Authors: Erika Chase
Lizzie had been impressed by what she saw as they toured the small bathroom, the focal point of current changes, the living room with the new paint job and awaiting a new floor, and the smaller bedroom, now his study, and finally the master bedroom. She gave it a cursory glance and walked a bit faster back to the living room with Mark chuckling right behind her.
Patchett had been eager to escape his confines and alternated between sniffing his way down the block and prancing, or the best a bloodhound could do along those lines. After the walk, they sat in the living room, each with a glass of brandy in hand, and talked until Lizzie tried to stifle a yawn and they realized the late hour. This time the good-night kiss had been longer and more passionate.
Lizzie smiled at the thought, as she saw Evelyn back to her room. She settled her in a chair, turned on her radio and bent to give her a hug and kiss. “I may be back before next weekend, Mama. I may have some news for you. You just never know.”
She drove over to pick up Sally-Jo, and then they were heading for Stoney Mills to search for a former librarian who may have helped her daddy with his research just before he died. Lizzie had gotten the idea while getting ready to visit her mama. Sunday usually attracted relatives into the seniors’ homes, people were more talkative and could feed on each other’s memories. Sally-Jo was keen to join in the search.
The plan was simple. Lizzie did an Internet search and downloaded a list of senior citizen residences in Stoney Mills. They’d do the rounds, wander around the great rooms and make small talk, hoping to find someone who either knew Frank Telford or Jefferson Perkins or could point them to a retired Stoney Mills librarian. And Lizzie realized that they were tracking two lines of enquiry: Telford and her daddy. Maybe they would intersect. Maybe not. Should be an easy task, though.
Not so. Their first stop, at the Rivercrest, took much more of their time than she had anticipated as the chatty residents all had something to say. Not, however, any of the information they wanted. Of course, sweet tea and cookies were being served, all afternoon as it turned out.
Sally-Jo, map in hand, gave directions as they drove to Quiet Pines, the second of five stops. “They’re some mighty
fine talkers just lying in wait at these places, you know. I think it might be fun to volunteer someday and just visit with them.”
“That’s sweet of you, Sally-Jo. I’ve seen notices for just such things in the paper from time to time. I’ll admit, this is an eye-opener. It’s a whole lot different from visiting my mama.”
“Oh, sugar, I’ll just bet it is. That must be heart wrenching for you. I was sorta wondering if you might find this too hard, visiting all these places.” Sally-Jo reached over and patted her hand.
Lizzie shook her head. “Not at all. Just a tad frustrating, not being able to get the answers we’re after.”
“Yet.”
“Right.”
“I also think it wouldn’t hurt to ask around about Carla Fowks, too. Try to find out if there actually was such a person.”
“That’s a great idea, Sally-Jo. I should have thought of that. We have a lot of unanswered questions about that manuscript.”
“Well, Jacob’s coming over tonight, so if we totally bomb out here, maybe he can figure out some way to track down people a lot faster.”
Lizzie said, “Umm,” and snuck a quick look at Sally-Jo, wondering how she would react to Jacob’s announcement later this evening. She had tried putting herself in her friend’s place but really had no idea how to react. She sighed and craned her neck for a look at the large white mansion to the right. It spoke to her of days of the Old South, true gentility, and women in hoop petticoats. “Wow, that’s a beauty, isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Sally-Jo agreed, “and it’s also our next stop.”
Lizzie pulled into the long curving driveway and parked next to a tall oak drenched in Spanish moss. A portico spanned the length of the front of the mansion and wrapped
around the sides. Several sitting areas were configured for cozy conversations and a view of the sloping front lawn. “It sure does rival Molly’s place.”
“Mm-hmm. It’s nice these old mansions are being used for good works.”
To the left of the large front entrance hall, a comfortable waiting area held love seats and chairs, while to the right, a small white French Provincial desk displayed a sign-in book and a small placard inviting guests to go straight on through to the great room at the back.
“I always wanted to try calligraphy,” Sally-Jo said, pointing to the placard.
“I don’t have the patience. Give me PowerPoint any day.”
