I told Santiago they were on their way to Mika’s, and he decided to go back to work to give us some space to talk this through.
As soon as Dad walked into Mika’s shop, I knew this was going to be a hard conversation. His face was drawn, and his shoulders slumped so far forward that he looked like he was beginning to bend over and pick up something off the floor. I was glad Mika and Lucille were there because when my dad looked like this, he could get petulant and quiet. I needed people to help me bring him out.
Fortunately, Lucille was a no-nonsense woman, and she spoke straight and true when she needed to. So as soon as we sat down, she said, “Lee, tell Paisley what you know about that barn.” Then she looked at me. “I haven’t told him what you told me yet, Pais. Figured it was better to let this all come out to the fore without any prep.”
I nodded. “Please, Dad. I know you went to see Summer Ross. Why?”
Dad stared at the floor in front of where his forearms sat on his knees, and for a minute, I thought he was going to withdraw, not answer, just sit there staring and acting like he hadn’t heard my question. But then, Lucille put a hand on his leg. He looked over at her, and then met my gaze.
“I was scared, Paisley. Scared you’d find what I expect it is you found.” He let out a slow stream of breath. “You found him, didn’t you?”
“Start from the beginning, Daddy,” I said. I’d learned enough from Santiago to understand it was better, even with my dad, to not reveal anything that I didn’t need to share just yet. As a daughter, I wanted to make my dad feel better, but right now, I needed to focus on what was most important: figuring out what happened to the man in the privy pit. “Please.”
Dad took a long, slow breath. “It was 1945. Your grandfather was over in Germany in the Army. He told me the story, even though he wasn’t here.” Dad met my gaze. “He just knew the story, Pais. He was across the ocean when it happened.”
“Got it,” I said.
“Apparently, folks here were pretty heated up about the attack on Pearl Harbor. Lots of the young men enlisted even before the draft called them up. Your granddaddy was one of those men. He was proud to serve.” I knew that was true, but I also knew that war had messed up my grandfather. He never would talk about it much, except to tell jokes, and after he died, I found more notes and images from his time there. It had been brutal, for everyone.
Dad continued. “Some of the men, though, they didn’t want to fight. For most of those guys, it was just about wanting and needing to be home to take care of their families. Of course, they weren’t given a choice in the matter and got drafted anyway.”
I nodded. “Okay.” I was waiting for how all this tied into the body we’d found in the pit, but I knew better than to push my daddy to talk faster than he wanted. He’d just get agitated and clam up.
“Daddy said a couple of guys went to extremes to stay home, though. The religious ones registered as conscientious objectors, and lots of those men worked for the CPS, even had a camp up here in the mountains,” Dad said.
“CPS?” Mika asked.
“Civilian Public Service. They did things like build roads and plant trees to stop erosion. That kind of thing.” He sighed. “But some guys just tried to avoid all kinds of service. One fellow made it to Canada, I heard, but a couple others laid low around here and hid when people came looking for them.”
I felt unease growing in the pit of my stomach as this story unfolded, but I stayed quiet.
“One of these men was a guy named Leo Farrow. Everyone called him Sheepy, though. He just out and out refused to serve in any capacity. Wouldn’t run, either, and while he didn’t make a show of himself, he wasn’t too shy about being out in public either. Went to church on Sundays. Showed up for the county fair. That kind of thing.” Dad shook his head.
“According to your grandaddy, folks finally had enough of protecting Sheepy while the men they loved died in a terrible war. So one night, a few of the men left in town here went over, picked him up, and took care of the problem.” Dad scrubbed a hand over his face. “Rumor had it they dumped him out at the barn in the hollow there.”
“Do you know who did it, Daddy?”
Dad sat back, crossed his arms, and looked at me. “That’s all I have to say about that to you, Paisley-girl.”
I stared at him for a minute, and when I got over my shock, I said, “Dad, are the men who did this still alive? Are you protecting them?”
“It was a long time ago, Paisley. Leave it be.” He held my eyes, and when I didn’t look away, his jaw tightened, and he finally flashed his eyes to the floor.
“Daddy, a man was killed, and Mika found his skull in a toilet pit.” I took a breath. “I’m not out to get someone here. But this man, Leo Farrow, deserves justice, don’t you think?”
Dad stood up and headed toward the door. “I’m taking a walk,” he said with a quick glance at Lucille, and then he was gone.
“What in the world?!” Mika said as the door swung shut behind my father.
Lucille shook her head. “I have no idea. Something’s going on.” She stood and followed him out the door.
