Secrets in a Small Town Page 8

  “I think I may have found proof that your father was innocent.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  CORAL SUNDAY TAPPED her fingers idly against the windowsill, restless to the bone. She’d always worried that this day would come but she never suspected it would come with the encouragement of their daughter.

  Jasper walked in, his mind occupied elsewhere and she fought the spurt of jealousy for his ability to focus on the present rather than the past.

  Well, his leisurely day was about to end.

  “We should think about sending Piper to New York to see your sister,” she announced, causing him to glance up from his reading. He peered at her from above his glasses and frowned in annoyance at her interruption. “She needs to get out of Dayton for a while.”

  “Why?” Jasper asked. “And you hate my sister.”

  She ignored the part about his sister and continued, the idea germinating inside her head quickly. “She needs a change of scenery and New York would likely capture her imagination. This town is too small for her to grow professionally. We need to foster her talent and I don’t see that happening here with the limited resources available to her.”

  “I say we should let her decide what she wants to do with her life and in what direction she wants to go,” Jasper said with a shrug, and attempted to bury himself in his reading again but Coral wasn’t having it. They needed to be a united front or else it wouldn’t work.

  “Jasper,” she said sharply. “This is serious.”

  “Good gravy, woman, what is eating at you today?” he asked. “I’m trying to read this fascinating editorial on modern man and you’re ruining my enjoyment with your strident tone.”

  “You know she’s digging into the Red Meadows incident and she refuses to let it go.”

  Jasper waved away her concern. “I talked with her at the planting last Sunday and I think I’ve convinced her to move on. She’s an inquisitive young woman and she couldn’t help but poke around a little. However, when she finds nothing but what was reported in the news, she’ll move on. Stop worrying, Coral. You’ll give yourself an ulcer.” His expression softened as he suggested, “Why don’t you go make yourself some fresh mint tea. We have some in the cupboard and it’s really good. Settles the stomach and the mind.”

  She didn’t want tea. “Don’t manage me, professor,” she said brusquely. “And you underestimate your daughter. She’s like a bulldog with a bone when she gets something into her head. I don’t think she’s going to drop it and move on at all. And what are we going to do if she discovers the truth?”

  Jasper pursed his mouth and his gaze clouded as if he were remembering something distasteful and she knew he was reliving that awful day. They’d done so much to put the past behind them. Neither wanted to see it resurrected. “Let’s wait and see,” he said finally.

  “I’m not comfortable waiting for her to dig up our dirty secret. I’d rather she not know at all. If we send her away before she can finish her research, we won’t have to cross that bridge.”

  Jasper heard her this time but he wasn’t ready to make the move just yet. “It’s going to be all right. This is all going to blow over, just like it always does. Trust me.”

  Coral eyed him with a cold stare. “Make sure that it does,” she said. “I won’t lose my daughter over this mess.”

  “You won’t have to,” he promised, but Coral saw the apprehension in his gaze.

  The ghosts of the past were rising again. And Coral could feel their phantom fingers reaching for all she and Jasper held dear.

  OWEN STARED AT PIPER, stunned. “What did you say?” he asked in a harsh tone, causing her to take a faltering step away from him.

  She swallowed. “You heard me. I’ve found inconsistencies in some of the statements given by eyewitnesses to your father’s death at Red Meadows. And well, my gut says there’s more to the story than everyone has been told.”

  “You said you had proof.”

  “Okay, that part might’ve been a mild embellishment to get your attention,” she said sheepishly, rushing to explain when he looked ready to walk. “However, I wasn’t lying when I said that I’ve found some things that I think you ought to take an interest in.”

  “Such as?”

  “A hunch.”

  “A hunch,” he repeated, dismissing her claim with a sharp exhale of breath. He sidestepped her, and she had no choice but to retrieve her shoes and hard hat and follow.

  “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what I’m saying?” she asked, tripping after him. She yelped when the sole of her foot connected with a sharp rock but she limped on, reaching out to grab the back of his shirt and haul him back. “Listen to me. I know what I’m talking about. Something doesn’t add up. Didn’t you ever wonder? I mean, think about it. The official story goes that Ty Garrett was shot down when he tried to shoot an FBI agent during the raid at Red Meadows.”

  He turned and glared. “I know how it goes. I don’t need a play-by-play.”

  She continued, undeterred. “But I’ve found something that suggests a different story.”

  “Which is?” he demanded impatiently.

  “I’ll admit it’s not much, and that’s why I plan to keep looking, but I found someone from the Aryan Coalition who said that your dad was actually working for the FBI when it all went down and that the shooting was a cover-up.”

  Tense silence filled the air, the only evidence of Owen’s turmoil being the subtle flare of his nostrils. “Who is your source?”

  She crossed her arms. “You know I can’t reveal my sources.”

  “This is a bunch of horseshit,” he muttered, disgust in his tone. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? Why don’t you play around in someone else’s tragedy and leave the skeletons in my closet alone.”