They went through the large entryway, its double glass doors standing wide open, and followed the sounds of laughter to the back. About twenty people were seated or standing around in the great room, while a tiny, fragile-looking woman played jazz at a piano in one corner. A double-layered tea trolley sat to one side with pitchers of iced tea and extra glasses on it. The cookie plates sat on the numerous coffee tables between and in front of the dozens of chairs and settees.
Sunlight streamed in through the huge picture windows, and combined with the pale pink and greens in the room, gave the place a cheerful, airy feel.
“Very nice,” said Sally-Jo.
“Probably very expensive, too,” Lizzie suggested. “Well, let’s go mingle, girl.”
Lizzie picked up one of the plates and passed the cookies around to a small group seated at a settee and four chairs. It looked to Lizzie like three generations of one family. She asked if they minded if she joined them, and squeezed onto the settee when invited.
She started by introducing herself. “I’m looking for one of the former town librarians, and I’m just not sure which residence she’s living in.”
If she’s even in one
, she silently
added. “Worse still, I don’t even know her name. She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh.
The oldest woman in the group, Nanny Carter she claimed she was, spoke right up. “You’ve come to the right person, girlie. I’ve lived in Stoney Mills all of my life, and I knowed who everyone is, even if we weren’t ever introduced.” She chuckled. “I used to own the one and only beauty salon for many years, and let me tell you, there wasn’t much that escaped my noticing.”
The others in the group laughed and agreed that was true.
“And I’m a great observer, too. For instance, I can see that you’re surprised a beautician can afford to live in such a high-class place. Well, I saved whatever extra money wasn’t going to my children, and I invested it wisely. I’m one smart cookie, you know. I’m now advising my chil’en and a lot of these old folks around here, on where to put their money. I’d be happy to do the same for you, too, sometime.” She smiled and winked.
Lizzie, greatly encouraged, asked if she knew the woman.
“No, I didn’t knowed no woman.” She grinned. “Because it was a man. Malcolm Earnstly was his name. Still is, if I remember correctly. That is, he’s still around. My best friend, Dolly Knowland, had a big crush on him when we were in middle school. He’d just come to town at that point in the early 1960s, a young’un himself, his first real job. Anyway, we used to hang out at the library a lot. But to no use. He broke her heart, Dolly’s that is, by marrying Frances Murray. They had a small house just down the street from the library. Frances died some time back, right before Malcolm retired— he worked at that library his whole life— and he continued to live on his own until one day, he up and moved in with Frances’s sister, Flossie Murray. He’s still there, so I’m told. Now then, was that what you wanted to hear?” She looked pleased with herself.
“It most certainly was.”
“She has a memory like a steel trap,” said one of the
younger women, a daughter perhaps. Everyone nodded in agreement.
“And, just to prove it,” Dolly continued, “they’re a’livin’ at 101 Main Street, right as you’re entering town from the main highway. Now, another cookie would set just right.”
Lizzie passed her the plate and continued to chat with them for a while, until she noticed that Sally-Jo had headed toward the door. Lizzie thanked them again, excused herself and caught up to Sally-Jo.
“Eureka,” Lizzie said. “I have the name and address of the librarian.”
Sally-Jo looked at her and smiled. “And I have a lead on Adele Fowks’s daughter, Carla.”
“Wow.” Lizzie looked stunned. “You know what that means— if there really is a Carla Fowks, the manuscript is obviously a true story. I had a feeling all along it was, but now I’m feeling like I can’t believe it.”
Sally-Jo nodded. “I preferred it when it was a work of fiction. That story is just too sad to be true. But at least we know to keep looking.”
“You’re right. All these dead ends we’ve been hitting and now two leads in one day. But let’s go find that librarian first. I need to know about my daddy.”
T
hey found the house easily, a modest white clapboard bungalow with a small front yard, and were delighted to find Malcolm Earnstly at home. They introduced themselves, and he invited them inside.
“You wouldn’t necessarily find me at home on a Sunday afternoon,” Earnstly told them, “but I had to get to trimming my shrubs in the front yard. You turn your back and those cedars just take over the place. It’s not much, but it is my front yard.”
“I can see you’ve put a lot of effort and care into it,” Sally-Jo said.
They surveyed the small entry. The surprise was the color. Deep rose as far as the eye could see. The front room opened to the right, and a short hall on the left led to bedrooms and, at the end, the kitchen.
