Authors: Charlotte Hinger
Deadly Descent (20 page)
By two o’clock I was on my way to Topeka. Once there, I checked into a hotel with all the executive amenities. I tested my wireless connection and emailed to my own computer at the historical society to see if Josie was online. I got an immediate reply:
We’ve sent two messages, and AngelChild hasn’t responded. We’re afraid if we push too hard, we’ll lose her for good. I wish you were still in town.
I typed back:
There can’t be two of us sitting there in the courthouse, remember? Folks are supposed to think you’re me. The real test of that will come tomorrow if someone wanders in and asks you to find information about their family tree.
From Josie:
Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.
I stayed on-line. Josie or Harold would send me IMs and forward AngelChild’s messages. If AngelChild didn’t bite by eight o-clock the next morning, we didn’t expect to hear from her before evening. Harold believed the person worked, and was still stable enough to show up.
Josie phoned.
“We’ll cool it for several hours. We want to see how she responds to suspense on her end.”
“Okay. I’ll take a shower and order room service. Flash me if she breaks in.”
The shower was quick and hot, the food mediocre. I had just propped myself up against all the pillows the room had to offer when my laptop beeped.
What did you do after your mother died?
AngelChild responded:
I bloomed. I was valedictorian. I should have been surrounded by family congratulating me. I turned eighteen two weeks before graduation. I told everyone my mother had died very suddenly and we would be burying her in Western Kansas. No one knew she had died two years earlier. See what she made me do? I’m an honest person down deep inside. She’s made me lie all my life. It was supposed to be different for me.
Bingo,
I thought,
she’s given us a magical bit of information. She was valedictorian.
When she said the burial was in Western Kansas, it implied that she was then living in Eastern Kansas. I knew how to locate Eastern Kansas valedictorians.
In an earlier email she had said her father was in the war. Someone had carried Judy into that barn. Carried her and lifted her. That person had to have been strong and in decent physical shape. AngelChild’s father could possibly have been in World War II. It was the earliest war to make any sense. Assuming it was an American war.
To be on the safe side, I would start ten years after that time and cover a ten year span to find the names of all the valedictorians in all the high schools east of Salina.
While I was gloating over this information, Josie flashed back an instant message:
There’s my ticket in. I’m going to find out why she felt she was
entitled
to a different life.
Jobs! What we do for a living has everything to do with how we think, what we look for. Josie zeroed in on AngelChild’s psychology, I was concerned with old high school records.
She typed quickly:
Harold just warned me to wait for that kind of probing. He says let her go while she’s on free flow. He doesn’t want me to ask any questions at all. Just show empathy.
AngelChild continued to type. It was coming like a river now:
After her “burial,” people made all over me because I was an orphan. So brave. If they only knew how brave I had been all my life. They couldn’t touch me. Couldn’t do strange things to me or put me with strange people because I had reached my majority.
A date, a word,
I pleaded.
Just one. That’s all I need.
Josie typed:
I know how brave you are. It must have been very hard for you. I wish I could have been there for your graduation. I’m sure you were beautiful.
She typed:
I really was beautiful. I bought a brand new dress and looked just as nice as the other girls.
Where did you buy the dress,
I pleaded silently.
Give me the name of a store.
Josie wouldn’t know to ask that kind of question. If AngelChild had bought it through mail order or some little general store, it could be any town in Kansas. If it were a Penney’s or a Sears it would be a medium sized town, but if by some stroke of luck she had bought the dress at a store like the old Pellatiers here in Topeka, it would give me a very specific town and date.
Josie risked a question:
What was your dress like? I wish I had been there to see you.
Immediately from AngelChild:
It was stunning. A red sheath. Momma would have hated it. She said I was a shameless hussy to seek out clothes that showed off my body. But it wasn’t clingy. She said I should never wear red with my coloring. Never. I didn’t care. I wanted it. It was very expensive, and I bought a pair of high heels to go with it. They were my first, and I had a hard time walking across the stage. But it was worth it. No one had ever seen me look like that before.
The screen was silent, and I took advantage of the lull:
Josie, we’ve got her. She graduated in the sixties, and she’s a redhead.
She typed:
Isn’t that a bit of leap?
I responded:
Nope, you’re concentrating on psychology, and I’m looking for facts. Jacqueline Kennedy’s sheaths were all the rage, and even though she popularized low heels, trends hit Kansas late in the clothing cycle. Women wore pointy-toed high heels a lot longer out here. And redheads were always cautioned about wearing red.