  “I’m not going to stop,” she called out stubbornly. “With or without your help, I’m going to keep digging, because I’m not going to walk away from the biggest story this town has ever seen. I just thought you might like to find out the truth. Maybe even clear your dad’s name in the process.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  OWEN STOPPED. CLEAR HIS DAD’S name? Wasn’t that what he was trying to do when he’d returned to Dayton and took over running a legitimate business? He busted his ass every day trying to change the public perception of the Garrett name. Would he ever be able to wash away the stain left behind by his father’s association with the Aryan Coalition? He’d do anything to be able to walk down the street without wondering if the covert stares and whispers were simply a figment of his paranoid imagination or if people were still judging him by the actions of his father.

  Ty Garrett hadn’t been a bad man—but he’d done a bad thing and sometimes in a small town they were one and the same. Hell yes, he wanted to do what he could to clear his father’s name. He wanted people to know the side of Ty Garrett he’d known, not the caricature of evil that was painted of him after the shit had gone down at Red Meadows.

  “How exactly do you plan to accomplish this?” he asked finally. “And, assuming you get the information you’re looking for, what do you plan to do with it?”

  Emboldened, she said, “First, I want to hear your side of the story. I know you were a kid but I want to see if your account of the incident matches what the official report says.”

  “Official. You mean, what was printed in the papers?”

  She shook her head, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. “I got the FBI report.”

  “How’d you manage that?” Not even he had a copy of that report. “Can I see it?”

  “One thing at a time,” she said, her expression lighting with pleasure at his interest. “When can we sit down and do the interview?”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing now.”

  “Well, we would’ve if you hadn’t spent so much time asking me personal questions. Now, it’s nearly time to go.” She pointed at the dainty watch perched on her slim wrist. “Quinn will be done with school in about thirty minutes, which
is barely enough time to get back to town.”

  He startled at the mention of Quinn and a guilty flush followed. He’d completely forgotten about the kid. Some guardian he was turning out to be. “Crap. You’re right. Let’s get moving. I don’t want her to be left alone at the school.” They started the hike back to the truck and he offered a short thanks for keeping on an eye on the time. “I appreciate it,” he said gruffly. “I’m not used to having a kid to watch out for.”

  “Me, neither,” she admitted blithely, trudging beside him without her shoes this time, which seemed to make it easier for her to maneuver the terrain without the hindrance of the spindly heels. “But I have a thing for remembering details. I was an excellent babysitter back on the farm and there were plenty of kids running around to get enough practice.”

  He let that information settle for a moment while he processed what she’d shared about her theory. The temptation to shut her down was strong. He wasn’t keen on ripping open old wounds, particularly when there was no guarantee that anything good would come of it, but he couldn’t deny she’d dangled a pretty juicy carrot in front of a man hungry for redemption. He trudged along the terrain, helping her up a steep incline, then tried to fill the silence with something, anything other than the chatter in his head.

  “Must’ve been pretty wild growing up on a commune,” he mused. “Is it true about the nudist part?”

  “Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “But it’s completely voluntary. It’s not like everyone is required to shuck their clothes or else they get kicked off the island. That’s a Survivor reference,” she supplied unnecessarily. He stared, bemused, as she explained. “I love that show. I never got to watch television as a kid, so I kind of turned into a junkie in college. I caught a lot of marathons over the weekends. Now I never miss a season. I even thought about auditioning but I couldn’t fathom spending that much time without being able to shower.”

  He openly appraised her, crooking a short grin. Yeah, he couldn’t quite see that, either. “You’re not much of a camper, eh?”

  “Owen, my entire childhood felt like camping. I prefer my lifestyle with all the conveniences of modern technology like a dishwasher, washing machine, toaster oven…”

  “Toaster oven?”

  “Yes. I prefer English muffins in the toaster oven as opposed to the toaster because the toaster always burns the edges and a toaster oven crisps everything perfectly.”

  “You’re a very precise woman, you know that?”

  “You’re not the first to tell me that,” she acknowledged. “Which do you prefer?”

  “I like whatever is hot and easy.” He hadn’t meant to sound dirty but by the way her cheeks bloomed and her eyes widened, he knew that’s the way she’d heard it. He knew he ought to clarify but he kind of liked the way she got all flustered at the idea. What could he say? He had a bit of a bad boy in him.

  They reached the truck and made the drive back to town. Owen returned her to her parked vehicle and before she climbed out, she pinned him with her steady stare—the one he was quickly learning meant she was in ruthless-reporter mode—and insisted on nailing down a date for the interview. Before he could offer a word, she threw down a few rules. “It can’t be somewhere in the woods like today and it can’t be at a bar or something like that. I need someplace quiet so outside noise doesn’t get in the way of the recording.”

  “Recording?”

  “Of course. I wouldn’t want to simply rely on memory for something this important. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Would it matter if I did?”

  “Not really, but it seems courtesy to ask. Besides, it’s for your own protection, as well. This way, you’ll know that you’re being accurately represented.”

  An alarm bell trilled in his head. “Whoa…wait a minute. What do you mean by represented? I thought you just wanted to hear my side? Are you writing about this?” She hesitated and he took that to mean yes. He swore, then shook his head. “No. I don’t care what you uncover. I don’t want my family’s name thrown around in the media again.”