“Do you think Santiago will want to talk to him now?” Mika asked, her train of thought about three steps ahead of mine. I was still staring at the door.
I tugged my eyes over to meet those of my best friend and sighed. “I need to call him. Is it okay with you if he comes here? Somehow, having this conversation at the sheriff’s office feels too hard just now.”
“Of course,” she said. “Why don’t you just text him while you watch the shop, and I’ll go get us some lunch?”
“That would be nice. Thanks.” I moved over behind the register and took out my phone again. Talked to Dad. At Mika’s. Can you come? I typed.
Be there in five. His answer was almost immediate, and I felt a little of the lump that had gathered in my throat break up. At least I wasn’t in this alone.
Before I tucked my phone back in my pocket, I shot Lucille a note to tell her Santiago was on his way, just in case she and Dad headed back. I didn’t want my father to feel blindsided.
She wrote back. We’re on our way out of town and still walking. It’ll be a while before he’s ready to come back.
I sighed and let tears finally fall. I couldn’t believe my dad. I knew that while Santiago would do all he could, the more my father avoided this situation, the worse it would be for him.
Don’t worry, Paisley, Lucille’s second message said. He will come back.
I sent a thumbs up and then stowed my phone beneath the register. I didn’t want to be checking it for messages every ten seconds.
Mika and Santiago came in the door together, and while I didn’t feel hungry at the moment, I was glad to see she’d brought me a Dr Pepper with my grilled cheese and mushroom sandwich. Sometimes, nothing helped like a jolt of sugar and a blast of caffeine. I took a long pull from the straw as Santiago and I settled into the Cozy Nook, and Mika moved to the front of the store to straighten shelves, greet customers, and give us some privacy.
“I take it you don’t have good news,” Santiago said as he pulled his chair closer to mine.
I shook my head. “He won’t tell me who killed him.”
Santiago sat back. “He knows?”
I took a deep breath. “I think so.” Then, I told Santiago all that Dad had said about Leo Farrow and avoiding the draft and the vigilante justice that Dad said had taken place. “There’s a piece he’s not telling me, though, Santi.”
“And you think that piece identifies the killers?” he asked.
I nodded and then sighed. “My dad is usually so reasonable, so aware that the past, no matter how far distant, isn’t really that far away. But he’s acting like his best friend—” I stopped talking abruptly and looked down away from Santiago’s gaze.
“Homer,” Santiago said quietly.
As soon as I had thought of Dad’s best friend, the man who had gone to see Summer Ross with him, I knew. Homer Salis was mixed up in this somehow. I nodded and looked back up at Santi. “I think so.”
For a few moments, we sat in silence, and the possibilities of what this could mean spooled through my mind until the bell rang over the door and Dad and Lucille came in. I stood up, hugged my dad, and then made a silent decision to let Santiago handle this moment.
“Lee,” Santiago said as he extended a hand to my dad. “Good to see you. Am I right in understanding that you might know something I should know about the person we found at the old barn?”
Dad looked at his wife and then at me before he said, “I do.” He looked up at the ceiling and then said, “It was Homer’s father.”
My stomach dropped into my ankles, but I managed to hold back my gasp. It wasn’t going to make it any easier for my dad if he had to deal with my response as well as his own complex emotions at this moment.
“I see,” Santiago said. “So Homer told you this?”
Dad shook his head. “Not exactly.” He stared at the floor. “I was there.”
This time, even my best attempts at underreacting were overwhelmed by shock, and I said, “What?!”
“I was only four, but I was there.” Dad stared at the floor as he spoke. “I didn’t really know what was happening then. Neither did Homer. But I watched Mr. Salis drop something wrapped in a rug down in that hole. I didn’t know then, but when I was older, I figured it out.”
“And you didn’t come forward because it was your friend’s dad?” Santiago asked.
Dad shook his head. “No. By the time I figured it out, Mr. Salis was dead. Cancer.” He looked up at me. “So I figured what was the point but to make Homer’s life harder.” He shook his head slightly. “I didn’t want to do that. Not after he watched his dad die like he did.”
I didn’t know the whole story of Homer’s dad, but I knew that he hadn’t been a kind man, abusive probably, and that his death had been long and slow. And while some people softened when they became ill, according to Dad, Homer’s father became as hard as flint and mean as a cornered copperhead. He had died when Homer and Dad were seventeen, so just when Homer could have used a father to guide him, he’d gotten sick, gotten meaner, and then died at home with his wife and Homer. The whole story sounded like something from a Gothic short story.
Santiago nodded. “You were how old when he died?”