Lizzie began, after they had settled in the front room. “I’d like to ask you some questions going back to the time you were librarian, 1990 to be specific. Do you mind?”
He chuckled and his wire-framed glasses bobbed on a nose that was too large for his round face. Tufts of gray hair framed the sides and his ears, while the top of his head was a shiny bald beacon. “Not in the slightest. I’m quite flattered, although I may be a big disappointment, young lady. My mind’s not as sharp as it used to be. Gone are the days when I could find a book without looking up the reference cards and even go direct to the page with a quote that someone asked about.”
Lizzie smiled. “I understand, but it might be a big help.”
“Ask away.”
“Well, I’m wondering if by any chance you remember a man, he was a writer from Ashton Corners, and he may have been in the library doing some research.”
“1990 you say? Anything special about this here man? Something that might twig my memory?” He scratched the top of his head.
“His name was Monroe Turner, he was thirty-eight years old, a tall, dark-haired man with dark-framed glasses. He often wore a gray fedora perched back from his face. He may have been working on a story for a magazine.”
Earnstly sat in thought. It looked like he was chewing the inside of his mouth. It didn’t take long before he connected.
“I do remember him. Of course I do. He was quite well known in these parts. He’d had some stories in
Life
magazine, as I recall. I read them all. I was quite flattered that he’d come to our library, in fact.”
Lizzie let out the breath she’d been holding. “Wonderful. Now, do you happen to recall what he was researching?”
Earnstly thought some more. “No, I can’t say it comes to me. I’m sorry. But if you leave me your name and number, I’ll call if I do remember.”
Lizzie smiled. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.” She wrote her contact information on a notepad she carried in her purse and gave it to him.
“Lizzie Turner. Hmm. Of course, you’d said that. Are you kin?”
“He was my daddy.”
“Oh,” Earnstly said, his already pale eyebrows disappearing in a frown. “I remember he died in a car accident, didn’t he, not far from here?”
“That’s right. It was on May 25, 1990. You wouldn’t recall if he’d been in the library that day, would you?”
“No, I know he wasn’t because I’d surely remember if I’d seen him the same day he died. I’m right sorry for your loss, Miss Turner.”
“That’s kind of you to say, Mr. Earnstly. And, it’s Lizzie, please. We should go now, though. Thank you so much for letting us intrude on your day.”
“Why it was a pleasure. Meeting Monroe Turner’s daughter. A real pleasure.”
They sat in the car a few minutes in silence. Lizzie said with a sigh, as she turned the key in the ignition, “At least I know Daddy was here on legitimate business. He was chasing a story.”
“Say what?” Sally-Jo asked.
“Oh, I guess I didn’t mention something Molly told me.” She wondered if it was something she wanted to share with Sally-Jo. She decided it was. “You see, my mama thought maybe my daddy was having an affair, he kept going to Stoney Mills so frequently and not telling her why.” She found the more often she talked about it, the less likely it seemed. “But he was on a story, although it is odd he wouldn’t tell her about it.”
“Maybe he was trying to protect her. It might have been
something dangerous. That is, after all, what your phone calls were about, weren’t they? The story he was working on?”
Lizzie nodded. “I know the place but not the story. Guess I’ll do some library research here one day after school. Now, what did you find about Adele Fowks’s daughter? Should we try tracking her down while we’re here?”
“Well, no one recognized her name, so I told the story— a father commits suicide and a few years later, so does the mother.”
“And someone remembered that?” Lizzie shuddered.
“Uh-huh. But it’s not a Stoney Mills story. It took place in Prescottville.” Sally-Jo couldn’t contain her excitement.
“That’s about forty-five miles south, isn’t it?”
“Something like that. Only my source wasn’t sure if Carla grew up in Prescottville— his memory was kind of vague.”
Lizzie thought a moment and then said, “It’s getting too late to drive to Prescottville. I’ll make time later this week.” She put the car in gear and headed toward the exit before asking, “Do we know if Fowks is still her last name? Did she get married?”
Sally-Jo shook her head. “Haven’t a clue.”
“Well, maybe we can track it down in the county records, see if there was a marriage license. If not, maybe she’s listed in the phone book.”