Then AngelChild was back:
I was free. Everyone knew I was going to college. I bought a car. I had missed out on driver’s ed, so I had to hire a private instructor. But I didn’t care. Everything was worth it.
Then Josie made her mistake:
There were two years from the time your mother died and you reached eighteen. What was the first thing you did when your mother died?
AngelChild responded:
I looked in her trunk. The trunk I had never been allowed to open. Then I understood everything. You’re trying to make me crazy again. You’ll pay for this.
The screen was silent. Josie waited ten minutes, then phoned.
“Blew that one,” she said. “That time was too loaded for her. My guess is she’s done for the night. When she had a little time between sessions before, she came back. Harold’s betting she will again.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll hit the research center and zero in on May newspapers published in Eastern Kansas during the sixties and look for a female valedictorian wearing a sheath. I won’t be able to see the hair color, but I can narrow it down. Her hair will show up as grey tones.”
“Fantastic!”
“Will be if I can come up with a name.”
“Get some sleep, Lottie. Harold and I are staying right here just in case. But we’re able to take turns. You have a packed day ahead of you tomorrow, and you need your rest. If she comes back online, we’ll call you.”
***
I awoke early the next morning. Too impatient to wait or waste a precious second, I decided to learn what I could about Rebecca Champlin before the Kansas State Historical Society opened.
I drove across town to the courthouse. Luckily, in addition to Topeka being the state capitol, it was also the county seat. The records would show if Rebecca had bought a small farm somewhere in Shawnee County. If what Sam and I suspected was right, she’d moved with a tiny baby. Ripped from her sister’s womb.
When the register of deeds brought me the county books, I quickly flipped to the pertinent months. I traced down the columns of property transactions. Nothing. No Rebecca Champlin. Disappointed, I scanned earlier, then later months.
I had been so positive she had moved to Topeka. So sure she’d bought a small piece of land. Coveted privacy. Especially if she was trying to raise a small baby.
I went to the treasurer’s office and requested property tax records. No Rebecca Champlin there, either. Perhaps she had changed her name. That would make sense, and it would make my job a lot harder. I glanced at my watch. The research center would be open now. Time to look for my redhead.
Once again, I shoved the vindication of Herman Swenson to the back burner.
The vast research center of the Kansas State Historical Society is in the same building as their state of the art museum. I had to put my cell phone, purse, any pens, and notebooks inside a locker before I went inside the main room. Only pencils, a few pages and a laptop were allowed inside, and my laptop would be opened and inspected when I left. Despite these precautions, persons somehow managed to smuggle out documents. I presented my credentials at the desk, and headed back to the microfilm.
So many towns. So many newspapers. East of Salina is considered to be Eastern Kansas. That half of the state, where Josie and I grew up, has water and trees in abundance. The people are softer, less judgmental. Pioneers used to say there was no Sunday west of Junction City and no God west of Salina. We’re big on self-reliance in Western Kansas.
I made a copy of the state map and asked for microfilm, county by county. I plugged my laptop into an outlet as I intended to work straight through until closing.
All research takes time. Tedious, achy time. It’s donkey work. There are no short cuts. I loaded the film, forwarded to the month of May, then realized all the graduates were in caps and gowns. There was no way to spot a sheath dress. I would have to read copy and research all the female valedictorians. Reel after reel, paper after paper, for four hours. My eyes hurt. My shoulders ached.
Schools began consolidating after the fifties. Before that, small high schools had graduating classes of twelve to twenty students. I scanned through male valedictorians with flat-tops and listed the girls along with their counties.
Nowhere. Nothing. Reel after monotonous reel.
The research center closed at four-thirty. I took all the film back to the desk, retrieved my possessions, and reluctantly headed back to the motel. Too tired to dress for dinner, too melancholy to want the isolation of room service, I wheeled into a McDonald’s and ordered a calorie-laden Big Mac value meal.
***
Back in my room, I called Josie.
“Nothing,” she said. “But we were expecting that. We’re sure she works and is doing this out of her home, so prime time will be evening. Harold says probably before midnight, because she’ll have to work the next day. He thinks she’s a sensible person, who values her job.”
“I ran into a dead end here. With both projects.” I told her I suspected Rebecca Champlin had changed her name and that it would take a lot of time to track her down. “No luck spotting AngelChild either, but I’m only a third of the way through the counties. How did your day go, otherwise?”
“As in, how did I spend my summer vacation?”