“Just a teenager.” His eyes were sorrowful as he met Santiago’s gaze. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
I understood my dad’s decision back then, even if I didn’t agree with it, but a few minutes ago, what had that been about? A man had been killed, and even if his murderer was long dead, the man still deserved justice. Dad looked so sad, though, that I decided to just table that question for now.
“So, Mr. Salis – what was his first name?” Santiago asked.
“James, Jimmy,” Dad answered.
Santiago made a note. “Jimmy Salis was the only man there, then.” He didn’t ask. He made a statement, or at least it sounded like a statement, but I knew Santi well enough by now to know his tactics. Sometimes his statements were really open doors so people could volunteer information without feeling like they were forced.
“I didn’t say that,” Dad mumbled.
Without looking up, Santiago said, “I see. Who else was there?” His voice was quiet but forceful.
For a minute, I thought Dad wasn’t going to answer. But then he said, “I guess you need to know. Stephen Davis, Melvin Smith, and Ace Watkins.” Dad was sitting up now, his decision made and his choice clear.
“To your knowledge, were all these men involved in the death of Leo Farrow?” Santiago asked, the façade of casualness gone.
Dad shook his head. “I honestly don’t know. I just know that those four men were there when Farrow’s body got dumped.” Dad met my gaze. “To be clear, I can’t even say for sure it was Farrow’s body in that rug. I never saw it. But it seems likely.”
Santiago nodded. “It does. But that is good information to know. So how do you know the other men were involved?”
“Mr. Salis talked about it, said that the four of them had taken care of a problem.” Dad shook his head. “He was so proud.”
I groaned. The human ability to be confident in wrongdoing never failed to astound me.
“Understood,” Santiago said as he stood. “Now, as two of these men are still alive, I need all of you to give me your word you will not say anything about what we’ve discussed to anyone. I need to investigate, and I need to do that without interference. Am I clear?”
If we hadn’t understood just by the nature of what he requested, we would have by the tone of his voice. Santiago was angry, and while he was our friend, I also knew that if we crossed him, he wouldn’t hesitate to do his job. All of us nodded.
“I will need to talk to Homer, Lee,” he said to my dad as he handed Dad his business card. “It would be better if he called me. But if he doesn’t reach out by the end of the day, I will be going to see him tonight. I’m sure you understand.”
Dad nodded and tucked the card in his breast pocket before he reached out to help Lucille up. “We’ll go see him now,” he said, and the two of them walked toward the door as Lucille turned back toward me and made a “phone me” sign.
I nodded and then gave my boyfriend a hug before he headed out the door. I wanted to say something, to assure him, to cheer him on, but I knew none of that was appropriate. We were talking about a murder here, a murder my dad had kept secret, and nothing I was going to say could help. Not a thing.
He looked at me, shrugged, and walked out.
I decided to spend the a while creating a rainbow display of worsted weight yarn for Mika. I needed to do something simple that didn’t require me to think too hard about anything because my mind was spinning. I had so much to do for my business and for the opening in a few days, but I knew myself. If I didn’t give myself time to process, I’d never get anything meaningful done.
Fortunately, Mika had Mrs. Stephenson to run the shop for the afternoon, and so she and I sat in a back corner with crates and stacks of yarn while I spun out all the random thoughts that were twirling in my head.
I talked through my frustration with my dad a bit and then through the sadness I felt about him having witnessed something so horrible as a child. Then I speculated how hard this must be for Homer and for my dad in turn, and how conflicted they must feel about turning in their elders for a nearly-eighty-year-old crime. Then, I wondered how Lucille was doing with all this, and finally my thoughts settled into concerns about Santiago and how he must have to traverse hurdles like this as a police officer in our small town.
After I had rambled through my anxieties about the people I loved for a good forty-five minutes, Mika finally put a hand on my arm and said, “But Paisley, how do you feel about all this?”
I looked at her and said, “I just told you how I feel. Weren’t you listening?” I could hear the huff in my voice, but I was too tired to care.
“No, Pais, what you told me was how you felt about how everyone else may or may not be feeling. You didn’t tell me how you feel. Are you mad at your dad for keeping this secret? Relieved he came forward now? Worried about him and Santiago? Concerned this might affect your relationship with your boyfriend?”
I stared at her for a long moment, and then I started to cry. “Yes, I’m worried about all those things. So worried.” I let the tears fall for a few moments before I whispered, “This is terrifying.”
Mika removed the stack of purple from my hands, careful to not disturb the beautiful ombre I had made, and then hugged me. “I’m sure it is, Pais. Of course it is. But Santiago is a good man, and so is your dad. It will all be okay.”
