Page 19 of Dirty Valentine
“Jack, you look like someone just told you the Redskins moved to Dallas,” Rich said, setting down his papers to pull his son into a back-slapping hug.“What’s wrong?”
“That’s what we need to talk about,” Jack said.
“Well come on into the kitchen,” he said.“I’m sure your mother is dying to feed you.Jaye, you look beautiful.Give me a hug.”
And I melted into his embrace and held on a little longer.Jack was the best man I’d ever known.And he’d learned everything about what it meant to be a man from his father.It’s why I wasn’t worried about the parenting part of having a baby.Even if I didn’t know what I was doing, Jack had the experience of being raised by two people who’d done things right.
The kitchen was exactly as I remembered—warm yellow walls that seemed to glow in the lamplight, copper pots hanging from a wrought-iron rack, and a massive farmhouse table that could seat twelve but usually just held Jeri’s latest projects.Tonight it was covered with what looked like tax documents and estate planning papers—the kind of paperwork that came with managing centuries of accumulated wealth—and at the far end was her sewing machine and a stack of fabric squares.
“Ignore the mess,” Jeri said.“Your dad is running numbers to do upgrades to some rental properties, and I’m making a quilt.”
“That looks like a baby quilt,” I said, looking at the cute fabrics she’d chosen.
“It’s always nice to have one as backup when a baby shower pops up,” she said.“Or when someone has unexpected news.”She fluttered her lashes at me and it was everything I could do to keep my face blank of expression.
“Pot roast smells good,” Jack said, diverting her attention.
“I haven’t even put anything away yet,” she said, hurrying over to the stove to scoop up mashed potatoes and cover it with her pot roast and gravy.“It’s still nice and warm.Y’all sit at the table.Rich, clear some space.”
“Already done,” he said.“And maybe while you’re getting things ready Jack can explain what’s going on.Do we have any pie?”
“Of course we have pie,” Jeri said.“I made a cherry pie this morning.You already knew that.”
Rich winked at me and said, “Yes, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget you made a cherry pie.Go ahead, son.You look like you’re about to burst at the seams.”
“I don’t know if you’ve seen the news about the most recent murder,” Jack said without preamble.“Thomas Whitman was found on Bridget Ashworth’s grave.”
Rich nodded, pushing his reading glasses up to rest on his head.“It’s all that’s been on the television.Is it the same Thomas Whitman who wanted permission to dig up some of our property?Archaeologist, right?He could never prove there was anything to dig up, so he wasn’t able to get the permits he wanted since it’s our private land.”
“He’s the one,” Jack said, nodding.“But the case has taken an interesting turn—there were other graves marked—old graves—and it’s related to the murder.William Lawson’s grave was one of those marked.”
The knife in Jeri’s hand stilled.Thunder rumbled overhead, making the lights flicker for just a moment.“Good grief.Why in the world would William Lawson’s grave be tied to a murder?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Jack said, looking at his father.“What do you actually know about William Lawson?Other than the family stories that have been passed down.”
Rich leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms.The rain drummed against the windows, creating a steady rhythm that somehow made the kitchen feel more insulated, safer.“More than you might think.We’ve got quite a bit of our history locked away upstairs.Your grandmother was quite fascinated with our genealogy.It was her hobby.Other old ladies put together puzzles and played dominoes, but Edith Lawson researched dead people.”
“I remember her,” Jack said.“She was always telling me some tale or another any time I’d go to stay with her and Grandpop.”
“She was so into it you’d have thought the Lawsons were her direct bloodline,” Rich said.
“And before she passed,” Jeri said, “she gave everything to me.Hoped that I would continue the work she’d started.I supposed I should now that technology has made things easier.”Jeri grabbed my hand and looked dead into my eyes.“There’s nothing I hate more than sitting in a dusty old library staring at pages that make no sense.But give me a good movie and a box of art supplies and I’m your girl.When you and Jack have kids I’m going to be the fun grandparent.”
I chuckled, knowing without a doubt that she would.
“Edith had boxes and boxes of documents,” Jeri continued.“Journals, letters, legal documents going back three centuries.”
“And?”Jack leaned forward.
“William Lawson was a revered man,” Rich said, settling into a chair that creaked in protest.Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the room in stark white for a moment.“Have you seen the letters from the governor?The man was the county’s chief constable, responsible for keeping law and order.He was called to Williamsburg to help investigate a smuggling ring that was threatening Colonial trade routes—the governor specifically requested him because of his reputation for being incorruptible.”
“That’s why he wasn’t here during Bridget Ashworth’s trial,” Jeri added, her small hands folding together on the table.“He was in Williamsburg on the governor’s orders, tracking down smugglers and pirates.There are travel documents, official correspondence, even a letter from him to his wife expressing frustration that he couldn’t get home for the trial because he knew it was a farce.”
I felt Jack’s shoulders relax slightly.“He knew?”
“Oh, he knew.”Rich’s expression darkened.“The family stories all say the same thing—when William got back from Williamsburg and found out what had happened to Bridget Ashworth, he was furious.Supposedly he tried everything to get the verdict overturned.Wrote letters, filed complaints, even tried to get the governor involved.But by then it was too late.She was dead, and the other families had already divided up her land.They had too much power, too much influence.”
“But here’s the interesting part,” Jeri said, leaning forward despite another rumble of thunder that shook the windows.“They offered William part of the Ashworth land, hoping that would keep him quiet.But he refused them.The Lawsons never took any of the Ashworth land.Not one acre.In fact—” she looked at Rich, who nodded, “—William secretly sent money to Bridget’s husband and daughter after they fled north.Helped them start over.”