  “Owen, be reasonable. How else are you supposed to clear your father’s name? By word of mouth?”

  She had a point but he didn’t care. She didn’t know what it was like to be talked about every time she turned around over something as awful as the Red Meadow incident. “No.”

  “We made a deal,” she reminded him, her mouth tightening. “And you’re backing out.”

  “I agreed to talk. Nothing more.”

  She chewed her cheek in thought and that plainly calculating look in her eyes made him leery but she relented with a deliberate shrug, saying, “So serious. What’s to write about? It’s ancient history. I’m just curious. For my own sake.”

  “Don’t you have anything better to do with your free time?” he asked, finding her exploration into past history for fun, just a bit odd.

  She offered an enigmatic smile. “We all have our quirks.”

  “Yeah, I guess we do,” he agreed, even though he smelled a pile of something steamy. However, aside from the local rag, he couldn’t imagine who else would be interested in Dayton’s little embarrassment, so he felt marginally safe in letting down his guard. “Fine. But I better not find this interview on the internet somewhere.”

  “My we think highly of ourselves,” she teased. “Why would I post an audio file on the internet? Boring. This is just for me. I promise.”

  He supposed he could live with that. “Since you have so many rules, why don’t you suggest where we should meet.”

  She brightened. “Excellent idea. How about right here?”

  “My home?” he asked.

  “Yes. You live alone, right?”

  “At the moment.” He enjoyed the subtle flash of a scowl that crossed her features for the simple reason that her reaction fed his ego. “How about we meet at your house? Or maybe your farm?”

  “The farm? Why would you want to meet there?” Before he could answer, she moved on with a firm shake of her head. “No. That’s not a good idea. My parents would not enjoy that at all. They don’t seem to like you very much. Though, I don’t really know why. Anyway, no, it should be your place. Besides, if you have any photos of when you were living with the Aryan Coalition, I would love to see them.”

  He did have photos. Somewhere. He supposed he’d have to look for them tonight. “Fine. Tomorrow then?”

  She nodded, pleased. “Tomorrow.”

  Owen watched as she walked barefoot back to her car, tossing the heels into the passenger seat before she climbed in. He’d spent the afternoon with Piper Sunday. And he was going to spend tomorrow with her, too.

  Oddly, the idea didn’t make him want to run the other way.

  And he knew it should.

  PIPER’S STEP BORDERED ON A JIG but she couldn’t help it. She breezed into the newspaper office and went straight to her desk, still elated that she’d managed to convince Owen to work with her.

  “You’re looking chipper. What’s the occasion?” Charlie asked, lounging against the doorjamb, his back rounding in a slouch. “Anything you’d like to share?”

  “With you? No. It’s personal.”

  “Ah, personal. So you and Garrett are having a thing?”

  She looked at him sharply. How did he know she’d been with Owen? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she retorted coolly. “Go bother someone else with less work to do. I’m busy.”

  “So busy that you missed your interview with Councilman Olivo?” he inquired with fake concern. Her gaze flew to her large-format calendar and there it was in bright red pen. She gasped and he chuckled at her distress. “Yeah, he called, looking for you. Seemed pretty pissed off that you’d stood him up. You know how he gets. But I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Darn it. She’d meant to put the appointment and the phone number in her cell phone, but she’d been distracted and put it off for later, except later seemed to have passed by without her notice. “It’s here somewhe
re.” How’d she forget such an important interview? How completely appalling. Top professionals kept a myriad of dates and times and other important details in their head and yet she’d managed to blow off a major player in the city of Dayton because she’d been intoxicated by the possibility of interviewing Owen. Damn it.

  “For such a persnickety personality, you have the organizational skills of a homeless person,” Charlie observed, causing her to whirl and hiss at him.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than bother me?”

  “Not presently.”

  “Well, I don’t have time to listen to your crap. Go pester someone else.”

  “Why would I do that when pestering you is not only fun but also beneficial?”

  “Beneficial? How so?”

  “Because seeing you so riled gives me joy, which in turn causes a sweet endorphin rush and when that happens, my blood pressure lowers, which is beneficial to my health.”

  “So happy to help,” she said drily. “Now, get out of my space before I file a harassment claim against you. I don’t care if your uncle owns the paper or not—rules are rules and you’re creating a hostile work environment for me.”

  Charlie’s mouth pinched and his laughter faded. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to enjoy her victory. She found the Post-it she was looking for, but before she could celebrate, Charlie interrupted her again.

  “I think the editor might find it interesting that you’re doing something on the side that involves Owen Garrett. You know how my uncle, the publisher, feels about freelancing.”

  Yes, she knew. He’d made it very clear that he expected his reporters to save their best for his publication. Any moonlighting could be cause for termination. Technically, as long as the publication wasn’t in direct competition with the newspaper, legally, he really couldn’t say what she could do with her off time; however, with California businesses subscribing to the at-will employee rule, basically, the publisher could fire her for whatever he wanted if it suited him, as long as it wasn’t obviously against the labor laws.