“Are you sure?” I asked in a voice that sounded pitiful even to me.
“I’m sure,” she said and then cradled my head against her shoulder for a few more minutes. Then, she squeezed my head, pushed me gently away, and said, “Let’s get this rainbow up because you have a store to open.”
When I looked up, my friend was standing over me with her hand extended and a soft smile on her face. She looked so kind with her freckled nose and gentle wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. I didn’t know how I’d gotten so lucky to have a friend like her.
Which is why I knew exactly what she’d say when I stood, grabbed the array of purple yarn and said, “So, Chris?”
“He’s nice,” she said and turned away from me.
“I knew you liked him,” I said. “Nice” had always been Mika’s word for someone attractive. “Are you going to see him?”
As she picked up the pieces of plastic we’d discarded around the floor, Mika said, “Oh, probably sometime.”
I took her by the shoulders and forced her to face me. “And by sometime you mean specifically when?”
“Tonight at dinner.” A blush ran from her collar to her hairline, and she was grinning.
“And you weren’t going to tell me?” I rolled my eyes. “Some friend.”
“We had a little something going on,” Mika said as she lightly punched my shoulder. “Want to join us?”
“No way. First dates are not fun for anyone but the dating pair.” I’d double-dated with friends on a few firsts when I was younger, and my date and I always ended up cringing while they got their footing and asked awkward questions. It was better to not have an audience for those first few moments, especially if they didn’t go well.
Not that I thought Mika’s date with Chris wouldn’t go well. I expected it to go swimmingly, but I didn’t need to witness them get to swimming. Nope. “You guys have fun, and let me know when I need to send the possible ‘rescue’ text to get you out.”
“Nine-thirty? We’re meeting at seven, so two and half hours should give me enough time to know. If I don’t answer, don’t worry,” she said as the color deepened on her cheeks.
“Got it. But my no-worry zone only extends until eleven. If I don’t hear from you by then, I will turn the worry knob up to ten.” I stared at her. “Text by eleven with an all clear if things are going well, okay?”
“Absolutely. Besides, if I’m up at eleven still, I’ll need your help to get home. I haven’t stayed up past ten in a decade.” She laughed.
“Well, maybe now you’ll have a reason.” I chuckled and headed toward the Cozy Nook to get to work. I was still worried about my dad and about Santiago too, but it was fun to think about Mika’s date, and with that and the shop opening, I had plenty to distract me for a while.
Two hours, a newsletter, and a press release later, I was still deep in my work, now checking my online inventory system and adding in the items Mika had made for sale. Things were starting to feel ready for next weekend, but I knew I had a lot more to do. I decided I could put off the computer work for the rest of the day and told Mika I was heading over to the shop to display her things and get some stuff in order.
“You need my help?” she asked as she watched Mrs. Stephenson talk with a teenage girl who was beginning her first knitting project. Just then, a group of women from a nearby church came in, and Mika’s attention spun to them before coming back to me.
“Nope. The quiet space on my own will give me time to experiment.” I winked at her. “Text you at nine.”
The drive to the shop was short, but I rolled the windows down and enjoyed the fresh air as I looked to see if I could see a hint of autumn color on the dogwoods yet. They were always my first sign that autumn was well on the way.
At the shop, Saul’s crew was hard at work arranging a new shipment of lumber in their tall pole barn and loading up their dump truck with sand, and I was grateful for their presence and the background noise of the forklifts and front-end loaders. I did feel a pang of absence since Sawyer wasn’t here to see the “big equipment” running, but I knew he was having fun camping with his dad and let the guilt over something I couldn’t control go.
Instead, I threw myself into rearranging all the items in the shop. I had the bottles to work in now, as well as Mika’s items. So I took everything down, dusted the shelves so that they would be as clean as they possibly could be in the midst of a construction zone, and began replacing items in the back corner, where I had decided I would make a rainbow of sorts with the bottles we’d found.
I didn’t have the reds or oranges, but I substituted in brown then added the green and blue. Finally, I did an array of transparent glass at the end. Not exactly ROYGBIV but still pretty and easy to maintain. That was key in a business like this. I couldn’t be working all the time to arrange the shelves when I needed to be greeting customers and bringing in new inventory, too.
Mika’s items were next, and I had just set one pair of fluffy wool mittens next to an intricate Victorian corbel when the door of my shed banged open hard enough to shake the glass in the door. I spun around to see an older white man with a gaunt face and thin white hair staring at me. In his hand, he held a rusty hook.