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