. Naw, that wasn’t like her. As far as he knew, when she came to town she confined her visiting to her grandmother.
* * *
A COUPLE HOURS LATER, after the meeting was over and the last buyer had left the conference room, A.J. turned to Rory. “That went well. Those old houses will soon be replaced by a new subdivision.” He scooped up some papers from the table. “Speaking of old houses, anything new on the Whitfield place?”
Rory followed A.J. from the room and into the hallway. “As a matter of fact, I saw Remy yesterday...”
“Hey, fast work.”
“And I made her the offer. Which she turned down.”
A.J. stopped at the door to his office and turned. “I told you you’d be wasting your time.”
Rory held up a hand. “I’m not giving up. Lacey was there, too, of course, and she was being very protective of her grandmother. Once she’s gone, I’ll try again.”
“Huh. I’m not going to hold my breath waiting for that deal to go through.”
* * *
AFTER LUNCH IN the Riverview dining room, Lacey and Gram took a walk. They followed the paved path that meandered through the grounds, past flower gardens and picnic tables and benches.
Lacey wanted to enjoy the outing, but she was preoccupied. And she couldn’t discuss Elton’s job offer or the matter of her mother’s journal with her grandmother. Gram would encourage her to take Elton’s offer, and she wouldn’t approve of Lacey’s having read the journal.
Rory’s image popped into Lacey’s mind. If only she could confide in him. When they were in high school, they shared everything, from their day-to-day problems to their hopes and dreams. But of course she could never confide in him now.
They reached the river and followed the path along the bank. The water flowed steadily along, sparkling in the sunlight. On the opposite side, farmland stretched to the foothills, and beyond stood the mountains.
“Let’s stop awhile.” Lacey pointed to a wrought-iron bench under a stand of cottonwood trees.
“All right.”
After positioning Gram’s wheelchair beside the bench, Lacey sat. She leaned back and rested her hands in her lap, relishing the soft breeze cooling her cheeks. Still, her problems kept her tense.
“As long as I can visit the river now and then,” Gram said, “I feel at home. Your mother loved the water, too.”
Lacey let a few moments elapse and then said, “I, ah, read some of Mother’s journal last night...”
She expected an angry outburst from Gram, but none came. She cast her a cautious glance. “Don’t you want to know what she wrote about?”
“No, I don’t.” Gram clamped her jaw shut and folded her arms. “Like I told you, a journal is private.”
“I’m going to tell you anyway, because I have some questions.”
Gram shifted in her chair so that she faced Lacey. Her eyes were angry. “Is that why you brought me here? To make me a captive audience?”
Lacey spread her hands. “Please, bear with me, just a little.”
“All right, say what’s on your mind and get it over with.”
Lacey took a deep breath. “She wrote about the amethyst necklace Grandfather gave her, the one that belonged to his mother. And how upset she was when she lost it at the restaurant.”
Silence, except for the shushing sound of the flowing water and the twittering birds perched in a nearby tree.
“And that someone found it—she didn’t write his name—and planned to return it to her on...on that day.”
“So?”