“Something like that.”
“I was busy,” she said. “Quite a few people who work in the courthouse stopped by. A Minerva, can that really be her name? dropped off some deeds.”
“Yes, Minerva is the county clerk.”
“I met William, by the way, whom I knew by reputation.”
“Oh, boy.”
“Actually, I liked him quite a lot. And Margaret Atkinson. She came by too.”
“Whew. If you talked to those two and neither one knew you were a substitute, you were perfect. What did they want?”
“I had the feeling they were both checking up on me/you. They asked questions about the progress of the books.”
“Undoubtedly,” I said.
“You’ll be thrilled and amazed to know you/me made a fabulous impression. At the time they were both there, Harold and I were busy compiling a list of all the people who have
not
turned in a family history.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Isn’t it? I’m willing to bet some folks right here in this county are going to be very conspicuous by their absence. When you get back, we’ll take a hard look at the list together.”
I turned on the bed lamp. The dim bulb was god-awful for reading. But the blue and mauve décor was comforting after a long day of sitting on a straight-backed oak chair.
“I’m in for the night. Here’s hoping AngelChild is in the mood to chat.”
“I want to know about that trunk,” said Josie. “What was in that trunk that her mother would have kept hidden away? She said she understood everything when she opened the trunk?”
“When do we start?”
“Harold says we’re ready. It’s time.”
“See if you can talk him into waiting another half hour. I want to shower and call Keith to give him the number to the main desk at the research room because I can’t take my cell inside. Even though I’ll have my laptop, internet access is limited to data bases. I’ll have housekeeping bring me some extra filter packs for the coffee pot. Then I’ll be set.”
Twenty minutes later, I flashed her a message. I was ready too.
Josie typed:
I love trunks.
No question, just a statement. We waited and waited.
Finally AngelChild logged on:
My mother’s trunk is my most prized possession.
Josie typed:
Some people keep trunks for a very long time.
AngelChild:
I’ve not only kept it, I’ve added to it.
Josie, immediately:
The trunk must have been very special.
AngelChild:
It’s everything. The trunk is what gave me the courage to buy my red graduation dress, buy my car, go to college. I would have been loved. It was my heritage. There were papers. Newspapers. And pictures of my father. A strong handsome man. Pictures of his arm was around my mother. Smiling, like he adored her. She’s smiling too. Pushing my brother in a swing.
I closed my eyes. Was she reading happiness into these pictures? How had a war destroyed this family’s joy? If there had even been a war. Perhaps what AngelChild believed was a family myth.
There’s a picture of a rocking horse. I wanted a doll. Mommy won’t let me have a doll. Not ever.
Josie flashed a message to me:
Something’s happening. The diction level is starting to slip. She’s becoming more childlike. For our purposes, that’s just fine.
AngelChild:
I want my mommy. I want my daddy. I hate you for making me remember all this.
Then silence.
Josie phoned. “We’re so close, Lottie. So very close. She’s just about to break.”
“The woman she’s describing in the pictures doesn’t sound at all like the woman she grew up with. What happened to her mother’s mind? What happened to her father?”
“I suspect she knows,” Josie said. “I think she knows everything.”
“Earlier, she said it was the war.”
“Maybe so, more than one woman hasn’t been able to handle a war. You might as well get a good night’s sleep, Lottie. There’s a pattern, here. Harold doesn’t think she’ll come back online tonight, but he’ll sleep here anyway, and I’ll go back to your place. I’ll relieve him tomorrow morning, so he can grab a nap and a shower.”
“Okay. Tell Keith if either of you need anything.”
“He’s been great. Couldn’t ask for a better host.”
“If anything unusual comes up, page me at the research center tomorrow.”
***
The next morning, I glanced at my alphabetized list, asked the man at the main desk for more microfilm and began where I had left off the day before. By ten o’clock, my shoulders ached and my eyes were starting to blur.
“Lottie Albright, please come to the main desk.”
Startled at hearing the page echo through the microfilm reading room, I jumped up too suddenly and knocked a reel off the table. I picked it up, put it back in the re-shelving tray, and hurried to the main desk.
“Lottie Albright?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a call for you in the business office.” He pointed toward the room. A secretary steered me to a phone with a blinking line.
I picked up the receiver. “Lottie Albright, here.”
“Lottie.” It was Keith. My knees went weak and my stomach lurched when he hesitated. Why would he hesitate? What was the matter?
“It’s Josie, Lottie.”